For Legolas, every battle he had participated in was more than the sum of the moments he went through.

Some battles had been about Orcs and the way that they wouldn’t stop coming at him, the way their sheer numbers assaulted his sensitive senses and kept him on his toes, no matter how fatigued he might have gotten. Some battles had been about movement through the terrain, using it to his advantage in ways that his opponents couldn't understand. Some battles had been about the ease with which fighting came to him, giving him both a rush during the battle and much satisfaction afterwards.

But this battle, the hardest one he's been in so far, had been about a new experience he had felt after he decided to come along on this quest. A new experience. What a surprising thing for an Elf, even one who is as young as he. This battle had been about an inner split.

He couldn't explain it, though he was trying to, now, looking for the explanation that would put his mind to rest. No one was asking him to, but he himself was demanding it.

He and Gimli heard the battle cries of the Uruk-Hai and rushed over to the ruins, only to see Aragorn being attacked by too many foul creatures to count. The Ranger was facing Saruman's minions and their defeat seemed impossibly difficult to achieve, even when all three of them were together.

Aragorn would surely die.

The thought struck him harder than any blade could.

In that second, he became two people. One Legolas he could feel on the inside, trembling with truths he never would have wanted to consider, seeing Aragorn's body struck and falling when knees give in to blood lost and feeling his own heart beating faster at this vision.

The other Legolas was external and cool, knowing precisely what had to be done. He drew out his bow and arrows, shot straight at the Uruk-Hai and, as soon as he could secure a split second of relative calm, he shouted for Aragorn to leave, providing him with the cover needed to do so.

His keen senses told him the direction in which his enemies were starting to move and he directed himself to where he predicted they'd be. At his best, he would have prided himself on having used an arrow to lethally stab one opponent in the chest and then, without losing a beat, he drew it back out, the Uruk-Hai collapsing as he did, and used it to shoot yet another attacker. He never once stopped to think about it. It was as though, in his head, there was a map, presenting a picture of simple directions for him to follow. And all the while, in the map's background, Aragorn's imminent demise echoed.

So it was, even when he could tell that Aragorn was still handling himself well, dealing blows far more than receiving them. He lost any perception of time, until noticing another Uruk-Hai too close to Aragorn for his own comfort, and he instantly shot the creature down, whether it matched the map or not. His hand was stable and didn't stand a chance of missing. The turmoil in his soul was a different matter altogether.

As though waking him up from his nightmare of a battle, a horn resounded throughout the trees. "The Horn of Gondor!" He called out to his companions.

"Boromir!" Aragorn shouted, almost in response. They made their way, fighting to the man's whereabouts.

The Ranger fought frantically, but made his way slowly to Boromir's side, one Uruk at a time. Legolas wasn't doing much better and Gimli was quite far behind them and the Elf grit his teeth. Trusting that the Dwarf could handle himself, he continued to strive forward, to fight as close to Aragorn as possible.

It was to no avail, Aragorn seemed possessed and progressed far before him. He heard, faintly, the clash of swords. His precise, calculated moves were being made all on their own, faster now. Though, to the dismay of inner Legolas, not fast enough, not nearly fast enough to reach his lover.

An eternity goes by, in which the world is empty of tears and horror is as cold as metal and just as still. One Legolas functions so well because he knows all is lost and another doesn't stop him for the same reason and nothing matters, whether he'll go down fighting or not.

Yes, just at that moment, the split took place, just when he was touched in the spot where hope is lost and living without it is not an option.

He didn't notice he had further advanced through the fighting until a shout rings in his ears, still distant, but not as far as it was before. "No!" Aragorn's voice didn't quiet him, but it did reduce the shaking and he took out yet two more Uruks together, with a nice spin in which one Uruk’s metal blade was crossed with the other's. The second of confusion this created was all Legolas needed to knock out one, stab the other with the Uruk-Hai's own metallic weapon and then spin around and bury it in the chest of the body he's left unconscious on the ground.

Gimli had caught up with him by then and as they fought on together, he noticed that there were less Uruks around. Some of them must have fled, there was no chance they had taken out all of them, but a fleeing majority was all they required. They were safe, for the time being.

When Gimli wanted to advance to Aragorn and Boromir's side, Legolas wouldn't let him "Just a moment longer, Gimli, let's give them the illusion of privacy just a moment longer."

When it seemed obvious that the Gondorian was gone, they walked forward. Legolas felt his face, heavy with sorrow at the sight of mortality shared between the two men. Some day, he knew, even if it had been today, Aragorn would die. And he would be left to live without him.

Aragorn spoke and his sadness fell into Legolas' abyss.

They carried Boromir's body to the river bank and all the while, Legolas' insides are still at work, trying to calm down, to find the answers he looks for. They placed the Gondorian ceremoniously in a boat, but not before Aragorn took the man's vambraces, to wear them in Boromir's honor.

After they watch the boat drift off, Legolas is left with his question, as Aragorn tries to bandage his wounds. The Elf walks over to him, chain of tormenting pondering cut short. "No, you have to cleanse yourself first, at least superficially."

Aragorn raises his eyes to the deeply blue ones before him. “We do not have the time to spend on such minor matters."

"No." Legolas is more decisive than he's been since they left Elrond's home. "We do not have the time to care for your fever, should you catch one for your irresponsibility. You must cleanse yourself in the river before we continue."

Gimli mutters something about going to look for some food. Neither Legolas, nor Aragorn respond and the mutual silence is respected by all three.

Aragorn sighs and Legolas knows that, much like the Dwarf, he will not argue. The Ranger takes off his clothes and steps into the river, Legolas following suit.

It's been a while since they became lovers and there are few questions between them, even if the same could not be said for their surroundings. All knew that this was some queer notion that the Mirkwood Prince had adopted, entering a ranger's bed and worse, one he did not love. One sexual partner for life, that's all any one Elf should ever have and it was unclear why the Prince would waste his on someone who will not bring him children, nor even marriage, as the human was known to be Arwen's intended.

Legolas never explained. Aragorn was there and so was an attraction which seemed stronger than both of them. The idea of a family didn't appeal to him and he was not in love with Aragorn, which made it easier to know that they would not share their lives. Legolas couldn't explain why he wouldn't deny himself this, of all the things he wanted and was willing to pass up on.

He realized his mistake when he cried out to the Ranger mid-battle, "Aragorn! Go!" He had put the man before himself because he did love him and what a horrible truth this is, now that he knows.

His eyes are lowered to Aragorn's arm as he pours water onto the wounds, his mind already searching for an idea of what could make a good improvised bandage to this injury. He pours some more water and delicately runs his fingers around the gash, as though soothing it. He feels the man's fingers on his own, stopping him.

Lips pressed to his temple, Aragorn asking his permission to take him, wordlessly as ever. He gives it by closing his eyes and tilting his head up, opening his mouth for his lover, who takes him up on his invitation and swirls a warm tongue into him. It hurts, this first knowledgeable kiss, the way it grows from soft to lustful with Aragorn's hands joining to cling at his sides. Legolas moans and feels how his fingers find themselves tangled in the ruffled hair, drawing the man closer to the reciprocal explorations of one queer Elven prince.

Someone's knees give in and the other pair joins in almost immediately, laying their bodies together in the shallow waters, where river and Earth are inseparable. Aragorn’s kisses journey from a hungry mouth to the neglected realms of neck and ear, while Legolas’ feet find their way into a familiar position.

In no time, Aragorn is moving within him, penis pushing repeatedly at tunnel walls, sending pleasure throughout his body, massaging an Elven ear at the same time, heightening each and every sensation to the point where Legolas feels as though the enjoyment is taking over him, too great to be contained, shoving him out of himself, spilling out with every thrust another drop of his soul, leaving it to drip down his skin, to be united with the river's waters, to be absorbed by the bank's Earth or to be lapped up by Aragorn's hungry lips on his nipple, which are sucking and nibbling away with fervor.

Still looking for some release from the sensory overload rippling through him, Legolas bit into his lover’s flesh, as though he could make some space for himself within his own body again if he only shared with Aragorn the pain he found in the profusion of pleasure.

His bite caused the Ranger to groan and reflexively change his angle, hitting a dormant spot inside. Legolas cried out as they spent themselves in and on each other, knowing that in this lovemaking, Aragorn broke something immortal in his Elven soul.

When the man eventually died, he would too. He clung onto the warm, human body and listened to the sun shining over the river waves and realized for the first time that it wasn’t going to shine forever. His fingers, entwined with rays of light, played in Aragorn's hair. He wished he could tell his love of an endless circle, in which pleasure could be found in the profusion of pain.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed the mark his teeth had left on Aragorn's skin. "Come on," he whispered softly for one pair of ears alone. "Let's get you dressed and bandaged."