Ease of Use
by
Keelywolfe
There was a peace in gardening. The
repetitive motions of digging and settling delicate roots into their new homes
were soothing, the cool touch of soil clinging not unpleasantly to the fingers.
The cleanness of the loam, if it could be called clean, so different than the
grime of Orc's blood in the faint creases of his knuckles, fresh and sweet
instead against his skin.
Legolas suspected of all his friends here, only Sam would truly understand.
Merry and Pippin, even in their newfound maturity, were too restless, too much
of a waterfall spilling over rocks to ever appreciate the serene glaze of water
downstream. As for Frodo...but he did not wish to think of Frodo today. It was
too sharp a taste of sadness for a day beneath the pale Sun, deep warmth that
had been much missed these past months.
He heard the Man approaching long before his shadow eased over Legolas's hands
and though he didn't look up, Legolas nodded a greeting at his unsought
companion, leaving his eyes on the delicate vines he was untangling. The Man sat
down after a moment, stretching his long legs out in front of him and watched
Legolas's silent work. The faint scent of pipeweed twitched in Legolas's next
inhalation, not so clean as the soil yet neither was it unpleasant. A hint of
mystery and secret to that smoke, and Legolas stifled a sigh, waiting for the
words that smoke would soon carry to him.
"Might I ask you a question?" Aragorn finally spoke, seeming to hear the Elf's
thoughts. He didn't wait for an affirmation. "What is it like to make love to a
Dwarf?"
Legolas thinned his lips in his displeasure and did not look at Aragorn,
pointedly ignoring his crassness. The Man did not seem to notice his annoyance,
holding his pipe to his lips with one hand while the other traced odd, snakelike
symbols into the loose dirt next to him. There was no appreciation in that
touch, only idle movement and he bored of it quickly. "You did ask me once what
making love to a woman was like, as you never intended to experience it."
Aragorn reminded him, most unfairly.
He had, though it would not be the best part of his manners to note that the
both of them had enjoyed a great deal of wine ere he had asked, and night air
tended to carry such question easier than the noontime sun. Aragorn simply sat
and smoked, awaiting his answer with great interest shining in his eyes, coupled
perhaps with amusement.
Men and their curiosities were so much cruder than an Elf could ever be.
"To begin with, he is far too short," Legolas said curtly, jerking too roughly
on the white roots beneath his fingertips. He forced gentleness, taking a deep
breath to continue. "It makes matters very awkward. Also he is covered with,"
Legolas waved a hand over his chest in a gesture of distaste. "Fur."
"Yes, I seem to remember you had that same complaint about me." There was no
mistaking his amusement now. "I believe you asked me once if humans were so
closely related to animals as all that."
"Your fur at least had the decency to end at a proper length. If you are a
cousin to animals, then surely Dwarves are their brothers." If he weren't
careful, this small plant would not live until the next noontime, and Legolas
finally set it aside before it bore any more the brunt of his annoyance. "He is
too short, too hairy, and he speaks often in his own language, words that I do
not know and he will not translate."
"And he is stubborn." Legolas slanted a glance at the Man, his face half
shadowed by his hair. "He often insists we do matters his way or not at all."
"And you allow that, do you?"
"Of course not," Legolas said crisply, and felt a warmth to his face that had
nothing to do with the rising Sun. A Dwarf might spit and protest, curse him in
words that Legolas did not know about the pressure of strong fingers around his
wrists but he would also groan and plead from the touch of a mouth, a tongue,
and might even shout a strangled cry that held no words at all.
Aragorn merely raised an eyebrow and perhaps it was that impudence that gave
Legolas leave to murmur smugly, "Dwarves aren't given to using their mouths for
pleasure but if they can only be persuaded properly, they learn the lesson
well." He dusted his hands off briskly, resigning his gardening for another
time. "Still, they must be persuaded, and often."
"Indeed," Aragorn mused, his tone thoughtful. "If it so terrible as all that,
why do you continue?"
Legolas opened his mouth to speak and found he could not. A cloud passed slowly
over the Sun, hiding its face as though it knew the question at hand. Was there
a way to explain the depth of his emotion, the first blush of curiosity, of
large, hard hands roaming over him, brusquely at first and then with such
tenderness. The first tendrils of something deeper creeping upward from within
him, reaching for the warmth, the glow of light around him. Their lives were
cobbled together in a makeshift joining, beginning with a Fellowship and
becoming...what?
"There are no words," Legolas said, finally, simply. He looked back over the
vast city, a shadow looming high behind them but it was a city of Men. There
would never be greatness from the Elves, not here, not ever again. "And yet, one
day I know that I will lose him and I shall have nothing more than a memory to
carry with me over the sea."
He looked at his friend, his eyes bleak. "Even now, I know he will return in but
a few hours and every moment that he is gone, I regret. It is a pain that never
leaves me." His quiet joy in planting had left him and Legolas tilted his head
back and stared instead at the blueness of the sky. "This is not something I
ever considered I would feel," he admitted, "Perhaps love must be mortal for it
truly to be felt."
"Ah," sighed Aragorn, "Love is never mortal." He curved a hand over his wrist as
though his fingers sought something that was not to be found, holding it against
his chest.
"Perhaps." Legolas looked unhappily at the few pots he had left to ease into
their new home in the ground. Sadness, it would seem, had found him after all.
He heard Aragorn moving, the soft sound of him tapping out his pipe, and then
his friend knelt next to him. He cupped the tender new leaves in gentle hands,
tucking it carefully into the cup of earth that Legolas had already made for it.
There was some message in that, its words unclear, and after a moment Legolas
joined him, transplanting the small bits of green into their new homes. They
would grow or they would wither, but a gentle touch, he thought, eased their
passage.
-finis
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