Warning: Long chapter. As the title indicates, the trials begin!

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The Judicial Hall was steeped in an oppressive silence, the gravity of the impending trial weighing heavily on everyone present. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the room like spectres of the past. The atmosphere was thick with tension; every breath was measured, every movement deliberate.

Aragorn sat at the head of the Hall, his chair elevated to signify his authority as King. His gaze remained fixed on the end of the room, where the accused would soon be brought in. To his right, Legolas sat quietly, his face pale but resolute. The Elven Prince's eyes were distant, his thoughts lost in a tumult Aragorn could only guess at, but his posture conveyed a hard-won resolve. Legolas had spoken little about Orophin or the trial since their conversation in their chambers after returning from Ithilien a week ago. Though he surrounded himself with friends, offering them smiles and laughter, a storm brewed in his eyes, impenetrable to those who knew him best. Aragorn had not wished for Legolas to attend the trials. Still, Faramir had argued that his presence was essential, both as the injured party and because the Council might seek his testimony. To Aragorn's left sat Faramir, his expression calm yet vigilant, ready to offer counsel and support. The Steward's steady presence was a reminder that Aragorn was not alone in bearing the weight of leadership.

The Councillors, seated in rows before the pedestal where Aragorn and Legolas were positioned, exchanged subtle glances, their faces unreadable. Each one knew the significance of the decisions they were about to make. This was not just a trial—it was a moment that would define Gondor and the future of the realm. The fates of the accused, the integrity of Gondor's governing body, and the very concept of justice hung in the balance.

The heavy doors at the far end of the Hall creaked open, the sound echoing through the chamber like a harbinger of doom. The accused were led in, their shackles clinking against the stone floor.

As the accused approached, Aragorn's gaze locked with Lord Mortardur's, his jaw tightening. Mortardur's poise, which might have commanded respect in another context, now only deepened Aragorn's anger. In contrast, Lord Bonirun entered with his gaze lowered, his demeanour exuding shame and fear. The stark difference between the two accused was palpable—Mortardur's defiant posture seemed to challenge the legitimacy of the trial. At the same time, Bonirun's hunched shoulders and hesitant steps revealed a man already crushed by the weight of his actions' consequences. As Aragorn observed the two, his mind raced with the implications of their fates. These were not mere criminals but Councillors—once trusted, now traitorous. The gravity of their betrayal was almost unbearable, yet Aragorn knew he had to remain composed, impartial, and just. This trial was not only about retribution but also about restoring order and reinforcing faith in Gondor's governance.

Legolas, sitting beside Aragorn, observed the scene with quiet intensity. The sight of Mortardur and Bonirun in chains brought no satisfaction, only a deepened sense of loss and betrayal that had haunted him since Orophin's treachery came to light. The fresh wounds of the past week were still raw, and the presence of the accused served only to remind him of all that had been taken from him.

Faramir, ever the steadfast advisor, kept his gaze on the proceedings, prepared to intervene or offer guidance if necessary. He understood the delicate balance Aragorn had to maintain—justice must be served, but it must also be perceived as fair. Legolas's presence added a layer of complexity, as his pain and personal connection to the case could influence the trial's outcome. Faramir knew the Council would scrutinize every decision, weighing them not only for their legality but for their implications on the realm's future.

As the accused were brought before the Council, the Judicial Hall seemed to grow colder, the air heavy with unspoken judgments. The Lords shifted slightly in their seats, their expressions betraying none of their inner thoughts. This trial was more than a legal proceeding; it was a test of Gondor's justice system, Aragorn's rule, and the very fabric of the Kingdom itself.

The trial had officially begun, and the stakes had never been higher.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn began, his voice steady and unwavering.

"Today, we gather to seek justice and ensure that our actions strengthen the bonds of trust between our peoples. Our governing body has been compromised by acts of treason against the Crown of Gondor, and we must restore the people's faith in our leadership. Let the truth be revealed, and let justice be served."

His words hung in the air, a solemn vow marking the beginning of the trials—trials that would shape the future of Gondor and its allies, for better or worse. He nodded to Faramir, who stepped forward to read the charges.

"Lords of the Council," the Steward began. "We are here to bring charges of treason against Lords Mortardur and Bonirun. The allegations include crimes against Gondor's royal family—specifically Prince Consort Legolas Thranduiliôn and the late Princess Míreth Gilrean of the House of Telcontar. These crimes encompass conspiracy, plotting the abduction of Prince Legolas, and the murder of Princess Míreth Gilrean through unlawful, heinous acts, as well as conspiring with an outsider to carry out these crimes."

A murmur ran through the Court as the weight of the charges settled on those present. The severity of the accusations was clear, and the implications were profound.

"These actions threaten to destabilize the ruling house of Gondor and have caused a grievous rift between Gondor and the Elven Realms," Faramir continued, his voice steady, "to which Prince Legolas belongs."

Legolas's hands tightened into fists on his lap as his daughter's name was mentioned. He fought down the bitter bile rising in his throat, focusing on Faramir's strong, steady voice to keep his emotions in check. He knew he must maintain his composure during this trial—he had called for justice, and now it was at hand. But as Faramir's words brought the painful memories rushing back, the guilt, sadness, and sense of helplessness threatened to overwhelm him.

"Throughout this trial, my Lords," Faramir continued, "we will present eyewitness accounts, testimonies, documents, and records that prove these crimes took place. We will reveal the depths of the conspiracy that sought to undermine the peace and security of Gondor."

The tension in the Judicial Hall was palpable, the silence almost deafening as the trial began in earnest.

Aragorn leaned back slightly in his chair, allowing the weight of Faramir's words to settle over the gathered Lords. His gaze shifted across the room, taking in the various expressions of the council members. Some appeared resolute, others conflicted, but all were acutely aware of the gravity of the situation.

"Lords Mortardur and Bonirun," Aragorn addressed the accused, his voice firm and commanding, "You stand before this Council accused of treason against the Crown and the realm of Gondor. You have heard the charges against you—heinous crimes that threaten not only the stability of our Kingdom but also the trust between our people and our allies. What say you in your defence?"

Mortardur stepped forward first, his posture unyielding despite the chains that bound his wrists. He held himself with an air of defiance, his gaze steady as he faced the Council.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice calm and measured, "I have served Gondor faithfully for many years. These accusations are baseless and founded on falsehoods and misunderstandings. I have always been a loyal servant to the Crown of Gondor and the race of Men, committed to preserving the traditions and values that have made us strong." He shifted slightly, his gaze moving from Aragorn to the gathered Councillors. His tone subtly changed, hinting at a more profound argument without explicitly stating it. "My dedication to Gondor and its people—the race of Men—has never wavered. Gondor is a Kingdom built on the strength and wisdom of our ancestors, a realm that has stood for centuries under principles that guide us still." He paused, letting his words settle, his eyes briefly flickering in Legolas's direction before returning to Aragorn. "The accusations against me, involving the most tragic events concerning members of the royal family, must be viewed within the broader context of our Kingdom's future. We must ensure that the interests of Gondor and its people are safeguarded above all else. I ask this Council to consider carefully what is at stake. Gondor's strength lies in its unity and adherence to the values that have guided us for generations. My loyalty to those principles remains steadfast, and I fear these accusations aim to weaken that unity by turning us against each other over incidents that, though tragic, do not reflect my true intentions."

As he finished, Mortardur stood tall, his eyes fixed on Aragorn.

The Councillors exchanged glances, the weight of Mortardur's subtle insinuations not lost on them. Though Mortardur never explicitly mentioned the Elven heritage of Legolas or the Princess, his emphasis on Gondor as a Kingdom of Men and his careful wording left little doubt about what he was implying. His argument was crafted to subtly sow seeds of doubt, suggesting that the real issue was not his actions but rather the changing nature of Gondor's leadership and alliances.

Aragorn's eyes remained locked on Mortardur as the Lord finished his defence. The subtle implications of Mortardur's words were clear to him. Though Aragorn felt a surge of anger at the veiled suggestion that Legolas or his daughter were somehow less worthy of Gondor's protection, he kept his expression neutral. As much as he wanted to respond, he knew that doing so could be seen as influencing the proceedings, something he could not afford to do if the trial were considered fair and just.

Legolas's eyes narrowed as Mortardur spoke, the calm and measured tone of the accused only deepening the Elf's sense of unease. The defiance in Mortardur's posture, despite his chains, struck Legolas as arrogance—a refusal to acknowledge the gravity of his actions. A mixture of anger and sorrow welled up within him for all that had been lost. As Mortardur spoke of his loyalty to Gondor and the race of Men, Legolas's hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles whitening. He struggled to maintain his composure, the desire to stand and refute Mortardur's claims warring with the need to let the trial proceed as it must. The words felt hollow to him, an attempt to mask the betrayal that had cut so deeply. Legolas's heart ached with the knowledge that this man, who spoke of loyalty and tradition, had conspired in an act that had torn his family apart. Mortardur's words were like a knife twisted in the wound, reminding him of his delicate position in a realm that was not entirely his own by blood. Yet, Legolas kept his composure, knowing that any reaction from him could be used against them.

Faramir cleared his throat, breaking the tension that had settled in the room.

"Lord Bonirun," he said, pointing to the other accused. "It's your turn."

Contrary to Mortardur, Bonirun trembled as he took his place to speak. His voice wavered, betraying the fear that had gripped him.

"Your Majesty, I—" He faltered, glancing nervously around the Hall before continuing. "I was...misled. I never intended for things to go as far as they did. I beg for your mercy. I was a fool, blinded by ambition and swayed by promises I should never have trusted. I see now the error of my ways. I implore Your Majesty and this Council to consider my remorse. I am prepared to accept whatever punishment is deemed just, but I ask for leniency. My actions were driven by weakness, not malice, and I deeply regret the pain I have caused."

Bonirun's plea hung in the air, his voice cracking with the weight of his fear. The stark contrast between Mortardur's defiance and Bonirun's submission was evident to all, and the Council members exchanged glances, their expressions contemplative as they weighed the two defences.

Aragorn studied Bonirun carefully, noting the sincerity of his fear. It was clear that Bonirun was overwhelmed by the situation, perhaps more so than by genuine regret. However, Aragorn knew his personal feelings held no weight in this Court. The severity of Bonirun's actions could not be overlooked or excused simply because of a late sense of regret. The trial would continue, and the truth of their intentions and deeds would be laid bare for all to see.

Aragorn took a deep breath, steadying himself for the long, arduous process ahead. The trial was only beginning, and already, the weight of what was to come felt heavy on his shoulders. This was not just a matter of law—it was a matter of justice, of setting right the wrongs that had been committed, and of ensuring that Gondor's future remained secure.

/We shall see,/ Aragorn thought, keeping his thoughts to himself as the trial continued its relentless march forward.

The trial would reveal much, not just about the accused but about Gondor itself. In the end, justice would be served, whatever the cost.

Faramir stepped forward, signalling the next phase of the proceedings.

"We shall begin by presenting the primary evidence against the accused," Faramir announced. "Captain Hathron, Captain of the Dúnedain, step forward."

Captain Hathron moved to the centre of the Hall, to the surprise of the Councillors and the accused alike. His presence exuded authority and competence, a man who had seen much in his years of service. He had a solemn expression as he prepared to present his findings.

"Your Majesty, Lords of the Council," he began, his voice steady, "The investigation into the events surrounding the poisoning of Prince Legolas and the death of Princess Míreth Gilrean led us to uncover a conspiracy far more extensive than initially believed. The servants who administered the poison were traced back to the households of Lords Mortardur and Bonirun. We have gathered testimony from surviving servants who were coerced and bribed into disposing of their peers. Their actions, while carried out under duress, still contributed to the crimes committed against the royal family."

The room remained silent as Hathron detailed the evidence. He recounted the investigation's findings with meticulous detail, leaving no room for doubt about the involvement of Mortardur and Bonirun.

During Hathron's testimonial, Aragorn noticed Legolas's knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrests of his chair. The mention of the poison and the loss of their daughter clearly affected him deeply. Aragorn longed to reach out and offer comfort, but he knew Legolas needed to remain strong in front of the Council.

When Hathron finished, the evidence was undeniable. The Dúnedain's testimony was delivered with a calm precision that left no room for doubt. He detailed the investigation, outlining how the Dúnedain Rangers had uncovered the conspiracy. The Council listened intently, their expressions growing more serious as the depth of the treachery was revealed.

The accused, who had initially maintained their composure, began to show signs of strain as Hathron calmly presented his evidence. Mortardur, who had presented himself with an air of confidence and defiance, now clenched his jaw tightly. His eyes narrowed as the realization dawned that the Rangers had been operating under his very nose, gathering evidence that could seal his fate. At the trial's outset, the calm mask he had worn began to crack, revealing the simmering tension beneath. Bonirun, already a picture of nervousness, seemed to shrink further into himself as Hathron's testimony unfolded. His eyes darted from Hathron to the Council and then to Mortardur, seeking some sign of reassurance that never came. The more Hathron revealed, the more Bonirun's face drained of colour, his earlier pleas for mercy now seeming even more desperate and hollow.

When Hathron finished, the Hall was steeped in a tense silence. The Council members exchanged glances, the weight of the evidence pressing down on them. The accused were left to grapple with the reality that the full extent of their actions was now laid bare before the Court. The Rangers had uncovered everything, and no place was left to hide. In the aftermath of Hathron's testimony, the atmosphere in the Judicial Hall had shifted. The trial, which had begun with the accused lords trying to manipulate the narrative, now felt like a tightening noose, and they were acutely aware of the danger they were in.

Aragorn allowed the silence to linger for some time before he spoke.

"You have heard the evidence presented against Lords Mortardur and Bonirun," he said. "This is but the beginning of what will be a thorough and just trial. We will hear more testimony and examine every piece of evidence before reaching a verdict. But make no mistake—the pursuit of justice will not falter, and the truth will prevail."

The Lords nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of the task before them.

"The Councillors will question the Captain," Faramir announced.

The following questioning was pointed, with the Council pressing him on every aspect of the evidence. By the time Hathron stepped down, the weight of his words had left an indelible mark on all present, and the gravity of the accusations seemed even more undeniable.

Aragorn could feel their realization that this trial was not just about the guilt of the accused but about the future of Gondor and the principles it stood for.

As the proceedings continued, Aragorn found himself reflecting on the challenges that lay ahead. This trial would span days, perhaps even weeks, and every decision made would have lasting repercussions. He knew he had to navigate this path carefully, balancing the need for justice with the demands of leadership. As he looked at Legolas beside him, Aragorn silently vowed that no matter what, he would protect the one he loved, ensuring that this trial would bring them closer to peace and healing.

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Aragorn watched as Legolas sank into his chair after the first day of the trial ended and everyone had adjourned. The Elf sat in silence, his eyes staring ahead, his expression blank. The weight of the day's events seemed to hang heavily on his slender shoulders. Aragorn's worry for his husband deepened, especially after hearing Mortardur's speech. The Lord's insinuations had been sharp, and Aragorn knew how much they must have cut into Legolas, even if the Elf's face betrayed nothing. At times like these, Aragorn hated how Legolas' stoic nature took over. That silent strength, which had served them both well in battles and dark times, now felt like a barrier between them. It was as if Legolas was retreating into himself, holding his pain and turmoil at bay and Aragorn at a distance. Aragorn dared to reach out and cautiously placed a hand on Legolas' hand, his heart heavy with concern.

"Legolas," he said softly, hoping to draw him out of his reverie. "Are you all right?"

Legolas blinked slowly, as if coming out of a trance, and turned to face Aragorn. The storm that brewed behind his calm exterior was visible in the depths of his blue eyes.

"I am here," he replied, his voice steady but emotionless. It was an answer that said nothing and everything all at once.

"You don't have to shoulder this alone, meleth nîn," Aragorn said. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

Legolas looked down at Aragorn's hand, then back into his eyes. His stoic mask cracked for a moment, and a flicker of vulnerability passed over his features.

"I know," he whispered, the words barely audible. "But some wounds are too deep to share, even with those we love."

Aragorn's heart ached at the quiet admission, and he tightened his grip on Legolas' hand.

"Let me help you carry their weight, even a little."

Legolas managed a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"You already do, Estel. More than you know," he said. "I can't ask more of you."

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but Legolas' broken look stopped him. He understood that the Elf didn't need proclamations of love or support right now. He needed space to battle his own demons and the silent support of his husband.

They sat in silence for a while, the day's events hanging between them like a shadow. Aragorn could sense the turmoil within Legolas, even if the Elf tried to hide it. He wished he could take away the pain, the sorrow, and the doubt, but he knew that all he could do was be there, a steady presence amid the storm. Aragorn listened to Legolas' measured, steady breathing. Elves breathed so softly that no one could hear them. But Legolas' breathing was audible, a sign of great distress. Aragorn exerted incredible patience to stop himself from talking or making a sound.

Finally, Legolas sighed softly before he looked at Aragorn.

"I'm hungry," he finally admitted; the simplicity of his words a quiet plea for normalcy.

Aragorn blinked several times, a little bit surprised at the normal tone of Legolas, before he shook himself out of his shock.

"Yes, of course," he said, glancing at the window. "I think it's about dinner time. Do you want to eat alone or with our friends?"

"Our friends?" Legolas asked. "Éomer, his sister, Princess Lothíriel, Prince Alphros, the Hobbits and Gimli left. Gwîneth is no longer here." he looked at Aragorn. "Only our families are here."

"Don't you want their company?" Aragorn asked.

"I didn't say that," Legolas said. "I just don't want anyone to fuss over me. While I understand their concern, I'm not as fragile as everyone thinks. I'm a warrior, first and foremost. And if I—at some point—seemed fragile and broken, it's only because the pain was too much to bear. But that doesn't mean I'm weak. It doesn't mean I can't handle what comes next."

Aragorn nodded, understanding the delicate balance Legolas was trying to maintain.

"No one doubts your strength, Legolas," he said softly. "But even the strongest need to rest and to be cared for, especially by those who love them. Our friends and family—your family—only want to be there for you, just as you would be for them."

Legolas sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at Aragorn's words.

"I know," he admitted. "It's just...difficult to let them see me like this. I don't want them to worry more than they already do."

Aragorn squeezed Legolas' hand gently.

"They worry because they care, not because they think less of you. You're more than a warrior to them, Legolas. You're someone they love."

The Elf was silent for a long moment, contemplating Aragorn's words. He knew the truth in them, but accepting help and support was never easy for him, especially when he was used to being the one who provided it.

"Very well," Legolas finally said, his voice soft but resolute. "We can join them for dinner. But please, Estel, tell them I don't need to be coddled. I want to talk about anything but the trial or what happened."

Aragorn nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Of course, meleth nîn. I'll make sure of it."

In return, Legolas managed a faint smile, though it still didn't reach his eyes.

"Thank you."

As they rose from their seats, Aragorn felt a tiny flicker of relief. It wasn't much, but it was a step forward. The trial would continue, and there would be more difficult days ahead, but for now, they could find a moment of normalcy, surrounded by those who loved them. And perhaps, Aragorn thought, that was enough for now.

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The cold, dark cell where Orophin was confined felt more like a tomb than a prison. The air was damp and heavy, filled with the stench of mildew and rot. A single torch flickered weakly in the corridor outside, casting long, dancing shadows on the rough stone walls. The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, a constant reminder of the isolation and despair that had become his only companions.

Orophin sat hunched on the hard, uneven floor, his back against the unforgiving stone wall. The thin layer of straw beneath him did little to soften the chill that seeped into his bones. His once-proud posture was now slumped, his shoulders weighed down by the reality of his situation. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant drip of water and the occasional scrape of a guard's boot on the stone floor outside. Though the cell wasn't small, it seemed to him as if its walls would crash in on him at any moment. The iron bars of the door loomed like the teeth of a beast, separating him from any hope of escape. There was no window, no light from the outside world to offer a sense of time or place. It was as if the cell existed outside reality, where time stood still, and the future was as bleak as the shadows surrounding him.

The door suddenly opened, and a luminous light merged into the dark cell as Galadriel, followed by Celeborn, entered.

'My Lord and Lady,' Orophin said, struggling to stand due to the chains on his limbs and the wound on his leg. 'How kind of you to visit me.'

Galadriel looked at him with eyes full of empathy and sadness.

'Orophin, my dear child,' she said softly, her voice laced with unspoken sorrow. 'The path you have taken has led you to a dark place. Though your light has faded, your choices now still matter.'

'The light within me died long ago, Lady Galadriel,' he replied, flat and emotionless, as he sat back down. 'The seed of darkness was planted in my soul the moment my heart desired Legolas. Over the years, the darkness grew until there was nothing left to save, and you know it.'

Celeborn stepped forward, his tone firm yet fatherly.

'You carry the burden of your actions, Orophin. We do not deny the pain you have caused or the darkness that has taken hold of you. But even in the absence of your light, you can still choose to do what is right.'

'Right?' Orophin scoffed bitterly. 'What is right, Lord Celeborn? Was it right when Haldir died? Or Rûmil? Was it right when an Elven Prince, my brother's lover, married a human mere months after Haldir's death?'

Celeborn's expression softened, though his voice remained steady.

'Your brother Haldir died a hero, Orophin. His memory will live on in the history of Arda. As for Legolas' marriage to Aragorn, it was not meant to dishonour Haldir's memory. It was a necessity to save Legolas. We all mourned Haldir's passing deeply, but life continues. Love does not diminish the respect we held for him.'

Orophin's face twisted with bitterness as he listened. His eyes, once bright with the fire of life, were now dull, reflecting the emptiness that had taken hold of him. The chains rattled as he shifted, trying to find comfort on the cold, hard floor.

'You speak of love and memory as if they can erase the pain of loss,' Orophin replied, his voice low and resentful. 'But they cannot. Haldir was my brother, and I would have followed him into death if I could have. Instead, I was left to watch as the world moved on, as others moved on as if he were nothing but a fading memory.'

Celeborn's gaze grew more intense, and a flicker of anger flared in his eyes. 'Haldir's memory lived among us until you snuffed it out with your own hands,' he retorted.

Galadriel gently touched Celeborn's shoulder before he could say more. She stepped closer to Orophin. Once a beacon of hope, her presence now felt like a quiet acceptance of what could not be undone. She reached out, resting her hand on Orophin's shoulder.

'Orophin,' she said softly, her voice filled with profound sadness, 'your grief has led you down a path that has taken much from you—your light, your honour, your peace. However, you can still make choices that bring meaning to what remains. Your brothers would not have wanted you to descend into this darkness.'

Orophin looked at her with scorn.

'What remains?' he snorted. 'Can you tell me, my Lady, what remains for me? My brothers will not return. The light I lost will never return.' He extended his wounded leg, the scars still raw and unhealed. 'Look at this, my Lady. This one-week wound hasn't healed yet. I'm no longer an Elf. My light is gone, and I know in my bones that it will never return.'

Galadriel's eyes reflected the pain of his words. She knew the truth he spoke—the light within him had faded beyond return. Yet her compassion remained.

'I cannot restore what is lost, Orophin. But I can offer you a chance to choose how your story ends. You are not beyond hope, but the path forward is yours to decide.'

With a final, sorrowful look, Galadriel and Celeborn turned to leave the cell. As the door closed behind them, Orophin was left alone once more. The darkness, though still oppressive, felt different now. It was no longer just the darkness of his cell but the darkness of his choices—and the few that still lay ahead.

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Legolas rested his head on Aragorn's shoulder as they lay on the bed, playing idly with the laces of Aragorn's nightshirt. A soothing silence engulfed them, interrupted only by the sound of the fire crackling and Aragorn's steady breathing.

Aragorn fought the urge to smile as the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, watching his husband's almost childlike behaviour. It was rare to see the Elven warrior like this—so carefree and innocent, as if the world's weight had momentarily lifted from his shoulders. In these moments, Legolas reminded Aragorn of a child—unburdened, playful, and pure. Aragorn marvelled at how his husband could embody such contrasting qualities: the fierce warrior who could face down armies and the tender, almost guileless being who found comfort in simple gestures. These moments were a treasure to Aragorn, a glimpse into the depths of Legolas's soul that few ever saw. His heart swelled with love for the blond Elf, and he silently vowed to protect this side of him, to keep it safe from the world's harshness. And the way the Elf subtly showed his love and care!

It was enough to turn Aragorn's head around.

Since his injury at Orophin's hands, Legolas had been hovering around him, fussing over him while trying to appear unobvious. Legolas had always been attentive, but his care had taken on a new, almost tender quality since the injury, quietly ensuring Aragorn's comfort without making it obvious. Aragorn had noticed the little things—how Legolas casually placed an extra pillow behind his back when they sat or how his hand would linger just a bit longer when he passed something to Aragorn, fingers brushing as if to offer comfort through that brief touch, rearranging his bedding when he thought Aragorn wasn't looking or subtly positioning himself so Aragorn could lean on him during their evening talks. The Elf never said anything, but his actions spoke volumes, and Aragorn had felt every bit of that silent affection. Now, as Legolas played with the laces of his nightshirt, Aragorn felt a deep gratitude. Despite his shy gestures, his husband's love was steady and constant, woven into the fabric of their lives in delicate, understated ways. It made Aragorn even more determined never to let go of him, no matter what happened.

"Aragorn," Legolas's soft voice broke through the quiet, drawing Aragorn out of his thoughts.

"Yes, Legolas?"

Legolas hesitated for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. Then, he looked up at Aragorn, his expression curious and contemplative.

"I want to ask you something. How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Aragorn asked.

"I've always seen you as Strider, the Ranger," Legolas said thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. "Wild, free, adventurous but not reckless, humbled and rugged, with a strength that comes from the untamed lands rather than the polished halls of royalty. But today, you were regal, elegant, and sophisticated, with the aura of true royalty who had never known the hardships of living in the wild. You've shown such moments during our time together, but only in your bearing. Today was different. It was as if you were part of that setting. Whoever saw you this morning would never think of you as a Ranger. How could you have adapted so quickly to the life of luxury?"

Aragorn blinked, slightly taken aback by the depth of the question, before he smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Legolas's face, marvelling at how such a question had arisen from the seemingly light-hearted moment they had been sharing.

"It wasn't as quick or easy as it might seem," he replied. "Adar raised me in Rivendell, where I learned the ways of diplomacy, the subtleties of leadership, and how to conduct myself in a courtly setting. He prepared me not just for battle but for the complexities of ruling. Even as a Ranger, those lessons stayed with me."

Legolas nodded slowly, his admiration clear in his gaze.

"It's true that Lord Elrond raised you to be a King in every sense, not just in title but in bearing. Still, your ability to transition between the rugged Ranger and the refined King is remarkable."

Aragorn's smile widened as he looked into Legolas's eyes.

"You say that, yet you do the same, Legolas. You can easily transform from the fierce Elven warrior on the battlefield to the elegant Elven prince."

Legolas chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"That's different. I was raised in both worlds since childhood—trained to be a warrior by my father and taught the ways of the Court as a diplomat by Aredhel. It was expected of me from the beginning. But you...Lord Elrond may have taught you etiquette and courtly manners, but I doubt it was similar to the Court of Men. You had to find your place among them, adjusting to their customs and balancing the wisdom of Elves with the expectations of Gondor."

Aragorn's expression softened as he considered Legolas's words.

"I think that my experience as a Ranger gave me an understanding of people—their fears, their hopes, and their strengths. That's something that applies whether you're in the wilds or a grand hall. And maybe that's what made it easier to adapt."

"During the war, I saw how you dealt with King Théoden, the people of Rohan, and even the Steward of Gondor," Legolas continued, his voice thoughtful. "You understood their struggles, their doubts, and their needs, and you spoke to them as someone who had lived among them, not a stranger to them. Perhaps that is why you seem so natural in the role of a King—you can walk among the people and earn their trust."

"Living as a Ranger allowed me to see the world from a different perspective and to understand the burdens and fears of those who look to a leader for guidance. It's that understanding that I try to bring to my role as King."

Legolas returned his smile, his expression softening.

"And you do it well, Estel. You carry the Crown's weight gracefully, yet you never lose the essence of who you are. That is a rare gift."

Aragorn leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to Legolas's forehead.

"And I am grateful every day that you see that in me, Legolas. You remind me of who I am, no matter what titles I bear."

Legolas closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss and feeling the warmth of Aragorn's love surrounding him.

"So do you," he whispered, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

They remained close, wrapped in each other's warmth, as the fire crackled softly beside them until they were lulled to sleep in each other's arms.

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To Be Continued...

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Let me know what you think...
Comments motivate me to write more ^^