Chapter Text
There were many things Aragorn considered wrong with his life after he graduated. For starters, his friends seemed to all but grow up rather quickly the second they exited the doors of the university and proceeded to move on with their lives. No longer were they the foolish people of old, except for maybe Merry and Pippin, but they were far more mature now than they had been before. Of course, the childish sides were still there in his friends, but it seemed like those were sides now that were specifically reserved for celebrations or meet-ups after not having seen each other for a while. Another thing Aragorn found wrong in his life was that whenever he went out and looked at the people on the streets talking with someone, he would feel a strange longing in his heart that he would always smother as quickly as it came. He had friends, there was no need for him to feel alone, but he did, rather predictably, according to his beloved sister Arwen who insisted that what he was missing was love. Aragorn always visibly cringed at the word, preferring to live his life without having any interest in anyone romantically.
Those were just the two main things wrong with Aragorn’s life, or at least his opinions on what was wrong with his life, although in full honesty, his life was seemingly perfect. He was a rather famous author under the pseudonym of Strider and had a rather large fan base for his world popular book known as The March to War. It was a book he had come up with when he had been ten and he had only just finished writing it and editing it to be a more mature story. It had rather graphic depictions of the violence in war, but it held a hidden meaning of the evils of the world and how only those who are pure at heart or those who had others to back them up could overcome such bitter challenges, even in the face of death. It was a book based on friendship and one Aragorn had thought wasn’t too well written, but considering that it had sold over a billion copies and had gartered enough popularity for people to decide to make a movie out of it, Aragorn thought slightly different.
But here sat the mighty writer, looking nothing like the great man his readers presumed he was as he sat at a table in Starbucks all alone. For anyone who knew that Aragorn was Strider, they would overlook him for his presence was nothing to behold. With his mussed dark locks of brown with tips that brushed just a bit past his shoulder and weary grey eyes along with tan skin and a tired look upon his face, no one would have guessed he was Strider. No, he just looked like a pitiful man who was in desperate need of rest.
Rubbing his chin, fingers brushing against the stubble of a beard gracing his face, Aragorn released a sigh as he looked through his newest draft for a chapter of a story he had been working on and immediately disliking it. He had lost his muse, his drive for writing. His muse had always been his school life because something out there wanted to make his life a living hell while he was in school, but apparently now that his hardships had proved to bring something successful around, whoever had thought screwing with him was fun had given up and stripped him of his muse. Tapping the down arrow on his computer insistently, Aragorn sighed before closing the window after saving the draft despite his complete hate for it. He had published three other books after The March to War. One had been of an epilogue to it and the death of the main character, the other of a prequel to the main characters life and the third had been a completely different story line that had been written in the eyes of a pup and told of the difficult life of his seven year old master.
The last book had been a true story of a small boy he had seen resting in an alley, though now he attended a school and had a home after receiving help from Aragorn in exchange for his life story. It had been a rather sad story to write, though Aragorn had thoroughly enjoyed it because it showed the truth of the world that people tended to blatantly ignore in favor of trying to continue on with a life they had built for themselves. Thirty percent of the money made from the sales of the book was given to an orphanage to buy new things for the children; twenty percent went to pay for the seven year old boy’s education and for his dog’s check-ups and shots at the vet. The remaining fifty percent was as usual for Aragorn and his editor and the publishing company. The book had as good of sales as The March to War, something he found himself rather pleased about because if people had ignored such a story as they did many things, Aragorn would have felt his hope dwindle for humanity.
Lifting his cup of coffee to his lips, he pressed his parted lips to the small plastic opening before letting the liquid of the coffee into his mouth which he promptly then spit out as he felt the coldness against his tongue. Picking up a napkin, Aragorn wiped his mouth as if he had just drank poison, wearing a scowl as he stared at his cup of coffee in disdain. Had he been so lost in his work that it had given enough of time for his drink to cool from the scalding temperature it had been formerly? Releasing a sigh, Aragorn stood, closing his laptop and placing it in his bag as he slung his bag over his shoulder and slipped out of the coffee shop, tossing his coffee out on the way.
Outside, the November air was harsh and biting and Aragorn winced slightly at the biting cold before he continued to trudge onwards. His fingers slipped into his bag and brushed over his laptop before pressing against a pile of papers and he pulled them out along with some tape and slowly moved along, ripping off a piece of tape and placing it on the paper before pressing it to a pole. He repeated this process on various places, making sure to evenly spread out the flyers before he finally came to halt as he pressed another flyer to a brick wall in the city, the sensation of somebody following him nagging at the back of his mind, but when he turned, there was no one there. The only people outside were rushing to get to places as fast as possible so that they may not have to bear the cold any longer.
“You’re becoming paranoid, Aragorn… Pull it together,” Aragorn muttered to himself as he continued on his way, but the feeling was back and he trained his senses on his surroundings in a weak attempt to see if it was his mind playing tricks on him or if it was real and someone was tailing him. Making his steps deliberately slower, Aragorn strolled leisurely against the biting wind and listened and sure enough, he could faintly, very faintly, hear the soft brush of a person’s footsteps behind him at the same pace he was going, but when he glanced back discreetly, there was no one there, just a male looking at the flyer he had hung up and he shook his head a bit to rid himself of his paranoid thoughts before continuing on his way at a normal pace.
After having put the last of the flyers up, Aragorn headed back to his penthouse with a soft sigh slipping past his lips once more as he entered the building with a small inclination of his head to the doorman who held the door open for him and pressed the button for the elevator. No one would have guessed that a man that looked like Aragorn would live in such an expensive place. He entered the elevator, bid the doorman a good day and watched the metal doors slide closed before the elevator began its way up to the highest floor.
The day had dragged on for far too long and it was only eleven in the morning. The brunette could hardly believe this and he rubbed his temples in annoyance. He still had to finish his chapter and had to turn it into his editor soon for revising. It was a nuisance and his editor practically approved of everything. He considered giving his editor a bit of a break. He hadn’t even been focusing on Aragorn’s work anymore. His editor seemed only seemed to focus on his wife who he had just recently married. Aragorn was happy for the two, but as someone who didn’t believe in love, his happiness could only stretch so far for the two. He just prayed that love would work out for the two of them.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, into his penthouse and he looked around his home. It was large, a fire burning gently in the corner of the room. The wooden floors were polished and there was a single armchair in front of the fire place, the rest of the room being completely bare. The walls were without decoration, a simple white paint covering the walls. With soft footsteps, Aragorn made his way into his home, setting his bag down against the wall and proceeding to remove his shoes before heading up the stairs that were situated on the far side of the room, next to the balcony. Walking up the winding staircase, he made it to the top and headed into his room with a soft breath of relief as he entered his safe haven and shut the door. Despite it being a penthouse, he made sure there was only one room so that he knew always that no one would be upstairs with him if they stayed over.
He had just lain down on his bed when he heard a voice—a voice that most certainly wasn’t his own and it was coming from downstairs.
“Excuse me? Is anyone in here?” the voice called and the brunette shot out of his bed, grabbing a sword that he kept in his room for decoration, although it could still be used as a lethal weapon. Moving out of his room, he slowly made his way down the stairs, peering over the railing to see the back of what appeared to be a woman, if the long, silvery blonde locks were anything to go by. He could have sworn the voice had been a tad too low to be that of a woman. Moving down the stairs, Aragorn narrowed his eyes. What if this was a distraction?
“Who are you? Who let you up here?”
The blonde whirled around in shock and Aragorn felt his breath catch in his throat. The person before him was positively gorgeous. Blonde hair that cascaded down his back, resting at just the middle of it with two thin braids on the side, pointed ears that were abnormal in the sights of most people, but they seemed to add more to the person’s beauty, crystalline blue eyes that sparkled in the light from the fireplace, no other light being on, and pale skin that seemed to glow in the gentle light from the fire. Aragorn found his mouth dry and he probably looked like a fish out of water as the male looked at him in absolute fright before a white hand lifted up a pile of papers that Aragorn soon realized were his flyers. “You said you were looking for an artist,” the male stated and Aragorn blinked slowly, his mouth closing.
“I did…but I just put those up,” Aragorn said as he moved down the final steps and moved closer to the male who took a small step back and it was only then that Aragorn noticed that the male’s eyes were trained on his sword. Blinking, Aragorn found a grin appearing and he motioned for the male to wait before running upstairs and putting the blade away. Heading back downstairs, Aragorn half feared the male would be gone, but no, the blonde was still there, standing in the same spot he had left him, but his eyes were casting about the room. “What’s your name?” He asked upon entering the room once more. The blonde’s gaze snapped back to him and he felt like he was melting under the warm gaze of those pristine blue orbs that seemed to see straight through him.
“My name’s Legolas,” the male responded and Aragorn reveled in the rich, soft tone the male used. It sounded like a most precious melody from the angels of above. “I’m an artist, though I’m not very well known, but I would like to dry to draw for you, if you’ll have me,” Legolas said with a small inclination of his head in respect. Aragorn’s mind was reeling. The last words that the male had spoken had reverted to a completely different context in Aragorn’s mind and he swallowed past the lump in his throat to speak.
“Show me some of your work first and then we shall see.” Aragorn walked over to his arm chair and sat down the male rummaged through his bag that Aragorn hadn’t realized the male had been carrying with him, though the brunette remained silent, watching the blonde in a calculating manner once he had enough time to actually get past the beauty of the male and actually look at the blue eyed angel. I shocked him, to say the least, to see that the male’s clothes were worn down, looking like they wouldn’t be able to cling to the male’s lithe frame one more day. The blonde’s shoes were these worn down brown boots, with practically no sole for the shoes any longer. It had been worn down and Aragorn wondered briefly if this male lived alright. He had heard of artists that tried to blend in with common folk or tried to stand out amongst them, but this male could blend in with the homeless and stick out amongst the common and the rich. The faded and torn dark green cloak the male wore seemed to be the only protection the blonde had against the biting cold of the bitter November air as the time neared winter. November had only started two days ago and already it felt like it was January.
“Here you go.”
Aragorn had found himself so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized that the male had stopped looking through his torn and beat down backpack and retrieved a sketchbook that seemed to be the only new thing the male owned, other than his warm youthful appearance. Aragorn silently took the sketchbook from the male, noticing how the blonde seemed to handle it with great care and he decided to treat it as such as well and he placed it in his lap and began to gently go through the pages, his eyes widening as he looked at the pictures. They were drawings of some of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, ranging from the sunlight gleaming through the treetops to the sparkling of the moon in the reflection of a lake. Every couple or so drawings, though, Aragorn would find a picture of a man, sitting in the window seat at Starbucks with a laptop and a cup of coffee and his eyes widened as he saw it was himself. His gaze flicked to where the blonde stood and he wondered how to phrase his next sentence, but the blonde seemed to have caught on faster than he expected because he spoke.
“You’re always there at that Starbucks. I found you looking my way once, but you weren’t looking at me, but at the outdoors with a longing in your eyes. It captivated me and I had to draw it and then it just became a habit that every time I saw you, I would draw how you looked and there would always be a different expression on your face…” Legolas trailed off and Aragorn blinked as he saw the male shift in his spot slightly uncomfortably and he turned the page and couldn’t help but to stare at the picture as he noticed the female sitting across from him and that there were certain spots on the page where the paper sunk in slightly and crumpled a bit as if water had been splashed onto it and dried. “Please don’t think lower of me…” he heard Legolas whisper and his head jerked up to fix the blonde with a stony stare.
“Are you some sort of stalker?” Aragorn hissed and his expression softened a bit when he saw the bewildered expression that crossed the blonde’s face as he looked at Aragorn.
“No! No, I would never do that sort of thing—I wouldn’t. It’s just,” Legolas paused for a bit and stepped closer to Aragorn and Aragorn felt himself tense, but when Legolas didn’t touch him as he reached out, he realized the male was only taking back his sketchbook, gently moving it with slender fingers before backing away and placing it gently in his bag, “you fascinated me, is all,” Legolas finished with a small sigh as he picked up his bag. “Well, I’ll take my leave. I assume you won’t want to work with someone who you assume to be a stalker. I apologize for taking up your time,” Legolas mumbled as he gave a small bow which Aragorn found slightly odd for the male to be doing in this day and age, but didn’t question it. Watching the male make his way back to the elevator, Aragorn slowly stood from his seat.
“What would you like in payment for your work?” Aragorn asked and he watched as the blonde froze in spot, slowly turning around and looking at Aragorn. “I have no immediate cash on me if you want your pay immediately, but I can go withdraw some from the bank if y—”
“A place to stay,” Legolas mumbled and Aragorn blinked in surprise and he found himself wanting to comfort the male before him who seemed so small now against the white of the walls. “I’m sorry, I should go.” He turned away once more and Aragorn blinked in surprise and before he could stop himself he had turned away, heading to his stairs.
“Come with me and get some rest. I hope you don’t mind sharing a bed for the night,” Aragorn said and he glanced at Legolas out of the corner of his eye and he felt a foreign sense of happiness envelope him as he saw Legolas smile and remove his shoes, placing them by the elevator before walking up to the brunette hesitantly, but with a grace like no other and Aragorn paused to let the blonde catch up.
“You’re letting me stay?”
“Only on two conditions, besides the obvious fact that you’ll be working with me, which you must agree to; one, you have to let me see all of your belongings so that I may rest assured that you’re not dangerous,” he watched Legolas nod his head, “and two, you have to let me buy you some new clothes because those don’t look like they’ll last much longer.” The ashamed look that crossed the male’s face had not been what Aragorn was expecting, but he reached his hand out, brushing a stray long of blonde out of the male’s face and marveling at how soft the porcelain skin felt against his fingertips. “There is no shame in the way you have lived your life. The fact that you’ve survived is proof enough hat you are stronger than most and your clothe do not matter as much as your heart, but I would like to see some new clothe on you because I fear you’ll fall ill in this weather with what you are wearing.” Aragorn watched as the corners of Legolas’s mouth curled upwards in a small smile and Aragorn returned it with one of his own before beginning to walk up the stairs once more before pausing. “You’re not a criminal, are you?”
“No!” Legolas once more had that completely bewildered look on his face, eyes wide in surprise and a slightly appalled expression on his face and Aragorn couldn’t blame him for it, but he had to make sure.
“Good. I just wanted to make sure. Now, come along. Let’s get you into a bath and then I’ll find you some clothes to borrow, okay?” Aragorn continued to walk, casting a glance back to see that Legolas had given him a nod of confirmation before following. “My name’s Aragorn. It’s a pleasure to be working and living with you, Legolas.”