Title: "Love Is A Garden" 1/WIP
Chapter One: "You Must Be Jesting!"
Author: CharlieMC camelotslash-1 at qwest.net
Fandom: "LOTR"
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Status: WIP
Date: September 28, 2004
Archive: Sure, contact me first, please [template must stay with fic]
Category: Mpreg (slash), AR (alternate reality)
Disclaimer: Don't own them and mean no infringement or disrespect. No money made, it's merely for fun. (I'm currently in love with Tolkien's work and have no intention of claiming a single dotted i or crossed t as my own...)
Summary: Aragorn is ill (and afraid) -- and shares his distress with a friend...
Warnings: Mpreg. References to slashy relationships. If you're not into male/male pairings, this wouldn't be a fic you'd want to read. If you dislike mpreg, this will bug big time!
Beta: Thanks as always to Mistress Marilyn for her wonderful help. Any mistakes are my own, as she's always guarding my fic to avoid putting any mistakes off on readers.
About AR: Actually, I'd assume all slash would be alternate reality. (grin) But clearly mpregs fall in that category! (smile)
Research: I'm starting my third version of this fic. Remind me never to skimp on my research again! (I'm normally all over it, as most of my readers know.) My original timeline worked (via Tolkien and movie canon), but my second version did not! Oops...

===

He was quickly accustomed to his state, being adaptable by nature. It was merely another facet of his long -- and often difficult -- life. He was ill -- it was a fact and he accepted it.

And though he felt he might have good reason to suspect his was a mortal illness, he didn't bother sharing it with his companions. They were already troubled by their plight, he reasoned, so why trouble them further? He was the one they looked to for leadership -- even with the mighty Gandalf among their number...

The bouts of nausea weren't constant, which was fortunate. He found he could suppress them to some degree by chewing on something salty, just as his mouth started to water -- the warning signal that he might soon vomit.

The moments of dizziness were harder to deal with, yet he endured. He was used to enduring -- further, he was used to enduring without complaint. After all, before being known to this company as Aragorn, he was the Ranger Strider, who had spent much of his life roaming the lands in fair weather and foul...

So he was surprised when Boromir approached him one evening, just as he'd suggested they settle in for the night.

"I know you won't tell the others," the man said, his voice a near whisper, "but surely you'll tell me."

"Tell you what?" he asked, glancing sideways at Boromir as he spread his blankets on a smooth patch of ground.

"All seem unaware that you're sick, my friend. It surprises me they don't realize it -- as I do."

"It's nothing," he replied too quickly. He felt suddenly hot and weak; he sat down hard in the midst of his blankets and let his head droop forward.

Boromir knelt beside him and put a warm hand on his shoulder. "I'm no fool," he said, "I can tell when a man is ill."

Aragorn uttered a short, bitter laugh. "Perhaps that's it. The others are not men, as we are, so they don't see it. And it's best that they don't," he added, caution in his tone.

"You'll never be able to continue this quest. Not unless you rest."

"There's no time for it. This hard winter continues to lick our heels as it is. It seems that even the seasons oppose us some days," he added, voice weary.

"Let me help, then. Let me take as much burden as I can. The others need not know." Boromir shifted to sit beside him, placing a comforting arm around his shoulders.

Neither man saw nor heard Legolas' approach -- for how could they? The elf walked across the ground as if drifting above it; his tread was gentle and smooth -- not a leaf stirred, nor twig cracked. He stood at a distance and watched, his features clouded.

Aragorn leaned his head down on Boromir's shoulder. "I cannot refuse you. These past several weeks have been a trial." His words were too soft for any but Boromir to hear.

Legolas cocked his head, his expression grave; an unaccustomed rush of blood flushed his pale face as he stood observing the two men.

Time sauntered along as Aragorn rested against Boromir. In the distance the sun was beginning to set, crimson edges bleeding on top of the jagged mountain. Finally the sun finished descending; all birdsong had long since died while the woodland creatures who prowled the night began their soft rambling through the brush.

"It's time to sup," Boromir said, his voice gentle. "And you could use a good, hot meal," he added. "I smell the fire -- and food." There was forced cheerfulness in the man's voice.

Aragorn lifted his head and glanced into Boromir's eyes. "I can't. It comes on me most oft in the morning, but sometimes it plagues me at any hour. I feel too sick just now to eat. But you go," he urged. "Keep their minds off me, if you can. You spin a good tale," he added, managing a smile.

Boromir gave Aragorn one quick hug before rising. "I'll tell them you're eating alone tonight. That you have many things to think over -- plans to make. Don't worry, they'll believe me."

Legolas stepped back into the gathering shadows; Boromir passed by him without notice. When the man was gone, he glided forward, stopping only when he'd reached Aragorn's side.

"Shall I bring you food?" he asked softly.

Aragorn started. "I didn't hear you," he said, gathering himself and rising. "You're always so quiet," he added, voice rueful. He smiled at Legolas and Legolas returned his smile.

"You seem so distant these days," Legolas said, staring into Aragorn's face. "It wasn't so when we started out on this journey."

He searched Legolas' eyes -- his smile had evaporated. "I don't mean to hurt you," he said.

Legolas bent his head forward. "Hurt me? You could never hurt me," he said, tone soft yet adamant. "There's too much between us," he added.

"There's no time for it."

"It takes no time for me to love you," Legolas replied. He lifted his hand and extended it, but on seeing Aragorn's wary expression, let it drop to his side.

"We must focus our thoughts and efforts on this quest," Aragorn said. "We cannot afford to be distracted."

"Distracted? You think to be close to me is a distraction?" His voice rose, gently chiding; Legolas' fair face was taut with emotion.

Aragorn turned away, lips pressed tight. They stood close, yet not touching; the sounds of the night grew louder around them.

"Go eat," Aragorn said, his tone dismissive. "We'll talk another time."

"You think to order me away from you? Perhaps you prefer the arms of Boromir these days," Legolas replied hotly, turning on his heel and slipping quickly away.

Aragorn sighed and sat down again. Tears trembled at the edge of his eyes and spilled over, streaking through the dust on his cheeks. He was silently racked by sobs as he sat alone in the gathering darkness.

===

It was full dark when Boromir returned to his side. Aragorn sat with his shoulders humped over, feeling old and used up. There was a pain in his midsection; he kneaded his side with gentle fingers, seeking to alleviate the small cramp.

"You look awful, my friend," Boromir said, sitting beside him. He extended a slab of bread, spread thick with jam. "We'll not see preserves again for some time, I suspect," he commented, pressing the food into Aragorn's hand. "Enjoy it while you may."

Aragorn shot him a grateful look as he began to eat. "Tastes good," he said, spirits rising. "I feel a new man."

Boromir reached into the confines of his cloak and withdrew a flask. "In that case, let's make you not only a new man, but a better one! A drink of this will grow hair on your chest."

Aragorn started to take the bottle, but thought better of it. "I have the second watch," he said, gesturing it away. "I'd best keep my wits -- what little wits I have, that is. Besides, I've little enough on my stomach." The two men grinned at each other as Boromir replaced the flask in his pocket. The night was clear and bright; the moon tipped toward full in a sky brimming with stars. It was light enough to see one another's expressions without the glow of a fire.

"I'll take your watch," Boromir offered.

"But don't you have the first watch?"

"Well, I'm well-rested and have a full belly. I, too, avoided drink -- beyond one mug of heather beer, so my head is quite clear. I find sleep has been a kind mistress of late, pushing aside all but the sweetest dreams. I am wide awake -- and happy enough to stay that way."

Aragorn studied him. "You're certain? I hate to put a burden on you."

"It's no burden," Boromir assured him. "And if you don't get more rest, you'll surely falter. What good would you be if you fell into exhaustion?" he added.

"I see how you try to manipulate me, friend," Aragorn replied, smiling. "But I'm weary enough to let you, it seems."

"Why did you not sleep while the rest of us ate and talked round the fire? Surely you could have used that time better than to sit here, brooding."

"I was not brooding."

"Don't put your back up with me!" Boromir exclaimed, patting Aragorn's shoulder. "I know well enough when a man's been brooding."

"I can't help but wonder at this illness of mine. On some days I'm fine as ever I've been. On others I can barely manage to put one foot in front of the other, much less move with a speedy tread. One moment my appetite is large and healthy and I eat as much -- or more -- than any of us. The next I am caught by sickness and can't bear the sight or smell of food. I retch until my belly aches with it, even though I've nothing to retch up. And sleep oft comes hard, I find."

Boromir stroked his beard, thoughtful. "There are many illnesses that can bring a man low. But I see by your face that you worry this is serious, do you not?"

"I admit I've wondered if it might be mortal."

"But why?" Boromir exclaimed, plainly distressed. "You're a strong man, even now!"

"I feel some sense of foreboding. I suppose it's ridiculous..." Aragorn trailed off. He couldn't find the right words to express his fears.

"Perhaps we should ask Gandalf. He's the closest thing we have to a healer," Boromir said, gazing up at the sky.

Aragorn chuckled. "You don't know that I'm a healer, do you?" he asked.

Boromir's head twisted quickly to face him -- the surprised expression answered Aragorn's question better than words. "Even so," he said, musing, "they say no healer should care for himself."

They were quiet for a moment, allowing the soft sounds of the forest to wrap around them.

"Well," Boromir asked, "what do you think of your symptoms, then?"

They sat together once again, in companionable silence as Aragorn considered. "I think you're right," he finally replied, "I'm too grim about it. There's no reason it can't be a passing thing. And some days I think myself mad to believe I'm ill at all! Why, some days I feel as happy as can be -- light as a feather on the breeze. Able to walk the day away with nary a care."

"These moods of yours seem to change like night and day," Boromir remarked, grinning.

They both chuckled. "I suppose that's true, now that you mention it. I do seem to go from high spirits to gloom, without a pause between."

"And?"

"And what?" Aragorn asked, puzzled by the question.

"So how many other things have you noticed? Let me count them off thus far." Boromir lifted one gloved hand, fingers spread. With his second hand he began to tick off each symptom as he spoke.

"Your moods are oddly changeable. You sicken many a morning -- and sometimes during other hours of the day. This nausea can bring you to retching -- even when you've nothing to retch up. You're weary, but on many a night sleep eludes you. Some days you feel strong and able -- while other days you feel weak and poorly. Does that cover it?"

"I've had a small pain today in my stomach," Aragorn added. "It seems like a cramp of the bowel -- yet different in some way. And speaking of my bowel, I'm not as healthy there as once I was."

They shot each other rueful glances -- it was not well to have such difficulties. Taking a good squat was a happy part of a man's day, after all.

"Oh! And I must make water more oft than usual, it seems. A strange thing..."

"And is there an unusual color when you piss?" Boromir asked crudely, voice sharp.

"No, no. I take water whenever I can -- perhaps more frequently than in the past. But the color of my stream is pale -- nor is it cloudy. And there's no sign of blood."

Boromir sighed. "How many times does our piss signal illness?" he said, not really asking a question. He was clearly relieved by Aragorn's words.

"Yes, it's true enough. But as you can see this brings no reason for concern, excepting that I am more frequent than usual to relieve myself."

"So, what do you make of it, Healer?" Boromir asked, smiling.

Aragorn laughed softly. "If I were a woman who had at some point lost her maidenhood, I'd swear I was with child. All these things would seem to point to it."

Boromir, too, laughed. "Well, then I suppose you'd try to put some blame at my door?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No. We didn't start warming each other's bedrolls 'til after I'd started to feel ill."

"I'm relieved to hear it," Boromir said, teasing. "I've noticed more than once how quick you are to put that hand of yours to the pommel of your sword," he added. "I think I'd find myself pressed into a wedded bliss unlike any I'd ever imagined."

Aragorn barked laughter. "Should I put my sword to your neck that we become handfast?" he asked, jesting. "A child as special as this should be born in wedlock. Wouldn't you say?" He cupped his hand over his belly and grinned into Boromir's dancing eyes.

"If you could indeed give birth, then I suspect there would be many knocking upon your door. Well, if you had a door to be knocked on, that is," he added, still grinning.

"You joke, but it's not unknown that some males may bear a child," Aragorn said, sobering. "I've seen it myself when I was dwelling with the elves."

Boromir's grin faded and his eyebrows rose. "You must be jesting! Now I truly wonder if you think me daft. Do you believe I'd find such a thing credulous?"

"No, in truth. I've seen it, I tell you. It was a strange sight when first I laid my eyes on it, I admit, but after a time it seemed common enough."

"But I've most certainly never seen the like. Surely not while visiting Rivendell."

"Male elves who are big with belly aren't likely to come parading themselves around strangers, Boromir. For that matter, do you recall seeing any female elves who were pregnant?"

"Your point is well made. In fact, I've oft wondered that with their long lives they don't have dozens of elflings covering hill and glen!"

"They do seem to marshal the begetting of babes, I suppose. An example I'd mention would be that Elrond has but three children in his many thousands of years alive."

They both pondered his words. "I suppose they can control it, then?" Boromir asked.

"Perhaps it's more a case of controlling what causes it," Aragorn replied, amused. "They are far more disciplined about such things than we."

Boromir made a derisive noise. "Ah, perhaps! Or perhaps they simply have less fire in their bellies than we. They seem too placid to care much for the heat of two bodies clashing as one -- at least to my eyes."

"You might be surprised, my friend."

Boromir laughed. "Well, I saw you once with the Lady Arwen, and I thought you the epitome of courtly love. It quite put me to thoughts of writing poetry -- were I a poetic man."

"Jest as you will, but elves have hotter blood than you'd suspect."

"Well, I admit I know little of elves and their ways, even after all this time spent with Legolas."

Aragorn knew he'd given himself away, starting when Boromir spoke the name. He could only guess what his expression had revealed. He turned his face away and stared out into the night.

"So that's how it is," Boromir said, voice soft. "I should have guessed it back at the Council of Elrond, should I not? He was quick enough to fly in my face in defense of you."

Aragorn turned back and stared into Boromir's eyes. "Do you judge me harshly for my love of this elf?" His words were flat.

His friend smiled. "Why would you think it?" he asked.

"You know how it is between Arwen and me."

"What has one thing to do with the other?"

"I suppose it seems I betray each of them," Aragorn replied.

"I've never understood why it is we're expected to love but one time in this life. There's too much love in me to share with but one other person. So -- it seems -- is true of you."

"But true love does demand that vows be made -- and kept," Aragorn argued.

"How not? Yet why must a vow to one preclude a vow to another? No, I've never understood that reasoning. A man or woman with enough love for many is one who loves strongly. I should like to have such a person offer love to me!"

"And you'd be glad to take a portion, rather than have it all for yourself?"

Boromir chuckled. "You know, we chide the young if they hoard their sweets and will not share them with their fellows. And yet if we jealously guard one person and hold them fast to us alone, then our behavior is somehow grand! Give me even the smallest bit of a true love that burns bright and I'll gladly take it. Think of love as a garden, my friend -- where it may grow faster and bigger if there are many to tend and nuture it, rather than just one."

"But as you love more than one, why defend such ways?" he finished, staring over at his friend.

Aragorn shot Boromir a rueful grin. "I suppose I feel some guilt over my actions."

"Well I, for one, am glad to hear it. Some days I think you more like an elf than a man -- so it's good to know you're more a man, after all."

"Because I am not true?"

Boromir laughed loudly and lightly thumped Aragorn's shoulder. "No. Because you feel guilt for doing so! Guilt is part and parcel of a man's life -- or so it seems. I totter as best I may each day under my own burden of guilt." He sighed and stared into the night, unseeing. "Would that I could shift out from under it," he added to himself. "Well, I'm off for the watch -- and late as it is! We'll have to speak of all this another time, it seems. I'm interested in hearing more about pregnant elves -- be they male or female!"

"I suppose we've both been watching well enough as we talked," Aragorn commented, smiling. "And you've eased my mind greatly. I thank you."

"I can't see how, but am glad if this is so. Shall I come by after my two watches to bed here with you -- or no?" Boromir asked. "Or will Legolas be coming to drive away the chill of this night?" There was a sly tone to his question -- and a sly smile on his face to match.

"I doubt he'll come." Aragorn's tone was careful. "No matter. I'm tired enough to sleep like the dead. Go. And return late if you wish."

Boromir stood and stared down at Aragorn, studying him. "If you love the elf, why not lie with him? Perhaps he could drive away what ails you."

'I long for him,' Aragorn thought in silent reply. "Well, these days we aren't so comfortable with each other, I find," he answered quietly. "Perhaps one day soon I'll feel well enough to make things right again."

"You fought?"

"Ah, we never fight. Strong words may pass between us, but we do not fight. Not after these many years of friendship."

"Well, then, I'll be back. Meanwhile take my cloak to add to your blankets. I see you shivering, though you'd hide it."

Aragorn turned a grateful face to Boromir as his friend added the garment on top of his blanket. "Many thanks," he murmured.

Boromir moved away. 'He's probably seeking higher ground,' Aragorn thought, watching him depart.

Sleep came slowly -- and with it came fitful dreams. He reached through the mists of his dreams for Legolas, but could not reach him.

"Legolas!" he cried out, waking himself.

"I am here," the familiar voice answered.

Aragorn could see that Legolas had come running to his side, yet the elf was not winded -- nor was a hair out of place.

"I... was dreaming," he said, surprised to find his eyes filling with tears.

Legolas knelt and lifted the cloak and blanket, crawling in beside him. "You weep," he whispered, drawing Aragorn into his arms.

"I'm glad you're here," Aragorn replied, pressing against Legolas.

"I am always here. Sleep now. You're weary."

And finally -- curled against Legolas -- he slept.

-the end part one-