Chapter Text
“Aragorn! Get up!”
Aragorn shot up, startled awake by the pounding on his door. Shit, am I late? Groaning, he blindly reached for the cell on his night stand to check the time. 7:30 am. With a relieved sigh, he fell back onto his lumpy pillow and wiped the sleep from his tired eyes.
“Aragorn!”
Reluctantly, he threw back the covers and swung his legs off the mattress. He hissed as his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor and wished for nothing more than to return to the comfortable warmth of his bed. Honestly, the hardest part about going to school was getting up – he was not a morning person. (The rest of his family could attest to that.) Thankfully, the weekend was just two days away and then he would be free to sleep in as late as he pleased. The pounding on his door resumed.
“Ok! I’m up!” he yelled, the banging ceased right before he wrenched the door open.
His younger sister stood on the other side. Her long, dark hair was in disarray and she still wore her floral print night gown and fuzzy, pink slippers. Though three years his junior, she was nearly his height – a fact he greatly resented.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” she teased, already way too peppy for this early in the morning.
“Where’s dad?” he asked, ignoring her sickly sweet grin and running a hand through his own unruly hair.
“He got called in,” Arwen answered, propping a hip against the doorframe, “Emergency at the hospital apparently. So, looks like you’ll be taking us to school.”
That was nothing new.
Aragorn sighed before ruffling the girl’s hair who slapped his arm in retaliation.
“Alright, kid. Go get dressed and I’ll make us some breakfast.”
“I’m not a kid, Aragorn,” she argued, raising an unamused brow.
“You’ll always be my baby sister,” he taunted, “Get used to it.”
She slapped him again, this time with a little more force.
“Ow!” he protested, rubbing his stinging arm.
Smiling, she sauntered down the hall and into the bathroom where she’d most likely spend the next half hour getting ready. Fortunately, Aragorn took less time to make himself look presentable. Well, actually, he just cared less about how he looked. His family constantly teased him about being sloppy but he took it all in stride. There were more important things than appearance. At least, that’s what he told himself.
After brushing his hair and throwing on a clean pair of jeans and a navy v-neck, he headed down stairs and into the kitchen. The kitchen was one of his favorite rooms in the whole house. From the brick oven to the breakfast nook, to the pans and herbs hanging above the island, it just felt warm and inviting. It also helped that he liked to cook. With Elrond working most evenings and his older brothers away at university, it was Aragorn who was left to cook for himself and his sister – not that he minded. He felt proud knowing he could take care of himself (and his skill also helped him impress a date or two).
As he finished putting together two plates of scrambled eggs, buttered toast and orange slices, Arwen strode into the room. He looked her over then raised an eyebrow.
“What?” she asked in irritation.
“Aren’t those shorts a little short?”
“Aren’t those jeans a little old?” she countered.
Aragorn glanced down, taking in the frayed bottoms of his pants and the hole in his right knee.
“Touché.”
Arwen smirked and sat herself in the nook.
“You know, if you didn’t dress like a homeless person, you wouldn’t be single.”
Not this again. Teasing him about his lack of companion seemed to be a hobby of Arwen’s lately.
“Maybe I like being single,” Aragorn said as he took a seat across from her and slid her plate over the table.
“Oh come on,” she said around a mouthful of toast, “surely someone has caught your attention? You’re a senior now! You could probably have anyone you wanted if you just tried!”
“Not interested,” he answered while stabbing at his eggs, then in an attempt to redirect the conversation, he asked, “Anyone caught yours?”
“No,” she pouted and Aragorn couldn’t help but chuckle at her obvious disappointment, though secretly he was relieved by the news, “But we’re supposed to be getting a new instructor at the studio today. Who knows? He might be hot.”
Aragorn nearly chocked on his glass of milk.
“Now hold on, young lady,” he protested, “You’re fifteen. I’m pretty sure a relationship with your dance instructor would be illegal.”
“So?”
Aragorn paled.
Now it was Arwen’s turn to laugh at her flustered brother, “Relax, Aragorn! I wouldn’t do that! But it doesn’t mean I can’t look…”
“Good,” Aragorn replied, “I don’t want to kick any asses if it can be avoided.”
“Dear Lord, I dread the day I actually get a boyfriend. Between you, dad, and the twins, that poor guy won’t stand a chance!” she complained.
“Damn straight,” Aragorn grinned as he threw his sister a wink.
She glared in return and flung a piece of egg at his face.
“Hey!”
The girl laughed as she stood and placed her plate in the sink before heading into the foyer.
“Hurry up!” she called, “Or we’re going to be late!”
The drive to school was hectic. After an accident had momentarily caused traffic to back up, Aragorn sped like crazy to make it to class on time. On more than one occasion, Arwen seriously feared for her life and wondered who the hell deemed it acceptable to give this man his license. She simply hugged her bag in her lap and closed her eyes while sending silent prayers that she live to see another day.
As he pulled into the closest available parking lot, both siblings dove out of the car and sprinted up the steps of The Gondor Academy of Academic Excellence. It was just as pretentious as it sounded. Mention to someone that you went to GA and you’d be met with an impressed stare and an inquiry into your career aspirations. Though considered an esteemed private school which lauded itself on the academic superiority of its students, most of the kids there only got in because their parents were rich. If you were the child of one of Gondor’s finest lawyers, doctors, politicians or local celebrities, you went to GA. Aragorn, however, got the best of both worlds. Yes, his father was wealthy and gladly paid his tuition, but he was also smart. His innate curiosity created an extraordinary work ethic. If something caught his attention, he had to know everything about it. He couldn’t tell you how many hours he frequented the library, becoming completely immersed in the texts whose topics occupied a vast range until he was satisfied that he knew all there was to know or he simply lost interest. As such, he was a great writer and a thorough listener – two skills that always earned him As and Bs on his work. His friends, for the most part, could care less. It was not that they weren’t intelligent, because they were! They simply lacked the motivation. Some did it out of spite towards their parents, some were just lazy, and others felt secured by the fact that they had an inheritance to look forward to after graduation. Most just did what they needed to in order to pass, and then put the rest of their attentions on sports and girls…or guys. Aragorn didn’t always approve of their choices, but he understood where they were coming from.
“Aragorn,” his sister’s voice broke through his thoughts, “I’m walking to the studio with a friend after school so don’t wait up for me.”
“Got’cha,” Aragorn answered as he turned down the hall leading to his English class, Arwen turning in the opposite direction.
“Bye!” his sister called from behind him, her voice cut off by the sound of a slamming locker.
He raised his hand in farewell but didn’t look back as he kept walking. The bell rang just as he slipped into the classroom and he was surprised (and fortunate) to find the teacher’s desk empty. His friends looked up as he made his way towards them and took the empty desk between Boromir and Eomer.
“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” Boromir greeted his normally punctual friend as he clapped him on the shoulder.
“Traffic,” he replied as he pulled out his notebook, “Where’s Mr. Bowman?”
“Don’t know,” answered Eomer who leaned back and propped his feet up on the on the desk in front of him, “If we’re lucky, he won’t show.”
Aragorn had known Boromir and Eomer for years. They’d went to the same school since they were thirteen and got along as soon as they met. Boromir’s father, Denethor, was currently the mayor of the city, a callous man who cared more about his paycheck than his people, but was tolerated nevertheless. Eomer’s uncle, Théoden, was a renowned lawyer who was in talks of running against Denethor in the upcoming election. Naturally, Denethor and Théoden despised one another and so naturally, Boromir and Eomer took great pleasure out of spending a lot of time together then preceding to tell their guardians all about it. Seems they got a kick out of “fraternizing with the enemy.” Like Aragorn, Boromir cared enough about his education to put in the effort, but was easily led astray. Eomer, on the other hand, was less academically inclined. Any motivation he possessed, he took to the soccer field, which is why he was dubbed the team’s star player - A title that certainly inflated his already large ego.
People were chatting idly as they waited for the teacher to show up. Aragorn was looking over his notes on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when the class door swung open. Mr. Bowman walked in wearing his usual ensemble of khakis and a button down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He pulled his glasses from his face and placed them atop his curly, dark hair. The chatting ceased as another figure followed Mr. Bowman into the room. Aragorn had never seen this person before and was curious to know who he was and why he was here. Appearance wise, the first thing he noticed was that the stranger was tall and slim. He wore a heather green beanie, strands of long blonde hair fell out around the front, framing a magnificently angular face. He had on a loose fitting tan t-shirt that showed off his clavicle and a pair of skinny jeans; his legs ending in a pair of brown combat boots. Aragorn got a glimpse of piercing blue eyes as the boy gazed shyly around the class before nervously grasping his satchel and turning to face Mr. Bowman.
“Good morning, class,” the teacher broke the silence, “I apologize for being tardy but I was escorting our new student to class. Everyone, this is Legolas and he just transferred here so I hope you’ll all do your best to make him feel welcomed. Legolas, you can take any empty seat.”
Legolas took a quick glance about the room before walking over to take the open seat directly across from Aragorn. Eomer nudged him in the shoulder and waggled his eyebrows,
“I’ll make him feel welcome, alright,” he whispered, causing Aragorn to shake his head in half-hearted exasperation.
“Ok,” Mr. Bowman started, “Get out your books and let’s begin, shall we?”
Aragorn found himself half listening to the lecture. Instead, he studied, as covertly as possible, the new classmate in front of him. Aragorn could read people as well as he read books and he was determined to see what he could learn about the boy by just watching him. First, he noticed how Legolas sat straight in his seat, despite the shyness he displayed earlier his posture exuded confidence. Whether or not he truly felt confident or was just trained in the art of proper posture Aragorn couldn’t tell. His right hand moved gracefully across his page as he took notes, his pencil rarely lifting which told Aragorn he was most likely writing in cursive. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. His mouth was parted open in concentration as he listened to Mr. Bowman speak, his tongue poking out every so often to wet his bottom lip. Soon, Aragorn had blocked out everything and everyone around him. His attention solely devoted to the fascinatingly elegant boy in front of him. He familiarized himself with Legolas’s mannerisms, predicting when he’d tap his long, slim fingers on his desk, or tuck a fallen strand of pale hair behind his ear. He was utterly intrigued. There was a gentleness about him that Aragorn hadn’t observed in many other men. Given how studiously he was paying attention, he obviously cared about his education. Then there was his appearance. As an artist, Aragorn appreciated beauty in its many forms and, objectively speaking of course, Legolas was beautiful. The longer he watched, the more he wanted to know. And then, his observations ground to a sudden halt as Legolas looked up at him. At first, he was too startled to move, embarrassed by getting caught staring. But those brilliant blue eyes didn’t look scornful or irritated, instead they looked… expectant? It was then that his senses returned and he looked away only to find that the whole class staring at him expectantly. Had he really been that out of it? Damn his nefarious curiosity!
“Aragorn?”
Aragorn turned to his teacher and cleared his throat.
“Yes?”
“I asked you a question.”
Oh. That explained the expectant gazes.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat it?”
Mr. Bowman repeated his question – something about the character of Mr. Hyde being a representation of Victorian society fears - and Aragorn managed to articulate an acceptable answer. Sighing in relief, he made an effort to pay attention to the discussion. He looked at his notes with intentions of adding some more, but not before sparing one final glance at Legolas. Cautiously, he looked up and was stunned to see that the other boy was staring at him, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement. As their eyes met, the blond quickly peered back down at his notebook, a faint blush tinted his cheeks while the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. The sight caused Aragorn’s stomach to twist uncomfortably and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. And then he questioned why he had just experienced that reaction at all. Legolas had certainly piqued his interest. The only problem was he didn’t know what that meant.
When the bell rang to signal the end of class, Aragorn had every goal of leaving the room as quickly as possible. After the incident with Legolas, the room had suddenly gotten quite hot and it took every ounce of will power to concentrate on the lecture. But as he quickly worked to gather his belongings, Eomer got up and made his way over to the new blond. Aragorn paused as his friend held out his hand to Legolas.
“Eomer,” he introduced, flashing his best smile.
“Legolas,” the other replied as he smiled and shook the offered hand.
“Nice to meet you, Legolas. Do you know where all of your classes are? I could show you around if you like?”
To his left, Boromir rolled his eyes.
“That’d be great actually,” came the surprisingly cool, methodic response, “Thank you.”
“Awesome!” Eomer said before turning to Boromir and Aragorn with a wink, “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Aragorn watched forlornly as the pair exited the room, telling himself that he absolutely was not jealous. He knew his friend well enough to know that his intentions were less than pure and he hated the thought of Legolas getting played. He seemed so…innocent? Genuine, perhaps?
“Prick,” Boromir declared, “Never has trouble ditching us for a pretty face, now, does he?”
“Let’s hope Legolas lets him down easy,” Aragorn answered, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.
“What makes you think he will?”
“Not sure, but Eomer doesn’t seem to be his type,” Aragorn countered as the two headed down the hall and to their next class.
“I suppose you may be right,” Boromir conceded, “Though I don’t blame Eomer for trying.”
Aragorn chose not to grace that comment with a reply. His thoughts were all confused when it came to Legolas and he didn’t want Boromir to know that.
The duo walked the rest of the way to their geometry class in silence, saying a quick “hi” to friends and acquaintances they passed along the way. As they shuffled into the room, they headed towards their usual seats behind Gimli and his younger cousin Kili. The red-head turned to face them as they settled into their desks but the burnet stared ahead at some unseen point in the distance, his chin was propped in his palm, elbow on the table, and he wore a goofy, lopsided grin.
“What’s the matter with him?” Boromir asked.
Gimli sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Some new chick in our health class,” he replied in annoyance, “He’s head over heels.”
“Her name is Tauriel,” Kili interjected, seemingly drawn out of his daze, “And she has this beautiful flowing red hair, and these bright green eyes and her smile! Just wow…”
After a moment of silence, the other three burst out laughing and Kili glared.
“Not you too, kid!” Boromir said.
“What do you mean?”
“We have a new student in our English class,” Boromir explained, “Eomer’s already made a move.”
Gimli shook his head, “Why can’t he learn to keep it in his pants?”
“Well unlike Eomer,” Kili began, “I’m not after some conquest or one-night-stand. I want to woo Tauriel. Date her properly.”
Gimli laughed again before smacking his cousin lightly on the head.
“I can’t wait until your uncle hears about this.”
“I hadn’t exactly planned on telling him,” Kili warned.
“Fine. I won’t say a word,” Gimli conceded, holding up his hands in submission.
“Good.”
The conversation ended as their teacher walked into the room. He didn’t even greet his students, as per usual, before picking up his chalk and scribbling formulas on the board. This time around, Aragorn found it easier to focus…since there wasn’t a certain blond there to distract him.
Aragorn was thankful when the school day finally came to an end. He slung his bag unceremoniously into the backseat of his car and sped out of the parking lot, anxious to be home where it was calm and quiet and he could sort out his thoughts and do his work. The rest of the morning had passed by without incident and Aragorn had nearly forgotten about Legolas. Nearly. But as lunch time rolled around, the new student had once again become the topic of conversation. Boromir and Aragorn were sitting at a booth in the cafeteria, discussing their upcoming track meet when Eomer joined them. Aragorn was equal parts relieved and disappointed to see that his friend was alone. Disappointed because he wouldn’t have minded seeing Legolas again, and maybe actually talk to him, but relieved because he was away from Eomer. Although, the cocky smirk Eomer sported hadn’t exactly been encouraging and indeed it wasn’t. He bragged about how Legolas was warming up to him and even accepted an invitation to Eomer’s soccer match on Friday. Aragorn’s heart plummeted at the news, but then he had scolded himself for becoming so bothered. He didn’t have a right to be jealous – he didn’t even know the guy! Still, the knowledge had haunted him for the rest of the day and he was looking forward to crashing on his couch, as far away from Eomer – and Legolas – as possible.
Once at home, Aragorn did what he liked to do best – get lost in a book. Two hours had passed by unnoticed and he was startled back into reality and away from the fictional world of The Name of the Wind by his cell phone ringing. Marking his page, he tossed the book aside and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello, son. What are you up to?”
Aragorn smiled at the sound of his father’s serene voice, realizing that he hadn’t spoken to the man all day.
“Just doing some reading,” he replied, “Trying to relax…”
“Everything alright?” Elrond asked, ever diligent in detecting the various moods of his children.
“Yeah, just…tough day at school is all. I’ll manage.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really. More interested as to why you called. You need something?”
Elrond sighed heavily.
“I was calling to ask you to pick up Arwen from her ballet class. I had planned to but it looks like I’ll be at the hospital for at least a couple more hours.”
“No problem. What time is her class over?”
“It ends in thirty minutes. If you leave now, you’ll make it on time.”
“Alright then,” Aragorn said as he hopped off the couch and slipped on his shoes.
“Be careful,” Elrond plead, “I’ll see you both tonight.”
“Alright, dad. See ya.”
Cramming his phone in his pocket, Aragorn grabbed his keys off of the hall table and headed out the door.
As he pulled up outside of Lindir’s School of Dance, he glanced at the time on his dash. 5:50pm. Being ten minutes early, he decided to wait for his sister inside, perhaps catch the last parts of whatever dance they were working on. Though not particularly interested in it himself, Aragorn didn’t mind watching ballet. After all, dance is art.
Walking inside the studio, he was surprised to see all the girls sitting on the polished floor, intently watching a lone figure that glided about the room. Aragorn wondered if this was the new instructor Arwen was musing about earlier. Directing his attention to the new dancer as well, Aragorn became mesmerized. The music playing was soft and slow, there were words to the song, but they were in some language he didn’t understand. The dancer’s movements matched the pace of the song- a series of small turns and slow extension of the arms. And then the music shifted – suddenly becoming fast and loud, but the dancer didn’t miss a beat. He effortlessly jumped into the air, his legs creating a straight horizontal line. Upon landing, he transitioned into a succession of grande pirouettes.
Aragorn admired the toned arms and legs that created a beautiful pattern of lines and angles as he flitted about the studio. The dancer had on black ballet flats and black tights that defined his figure quite nicely. He wore a grey muscle tank, the arm holes gaping so that every time he spun, Aragorn caught a glimpse of his ribs and abs. His blond hair was gathered in a slouchy bun near the top of his head, stray pieces flying every which way as he turned and bent and jumped. Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat as he took in the familiar looking pale hair. He shook his head – he was pathetic! Could he not get through this day without his thoughts turning to Legolas? Still, Aragorn began paying closer attention to the dancer’s face. From his distance, and from the dancer’s jerky movements, he couldn’t clearly see his features. As the music ended abruptly, the dancer fell to the floor, twirling once to land on one knee and throwing both arms up. The girls broke out in applause, clearly impressed by their new teacher, and Aragorn couldn’t help but clap as well. Hearing the extra applause, the dancer turned toward the sound, locking eyes with Aragorn. Aragorn’s legs felt week and his mouth became suddenly dry. It couldn’t be. The beautiful dancer staring back at him was none other than Legolas. Damn.