[]里的内容可以不翻译，不影响连贯:)

Legolas came awake with a start, eyes wide and heart pounding so hard in his chest he felt he could hear it. His hands were clutching the grass beneath him so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He had been assaulted by the nightmare – again. Why do they call it a nightmare when one could dream it in broad daylight, he wondered wryly. The Council of Imladris had taken place eleven years ago. Although part of him still argued that he and his friends had done their best, Aragorn’s words still haunted him: “How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?” For a long time, Legolas wondered if Aragorn would ever trust him or the elves of Mirkwood again.

Ithilien in Gondor was his home now. His father had not been too pleased that his son would settle so far from him, but Thranduil had not given a direct command not to leave. So Legolas had left, for he had made a promise to help Aragorn restore Gondor, and he was willing to endure the displeasure of his father for the friend he had learned to cherish more than he thought possible. He would bring living things to Minas Tirith “for the love of the Lord of the White Tree”, he mused; those were his words to the hobbits ten years ago, as they sat contemplating what would happen after the Quest should Aragorn successfully reclaim the throne.

This spot was his sanctuary. [The elves of Mirkwood, now of Ithilien, quietly and willingly granted their prince his desire for some private moments. They loved their soft-spoken prince, for he was a fair leader and did not demand much for his own comfort, and so they discreetly kept away if they knew he had come here. Legolas was glad of that. Perhaps he was being a little selfish, he told himself candidly, but this was the one privilege he wanted for himself for as long as he could.]

If there were anyone he would want to share this place with… A sudden thought entered his mind, a memory of another breathtaking place like this one, with a crystal-clear pool hidden curtained by tall trees, in the forests of Mirkwood. Fondly, he recalled taking Aragorn there some sixty years ago, the second time the young Ranger had visited.

( http://blog.5d.cn/user8/evagreen/200806/486927.html)

His breathing calmed as he looked around to see where the elf would resurface, but felt uneasy as the moments went by and Legolas still did not emerge. He peered into the water, suddenly feeling afraid. “Legolas!” he called, then dove under to search for his friend below, swimming underwater across half the pool. He could not see the elf anywhere. Coming up again, he called desperately “Legolas!”

“You seek me?” he heard a cool voice ask behind him and he spun around to see the elf treading water with calm strokes a few yards away, a cheeky grin on his beautiful face.

“How did you – ? Where were you – ?” Aragorn spluttered. The elf raised his delicate eyebrows and shrugged. Aragorn could do nothing but stare dumbfounded at the elusive elf, lost for words, struggling with conflicting feelings of disbelief, irritation and relief. Then, with a groan of exasperation, he shook his head and laughed. Legolas, the grin still on his face, swam over to a shallower part of the pool and climbed onto a broad rock, signaling to Aragorn to join him. When he had given his friend a hand up, the elf lay back to bask in the sun. The Ranger did likewise, still chuckling. His chest rose and fell as he lay beside his friend.

Legolas turned to give him a smug look. “Ah, the doormat has been cleaned,” he reminded the Ranger. Aragorn punched the elf’s arm, a broad grin on his face, now free of the grime that had been on it before their swim. The two friends turned their faces back to the sky, closing their eyes and talking quietly.

“Ahhh, Aragorn. It’s wonderful here.”

“Mmm.”

“Do you feel at peace?”

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm.”

“Aragorn?”

“Mmm?”

“Years from now, when you are King…”

“Mmm???””

“You know you will be. When you are busy being King of Gondor, will you still wish for a time like this?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

“Would you wish for a place like this?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

“I hope there will still be places in Arda like this by that time.”

“Mmmm.”

“Aragorn?”

“Mmm?”

“Would we still be friends?”

“Would water still be wet? Foolish question.”

The two friends lay in a companionable silence till the sun began to slide down the western sky.

“Aragorn?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s time to go home.”

Groan…

Floating on his back in the South Ithilien pool, Legolas smiled. Yes, if there were anyone he would want to share this place with, it would be Aragorn.

But only if he would come, Legolas thought with a sudden twinge of wistfulness. After the Quest, only he and Aragorn remained in Gondor, visits between Minas Tirith and Ithilien as frequent as once every two or three weeks. Their friendship had grown so deep that Aragorn loved Legolas as dearly as he did Arwen and Eldarion. The people of the city could no longer envision their king without his closest companion.

But kings, even the greater ones, can be bowed with labour, and the King of Gondor seemed more distant than he had ever been.