To Resist both Wind and Tide

Chapter Eleven: Gathering Strength

Aragorn lay flush against the elf's naked back, the dead weight of his solid, mortal frame pressing him down into the blankets and bedding, virtually obscuring the slender figure. Truly exhausted in body and soul, drained and depleted as he had never been, he couldn't move, couldn't even hold Legolas pinned boneless beneath him. Their bodies remained joined though Aragorn was flaccid now, and he fought descent into the tempting stillness of dreamless slumber. Someone must keep watch; Legolas wasn't fit for it, finally quiescent and spent, hopefully submerged in healing sleep; Aragorn was little better. He must move, must. With effort he raised his head and brushed dry lips against the sweat smeared shoulder blade on which he'd rested, sought for strength to lift him from arms that felt like leaden rubber. At the first hint he planned to disengage, a low moan of misery escaped the elf.

"No, please. Stay."

"Melethen, someone must stand watch and I would have you sleep."

"Nay. Please, Aragorn. Why do you always make me beg?"

"I'm sorry. Be at peace, I will stay."

Wearily he laid his head back down and at once could tell the archer was weeping freely for the shoulders beneath him twitched and shook, and there were tell-tale sniffles that sadly underscored how young his mate really was. Legolas hadn't the means to even try to contain a sorrow this immense and it was clearly destroying him. Just thinking it made the man cringe; how had he become embroiled in this sordid nightmare?

"Nay, hush now, Legolas. I am here. Please, melethen."

Aragorn sighed and laid down another kiss on the quaking spine, guilt ridden for it was true, he had resisted Legolas' advances after the gruelling narration was over. What was he supposed to think when the archer's recitation ended and he became amorous? It was the last thing on the man's mind and he'd been shocked and frightened over the implications given the tale just told. Was Legolas excited by the retelling? Aragorn thought so and had attempted to divert him from what he could only perceive as a warped, twisted craving for the very torments that had broken him.

Cautiously unresponsive, he had gently hindered the archer, deflected impatient fingers digging at his clothes, turned his rough cheek to fervent kisses, all the while urging Legolas toward Song, for that had been his outlet before. Then Legolas had indeed laced his frantic efforts with wheedling pleas, thinking Aragorn's recalcitrance was meant to heighten his desire, playing along. 'Please, take me. I need you. Fuck me, Aragorn. Give me light.' It was a moment or two before he realised he was being truly rebuffed and then his confused eyes recorded the admonishing aversion in Aragorn's, saw that he was trying to hide his scandalised sensibilities. The man watched in useless remorse as his disgust and horror became Legolas'. Mortified embarrassment flooded over the heat of the ellon's desire and drowned it. He leaped up, face averted, apologising as he walked away.

He was in no frame of mind to be alone and Aragorn followed, was beside him when he began screaming out curses, condemning his father for sending him to do so horrible a thing, his mother for extracting that promise, the Wraiths for infecting him with their sick cruelty, Mithrandir for making him live to realise what he'd done, himself for doing it, Aragorn for despising what that had made him. Concerned, the man had reached for him and a slight touch on the arm earned him a fist in the jaw and before he knew what was happening he was sprawled on the ground with an infuriated Wood Elf looming over him.

Legolas spat upon him, shouted the most vile slurs against Aragorn, then rained despicable obscenities right at the most vulnerable place in the man's heart, his mother. Aragorn mastered his reactions by reminding himself what he'd just learned and remained silent, but Legolas only became more offensive. He started issuing expletives in Black Speech, mingled with despairing pronouncements in his native tongue, one moment hateful, the next wretched. Still the man abjured from retaliation, spoke honest words of reassurance, countered every charge that he meant to desert his mate, stayed on the ground, and prayed Legolas would soon run out of fuel for this anger.

The instant he thought this, he realised Legolas' desire was not a response to reliving the brutal treatment that had become his daily life. He genuinely needed his soul-light replenished, the vital energy expended in the telling of his torment. The man envisioned the fair feä torn with rending gashes wrought by guilt and shame, light pouring from these invisible tears like blood from a sword wound.

Slowly he stood, watching Legolas tense and ready himself, expecting what Aragorn didn't want to imagine. He showed his hands: empty. He stepped into the crackling aura and Legolas fell silent in the middle of his tirade, eyes immense and filled with frantic misery. He took a step back; Aragorn advanced. 'Hervenn' he said and carefully reached for the stricken archer, cupped the fair face between his hands, and kissed the mouth that had spewed forth such vile insults, sucking the offending tongue and laving the mocking lips. Before he came away, Legolas collapsed in his arms, begging forgiveness. Aragorn silenced those pleas with more kisses.

He picked him up and carried him back to the camp, spread him over the blankets, stripped him, set about stirring his ardour anew. It took some doing but once he was also naked, Legolas began to show interest, kissing back, fingers playing through his chest hair. During all this preliminary stimulation he could hardly look into his husband's eyes, but the man persisted, infusing every touch with his light as he had done while Legolas languished under the poison's assault. As soon as he managed to get the elf erect, he'd sucked him dry and immediately fucked him, coming hard and loud, then whispered a single word in a pointed ear: 'Hervenn'.

That started the tears flowing and they'd hardly stopped thereafter, though Aragorn rallied and filled Legolas with his seed twice over, using the time required to recover his strength to lavish the ellon with gentle touch and loving promises to see him through whatever awaited in Greenwood. Now he knew there was nothing left he could give until sleep replenished him, but could not help worrying what might happen if he slipped into slumber while Legolas was in this condition. The sniffly sobs were the worst and the man despaired of what to do to help him.

"What happens after that?" The muffled query arose from the bereft ellon and he stirred, turned his head to clear the matted yellow hair from his face, laid his cheek back down, drew a stumbling breath.

"After?" Aragorn had no idea what he was asking, lost in his own thoughts and the advancing fog of heavy sleep.

"After I fulfil the promise, what then?"

"I don't know," Aragorn tried to focus. He wasn't even sure Legolas could make it to Greenwood. "You'll come with me to Eriador."

"You would have me beside you still?"

There was no hiding the hope and wonder in that question and Aragorn smiled, found means to kiss the shoulder beneath his cheek once more. "You are my mate, Legolas. Want you beside me 'til I die. Sleep now, melethen."

"Aye."

A long sigh followed this and a brittle shudder racked the slender frame, but then Legolas lay quiet and Aragorn gave thanks to Estë for granting him peace at last. He meant to rest only until he was certain Legolas was deep in a healing slumber, his intention to rise and stand the watch, but the man dropped into oblivion without even realising it.

He awoke first, the soft light of a new dawn brightening the sky and the smell of wood smoke curling through the mist. He was still pressed atop the elf and moved himself carefully, determined for Legolas not to wake until his spirit was ready, and settled beside his mate so he could see his face, pulling the blanket back over them as he snuggled close to the warm body. He brushed the tangled tresses back and kissed the smooth forehead, and it wasn't until Legolas stirred and wriggled closer to him that he realised they were not alone.

It was the blanket that finally made it through his hazy perception. He hadn't managed to cover them before sleep engulfed him, had he? And surely the fire would have died hours ago, yet he heard it crackling away merrily. At once he began a bizarre struggle with the woollen cover, attempting to get out of it quickly without disturbing Legolas. Where was his sword? Nay, surely it was Selwyn and his men or they'd already be dead. Still, how could he fall asleep and leave them vulnerable like this? Then he detected the distinct aroma of pipe weed and a deep rumbling chuckle stalled his efforts. Aragorn looked over his shoulder to see Gandalf warming his hands at the blaze, sharp eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Well met, Aragorn. I see you found him," said the wizard, pointing at the elf with the long stem of his pipe.

"Say rather that he found me," grumbled Aragorn, more than a little embarrassed to be caught in so revealing a situation. There was no means to present this as anything but what it was. He sat up, careful to keep the blanket strategically draped over his nakedness and the elf's bare rump, sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. A soft thump made him look to find Mithrandir had tossed him his pants, so he put them on, arranged the covers over his mate, touched him tenderly, and joined the wizard at the fire. "I've a thing or two to say to you," he began, but a mug of tea was shoved under his nose and he took it with gruff thanks, sipped, and realised he was famished. "Have you food?"

Mithrandir laughed and shook his head. "That isn't what I expected you'd say, but yes." He leaned for his pack and handed the man a small packet. "Lembas should restore you quickly."

"You have been to Lorien?" Aragorn ate the way bread slowly, for it was a rare gift and he was not about to disregard it, yet the sweet taste was dry in his mouth given the import of the Lady's hand in this situation.

"Yes. Galadriel thought you might need something to improve your vigour," the old Maia joked, eyes darting quickly to Legolas and back. He knew the man was angry, but hoped to soften his wrath a bit.

This did not set well with Aragorn, and not only for the obvious reasons. "If this was foreseen then why wasn't help sent? Legolas almost died."

"She did not foresee his capture, only that he had been captured." Mithrandir's face contracted into an aggrieved scowl. "She contacted me at once and I got there as quickly as possible, Aragorn."

"That is not what I meant," said the man. "He was wounded and you left him to go to Lorien, not back to the Tower as he believes. Why did you not take him with you? Surely you could see how dire his need for healing. I cannot imagine what it was like to suffer this mental hell he's in alone. He waited and was wounded again saving me. He almost died," he repeated more strongly.

"First, I did go back into Dol Guldur," Mithrandir straightened and levelled upon him a gaze filled with the might and majesty of the Timeless Shores, "but it was a fruitless search. Second, my reasons for going to Lorien need not concern you; suffice it to say they were vital. Third, I did not know what would transpire when you arrived on the scene. The Mirror showed only that you were on a misguided course leading to certain death and that Legolas was vanishing into Shadow. After what he'd done, he needed someone to save." Mithrandir was genuinely troubled by the elf's additional torments and stood on creaking knees to go see for himself that he was alive. A touch told him the physical danger was past and he returned to the fire with a sad sigh. "I left him fully armed and did my best to give him reasons to stay alive until you showed up. Was it a risk that you or he or both might be killed in that fight? Yes, but it was certain that you would both be lost if the two of you never crossed paths."

"Maybe so, but I say again: if you had stayed you could as easily have prevented my death and the wound he took on my behalf." Aragorn stood tall and met the Maia's gaze boldly, certain in his heart not even the Lords of the West would gainsay him.

"Aye, but then there would have been no bond between you, would there?" Mithrandir snapped. He could see Aragorn was completely taken aback by this and indeed, it was more than he had meant to say at this point. He continued before the man gathered sufficient wits to respond. "Besides, even a wounded Wood Elf fully armed is nearly invulnerable."

"I cannot believe you just said that! This Wood Elf is strong and valiant, more so than any of the First-born I have met, but invulnerable is not a word to use for him. Mithrandir, he is utterly broken," Aragorn admonished, disturbed that not only could the wizard have prevented what happened, he had acted purposefully to bring it to be.

"Nay, not completely else he would not be here with you now. He is even stronger than you guess," said the wizard, eyes again scrutinising the unconscious archer. A double-sided bond! Each saved the other's life.

"I hope you are right, but the things he endured may be worse than you know. Did the Mirror show you what happened to his mother?"

"You're asking if I know how she died," frowned Mithrandir. "Yes, but not from the Mirror; it showed me nothing. I learned it from Legolas himself during the cleansing. That is why I put him in your path, knowing you could heal him."

"His bodily hurts, perhaps, but even that was thanks to his own resilience more than anything I did. You should have taken him to the Lady of Light who might have healed more than his body." Aragorn was becoming angrier by the second. "It is unconscionable behaviour and I would not believe it of you were I not witness to it, but there he lies."

"The kinds of injuries he has could not be healed in Lorien. He is elf-kind, Aragorn, and has killed his own. More, he has killed his mother. There is only one cure for such evil, at least on this side of the Sundering Sea, and there is cause to keep him here a while yet."

"What cure?"

"The unconditional love of a mated spouse."

"I see." Aragorn was sceptical to say the least and shook his head, set his cup down, peered back at Legolas. The elf lay motionless, for all the world as lifeless as a corpse and the man shivered. He returned his gaze to Mithrandir. "I don't think there is love enough in all of Middle-earth to ease his heart now."

"You underestimate both your heart and his," countered Mithrandir. "He is not the first to suffer such a soul-wound. How do you think Galadriel survived after Alqualondë? Only the unrelenting devotion of her mate stabilised her spirit and turned her away from the darkness growing there. Had she not met Celeborn, she would have gone the way of the Feänorion Princes. All of them were lost, one by one, yet she remains."

"She did not kill her mother," barked Aragorn.

"I did not say it would be an easy cure," intoned the wizard. "I have already done much work on his soul, for there was a cancerous darkness there devouring his light until it was all but gone. A little longer and he would have been lost forever, First-born no more."

"He mentioned something of that treatment," said Aragorn bitterly.

"Don't be a fool, Aragorn. I did what had to be done, as did you. What more would you have?"

"I would have this fate removed from him. I would reverse time and stop him from undertaking so horrible a task." Aragorn stood and paced the camp, agitated because of course what he wished was impossible. "Do you know that part of it? He did not need to be there at all, should not have been there. His father sent him to so bleak an end I cannot even speak the words without the bile rising to my lips. What kind of father does this?"

"Best not let him hear you make such disparaging remarks," warned Mithrandir. "Wood Elves love their families fiercely, and Legolas verily reveres his Adar."

"Why does this father not cherish that child, then?" demanded Aragorn, arm flung out to point down at Legolas, and the wizard scowled. "You will not answer, so I guess we at least share this displeasure with Thranduil. What is to be done about it? Are there laws among the First-born or the Maiar that would address such callousness?"

"Do not assign meaning to my silences, Aragorn; I do not agree with you. Furthermore, even if there were laws such as you mean, Legolas would not understand them nor appreciate your anger. He was born and raised in the shadow of Dol Guldur. The Wood Elves fight that evil with what weapons they have. Sometimes, to spare life they must sacrifice life. They are not at war over the sovereignty of their lands; they are in a desperate struggle for survival itself. You have never met the Woodland King," said Mithrandir. "When you do, you will see how he cherishes this child." He mimicked the man's action and also pointed down at Legolas.

"I don't need to meet him to know it," scoffed Aragorn. "What I want to know is how to protect Legolas from such 'love'. He is determined to return to Greenwood and fulfil a promise his Naneth wrung from him. She I cannot fault for she must have been mad by then, yet, much as I love him, I can see he would be better off in Mandos."

"No, Mandos is not for him."

"Then we must convince him to sail."

"He would not go. His burden is too heavy, Aragorn, his guilt too pressing. Please do not mention this to him for he will see it as an indication of repudiation and rejection." Mithrandir sighed; it was a delicate matter. There was only so much he could say to Aragorn. In this mood, he doubted the man was ready to hear that Legolas was vital to his future and that of all mankind.

Galadriel had seen Aragorn's reckless chase into the Brown Lands and the death awaiting him there. She had seen Legolas in Dol Guldur. Through the Mirror had come the depth of the bond between them, the importance of that union. Aragorn needed to take up his destiny but feared to do so, feared to fail, and was content to fight the Shadow without revealing himself. Galadriel was certain it was Legolas who would convince him of his worth, make him believe in his destiny, make him strive to achieve what no other could.

"I would never reject him, but one day I will die and what happens then?"

"You do love him." Mithrandir smiled, nodding to himself.

"I cannot deny it, though how it was done I know not. I think he placed some enchantment on me," said Aragorn drily and as expected the wizard laughed.

They were prevented from further discussion for Legolas woke with a start and threw off the blanket, peering wildly about him until he spotted the man. His panic cooled. "Aragorn." Then a gruff cough alerted him to the wizard's presence and he made a hasty grab for the covers.

"I am here, Hervenn." The man watched anguish and adoration chase across the comely features, smiled kindly into blue eyes bright with unshed tears, but Legolas swallowed them down and smiled bravely back. Aragorn took the tea and went to him, knelt next to him and kissed him. "There is Lembas; I would have you eat."

"You could not stop me; I'm starving," Legolas drank the lukewarm fluid in three gulps and deftly caught the leaf-wrapped way bread the wizard tossed. "Mithrandir." He dipped his head in a curt nod and then wolfed down the Lembas. "Have you any news?"

"None you would want to hear," Mithrandir said. "I could find no other kin of yours in Dol Guldur."

"Then Celon'lir is lost, too." He groaned and curled over his knees, buried his head beneath his arms as though to shut everything out.

"Who is Celon'lir?" Aragorn smoothed a steadying hand against the curved back and tugged the thick mane away from the bowed head. He did not want Legolas descending into madness anew and his heart pumped uneasily.

"My cousin, Doronarth's son." Legolas sighed heavily and raised his face, wiped at his eyes. "We are…were close in age and more like brothers than cousins. He went with me and in the fighting I lost track of him, but I think he was also captured. The Wraiths said he was, but I didn't see him so I hoped he died quickly. Perhaps it is so."

"Either he is dead or awaits you in Greenwood," affirmed Mithrandir. He stood and went to his horse, retrieved a parcel neatly wrapped and tied in a fine elven cloak and brought it to the elf. "From the Lady of Light, clothing befitting a prince of the forest." He resumed his seat on the ground with a rasping grunt. "You should both wash and dress; we've many leagues ahead of us."

"You're coming?" Legolas' voice was sharp.

"I have need to speak with your father," said Mithrandir and lit his pipe, puffed out a huge blue cloud, watched covertly as the elf wrapped himself in the blanket and let the man lead him apart. While they tended one another he mused on the situation, chasing a nagging, irritating, elusive something that just wasn't right. Or should not be right. In order for Aragorn to achieve his destiny, he must have Legolas beside him. Yet, in order for Aragorn to enter fully into that destiny, he must leave the elf behind the very moment the goal was achieved and the crown touched his brow. What of the Wood Elf then? Galadriel had promised to take him over sea, but Gandalf could not shake the feeling that there was a lie behind her words, somewhere.

"Let me do it."

This soft entreaty reached him through his gloomy puzzling and the wizard looked to the man from whose heart the words had flown. He was combing the archer's lengthy mane and both were lost in the experience. There was certainly no lie there; Aragorn adored the elf and Legolas was so immersed in the man's soul he was losing his own identity. Indeed, he had already redefined himself. Aragorn's mate had supplanted the Prince of Greenwood.

"We should go first to Lorien. The Lady may be able to heal your heart," Aragorn murmured.

"You have already done that."

"Truly?" Aragorn kissed the pale white brow, not believing it for a second. "And your spirit?"

"It is linked to yours. Our light is mingled now."

"Then we'll go on to Greenwood."

"Aye, Besnô."

They shared a lingering kiss and Mithrandir let them take their time, busying himself breaking camp, smothering the fire, packing the bedding and cooking gear. When they returned to him, Legolas betrayed no hint of his compromised soul and Aragorn looked lordly and bold. The archer's step was firm and his head high; the new garments fit as though made for him, which they were, and the subdued shades of emerald and ochre showed off his flaxen mane. He presented the perfect image of a sylvan warrior, dangerous yet dignified, and also managed to project that he was much more than the man's friend and companion. They did indeed make a formidable pair and the wizard dared to hope. Isildur's heir was less optimistic, for the sylvan archer had not sung a note since sundown of the previous day.

The trio set out north by west, heading for Greenwood beyond the Long Valley of the Great River.




"I am going to need more arrows," Legolas announced quietly. "Would that the Lady had sent along a bow. This one will hinder my skill and shorten my range considerably. The draw is weak. I prefer power sufficient to skewer an Orc at half the limit of my vision, no less."

They were seated round a small fire in the waning light of the dying day, Aragorn working a stone over his blade, the wizard puffing on his pipe, the Wood Elf trimming the fletching on the bolts the Rohirrim had given him. It had finally been decided that they must cross Limlaith and skirt the fringe of the Golden Wood where the trees nearly dipped their toes in the sluggish flow of the Anduin, though this was within open view of Dol Guldur should anyone be watching. Legolas would not be convinced to detour through the Lady's lands and refused to offer any other reason than his desire to get home quickest. The liquid bounds of the horse-lords' lands had been forded at dusk and an hour's further travel had brought them here.

Aragorn paused in his work and met the elf's troubled gaze, pleased beyond telling to hear his voice, for Legolas had been grim and silent all the day. In spite of the seriousness of the topic, he smiled and received a swift flash of night-shrouded eyes aglitter with gladness. "How limited is the draw of that bow, Hervenn?" That earned him a version of the Wood Elf's glorious smile that was both tender and proud, and the man noticed how Legolas glanced covertly to be sure the wizard heard it, too.

"No more than a quarter of my sight under the sun, less than a fifth under Ithil."

"That bad," grumbled Mithrandir, working hard to maintain an appropriately worried glower. Truthfully, he was as disturbed by the archer's silence as Aragorn, having left behind a barely coherent wreck and receiving a less than comforting diagnosis from the man just this morning past. Any indication of a return to more normal thought and interaction was heartening. "Can't see how more arrows will help, then."

"You have failed to account for speed. None can match my firing speed; so long as there is no Uruk archer, Tuilelindô will carry me into suitable range. I will need more arrows since I'll be within Orc-archer range. Arrows and speed, Mithrandir."

"No, still don't see it, Legolas," the wizard argued. "Even if you use your own bow, shooting at the furthest limit of your range, you only have so many arrows. Once they are gone, they are gone. Whatever Orcs are left will require knife work."

"Ah, but Orcs get a bit put off by seeing their fellows drop dead with arrows in them from an elf they cannot see. Makes them wonder how many elves are waiting. Makes them turn and run." Legolas showed his teeth but it wasn't a very pleasant sort of smile.

"Why didn't you bring him a bow, wizard?" Aragorn was no small amount peeved.

"He had one when I left him, Ranger; what happened to it?"

"Aragorn left it behind in Baran Dalf."

"Oh fine, blame me. The Wraiths were on us; I wasn't thinking about the bow."

"You didn't forget your sword, though," chided Legolas, but he was smiling again.

"Shall I go search for the bow?"

"No!" Legolas set his quiver aside and stretched himself out to grab the man's wrist, pulling to draw him near for a quick kiss with just the faintest touch of tongue behind it. He righted himself and feathered his fingers through his hair, brushing it over his shoulders, and offered Aragorn a decidedly seductive little sidelong smirk. "You are needed here at my side, Besnô."

The man arched a brow and let his gaze travel the long lanky frame with lingering appreciation. Here was the cheeky minx who'd stolen his heart. "All right, then. There should be suitable wood to be had on the borderlands of Lorien."

"Perhaps, but I would not like to take from the trees without asking leave, and we haven't time."

"We have plenty of time," reminded Mithrandir. "You are the only one in a hurry, Legolas."

"I have good cause," Legolas sighed. "Adar was not well when I left and it has been so long already."

"Your father has weathered much grief over his long life. He will not fade," Mithrandir assured, leaning forward to squeeze the archer's knee. His kindly words earned him a faint smile that flickered and died in a sombre sigh.

"He always had Nana, though. He is alone now."

"Nay, he is not alone," argued Aragorn. "It is said in Imladris he has a younger brother still living. Surely this brother has family to surround him with love and support. Also, Doronarth had family. Thranduil will not be lost to you." Indeed, Aragorn believed the King was in much better shape than his son. His bitterness over the circumstances of Legolas' captivity came through, though he meant to hide it, and he found the archer's piercing eyes on him instantly.

"Aye, Elboron lives and many generations of both his and Doronarth's seed, but it isn't the same. Those things I said yestreen, Besnô, you must not take them to heart. I was…I spoke from despair."

"I know, yet I stand by my complaint. Your kin should not have sent you to do this thing."

"Who else?"

"I cannot say; it is a horrible fate for anyone to bear. I understand the need, but can't condone the method."

"Do you know how I was chosen?"

"You said your father sent you, melethen."

"It is a lottery. All male family members of age are eligible, save those nurturing an unborn or new-born child; three are chosen. The three go forth and if the first fails, the second must try. If he is killed, the third must see it done. We do not allow ourselves to contemplate any other outcome. Do you see?"

"That's not what you…" Aragorn started, but Legolas went on.

"I'm sure you can understand this is not the first time we have faced such a situation, though we do our best to shield our ladies from such an end. We have banned females from serving in the guard and none are permitted to travel beyond the borders of the realm. Captures have diminished, but only because we have retreated so far northward that even if an elleth is captured, we can usually run down the band of Orcs before they make it into the Black Tower. This is why Ari's plan was so successful; we weren't ready for an ambush of men, particularly men of Rohan, especially so near the open river lands."

"What of a guard for Greenwood's Queen?" Aragorn could not help asking, for he wondered how Thranduil would let her go without such escort if he believed something was amiss. The man set aside his sword and rose, moving so to be closer to his mate. He pulled Legolas' back against his chest and wrapped his arms about him.

"They were there," Legolas sighed and let his head fall back on Aragorn's shoulder, leaned his temple against the man's bearded cheek. "But the Wraith's had planned this attack thoroughly. While the ambush was taking place, the archers guarding my mother were engaged by a full battalion of Orcs and Shadow soldiers, which are men who worship Sauron and serve the Wraiths. Five hundred at least, Doronarth reported. In seconds our people were embroiled in a vicious war and thought they were fighting the main assault, never realising it was a diversion. They were actually fooled into thinking the men in Rohirric garb were coming to their aid, while we now know those were Shadow men in disguise, come to take Greenwood's Queen and thus break at last her indomitable King."

"Aye, it was diabolical in design, for Thranduil would not suspect Rohan of treachery, rightly so, yet why did he let her go if his heart forebode trouble?"

"Nana saw that Bjorn's heart was open and his words were not lies. Thus, she believed this message from Lord Celeborn was sent, but that the messenger had perished somewhere in between, another victim of Shadow. Believing the message, she accepted the validity of the trading mission and would go to see the horses. They were her delight."

"Diabolical indeed," spat Mithrandir. "Yet, I do not believe Thranduil would send you to give her the mercy of death. What of this lottery, then?"

"Aye, you are right. Some said I should be exempt from the lottery since I was so young, my father included. Yet, many of Doronarth's kin said that excluding me had already cost them too much. They meant that trading party, of course. Adar said it was his decision and no fault of mine, so why should I be punished for it. They countered that he sacrificed one son to spare another, and the wrong one at that. Adar went into a rage, saying he would not lose his last son, and named any who would gainsay him treasonous." Legolas paused, a look of anguished bemusement on his face. "Can you picture it, Aragorn? All of us standing there holding this macabre council while my Nana was being beaten and raped by Orcs and Nazgul? How absurd, how obscenely absurd."

"Valar," Aragorn pressed his lips against the weary head and softly stroked the golden hair, met the wizard's eyes with tears in his own.

"I couldn't decide which made me angrier, my father's decision to exclude me or my nephews and nieces blaming me for Doronarth's death. I called them all traitors, for while we talked my mother suffered. I said I was going, lottery or not, and they could talk the day away if they wished. Adar made to stop me and now see us, King and Prince brawling like common beggars, and what was the prize? Who should kill his mate, my mother, and die. Adar is much the stronger ellon and soon had me pinned to the floor, calling for guards to come restrain me. I was so angry that I accused him of cowardice, of excluding himself as well as me. I told him he was afraid to face her because it was his fault she was in that trading party at all."

"No, Legolas," Aragorn whispered. Was there no end to the sorrow in this tale?

"Ai, young one," mourned Mithrandir, shaking his head sadly.

"Then Adar broke down and wept. I have never seen him like that and it was my doing. I didn't know that terrible thought was in his own heart and tried to take back my words, but it was too late. He decreed the lottery null, that he alone would go. Of course none would allow it and it took me, Elboron, Galion, Belinnas, and Noruion to overpower him. He was mad with rage and grief. We locked him in his rooms with Elboron and Galion to stand guard, listening to him and me curse each other through the door. He said a good son, a loving son would not leave his mother to linger in such a hell as Dol Guldur. I agreed and took that as his command for me to see it done."

"Ai, Legolas, he was really pleading with you to let him free, was he not?" asked Mithrandir.

"Perhaps." Legolas shrugged listlessly. "Someone had to go; it couldn't be him, so it was decided. The lottery selected my two companions: Celon'lir and Thórod, who was killed en route." He stirred, raising his head to look into Aragorn's eyes. "So you must not fault my father. His rights as mated husband were reneged and I am the only other elf who might have succeeded, as it turns out. Only because I was her son, and his, did the Wraiths keep me alive and use me for their sport. But for that I would never have got close to her and she would be suffering still."

After this Legolas fell silent and settled back against Aragorn's heart, turning a bit and burying his face under the man's chin, fingertips worming past tunic and shirt to touch upon skin. Mithrandir knew what the elf needed and rose, remarking that he had need to set a weird round their camp as he ambled away. Aragorn waited until he was beyond sight and then took his mate to the blankets and bedded him, and Legolas sang Ithil home to the horizon.

TBC


The title is taken from "What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide." which is from Shakespeare's Henry VI, part 3, Act IV, Scene III

NOTE: My thanks to Aralas for pointing out some typos and confusing prose in the last two chapters, which are now fixed. If anybody spots that kind of stuff, please let me know. I would greatly appreciate it. As always, I am very grateful for the wonderful feedback everyone has been sending. You guys are terrific :D I think maybe two chapters left in this tale. Anything unresolved after that goes in the sequel.