Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

To Resist both Wind and Tide	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4373 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do nto own Lord of the Rings and no money is made from this story, just fro fun.Characters and settings created by JRR Tolkien.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter Thirteen: Among Friends?

Everything changed after that first battle. Legolas became both more aggressive and more cautious. He was driven, scouting half a league ahead of his companions and circling back two behind to make sure they were not tailed, running in an almost perpetual series of loops and swooping curves, sometimes astride Tuilelindô but as often on foot. He sought for every dip and pocket of verdure in which to hide, and threaded the man and the wizard through these more obscured paths, determined to keep them from harm if he could. If sneaking and stealth were his only advantage, he would use them to the utmost.

They moved quickly now, took rest in small snatches, spared the horses as much as possible but were constantly on the run. Twice they were nearly caught by troops of warg riders at night, but Legolas' reconnaissance proved invaluable. In both cases, they eluded the corrupt beasts and the three heroes were uncontested. Two more days brought them at last to the lush green meres of the Gladden Fields.

Before them the sword-leafed lilies spread in glorious abundance, the colour of the verdure a vibrant, spring-time emerald, a deceptive beauty that mimicked the flower-dotted meadows of firmer soil and obscured the boundaries of the vast, phlegmatic pools. Nodding heads of white blossoms belied the treachery of the shifting channels of Gladden's bloated delta, hiding bars of deep, sucking mud where a finger of the flood had shifted enough to drop its suspended load but not enough to let the land fully regain its claim. Here was the deepest point in the whole valley, but the flood plain was so broad that Gladden's flow spread out in a vast, shallow fenland as it merged with Anduin. Thus, it was also the most dangerous point because of the resultant quick-mud.

The significance of this location was lost on none of them: here had Isildur met his doom. A crossing was unavoidable. Through the western tract of the valley, the marshes stretched beyond a man's sight and if they ploughed through it to the banks opposite, there was still another ford to reach in order to gain Greenwood's side of Anduin. That took them through open fields with little cover. Since this was the case, the trio had elected to venture east and fare out into the Anduin, to push across and make for the forest's eaves. A battle here would be disastrous, yet all three deemed battle imminent.

Legolas could not suppress his anxiety completely and his fretting took the form of silent intensity, his eyes ever scanning the horizon for signs of trouble, his ears straining for any hint of unnatural sound, determined to shield his mate from the end Isildur had suffered. He became a shadow of argent light dogging Aragorn's steps, for they had decided to walk the horses through the bog rather than risk having them founder in the mire. Often he could not stop his fingers from reaching out to touch the man's arm, his shoulder, his hand.

Aragorn did not hinder him in this, understanding the misery in his mate's heart, for he felt the same anxiety and wished he could ease it a bit. Not for the first time the man regretted that he had only a life-time of struggle to offer, a warrior's life of perpetual hardship with no permanent home, no sheltered hearth, no enveloping cover of leaves and limbs to provide comfort and security. Legolas deserved better, but Legolas had chosen him.

"We cannot chance battle at night," Aragorn spoke as these thoughts assailed him. "If they have wargs, we'll be in trouble. Wargs are superb swimmers."

"There will be wargs, count on it," growled Mithrandir. "I think the only way to do this is to separate. I will journey through the marshes toward Carrock; you and Legolas head immediately for the Anduin."

"How is that going to fool them?" asked Legolas.

"It is not so impossible," Aragorn remarked. "All we need is for Mithrandir to use a little of that magic he stores up so judiciously. The Orcs will believe we are making a run for Beorn's realm."

"Then we should send the horses with him," suggested Legolas reluctantly. "Tuilelindô will guide him to safety if there is any means to do so."

"I don't like the idea of being on foot once we're on the other side," said Aragorn. "There will likely be more Orcs waiting there. Yet, the ruse will be more credible if there are three horses with him, and they will be impossible to disguise. You and I can dog-paddle through this watery terrain undiscovered if we are cautious."

"And camouflaged," grinned the archer. "I will see to it."

Thus the trio parted, Tuilelindô and Azrûbel following the wizard as man and elf prepared themselves, crafting crude head-dresses of rushes and matted reeds, lilies and cattails, smearing their faced dark with mud. Eyeing each other with the bizarre hats on, neither could suppress a burst of giggling, especially Aragorn since Legolas had constructed a wig with long tendrils of green to hide his lengthy golden mane. Anor reached her zenith and they sobered. They had waited long enough for Mithrandir to draw attention to the presence of three horses lurching noisily through the water. The high, bright sun ensured the Orcs would be sluggish and least willing to give chase.

Down into the mire plunged Aragorn and Legolas and the water was so shallow they were forced to crawl on hands and knees through the silty muck. They slithered and slunk through the fen, struggling not to splash or disrupt the thick cover of floating lily pads too much, pausing whenever Legolas' ears detected the faintest whisper of motion. As they came nearer the main channels emptying into Anduin, they often dropped suddenly into deeper holes and submerged, surfacing in coughing gurgles that they feared would draw the enemy right to them. Yet their luck held, or Mithrandir's trick had succeeded, and in time the lilies thinned, giving way to tall slender reeds, willows, and cattails; they had come to the edge of the great river and here they halted. The sun was now low in the sky; it had taken several hours to complete the journey and they were exhausted.

"What now?" asked Legolas. They were waist deep in the flood and from this vantage the distance to the eastern shore seemed too great to swim, tired as he felt, and surely it was. "We must go against the current, too, or risk being carried into the enemy's territory."

His words surprised Aragorn, for he had never thought to hear an elf admit to the permanence of the Shadow's presence in Mirkwood, particularly not a Wood Elf. Before he could craft an answer, one was supplied for him.

"What, indeed. How have you come to this point alive, muindorion?" (brother-son)

The voice was cultured and quiet, couched in low tones with an underlying ring of strangely bemused ambivalence that made Legolas gasp. Both he and Aragorn were startled, but the archer recognised his uncle and replied at once.

"Elboron! How came you to be here?"

"Where else would I be? Mithrandir said to watch for you and so we have these last many weeks. I am not the only one near at hand, for we surmised you might attempt to get across at Gladden, foolish though such a strategy may be. So, were you planning to swim, you and this mortal companion you have dragged into your doom?" There was no mistaking his cutting disapprobation now.

"Legolas saved my life," Aragorn spoke up at once, displeased to hear the Sindarin elf's cold tone. He found himself staring into compelling green eyes within a visage fair and lordly, yet Elboron was camouflaged much as were he and Legolas, his head crowned not with a mithril circlet but a limp, bedraggled corona of lilies and cattails. It made confronting the King's brother much easier. "So rather than dragging me into doom he has delivered me from it."

"Elboron, this is a noble man and worthy of your regard. He has Mithrandir's countenance." Legolas hastened to explain, then paused a miniscule moment of time. "How is Adar?"

"Alive, as are you," snapped Elboron and gave Aragorn a curt nod but did not bother to ask his name. He turned and waded along the bank, producing a soft quacking call such as a loon might make, and an answering warble replied. "Come, there is a boat. Where is the wizard?"

"Mithrandir provided us a diversion and drew off the Orcs lying in wait," said Aragorn, determined not to permit this haughty Sindarin prince to dismiss him so quickly. Elboron might not consider him important enough to warrant learning the man's name, but he would be forced to acknowledge him. "The Istar will meet us under the trees, if he survives."

"No worry of that," snorted Elboron, passing another survey over the human, up and down. "Good. I've words to trade with him." He began drawing a long canoe from the reeds and Legolas hurried to help him, but Elboron spoke past him to the man. "I hope you can paddle long and hard, echil, for there are Orcs poised to attack. We'll be under fire with little protection until we gain Greenwood's borders. Our archers will cover our emergence from the water there."

"I will not fail you," assured Aragorn, "and Legolas will be our safeguard for the crossing."

Elboron graced his nephew with an openly critical inspection. "Is that the bow you plan to use?"

"Aye, a gift from Rohan, though its range is somewhat short for this work," admitted the archer contritely.

"Rohan?" Elboron spat the word with sharp surprise and stared at his nephew, incredulous.

"They were not responsible for what happened," Legolas hastened to explain. "Their people were also killed and shadow men took their places, donned their clothing and helms, stole the horses to fool us."

"I see," murmured Elboron, eyes narrowed and lips set. "You've got your answers then, it seems." Yet he was curious how Legolas had ended up in the horse-lords' lands, and once more his sight travelled over the mortal so staunchly planted at his nephew's right hand. "You are not from Rohan."

"No. I encountered Legolas in Baran Dalf where his intervention spared me and earned him a poisoned wound."

"And now you remain by his side because you feel you owe him?" Elboron was intrigued. Men were curious folk.

"I owe him much, but that is not why I am here," Aragorn bristled, uncertain why this description of his motives bothered him so much. He found himself praying the prince did not press him to explicate his reasons.

"That's how I lost my bow," Legolas interposed, woebegone and bewildered. He truly didn't want Aragorn to be dragged into his doom. "I dropped it when…"

"No matter," Elboron snapped, waving away further explanation. "There is one here in the boat. Ready yourself." With this terse command he pulled himself aboard and grabbed Aragorn by the arm, heaving him in quickly.

Even as Legolas hauled his body over the side a snarling bellow sounded nearby and a high, whining zing warned him just in time; he hunched low as the lethal dart of a deadly crossbow flew free, missing him by little more than a finger's width. Scant yards away from them, a boat darted out of the reeds bearing three Orcs, one taking aim with the mechanical weapon. With haste Legolas fired the Rohirric bow and skewered his fiendish counterpart, then took up the elvish weapon and strung it that he might have the range to which he was accustomed.

The Orcs shouted curses, one of them marking Elboron in the crossbow's sights, but another canoe had emerged from the banks almost simultaneously and from it a second elven archer targeted the shooter. Between him and Legolas, the crude craft was drifting off downstream with its cargo of corpses in seconds. The archer in the other boat lifted his bow in salute and Legolas did the same.

Elboron took seat at the prow and Aragorn in the stern and together they drove against the flow in long, deep strokes, alternating side to side to force the canoe upstream. From several spots along the bank came Orcs in similar boats, and far on the other side the man could just make out several dark slivers gliding through the stream, like a nest of black vipers taken to the water. His attention returned to Legolas kneeling between him and Elboron, balanced at midship, carefully aiming to destroy the approaching foes.

He had not had opportunity to so closely observe the Wood Elf at his art and the man was fascinated. Logically, he knew the ellon's hand had to move to retrieve an arrow, nock it, draw the string and release it, but he could hardly follow the motion. Likewise, he realised the boat was not still and stable, yet Legolas betrayed no indications that he was compensating for the swaying and jerky bobbing. Not from false vanity had he named Legolas their safeguard for the crossing. The man was quietly jubilant and proud of his mate's skill. The sensation leant him strength and he rowed harder to match Elboron's considerable power. Before long, their speed granted them a lead too great to be overtaken by any foes hiding along the western shore.

Legolas knelt in the canoe and fired a steady barrage of missiles into the oncoming fleet. A miss was a rare thing but he noted several, scowling bitterly when an arrow struck wood or silently plunged into the river, never to be retrieved. A quirk in the current or a ripple in the water's surface could spare an enemy. He had never fought in such conditions before and viewed each miss with incriminating regret. He ran out of arrows and still the Orcs paddled toward them, more entering the river every minute it seemed. Behind them, the other archer was also out of bolts. Legolas scanned the belly of the canoe in vain; Elboron had only furnished three extra bundles and he had used them.

"Why didn't you bring more?" he demanded, frustrated, but did not wait for an answer. He stowed the bow in his harness and dove into the water, swimming for the nearest Orcish boat.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called in alarm. Elboron glanced at him quickly, a speculative look in those sharp eyes. "What is he doing?" demanded the man.

"Getting more arrows, I would think," answered the Sindarin prince drily. "If you want to aid him, paddle faster." So saying he increased his effort and the man could do nothing less, gasping for breath to meet the challenge, sweating from the strain, all the while watching the streaming ripples where Legolas cut through the water.

Black arrows peppered the undulating surface of the river and he could tell some were close enough to pierce his mate. Heart in his throat, the man willed his arms to lift, plunge, drive; lift, plunge, and drive, eyes on that moving 'V' where Legolas swam. Suddenly the elf vanished beneath the surface and Aragorn feared the worst, unaware of the fierce yell he gave or the corresponding surprise on Elboron's face.

Yet his fears were dispelled the next moment when suddenly Legolas surfaced beside an enemy boat, leaping high from the water as he grabbed one of the paddles and pulled the Orc holding it into the flood with him. They fought, the chaotic struggle obscured by fountains of water and the hull of the boat as they grappled, and Aragorn had never felt so completely helpless in all his days, but his mate triumphed, stabbing the Orc viciously over and over, all the while dodging wild blows from the second Orc's paddle. A flick of the elf's wrist sent the dagger sailing and buried it in the oar wielder's black heart. Legolas clambered aboard, pulled out the knife and cut loose the Orc's quiver, heaved the carcass overboard, and armed his bow with the enemies' bolts. It was a sweet irony, delivering death on the points of their own arrows, and Legolas wore a feral grin. His uncle's boat pulled alongside and he crossed over.

"Take me there, Elboron," he said, sparing a brief, reassuring glance at Aragorn, shooting the Orcish archer indicated, and the prince complied.

This became their pattern of attack: Legolas shooting all his arrows, then diving back into the water to reach a boat where there would be more waiting, Elboron and Aragorn following to retrieve him. A glance behind showed the other sylvan archer imitating Legolas, and the numbers of their enemies began to drop.

"Resourceful, that one," Elboron laughed with grim delight, shaking his head as Legolas killed off another boatload of Orcs and dived into the river to go steal their arrows. "Come, we cannot permit him to have all the glory, can we?"

They steered toward a likely combatant, oars tearing into the liquid furiously so that they rammed the boat with enough force to toss one of the foes into the water. A battle of swords and paddles ensued, the canoes rocking and tipping almost as one craft, until Elboron grew bored with it and lightly leaped into the enemy's boat and neatly slit the Orcs' throats. He jumped back to Aragorn's side grinning a jackal's leer: canines exposed, eyes flicking here and there seeking prey. "Next one I will leave for you, echil."

He was as good as his word and Aragorn found himself standing in the stern of the canoe, broadsword ready, feeling like a target even a half-blind, arthritic Orc archer could not miss. In the distance, he thought he heard Legolas shout, spotted his mate in the water again, but they were now nearly on top of the enemy and action was required. "Elendil!" he bellowed and attacked, first amputating the Orcs' hands as they tried to parry his blows with oars, then beheading them. The strength required made him over-balance on the swaying surface; he sat hard and the canoe almost tipped them into the river. "Well done!" the King's brother roared with laughter. Aragorn sheathed his sword and took up his paddle, wondering if all the Wood Elves were mad.

Despite the struggle, they had made significant progress and neared the eastern banks. The trees loomed, leaning low over the river, crowded up to the brink of the flow as though about to plunge in. A thick flight of arrows suddenly soared from the upper branches and several Orcs met death. Another volley reduced their numbers again and a hoarse call in Black Speech rang through the air. The cowardly demons turned and began retreating downstream, making for their fortress, for it was clear enough they would not defeat the elves this day. Aragorn heard a loud outcry, at once victorious and defiant, and watched a great host of Wood Elves leaping down from the trees and chasing along the bank, firing after the fleeing foes, shouting curses and slurs.

All at once Legolas popped up beside Elboron's boat and Aragorn gave a hand, pulling him aboard. "You are not hurt?" he asked.

"Nay." Legolas checked Aragorn over in silence and satisfied himself the man was uninjured. Drenched, shivering, and his head-dress long lost, Legolas was nonetheless pleased with the outcome of the battle. He offered his mate a fleeting smile, pulled the reedy crown from the man's head, and took up the third paddle. He glanced at his uncle's stiff back as he dipped the oar. "No casualties," he reported quietly. It was important; they'd risked much to see him safely across.

For all his praise earlier, Elboron had no congratulatory thanks for his nephew, casting a disparaging eye over him as he said: "I'd not say that. You've ruined that bow, dousing it in the river."

"I'll make you another," assured Legolas.

"What good is that? I can make another; the bow is an heirloom."

"Why'd you bring it, then?"

"To honour you."

Legolas drew an audible breath and gave no answer, nor could he hold his uncle's eyes. He gazed upon the bow instead, touched the weapon with reverence, clenched his jaw against the strong emotion suddenly afflicting his throat.

Aragorn was lost, looking from one prince to the other, for he considered this a strange conversation under the circumstances. He couldn't fathom its meaning, but when he parted his lips to inquire Legolas set a hand on his arm and gave a firm shake of his head, the expression in his eyes both pleading and warning. The man covered the hand and squeezed, wanting nothing so much as to take Legolas to his heart, for he knew the chill running through the elf was not all from immersion in Anduin.

They steered a course along the shadowed banks, the other elven boat behind them, and came to a suitable pull-out. Here the company of archers waited, milling about and talking quietly, but all fell silent as Aragorn and Legolas stepped on dry land. Yet Legolas ignored them, turning to their escort on the voyage and its occupants, or rather one in particular, the second archer. Smiling in glad relief, he held out his hand to help him ashore.

"Celon'lir!" he exclaimed. "I cannot begin to say how happy I am to see you. I thought you dead."

The elf did not accept his help and tossed his bow to another warrior so that he and his companions could drag their boat up onto the muddy shingle. "I thought the same of you, muindoradar (uncle), yet here you are," said Celon'lir, using almost the same words Elboron had uttered, his tone just as wary and suspicious. He avoided looking at Legolas directly and moved around his uncle, instead giving the man close scrutiny as he passed, and took a spot near Elboron.

Legolas' smile vanished and his hand fell lax at his side as he scanned the elves gathered at the cove. All eyes were focused on the sodden archer and his human companion and Aragorn instinctively reached for that rejected hand. His grip was returned with a clasp so tight it spoke of desperation and he looked to see fear in the wide blue irises focused on Elboron.

"I have a promise to keep," said Legolas, his voice shaking. In fact his entire body was shaking.

"What promise?" demanded Elboron, folding his arms over his heart.

"It is between me and my father, at my mother's behest. I must see him."

At this a sharp bark of laughter broke from one of the warriors and several shook their heads, murmuring darkly. "Gwarth," (Betrayer) one spat and hearing this word made Aragorn's heart stumble.

Elboron held up his hand to command silence and the ugly mood stilled. "You know I cannot let you near him, not without some proof or surety. Can you give me such?"

"What of the battle just engaged?" Legolas asked, pointing behind to the river. "Would I kill them if I was one of them?"

"Aye, they kill each other all the time," remarked a dour warrior. "I have heard an Orc gains majority by killing its mother."

At this, Legolas went white and still, wide eyes locked with his accuser, and could summon no retort. Aragorn, however, exploded in outrage. "Enough! How could you say such things? Is this the way of the Wood Elves, to punish those who have endured unimaginable torment and misery?"

"Who are you to inquire of our ways?" rebuked Elboron and again he held up a palm, silencing the reply on the man's lips. "Your interest in this matter needs to be addressed, but until it is you have neither right nor authority to speak out. This is our law." He took a step toward his nephew. "Legolas, you know the proof I need; can you produce it or not?"

"Yes, but not right here and now." Several groans and muttered expletives followed this but suddenly Legolas shouted over them. "Mithrandir has it, for I stowed it in my pack."

"Silence!" commanded Elboron and the complaining ceased. "Why does Mithrandir have this token, muindorion? I would think it too important to you to trust to anyone, even one of the Istari."

"I did not want to chance losing it in the water, thinking I would have to swim. Tuilelindô will meet us near the forest gate, for she is guiding the wizard there," he answered.

"Then, we will journey to the forest gate," Elboron replied and gave a heavy sigh. "Your weapons." He came forward and held out his hand for the Rohirric bow and the dagger he knew his nephew would have hidden somewhere. Then he caught his breath, seeing the long knife. "Ai! Give it over at once! Can you dare to wield it?" He snatched the blade from Legolas and inspected it carefully, staring at his nephew in horror and anger.

"Why should he not wield it? She would want him to have it," rebuked Aragorn, beyond his limit for tolerance. He felt nothing but contempt for whatever their barbaric laws required; he was ready to challenge this haughty prince and make him pay for his harsh words.

"Again you overstep your bounds, echil, but I will let Legolas answer your query," said Elboron coolly. His searching eyes raked the trembling archer. "Did she intend for you to have this? Did she place it in your hands?" Legolas was shaking his bowed head, unable to meet his uncle's scathing glare. "No, of course she did not. If she had still possessed a weapon, she would have used it on herself. How come you to possess it? Only the Wraiths could have taken it from her while she lived. Did they give this into your keeping?"

"Nay! It is not that…I didn't…Mithrandir must have found it; he brought it to me." Legolas tried to explain and a miserable groan escaped his lips. Elboron knew what he'd done, but not how he'd done it, and this he could not bring himself to reveal.

At once Aragorn felt terrible for putting his mate in a position to have to answer these questions and pulled him close, not caring if it was improper among the Wood Elves to display such feelings or not. Whatever courtesy they might possess in other situations, he could not condone their cruelty in this one. It was plain enough they held to the ancient prejudice against those unfortunate few who escaped captivity in the Shadow's lair. True, he had worried about this himself, but he was not prepared to condemn Legolas without strong evidence of such corruption.

"I am sorry, Melethen. I did not know it would be this way."

"My love?" Celon'lir repeated, surprised, and numerous snickers resounded around him. Yet his next words were not so cold anymore. "That explains his interest in the matter." he sighed, an exhalation partly relieved, partly resigned.

"Foolish human," another elf scolded. "Why take a snake to your bed? It will only sink its fangs into you, caring nothing about your death."

"Legolas saved my life," announced Aragorn loudly enough for all ears, stunned to hear almost the same analogy Selwyn had used. "We share a bond of life over death. I will not tolerate anymore slurs of this nature. The next to speak so must be prepared to meet my challenge."

"Kalrô, no!" Legolas cried. Aragorn was strong and bold, but no match for a sylvan warrior.

"So be it; your claim is recognised," said Elboron. He came closer and raised his nephew's chin, forcing the shame-faced elf to meet his gaze. "Legolas, this is almost surety enough," he said more gently and laid his hand on the archer's shoulder. "He is your mate?"

"Aye," whispered Legolas, struggling for composure.

"I am glad you will not face this trial alone, muindorion," Elboron whispered back, and extracted him from Aragorn's hold for a swift embrace before returning him, carefully and firmly wrapping each of the man's arms about his nephew's body, steady stare examining the man with more interest and less animosity. "I am glad," he repeated and gripped Aragorn's shoulder, then turned and faced his warriors. "Let it be known, should that challenge require an answer, I will stand as champion for this man." He turned from them, brisk and imperious, defying further questions or comments and calling orders as he went. The warriors quickly fell into ranks and followed, Legolas and Aragorn surrounded on all sides.

The way was long and the journey trying, far more tense and uncomfortable than their travels among the Rohirrim, in Aragorn's opinion, and he found his heart heavy. It occurred to him that no small amount of his uneasiness was due to being encircled by these daunting people, outnumbered and completely at their mercy. Neither did it escape his thoughts that mayhap this was not unlike Legolas' experience among the men of Rohan. If so, then Elbroron was for him what Selwyn had been for the archer. Aragorn's thoughts simmered in convoluted and contesting patterns, first glad of Elboron's remarks about his union to Legolas, then perplexed by them; glad of his offer to champion him, then uneasy over whether this obliged him in any way to the prince.

Through all these ruminations intervened his concern for Legolas, who could not stop shaking. The ellon's fingers were like ice against his palm and he had not raised his head or lifted his voice in song since before the battle in the fog. He would not speak, shaking his head at any question Aragorn tried to raise. His hair draped round his downcast countenance in messy disarray and Legolas looked more defeated than the man had seen him since the breakdown in Rohan. Aragorn was growing more alarmed with every step, but feared to leave the elf's side long enough to demand answers from Elboron.

Out of deference for his lesser capacity for graceful agility, or so Aragorn supposed, the Wood Elves did not take to the trees, but he wondered why they did not call for horses and thus make the journey quicker and easier. At this rate it would take days to reach the forest gate. He wasn't sure Legolas had strength to endure their silent censure that long. When evening came to the forest, Elboron called a halt and made his way back to his nephew, but it was Aragorn he addressed.

"You may take him up here," he indicated a tall beech nearby. "There is a talan in the branches not too far from the ground, a lookout of sorts. We have many like this along the edge of the forest made for the woodsmen to keep watch over the valley. All you need should be there; if not, call down to the guards. Celon'lir will answer."

He turned to go but Aragorn caught his arm. "Wait. Tell me what is happening here. Is Legolas a prisoner in his own homeland?"

"Has he said nothing to you?" Elboron gave an aggrieved sigh and glanced at his forlorn nephew as the man shook his head. "He is a prisoner, yes. Once taken by the Wraiths, we cannot trust anyone who comes out of that Tower. Legolas is not the first to do so, and there have not been many, but I have seen them. I killed one, hardly recognisable as an elf anymore: all the soul gone and in its place nothing but a black madness, a hunger to destroy. It is horrible to see and I was not sorry to take its life. That is what the ellon would have chosen for himself if he still had a soul. Now here is Legolas, the first in my own family to suffer this fate, but I cannot let that change what I know to be right. We have laws, a means of testing the integrity of an elf's feä, and to these Legolas will be subjected."

"But Mithrandir cleansed him," insisted Aragorn, hoping this would have some impact, but the prince was shaking his head.

"What you say may be true; when we meet the wizard we'll learn of his actions. If Mithrandir vouches for his spirit, so be it. That in addition to your claim as his mate will be enough, for Orcs breed aplenty but do not bond one to another. Being soulless, lightless, and devoid of feeling, how can they? The other tests will not be needed. I will both rejoice and grieve then. Until then, I cannot let Legolas near the King, and not without proof that he did what he was duty bound to do. After that, it is Thranduil's right to take vengeance or to show mercy. We will not interfere; neither shall you." Elboron spared his nephew a pained look and turned to go, but abruptly faced the man. "How are you called?"

"Aragorn son of Arathorn." The man never hesitated an instant to share this, doubting Elboron would know the significance of the name, and frankly too disturbed by what he'd just been told to care. Thranduil would not choose vengeance, surely. Yet he was not so sure.

"Truly?" The prince's brows lifted as curious wonder softened Elboron's rigid expression. "Mae govannen, hîl od Elendil," (Well met, heir of Elendil) he said with a slight dip of his head. "Do not speak that name again out here; unfriendly ears are always listening. I cannot guess what strange fate has decreed this union, nor can I say if it will be good for Legolas, but welcome. You have joined Nôrê Domilindê, one of the most ancient and revered clans of Greenwood." Now he turned to Legolas and his words were too low for other than the three of them to hear. "Go with him, muindorion, and renew your strength." He strode away rapidly without waiting for a reply, clearly overcome with distress.

Legolas gave forth a low groan and turned, dropping his head against his mate's chest.

"Melethen, I wish you had told me about this," Aragorn whispered, enfolding him in sheltering arms, voice hushed and heavy.

"Why? What difference would that make?" asked the distraught elf. The face he raised was pinched in with pained confusion. "Are you saying you would not have come had you known? Are you…are you going to abandon me now?"

"No! I did not mean that," Aragorn took him at the shoulders and shook him a little then pulled him close again and held him. "I would have refused to come, that is true, but I would have taken you with me to Eriador at once, never bringing you here. I would have insisted on Mithrandir fulfilling that promise."

"That would not be acceptable to my people, nor to me," Legolas sighed. "Please, let's go up. I am weary and cold and my heart is burdened."

"Ai! Do not lose hope. Just as I swore to protect you in Rohan, so I make the same vow now. No one is going to take vengeance upon you after all you've endured, especially since you should never have been forced to endure it."

"I was not forced," argued Legolas but then he exhaled another moan and decided it was too exhausting to argue. "Please, Besnô."

Whispered murmuring among the warriors nearby told them this word had been overheard, but Aragorn wasn't clear if the elves resented the union or not. In other circumstances, he would have felt confident he understood objections to his claim on one of their own, but now he wondered if they were angry with him or with Legolas, or merely curious. He hoped the latter. He had not brought Legolas safely out of Rohan and under the very eyes of the Wraiths only to stand by and watch these sylvans destroy him. He took Legolas by the elbow and led him to the tree, eager to get him away from these sternly probing stares.

He gazed up into the branches at the sturdy talan there, then back at his mate's slumped frame. It was not very high, but still higher than he cared to climb, especially as there were no branches ready to hand to aid his ascent. Legolas did not look fit for it, either, and Aragorn doubted he could carry him. He frowned, glancing at the silent guards watching them, and motioned to Celon'lir. "Since this was made for men, there must be a ladder of sorts. Will you secure it for me?"

"Can't your 'Meleth' go up and do this thing?" the other guard spoke scornfully, cutting a swift sneer at Legolas as he spoke.

"Aye, I'll go," said Legolas, but Aragorn gripped his arm tighter.

"Nay," the man's spine stiffened at this open taunt and he pulled Legolas back. "You will not speak of him that way. Legolas is my Hervenn; you may use his name, or his title, or…."

"Enough, I will tend to it," said Celon'lir.

"Nay, I am going now," Legolas tore free and verily ran up the trunk.

The man watched him and turned back to Celon'lir. "Why must you shun him?" he asked quietly. "Legolas was grief stricken to think you dead. He told me you were like brothers. Have you no feeling left for him?" The rope ladder unfurled at that moment and dangled beside him, but Aragorn waited, wanting an answer.

"Kalrô, please," Legolas hissed from the edge of the platform.

"I cannot be held accountable for your ignorance," stated Celon'lir. "I am grief stricken; he is grief stricken; we are all grief stricken; aren't you? Now go and do what you can to comfort your Hervenn, echil, for your time together is short."

"What do you mean?" demanded Aragorn, but Celon'lir didn't answer. He lifted his eyes to his uncle and this time Aragorn saw the sorrow in them. Then the ellon turned his back on the man and rejoined his comrade.

"Kalrô!" Legolas called, pleading openly, and the word was like a knife in the man's heart.

He hurried up the ladder and before anything else took the elf's face between his hands and kissed him deeply. "Sîdh, Im sí, Im sí." (Peace, I'm here, I'm here.) He stood and pulled Legolas upright, secured him in his arms, and looked at the place they would spend the night. There were blankets and bedding, clean clothing, water and food. Clearly, Elboron had anticipated the need for all of these.

Or perhaps it was Mithrandir's instructions.

Legolas was leaning heavily against him, head resting against his heart; the man eased them both down onto the pallet. He knew well what Legolas needed but wondered whether the elf would be willing given the size of the audience below, nor was he eager to make a display of their love, either. Yet, the man was not about to make Legolas do the asking, deciding he would rather be rejected than hurt the elf that way again. He tipped the dolorous countenance up and kissed Legolas again, glad to feel the response of the vital, invasive tongue teasing back. He started to divest the archer of the rumpled clothes but Legolas stopped him.

"I don't like this anymore than you," he whispered. "It is humiliating, all of them listening, spying with their ears." He snuggled closer, a sad breath leaving him as he tucked his head beneath the man's chin. "Yet we must. If you refuse to lie with me, it is as much as saying we are not really mates."

"Are you serious?" Aragorn asked and frowned when Legolas nodded assent. "You know I would never refuse you, Melethen, whatever the circumstances. Besides, we will both forget them once we start." This produced only a half-hearted shrug and another sigh. The man mentally winced, realising these were not the most romantic words with which to engage the distraught elf.

More than a little worried, he knew Legolas needed to renew their bond and restore his spirit after the draining experience just endured and the battles before it. An idea came to him and a slow, exuberant smile crept over Aragorn's face. It was generally Legolas who made the first overtures for intimacy, for the man still had reservations about the morality of his union with the archer. He had permitted himself to accede by excusing his craving as a remedy for Legolas' recovering feä; tonight he would declare the true nature of his appetite. Nuzzling the mussed hair, he slipped a hand beneath the back of the archer's tunic, running it over the rigid spine as he leaned close to an exposed ear tip. "I need you, Hervenn," he whispered and gently bit the reddening peak.

"Ai! Kalrô!" Legolas yelped softly and jumped a little. He raised a faintly inquiring smile to Aragorn, noting the expression of desire and love in the grey eyes, and if love was more prominent than desire, he was not displeased with that. He sat up and caressed the rugged cheek, eyes falling to the firm mouth. "Ah, Aragorn," he sighed, leaning in to sample carmine lips that opened to receive him and then promptly stole away dominion. Legolas did not mind; it was as he preferred.

Restive fingers migrated into the man's unkempt locks, combing and carding; the other hand settled on his muscular thigh, slid in slow rhythm up to the crotch and back, never touching there, the sub-audible sensation of skin slipping over tight leather lost in the subtle signs and subdued sounds of mouths and tongues tenderly enmeshed, engaged in the gentle, voiceless combat universal to mates and lovers the world over, yet unique to every pair of hearts: sibilant sighs and liquid, languid snaps as lips parted only to seal tight again. Legolas' heart sang out in noiseless exultation, a music purely of soul, a wordless, timeless theme of ardent yearning, and heard its echo in Aragorn's rising pulse.

The man shifted about yet refused to relinquish possession even to disarm; in the midst of their quiet oral interchange, the clamour of his broadsword and belt toppling to the floor rang a raucous chord they both ignored. Legolas felt careful hands, blindly persistent, undoing his clothes and let them, content to remain as he was, feeding on the hungry lips that claimed his over and again. He remembered their first kiss, so brief, so bitter, so filled with the man's light.

Even then, understanding nothing, Aragorn had withheld nothing. And even now, knowing everything, he gave all. Radiance filled Legolas' spirit until there was no room for sorrow and the icy numbness in his bones melted. His skin tingled; delicious warmth raced through him, leaving every sensitive zone aroused and flushed. He withdrew from the consuming lips and met grey eyes no longer lacking in fiery heat.

"Ah, Kalrô," he smiled, "shadow and darkness cannot touch me while your light fills me." His next moan was soft and decadent and he fell back readily when Aragorn pressed him down, his tunic and shirt gone, where he did not care.

Aragorn covered him, deeply moved, eager to have his mate, to prove the bond could once more salve the hurts and harms Legolas had suffered. He rained kisses and caresses over every available speck of skin and hair, murmured incoherent little sounds of anguished joy. Aragorn wanted to savour every touch, every caress, eyes travelling the half-naked body, pausing here and there as he tried to decide where to begin. At moments like this, everything about the archer was erotic. He took one of the elegant hands and kissed the palm, drew the long fingers into his mouth one by one and sucked them, eyes locked on the elf's, heart racing to see the pupils dilate and fill with avid hunger.

He let the hand go and focused on the delicate elegance of the archer's ear again, flushed and warm where he licked across the rosy pinnacle. He tested the firm flesh of the tip, biting down to wring another shuddering gasp from his mate, grinned to hear it. He dabbed his tongue into the whorls of the cartilage and nipped at the small lobe, lapped behind it and tasted the faint tang of salt. "Hervenn," he whispered and watched the ripple of delight that ran over Legolas as the word wafted over the damp skin. He pressed his tongue down in tiny kisses across the archer's jaw line, ending with a peck on the nose and another exploration of the archer's willing mouth.

"Besnô," Legolas whispered back when it was done, twisting a dark, wayward lock round his index finger. He smiled, brushing the bearded cheek still crusted faintly with mud, touching the firm chin, eyes first on the sensuous mouth parted so just a hint of teeth showed, then on grey eyes at once tender and tempestuous. Their mouths joined again.

A transcendent joy spread through Legolas as the strong, vibrant light of the man's spirit filtered into his heart and he reached for him, yanked to bring him closer as though to fuse their lips eternally. He needed more, needed Aragorn against him, skin to skin, and busied himself with the clasps and lacings of the heavy tunic. The kiss ended as Aragorn sat back, eager to get out of the clothes, and he watched in dreamy appreciation as the man shrugged out of them, baring his broad chest and its soft pelt of silky hair. Legolas dragged his nails through it and across nipples already erect and the colour of wine.

"Ah," Aragorn inhaled, drew his shoulders straight, expanded his diaphragm and flexed his pectorals, pleased that Legolas found him desirable. He ran his hand over the smooth expanse of the archer's belly and up to his nipples, so pointed and red, and pinched them, one and then the other, and because that was tantalising rather than satisfying, bent low and lapped at them, drew the heated nodules in and rolled his tongue over them.

Beneath him Legolas made another quiet moan, settled a hand at the back of his head, pressed him closer, while the other slid down and dipped under the waist of the man's trousers, seeking. Fingertips encountered the hot, slick pinnacle of the engorged penis and delicately caressed the sensitive surface, a hint of nails concluding the contact. His touch raised a gruff growl, an awkward shift of the Ranger's hips, and severed their oral contact. Legolas grinned, fiddling with the unusual fastenings he'd not seen until meeting Aragorn, pushing the flat bone disks through slots in leather drawn taut after drying during the long march.

Aragorn watched, breath harsh and ragged, as the pants were opened, eyes glued to that hand as it disappeared, fisted his rigid shaft, and drew it out. The elf stroked him hard once, grip tightening, and Aragorn groaned, closed his hand over the archer's and took control of the pace. It was incredibly erotic but he wanted more and returned his gaze to the elf's. His eyes dropped to the archer's luscious mouth, imagined his cock rocking into its warm wet suction, and forced an abrupt halt to the stimulation. With a garbled oath, he kicked free of his boots and shoved the trousers off, crawled back to Legolas on hands and knees, crouched beside the angelic face, tipped the ruddy organ toward him.

Legolas was pleased to accommodate him and rolled to his side, admiring the proud column of flesh rising out of its nest of tight black curls, the scent pungent, and lapped up the clear, slippery fluid. The taste was acrid, but not unpleasantly so, and he sampled it again, running his tongue the length of the organ. The man uttered an incoherent cry and Legolas peered up at him, felt his heart leap at the avid plea in the grey eyes, and settled his lips over the blunt point, sucking as he swirled his tongue across the slit. Immediately he had to retreat for Aragorn gave a shout and lunged forward, shoving the thick root against his palate. He fought the urge to gag and heard frantic apologies as the man's hands, shaking, stroked his cheek, his hair. He retained just the tip between his lips and breathed.

Again Legolas raised his eyes and met an expression of mortified appeal, something he had never seen on anyone's face before, and smiled around the penis. They tried again, Aragorn trembling in his effort to hold still as Legolas slowly dropped his head and filled his mouth. He gripped the root with his hand and withdrew, increasing the suction as he did, and the wavering ovation from his mate was exhilarating. He repeated the manoeuvre and pumped in concert with his increasing pace, voraciously suckling, recreating Aragorn's dream in every detail. He hummed out a contented little sigh and readied himself to receive the man's bitter ejaculate, but the comforting weight of Aragorn's hand atop his head suddenly changed into a clutching fist yanking him up and off.

"Ai! Oh Valar, stop!" Aragorn cried, panting, and tore the hand off his root, too. He sat down, shuddering, a deep groan churning through his lungs, Legolas' wrist clamped in his fist. A quick gush of a breath escaped his lips as he smiled at the confused Wood Elf. "It's good, but perhaps too good," he huffed.

"Let me finish," insisted Legolas, twisting to work his hand free, but the man held on.

"Nay, nay," whispered Aragorn. He knew what Legolas liked and was determined to cater to his mate. "You're still half-dressed," he observed and remedied the situation, pulling off Legolas' boots and untying the laces of his leggings. He peeled the skin-tight leather down, grinning as the elf lifted his rear to help. The slender, rigid shaft rose up eagerly once freed and the man took hold of it at once, pumping with persistent pressure, Legolas bucked into the stimulation. He exhaled a lusty grunt, spread his legs, and propped himself up on his elbows to watch. Yet Aragorn was in no hurry and kept his motion slow and steady, watching with delight as the elf squirmed and pushed the rosy cock into his hand.

"Valar, you are beautiful like this," he said softly, filled with wonder that Legolas was his to handle so intimately. His free fingers feathered through the fine, wispy pubic hair and fondled the tight, smooth sac, raising a sigh of pleasure as the elf fell back trembling. Yet Aragorn's smile faltered a little, for once again he was confronted with that obvious difference between Legolas and other elves he'd seen, the reason for it now known.

There was a scar here, jaggedly lumpy and barely visible in the dark, but of course he'd examined it before, and inside the scrotum only one firm gland rolled within the velvety pouch. 'Males are just castrated and slowly tortured to death…' Legolas' matter-of-fact explanation replayed through his mind. The implications were sickening. Aragorn forced his thoughts from such speculation; Legolas had never alluded to his disfigurement, not since his embarrassment over the man's close scrutiny the night in Rohan when they'd first seen each other naked. He slipped his fingers back across the tender perineum until they encountered the sealed anus. He rubbed it gently as Legolas moaned and eagerly lifted a leg onto his shoulder.

"Aye, Kalrô, aye," he encouraged, voice quiet but urgent, lungs straining for air. "Need you, need you now."

It was not a request Aragorn was capable of refusing but he spared a moment, rummaging in the basket of bathing supplies near at hand, hoping fate had provided for this need, too. He was not disappointed, finding a balm used for easing sore muscles and bruised skin. They'd not had anything so fitting to make the experience less stressful for Legolas' body. The man knew he became sore during intercourse but bore the pain without complaint, driven by the demands of his diminished soul. As Aragorn was trying to decide whether to coat himself first or the elf, a hand wrapped round his cock and pulled hard.

"Ai! Legolas, Valar!" hissed Aragorn, permitting himself to be tugged to the pallet were he was summarily shoved onto his back and straddled, Legolas backside settling neatly atop the engorged organ. He rocked slightly and they both groaned as the thick erection twitched in the enveloping heat.

"What have you got there?" asked Legolas, eyes bright with mischief and desire.

"You should be familiar with it by now, Hervenn," chuckled Aragorn.

"Nay, you know what I mean," giggled the archer and wriggled his behind against the hot hard rod, stroking himself in the process.

"Elbereth!" Aragorn groaned, snatching Legolas at the waist and rolling him over so that he was once more poised an arm's length above him. He claimed another passionate kiss and then sat back, panting for air. He held up the salve. "To spare you discomfort," he huffed, opening the jar and scooping out a liberal amount. Then he scooted lower and devoured the archer's rigid cock, insinuating his slick fingers through the anus and massaging the tender spot he located effortlessly.

As always, Legolas was reduced to purely instinctive responses wholly lascivious in nature, and though he tried to be quiet he became progressively louder. He didn't care, gratefully losing himself to the sensations: his penis encased in fiery, wet, suction, Aragorn's tongue bathing the excited flesh, the man's appreciative moan reverberating through it, the faint and fleeting impress of teeth, and the probing advance of the fingers into his core. They had developed a rhythm to their love-making and Legolas let it sweep him up, knowing his orgasm would initiate the next phase, complete union of body and soul. He reached his peak thinking of the ecstasy to come, smiling into the kiss his mate wanted, crinkling his nose at the acrid flavour of his own essence, panting for air.

He lay sprawled out, boneless and contented, yet eager for their joining, and watched in languid anticipation as Aragorn readied himself. The man massaged more of the slippery gel onto his weeping organ, pointing the dark, distended cock at the elf as he working his hand up and down with slow, deliberate strokes, priming himself.

"You can't know what it is like for me," Aragorn murmured, a half-shake of his head accompanying his slow evaluation of the debauched elf displayed before him. "It is almost unbearable to claim you, yet I cannot resist. I must…" He finished the sentence without words, taking up the long lean legs and shimmying forward, engorged penis questing for the slippery hole, groaning out a tight breath as he found it and drilled in.

There was a sharp slap as their flesh collided but it was drowned out by the man's shout of thrilled triumph. After that Legolas shut down everything but his awareness of his mate thrusting into him, relishing the low, strained grunt escaping Aragorn with every impact. Fully sheathed, the man retreated, repeating the pounding contact, impaling him over and over. Legolas held on as best he could, grabbing at an arm, gripping his back, kissing the dark crown of hair whenever Aragorn's head rocked toward him, surrendering utterly to such sweet and tender violence. He grew hard anew, wailing as the sensitive tip of his shaft raked against the man's belly. Swift flashes of brilliance danced through his vision and his heart was awash in almost unbearable joy.

Aragorn gave everything; Legolas gave back in full measure, and the bond between them expanded, tightly knitting the two souls together. It never lasted long enough and too soon Aragorn's muscles tensed and with a final forceful shove he came, groaning long and low in his pleasure.

He rocked slowly to a halt and paused, struggling for breath, and smiled in joy at the unmistakable scent of Legolas' semen, registering the soothing warmth where it was smeared across his abdomen. He raised gleaming eyes filled with love and the delight of conquest to his mate's, and found such a look of happy contentment on Legolas' face that he felt proud and at the same time humbled, sure that nothing could touch this: a pure sensation, love's ultimate gift shared between them. Thinking this sobered him and he carefully withdrew, rearranging the elf's lanky frame so they could lie side by side.

"Legolas," he began and stopped, feeling his throat tighten around the words he would speak. He swallowed and the sensation conversely rose to his eyes, stinging them from the depths of his emotion. "Hervenn," he tried again, and kissed the elf. "Hervenn nín."

"Aragorn, Besnô," Legolas crooned, squirming to get closer, though it was impossible.

"Melethen. Valar, how did this happen?" The words emerged in wonder and woe mingled. Aragorn sniffed and buried his head against the archer's shoulder.

"What is wrong?" Legolas consoled him, not overly worried, for he thought he knew what Aragorn needed to say. Patiently he stroked the bowed head and strong back.

In time the man composed himself, a long breath in and out announcing his resolve, and he shifted to look upon the face he loved so dearly it was utter torment to acknowledge it. He took a small kiss and then another steadying breath, and looking into the indigo irises saw that his mate already knew. He smiled then, his worries vanishing, and gently stroked the fair cheek. "You've known all along."

"Aye."

"You will not ask what it is I think you know, so to hear me say the words?"

"I would hear any words you want to tell me. Speak, Besnô, I am listening."

"It is simply this, profoundly this: I love you, Legolas."

"Aye, I did know it. Now say you are not saddened to give your heart over to such a wreck and a ruin."

"Never and neither wreck not ruin do I behold here beside me. How can I feel sadness in the fullness of such joy? Whatever may come, our bond is a shield," he whispered and suddenly felt his heart expand with awe. "The bond of life over death." The words rang through him as he pronounced them and Aragorn felt the implications of that phrase begin to surface in his heart. "It is overwhelming, Melethen, too much…" His rising ardour was quelled with a soothing kiss and he calmed, wrapping arms around his mate in contented delight, and found the sapphire irises considering him brilliant and proud.

They laughed softly together, clung to one another fiercely, arms and legs entwined, foreheads touching, exchanging soft kisses and tender endearments. Soon the man wanted his mate again and Legolas was eager for another joining. Their coupling was quieter but infused with devoted adoration, elevated by the avowal of love given and received, and the intensity of their fulfilment was increased. After they recovered, they washed one another and then lay naked again on the thick mattress.

"Whatever happens, I will be at your side," Aragorn said seriously, and gently touched his mate's cheek. Legolas looked tired and he knew the archer needed sleep, not just reverie, for he had not truly slept since Rohan.

"I am glad," smiled Legolas. He reached for the comforting hand and kissed the palm, just as Aragorn had done earlier. "I feel like I know everything now," he said, vision drifting into hazy dream as weariness overcame him. His mother was waiting for him, vitally alive in those dreams, and he would go to her, tell her all about this unexpected joy.

"What do you know, Melethen?" Aragorn whispered; gently, adoringly amused as the elf became a bit disoriented. He bent and softly kissed the parted lips, pushed his tongue just inside and then retreated. The archer's lazily slid out to seek it, savouring the residue left behind on his lip before returning to its proper place behind the teeth; the man laughed and ran his forefinger through the wetness.

"Everything," sighed Legolas, blinking as his eyelids dropped lower and his sight turned inward. "All that life is made of: wonder and sorrow, fear and fury, happiness and horror, grief and shame, laughter, tears, pain and ecstasy, and now love. I knew love before, but I did not know what it is to love this way. It is the best, I think." He felt the whispery weight of a cotton blanket covering him and then the firm, familiar pressure of the man's heavy hand atop his hip. He was falling into slumber and struggled only a little. "Watch over me, Kalrô."

"Always, Legolas," whispered the man, his heart full, and pressed another kiss on the archer's forehead. Then he sang soft and low, an old song learned in the halls of Imladris, some ballad of true and tragic love, his voice filled with wonder for the strength and fragility of this remarkable person to whom he was bound. When he was done he kissed the still brow again and sighed, breathing back in the scent of the ellon's hair and skin, and carefully pulled Legolas closer to him.

He did not feel tired anymore, and with Legolas sleeping he found his thoughts turning over the events that had brought him here, wondering that he was in Greenwood, the younger son of Thranduil his mate, his mate under the doom of the King. So short a time had passed since taking leave of Ecthelion in Gondor, his intent to return in haste to Lothlorien, for there, he had once believed, dwelled the promise of a future so exalted he had scarcely dared imagine it.

In Lothlorien lived Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond and the fair Evenstar of Imladris, a Lady of such beauty he had thought his heart smitten. Seeing her first in her father's gardens, serene and lovely and wise, he had thought her a dream or a vision and named her Tinúviel. Yet while his words and admiration plainly pleased her, she had turned him aside, saying he must not think of her, that he was too young and she too high above him. This, he saw now clearly, had spurred him to win her. He would prove himself, he had promised, and when next they met she would see him anew, a youth no longer but a man in full, and then she would think better of him and link her destiny with his.

Legolas stirred, a restless jerk of legs, a quick breath out, and Aragorn ran a soothing hand over his head and back, fingering the golden strands. "Sîdh, Im sí," he whispered. The elf looked up, eyes wide for an instant but unseeing, or seeing something other, and then he settled again, cheek against the man's navel. Aragorn let a rueful smile uplift his lips and stroked the flaxen mane again. "Valar, Legolas, what twist of fate is this? I have gained everything my heart could wish, yet what have I lost to earn it?"

How strange it had been, his own will so easily diverted. It was not a comforting thought and the man sighed, fighting the nagging doubts in vain. Was it that he had not known his own mind and heart? Or rather that his choosing had been negated in the exercise of another's design? So Legolas had spoken: 'I chose you, Kalrô.' Did the Wood Elf truly have powers to overrule an independent being and make of him a slave, however willing a slave he might become? As soon as he thought it, Aragorn knew that was not the truth, but he could not divine what the truth might then be.

"I love you; that is the only truth to which I can attest tonight," he whispered.

TBC
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To Resist both Wind and Tide

Chapter Thirteen: Among Friends?