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As the Journey Begins	By : Larrkin2 Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 2048 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Attention Deserved
- 2-Attention Invited
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement
is intended. I don't own
these characters. This story is not
meant to violate the rights held
by New Line, Tolkien
Enterprises, nor any other licensee, nor is any
disrespect
intended.

ATTENTION INVITED

by Larrkin

I sensed it the moment I watched
Aragorn’s gaze fall upon the warrior from Gondor. It
seemed my Ranger watched the man’s arrival with a special . . .
regard. I had dismissed it at once, but the feeling lingered in
my heart, and I began to pay closer attention every time we were in
the presence of the man.

Even his name somehow sounded
presumptuous: Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, and other
such tedious mortal titles.

The council had scarce begun before I
had suffered my fill of his arrogance, his disdainful posturing and
his accusatory tongue. Impudent human! Behaving as though
Gondor was owed all credit for protecting the free peoples of Middle
Earth from this threatening darkness, as though Gondor alone stood
sentinel against all evil!

The man displayed a singular
unawareness of that which lay beyond his ken and a grating desire to
share his ignorance with all. I watched him swagger and boast
and deride the others at the council, and I held my tongue and dared
not look across the open space to Aragorn. But I could not help
glancing over at him once, and I saw what I had fully expected to
see: a small, slow shake of his head and a pressed-lip warning
on his face that read simply, “No, Legolas. Do not.”

I did my best. It is wise to
heed such looks from Aragorn. So I sat clenching my fists and
glaring and trying to emulate my kinsmen who were displaying true
elvish decorum. Aragorn finally put an end to the Gondorian
creature’s tirade, speaking sharply to the man, as indeed he
deserved. I silently applauded Estel’s forthrightness,
too brief though it was.

But when the young agitator turned
and actually belittled this man to whom he owed allegiance and
respect, I shot to my feet and said what needed saying, consequences
be cursed! It did silence him. He was fortunate that I
chose mere words – and precious few of them – to express
my displeasure. Yet Aragorn, as he ever does, calmly ordered my
restraint, a scene so familiar between us I thought little of it
other than to obey.

My temper often landed me upended
over Aragorn’s lap, and such proved to be the case later that
evening, as indeed I had expected it would:

“Did you not understand my
silent signal to you, elfling mine?”

“Aye! But-but-but --!”

“You decided to ignore it?”

“Noooo! I-I-I OWW!
Arag-gorn please! Please! I am s-sorry!”

“I know Boromir troubles
you, however you will show him every courtesy, little one. Is
that clearly understood?”

“I . . . I AHHHHH!”

“I did not hear you,
sweetling.”

“Aye! C-Clearly
un-nerstood! I-I am sorry!”

Afterwards, when Aragorn held me and
spoke to me once more about my need to come to terms with this man, I
again promised to try, even though I felt my Ranger was being
unreasonable if he thought I could graciously endure the constant
presence of both a vile dwarf and this disrespectful mortal infant.

But a hurtful murmur began stirring
in my mind, a feeling connected to the way Aragorn looked at Boromir,
and the way my Ranger had held himself in reserve when the creature
had sneered at him in council, even the fact that Aragorn had ordered
my restraint when I had tried to defend him.

It nagged at me off and on.
Then the explanation hit suddenly and with the full force of a
troll’s club. I knew what this was.

The blow of realization came just
before we set out from Rivendell: I discovered for a certainty
that Aragorn had done to the man what he does to me. He had
spanked Boromir. Aragorn had shared that intimacy with him.
By the lives of all my ancestors, I could not escape the waves of hot
fury and sorrow that surged through me the morning I learned it for a
fact.

At Lord Elrond’s request I had
sought out Aragorn and I found him moving along a pathway a short
distance from the balcony upon which I stood. That ever-present
pest of a human strolled at his side. Enjoying a surge of
delight at the prospect of denying Boromir the further pleasure of
Aragorn’s company, I opened my mouth to call out, but a sudden
exchange between them halted my call.

It was, of course, beyond unseemly
for me to listen, but listen I did, my blood racing faster with each
word.

“Ah, here is a nice stone
bench,” Aragorn said, casting Boromir a teasing grin. “We
should stop and take our rest.”

Boromir laughed quickly then shot
Aragorn a wince. “Be my guest,” he said.
“I’ll stand, thank you.”

Aragorn chuckled warmly. He sat
and patted his thighs and said, “Come, my fledgling. Nice
and comfortable.”

“Ha!”

Aragorn released his gentle laugh.
“But you fit so excellently well.”

“Please, Aragorn!”
Boromir sighed. “It was not the fit, but the position.
And I am obliged to inform you that your legs are solid muscle with
no hint of softness. So, no, thank you. I do not care to
revisit your lap in any position.”

“Ah, but you shall. I
know you, my fledgling, and indeed you shall.”

I could barely think. My heart
pounded a furious rhythm. A vision of what I had just heard
implied ripped through me, a vision I did not want to see. I
stood frozen, words stuck in my throat, and at that moment Aragorn
turned his head, glanced up, and noticed me. He paused, his
forehead quickly tensing the way it did when Aragorn was considering
something carefully. He clearly knew that I could have been
there for some time.

“Do you seek something,
Legolas?” he called.

Boromir’s head whipped around,
his golden locks flying, his eyes wide with alarm. He calmed,
though, when he looked up and saw my distance from them.
Ignorant mortal. Too oblivious to know the extent of an elf’s
hearing. Typical.

“Lord Elrond seeks council with
you,” I called. Then I added, “Just. You.”

Aragorn lifted a brow and watched me
for a long moment, then he rose. “Excuse me,” he
said to his pouting shadow. “We shall meet later.”

Aragorn turned to head towards me.
I felt a tingle of victory and I swear the child saw the slight smile
on my face. He shot me a contemptuous smirk and called after
Aragorn, “Aye, Lord Elrond’s young messenger boy
summons.”

He said it loudly, obviously for my
benefit. Aragorn stopped short and turned to look at him, then
he stalked back to Boromir and whispered something in his ear that
made the man’s body droop. Boromir then nodded once and
left without so much as a backward glance.

Had this little scene gone on between
Aragorn and one of the hobbits I would have simply found it
charming. But with Boromir? My chest tightened with a
ferocious ache, that image returning, driven by what Aragorn had no
doubt just promised he would do to Boromir later.

It made no sense that I would envy
another a trip over Aragorn’s knee.

But with each hour this unrestrained
fury grew. I knew what it was, but I was loathe to think myself
base enough to be feeling jealousy. Elves were above such
pettiness. It was beneath me. It was embarrassing.
I vowed to ignore it.

I tried to busy myself, finding tasks
to divert my mind, but in every quiet pause of non-thought the
wretched vision of that man stretched out over Aragorn’s lap
surged forth, surrounding me and taunting me, owning my heart and
destroying my peace . . . Boromir, over Aragorn’s lap . . . .

My place. Mine.

No longer mine exclusively, for I
knew the moment I saw Aragorn with the hobbits that they, too, now
occasionally received his disciplinary skills. But I had smiled
at the notion.   They would thrive under the safety of his
special care. Aye, the little ones were favored by Aragorn’s
determined right arm. How could I resent Aragorn’
attentions to such worthy young souls? I gladly shared his lap
with them.

Boromir however . . . .

******

“Yes,” Elrond said.
“I noticed. It was impossible to fail noticing.”

“Perhaps it will ease when we
begin our quest,” I said.

Elrond made no reply. His
glance alone often spoke for him and it did so this time.

“No,” I said on a sigh.
“You are right. It will most likely get worse.”

“Most likely.”

“I spoke to Legolas after the
Council.”

“Indeed. He sat with care
in The Hall of Fire that night.”

We exchanged a small grin. Then
he said, “And how goes it with Boromir?”

“Very well.” One
never had to say much with Elrond. He knew near everything that
went on within his realm without having to ask, but he asked out of
politeness.

“You shall know what to do,
Estel,” he said. “Ever have you followed your heart
in your dealings with men. Ever have you done well.”

“And with elves?” I
questioned. “One exceedingly obstinate and temperamental
elf in particular?”

Elrond grinned again. “With
him, too. You know that his love for you urges Legolas into
such uncivil behavior. This man who vies for your affections
tests his restraint. Legolas has ne’er needed face such a
rival.”

I nodded. “But Ada,
Legolas and I have been together for such a long time. He
should know better.”

“Perhaps. But do not make
the mistake of looking for reason in this matter, my child.
Legolas knows that your heart is large enough to care for all Middle
Earth, and that is well with him, however, when it comes to the
Steward’s young son from Gondor --” Elrond shot me
a shrewd glance. “Ah, that is a different matter
entirely.”

“So my Legolas simply needs
reassurance. He needs to be shown what he already knows.
”

“There is solace in being
reassured of what one already knows.” Elrond smiled with
astute certainty. “Even as a talk with your ada confirms
the path you already knew. There is comfort in it, is there
not, pen-neth?”

I lowered my head, smiling softly at
his wisdom. “Aye.”

Despite our frequent disagreements,
Elrond’s faith in me was absolute. But the prospect of
keeping peace between a hot-tempered elf, a belligerent young warrior
and a hostile dwarf left me wondering if I had the mettle to
withstand this potential war within our new Fellowship. If we
survived the company of each other, the hosts of Isengard and Mordor
would seem manageable. And that was not even taking into
consideration the charmingly heedless little hobbits, who had a
woeful talent for mischief.

I stood accountable for dealing with
matters of discipline and harmony within our Fellowship.
Gandalf was our voice of reason, but unity within the group would not
be the wizard’s responsibility. There were passions at
play here that Gandalf had neither the time nor the patience to
endure. It would be up to me to calm this particular storm that
brewed between Legolas and Boromir.

I began hearing yet more of that
storm as I neared my chamber that evening. Strained, angry
voices rarely heard within these peaceful walls urged me into a trot
and I rounded the corner to see Legolas and Boromir facing off, eye
to eye, and seemingly close to blows at the entrance to my chamber.

Legolas had just said something
particularly vulgar in elvish and Boromir thundered, “What did
you just say?”

Legolas repeated his obscene words,
again in elvish.

“You insolent elf!”
Boromir snarled, clearly on principle alone. “I knew I
should’ve taught you some manners after your rude behavior at
the Council!”

“You dare talk to me of manners
and rude behavior?”

“I should have done more than
talk!”

“You?” Legolas
blurted a short laugh. “A mere man, ‘teach’
an elf anything?”

“Aye, and gladly!”

They were so focused on their fury
and each other they did not take note of me striding towards them.
They simply kept bickering even when I shoved them into my chamber
and shut the door.

I let them go at it, allowing them
get some of their rage out now, lest they carry on like this once we
left Rivendell. The hobbits need not witness this. I
certainly wished I had been spared it as well. I drew forth my
pipe, packed and lit it, then stood quietly smoking, keeping score of
the verbal battle.

They were evenly matched in fire and
bluster, but Legolas had a slight advantage. He was able to
infuriate Boromir by badgering him with incredibly nasty elvish
remarks that Boromir could not interpret. My elfling’s
tone was plain enough, but since Boromir could not understand him
there was no real need for Legolas to use such coarse language.
He could very well have been discussing the weather and Boromir would
have still become incensed. But it seemed that Legolas derived
a measure of satisfaction from indulging such foul speech, and since
it served to provoke Boromir, all the better.

I had to admire their zeal.
Such intensity would serve the Fellowship well.

When they seemed ready to come to
blows, it was time to step in. I felt it likely that Boromir
did not know that elves possessed three times the strength of a man.
Such a sound trouncing as Legolas was able, and clearly most willing,
to deliver would sorely wound my fledgling’s pride. That
was unnecessary. Yes, Legolas would enjoy it to a certain
degree, but I knew my beloved elfling. The satisfaction he felt
in victory would be an empty one, and it would quickly turn to guilty
feelings. No, a physical engagement between these two would be
produce no victor. I cleared my throat.

They both halted, instantly realizing
where they were, what they had been doing, and my unhappy presence.
Both had the wisdom to look apprehensively contrite. I let them
stand silent for a long moment while I wordlessly puffed my pipe a
few more times, mildly glancing back and forth between them.

“Well,” I said.
“That was impressive.”

“Aragorn, I--”

“He deliberately--”

“No! It was he who--”

“I had come to--”

“He said he was here first,
when in fact--”

I held up a hand before the next
round began. “Enough.”

They both looked ready to challenge
me . . . for about two heartbeats. Then they stood silent and
uneasy.

Deciding to employ a strategy I felt
might serve, I said, “I must agree with Lord Elrond. He
has grave concerns about how the two of you will behave on our
quest.”

It was not exactly a lie. Not
really. Elrond had indeed discussed his concerns with me
earlier in the day. But the meaning behind my words was enough
to make Legolas and Boromir reflect instant shock and dismay. I
continued to not exactly lie.

“There are several worthy elven
warriors here in Elrond’s house who would serve well on the
quest. Even Glorfindel has volunteered.”

Boromir gasped. “My lord,
please --!”

“Glorfindel is a mighty
warrior. He would be a fine asset.”

“Estel! No!”
Legolas cried in a hushed tone.

“It is not my wish to replace
either one of you, but I can think of little else to do. I
cannot risk the success of our mission. The Ringbearer needs
every member of the Fellowship working in harmony if he is to achieve
his goal. I shall not risk the success of his quest, nor his
safety.”

“Nor would I--”

“I understand, and--”

“But you see my problem.
The two of you cannot even tolerate each other here within these
quiet borders. I fear what may happen when we are out in the
wild, where you shall be in constant contact and needing to
cooperate.”

I regretted doing this to them.
Boromir had paled in distress while my elfling’s eyes were so
wide with horror he looked to be facing one of the monstrous demons
of the Underworld. But it had to be done. Such discord
would create tension in our Fellowship and the fate of the Ringbearer
had to be my first concern.

Giving them a moment to think on my
intimations, I knocked the ashes from my pipe into the fire, then
turned back to them. “We are at a crossroads, my
friends. It would grieve me to leave you behind, not only
because of the loss it would be to the Fellowship . . . ”
I softened my voice. “But because my fondness for you
both knows no bounds, and I would dearly miss your companionship.”

A sheen of glassy tears made their
eyes glitter, yet they both brightened at my words.

“My desire is that you stay
with the quest, but I must have your assurances that you shall do
your utmost to settle these differences. Gandalf informs me
that the weather to the east is shifting and the best time to take
our leave is the day after tomorrow. If a change needs to be
made, it must be now. So, what say you, my friends? Can
you learn to work together?”

They both straightened and gave me
their pledge that they would do their best to serve the Ringbearer
and the quest by getting along and fostering a more amiable front.
I smiled and thanked them and said I knew they would try their
hardest as they were both honorable warriors. They looked much
relieved.

I knew full well that this would not
be the end of it. We would certainly face this again, and
likely soon. But it was a beginning, a chance to cool off until
the next round.

“Very well,” I said.
“Let us speak no more of what happened here. What did you
need of me?”

They both gave me blank stares and a
vague look of bewilderment similar to what the hobbits fashioned
anytime they got away with something they felt they should not have.

“Legolas? You came to see
me?”

“Aye . . . but . . . .”
He threw a glance at Boromir. “Please, sir. You may
go first.”

Boromir looked vague. “I
have forgotten what I came to – oh, yes! You told me to
meet you . . . .” He glanced back at Legolas.
“Uh . . . well, earlier, this morning, you asked that I --”

“Ah.” I nodded.
“Indeed.”

I glanced at Legolas. His eyes
remained downcast for a moment, then he lifted a gaze of such
staggering hurt that my chest tightened. Legolas obviously knew
why I had asked Boromir here and what I intended to do to him this
night, and it seemed that he already knew what I had done to my
fledgling before this.

A hot wash of regret shot through me,
my thoughts flashing back to earlier when I had seen Legolas looking
stunned on the balcony above us. I wondered if he had been
there long enough to hear our teasing exchange about the bench, if he
had been impertinent enough to listen in. Now I had my answer.
Their battle outside my chamber suddenly made sense.

I had planned to prepare Legolas
before telling him that I had begun to discipline Boromir. I
had planned to share some information that might make the discovery
easier for my elf, tell him of the history Boromir and I shared, of
our connection. Legolas knew of my years in Gondor serving
Ecthelion as Thorongil, but he had not known of the little boy I left
behind there.

So I planned to tell Legolas this
entire tale. I would tell him what I knew of Denethor, let him
draw his own conclusions about Boromir’s behavior from there.
I knew that such information would calm my elfling’s jealous
fears and kindle his compassion.

But there had been no time to speak
to him of it, for it had only been yesterday that I first spanked
Boromir. And now Legolas had faced this alone and unprepared.
That hot flush seared through me anew. We had partaken of this
intimacy for a long time. My elf had needed to “share”
with no others. He knew how I dealt with hobbit discipline, and
he did not mind it in the least.

“So, you spanked each of
them the first time you met them in Bree,” he
repeated, soon after he arrived in Rivendell and I had been telling
him of my journey here with the hobbits.

“Aye.”

“Estel. Was that not a
bit heavy-handed of you?”

“Nay. It was not.”

“And you spanked Frodo at
Weathertop, and then you spanked the others, uhh --”

“Merry, Pippin and Sam.”

“Aye. You spanked all
three of them the day after Weathertop, when Arwen was on her way
here with Frodo.”

“Aye.”

Grinning thoughtfully, my elfling had
said, “It sounds as though these little ones entreat
spankings.”

“Oh, mellon nin, you have no
idea.”

No doubt Legolas would likely begin
to help me with halfling discipline should it be needed on the
Quest. I would welcome his expert assistance. But he
would have trouble with the notion of Boromir going over my knee.
And indeed Legolas now looked quietly stricken, overly still and
bravely stoic, shifting into that elvish remove he summoned when he
wished to disguise his hurt.

I glanced at Boromir. He
watched quietly during the few moments of silence, shifting a look of
curiosity between Legolas and myself.

“My lord Aragorn,”
Legolas suddenly said, drawing my instant attention with his cold
formality. “It seems I have also forgotten my reason for
seeking you out. I apologize for the intrusion. I shall
take my leave.”

“Legolas--”

But he had already turned and was
nearly to the door, moving with his swift, fluid grace.

“Hold!” I said in a tone
he recognized well. He paused and turned, his chin high, his
smooth face flushed, a look of expectant detachment firmly in place.

I crossed to him and took gentle hold
of his arm, saying softly, “We must talk. I cannot let
you leave this way.”

One corner of his mouth pulled up in
a tiny, wry grin. “You always do that, Estel,” he
said in Sindarin. “You slip into the elvish tongue when
your feelings grow big.”

I continued in the elvish, my
feelings now enormous. “Please, elfling mine. Do
not go like this. I have much to discuss with you.”

Legolas lowered his gaze and gave a
small, thoughtful nod. “Aye, we must talk, but not now.”
He shot a quick sideways glance to Boromir, then stiffened and turned
back to the door saying, “You have other more pressing
matters to attend to now, Aragorn.”

“Legolas --”

“Aragorn I can see little
choice in this,” he said, fully locked into his elvish
aloofness. “We cannot have this discussion at present.
I understand your concern, but your duties lie elsewhere this night.”

“Legolas, please, I hardly
consider these matters mere ‘duties.’”

“Forgive my harsh speech,
then,” he answered quickly. “But what else can be
done right now?”

He was right. I disliked it,
but that made him no less right. There was little else to do
but let him go. And so I nodded and he yanked open the door,
leaving with no other word, no backward glance. Watching him
walk away in his beautiful, flowing stride, I felt a painful
squeezing in my chest and a deep blow to my conscience.

“Aragorn, if you would prefer,
we can have this talk another time.”

Boromir’s quiet tone pulled me
back from my selfish remorse. I could do no more for my elfling
at the moment, and I felt regret settle painfully in my heart.

I closed the door, drew a breath,
then turned to Boromir with a wry grin. “Talk?” I
said. “Nay, my fledgling, there shall be no waiting, and
no mere talking. I intend to deal with your rudeness to Legolas
this morning without further delay.”

He blinked, his eyes widening.
“But, you cannot--”

“Cannot?” Striding
towards him, I raised a brow. “Let us see about that.”

Boromir swallowed hard, shifting his
weight. “But, it is dark, too dark, and we cannot get to
the glade!”

“You are right in that.
We cannot.”

He took a step back, the inevitable
finally hitting him. “Here?”

“And now,” I said.
I halted and glanced at my bed; then I crossed to it and sat on the
edge, saying, “We may not be able to withdraw to some place of
seclusion every time you are in need of a trip across my knee,
Boromir.”

“For pity’s sake,
Aragorn!” he cried, his cheeks positively flaming.

I crooked a finger at him. “You
do not want to make me to fetch you.”

**********

“Merry.”

“uuuuuuhhhh . . . ?”

“Do you hear that?”

“uuuuuuuuuhhh . . . .”
Oh, merciful Middle Earth! He was indeed awake. I shook
off his little tugging hand. “Pippiiiiin! Leave me
‘lone.”

“Merry!”

“Ohhh . . . .”
I growled. “For the luvva--go backa sleep, Pip!”

“But . . . listen!”

“Stop bouncing around!”

“D’ya know what that
sounds like?”

He was clearly only hearing, not
listening. “Pippin. I can assure you, I don’t
care wha--”

“It sound’s like . . .
like someone’s getting . . . well, spanked!”

“If you don’t settle down
and go back to sleep, you’ll be just as well-spanked!”

“You hear it, too, then?”

“No.”

“Listen!”

“Oh, for the – I don’t
believe this.” I sighed.   “All right!
Yes. I hear it. You’re right. Someone’s
getting their backside hotly thrashed.”

“Quite hotly thrashed by the
sound of it.”

“Pippin, you are but a moment
away from a hot thrashing of your own.”

“I wonder who it is.”

Nice to know my threats carried such
weight. “I haven’t the foggiest, nor do I care, and
neither do you.”

“But I do care!”

“Are my words going into that
Tookish head?”

“Couldn’t be Frodo or
Sam. They wouldn’t be getting spanked that hard.
And we’d hear them bellowing. Whoever that is, they
aren’t making a sound.”

Right. Nothing was going to
work here.

“Merry?”

I was going to end up spanking him.
I could feel it.

“Have you gone back to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Who d’ya suppose it
could be?”

“What do we care, Pip?”

“Must be . . . Merry! It
. . . it must be a . . . a big person!”

“Well, since all the hobbits
are accounted for--”

“Except old Bilbo.”

“Oh, thank you for that vision,
Master Took!”

“Aye. Sorry, love.
Completely out of the question.”

“There’s a question?”

“So, it’s a big person .
. .or . . . or an elf! Oh, Merry! D’ya think it
could be an elf?”

“Please.”

“Well, it could be an elf.
I mean, well, maybe it is. Elves might get spanked too, you
know, even grown up elves.”

I couldn’t help grinning into
my pillow. He was too adorable at times, blast him. Pip
sucked a sharp breath.

“It could even be that pretty
Legolas! Oh, my! D’ya think, I mean, could you just
picture, just-just seeeee how that would look?”

I could of course, at once and too
clearly, and something intense began happening to me! Blast
him!

“Ohhhhh. Myyyyy.
That makes quite a picture, doesn’t it, Merry? That
pretty, pretty elf, lying across a lap, his bottom bare, his long
yellow hair falling--”

“Stop!”

“Let’s see . . .
Aragorn’s quarters are closest to ours . . . .”

I covered my head with my pillow.
“I’m going back to sleep.”

“And if someone’s gettin'
spanked in Aragorn’s quarters--”

“In fact, I’m going to
Frodo’s room and crawling in with him and Sam.”

“The question then becomes, is
Aragorn giving a big person, or an elf, a spanking, and if so, who?
Or . . . or perhaps . . . perhaps someone is giving . . . oh, no!
Not Strider! No. Not possible!”

“I’m sure Frodo and Sam
won’t mind. I won’t take up much room.”

“Merry, you don’t
suppose, I mean, could it be Aragorn getting . . . d’ya think
Aragorn could actually be getting’ span --”

“No!”

He was too silent for a moment.
I pulled the pillow off my head and looked at him. Plotting.
Pippin had his plotting face on. Oh no.

“I have an idea.”

I sat up suddenly. “No,
Pip, you don’t”

“They’ll never hear me.
Or us.” He turned to me, grinning with excitement.
“You’re welcome to join me. Just a little sneak
through the bushes and a quick look--”

“That’s done it!”
I grabbed his arms and started dragging him to the edge of the bed.
“Come here!”

“Merry! Wait!
Aren’t you curious? Don’t you care?”

“At the moment Peregrin Took,
the only thing I care about is tanning your backside so you’ll
let me get some sleep!”

“Merry! Noooooooo!”

“There’s no use
struggling. I’m stronger than you are.”

“No, you’re not!
Don’t! Merry! Please! Stop that!”

But there wasn’t any stopping
me. I knew my Pip too well. If I didn’t end this
now he’d be slipping on his clothes and creeping out into the
night to spy on whatever poor soul was getting walloped.

My impossible tween. And I most
certainly was stronger than he was! I was also just that much
bigger and I could still wrestle him down when I needed to. But
I let my Pip thrash around some, burn off a little of his Tookish
energy. And did he ever, squealing and rolling and wiggling and
scrambling about. Our bed looked like a bunch of frisky young
hobbits had been sporting there.

“Please, Merry! All
right! I’ll stop! I won’t go peekin’!”

“Bet your hot little bottom you
won’t. Come here!”

“Really! I swear! I
won’t!”

“And I intend to make sure of
that.”

Having had enough of this playing
about, I grabbed him for the last time and dragged him into position
over my lap. “You should’ve just gone back to sleep
when I told you to, my wee love.”

“I will! I promise!
You don’t have to do this!”

I snorted and tossed his billowy
nightshirt up over his back, baring the pretty bottom I knew so
well. “I disagree.”

Spanking Pippin when he’s been
doggedly pesky is always such a satisfying thing. The sound of
each loud swat, the feel of my hand on his soft and quickly warming
little backside, his immediate yells of protest, all of it.
It’s right up there with a pint and a pipe of Old Toby.

But I didn’t get to hear his
hollering tonight. For some reason I couldn’t fathom
Pippin buried his face in the bed and muffled his usually splendid
bellows. Well! This was new and wholly unlike my Pip.
He’s always in fine voice.

Maybe he felt flustered knowing that
others might hear, not that such a thing had ever bothered him
before. Pippin yelled loud and long right from the start.
You’d swear Strider was killing him at times. When the
Ranger was giving Pip his first spanking, back in Bree, I’d
have been alarmed by Pippin’s screams, except for the fact that
Strider was only giving Pip the same thing I’d just had a taste
of and survived, so I’d chalked it up to my Pip’s typical
enthusiasm when over a knee.

No matter that I couldn’t hear
him tonight, though. It didn’t spoil the overall
satisfaction for me. Not that I liked hurting my little Pip.
I never really hurt him. Not really, and he knew it. Oh,
I spanked the living daylights out of him, but that was all it was –
a good spanking.

My sweet Pip always got what he
needed from it, and it was always much more than just a hot bottom.
So when I had finished and hauled him back up into the bed and fixed
the blankets around us, he cuddled in and plastered himself to me and
nuzzled me the way he does when he feels settled and well cared for
and loved.

I kissed his curls and murmured to
him while he hiccuped and sniffed and within minutes he was asleep.
Now fully awake, I heaved a sigh. Ruddy tweens.

********

How like a wizard.

Denethor once said, “If the
Istari are the wisest of immortals, little wonder Middle Earth sails
like a ship without a rudder.”

I always thought it an odd statement,
for it seemed to me that wizards, like elves, held themselves in
reserve from the world of men, drifting in and out of our affairs
with casual interest and infrequency. But my father was given
to speaking in riddles, and he had no love for Mithrandir.

Gandalf had proven himself singularly
bothersome this day, changing his mind in the night and deciding we
should leave Rivendell a day earlier than planned, that afternoon in
fact. He informed us of this in the morning, much to our
surprise. I vow I heard Aragorn groan lowly.

But when Gandalf decided such a
matter, none would gainsay him. All had been in readiness for
days. Nonetheless, leaving a day early meant a few hours of
last minute preparing. Then, after some ceremonial farewells,
including Lord Elrond’s charge to each of us, we began our
Quest, following the tall form in his grey pointed hat and the sweet
little one at his side.

I was glad to take my leave.
Imladris was fair, but it was not Minas Tirith, and the serene elvish
air was far too tranquil for my comfort. But, although I felt
excited to be setting out, the sudden change in plans denied me a day
during which I might have taken a little extra rest stretched out on
my stomach.

Twice. Twice in less than two
day’s time! My breeches felt impossibly snug across my
aching backside. I studied the little ones, wondering if any of
them were also sore-bottomed. Aragorn and I had been parted for
most of yesterday giving him plenty of time to hunt down and
discipline any others he deemed in need of it. The man was
distressingly conscientious.

Such thoughts still made my face
flush. Everything about these new disciplinary matters still
made my face flush. And when I lowered my guard and those
scalding memories of what Aragorn had done to me over the past
several days roared in, my entire body would flush. Anger,
rather than embarrassment, caused some of that heat, anger and
confusion.

It was unjust! Wretched elf!
He was as much to blame for this discord as I was, taunting me with
his disdainful air and his superior manner, always watching me with a
slight frown gracing his fair features. I thought I’d
been behaving with exceeding restraint since the Council, but Legolas
seemed determined to test my tolerance.

When we had accidentally met outside
Aragorn’s chamber the night before, well, that pretty prince
had started in at once, questioning my presence and glaring when I’d
told him that Aragorn had ordered me to meet him there at an
appointed hour. As though I need answer to this elf!

I had tried to politely discuss the
matter but his rash temper had quickly surfaced and I was faced with
a foul-mouthed troublemaker spoiling for a fight. He had
actually stooped to using his native language in unfair advantage.
I didn’t need to understand his elvish tongue to know I was
being insulted, and many of his words sounded perfectly vulgar.
The little pest’s tone and attitude were enough. But
Aragorn had witnessed all this, or at least part of it, so why had I
been the only one spanked for . . . ?

Oh. Yes. Aragorn had
spanked me for the innocent little comment I’d made when
Legolas had come to fetch him. It seemed a trifling matter for
so severe a response. And I’d been deliberately
provoked! Legolas had been smirking at me from that balcony.
I’d seen it even at a distance. What else could I have
done?

Had I simply swallowed my ire and
turned away I would have avoided another trip across Aragorn’s
knee. But I have only so much endurance, and that disdainful
elf possessed a gift for testing my restraint. Any excuse for
my outburst would’ve sounded ludicrous because Aragorn hadn’t
seen the elf’s haughty smirk.

So, I was magnanimous. I took
another of Aragorn’s painful spankings, then he kept me with
him throughout the night, drawn closely to him. It felt quite
nice. Despite a burning bottom, I slept remarkably well,
exhausted, peaceful, and on my stomach. I’d remembered
what Aragorn had said about the hobbits sleeping soundly after he had
spanked them the first time and it made me smile.

And as I lay there,
my backside throbbing with renewed fire, I realized that, of course,
I had invited this. I knew how Aragorn would likely respond the
second I called out my slight insult. I had, indeed, asked for
another spanking, and that realization ignited a flush in me that
rivaled the heat of my bottom. Hence my confusion – why
had I invited that?

Nevertheless,
Legolas was still an impossibly insolent
elf and if Aragorn refused to haul him over his knee I’d gladly
do it for him! The notion, in fact, held quite an appeal.

I watched him ahead of me now,
gliding along with his easy stride and his air of perfect majesty,
and I knew that this proud creature had likely never been forced to
submit to the indignity Aragorn had visited upon me. Twice.
Oh, perhaps Legolas had been thrown over a knee as a young elfling
how many thousands of years before this, countless times if his
present attitude was any indication, but it had been too long ago to
have left an impression on the Legolas of present. Pity.
For if anyone deserved a lesson in humility it was this comely
princeling.

Yet, strangely, something inside me
clenched when I thought of Aragorn doing to Legolas what he did to
me. I liked the idea of the humbling a spanking would bestow
upon the elf, but, for reasons that escaped me as of yet, I didn’t
like the thought of Aragorn spanking Legolas. Odd how
unsettling a thought it was since it troubled me not at all that
Aragorn spanked the hobbits, with some frequency it would seem.
I could very well see myself doing the same, as he had suggested.
But beautiful Legolas in such a position, receiving such attention .
. . no. I did not like the thought.

Hours later, with darkness now closed
in around us and the campfire burning, our Fellowship sat relaxing.
Soon Aragorn would set the watch and we would sleep, but for now the
smoke from many pipes drifted into the black night, a fragrant scent
hovering closer to the ground. I’d smiled to myself
earlier at the sight of the little ones merrily puffing away, looking
like children who had made off with their father’s pipes.

The hobbits were charming to watch,
the way they huddled together like a litter of pups, clearly
comfortable with closeness and displays of open affection.
Having had no contact with hobbits before Rivendell, I was fascinated
by them and overwhelmed by the protective feelings they brought out
in me. It warmed me to witness such purity of heart.

Pippin and Merry bickered fondly and
Sam kept a close eye on his master at all times. At present Sam
had urged Frodo to lie down on his side and rest his head on Sam’s
thigh. He stroked the Ringbearer’s dark curls.
Contentment graced Frodo’s fair features. Soft lights
danced in his wide, liquid eyes, his thickly lashed lids blinking
languidly, drowsily.

Gimli leaned against a large rock and
smoked his long pipe and watched things wordlessly. I liked the
dwarf and his outspoken ways, especially since he had no qualms about
harassing Legolas whenever possible. Aragorn cast Gimli the
occasional frown over this, but although the dwarf clearly respected
the Ranger, Aragorn did not intimidate Gimli. The dwarf’s
offenses were trifling irritations aimed solely at Legolas, so I
couldn’t help appreciating Gimli’s humor.

Aragorn sat near Gandalf, talking
thoughtfully, and although I felt curious about what they were
saying, if they wanted my counsel they would have to ask for it.
I did keep an eye on Legolas, though. He stood blending in with
the shadows, leaning against the trunk of a tree near to Aragorn.
I watched him off and on while casting my gaze around our gathering.

I’d have preferred to be lying
on my stomach at the moment. I shifted my weight anew, biting
back a hiss when my protesting backside objected. I glanced
again at Aragorn and at that moment he turned his gaze my way and
gave me lazy, knowing smile. Amazing how easily the man could
make my face heat up. I schooled my features into a look of
detachment and with a final grin he turned back to Gandalf.

Legolas then made a small move,
catching my attention. He was watching me, his eyes alight with
a dark fire that glowed even from where he stood in the shadows.
I felt his displeasure fill the distance between us, and I returned
the hostility, not because I really understood the cause of it, but
because I felt challenged. If Legolas glared at me he would be
answered in kind.

Another sudden movement caught my
eye. Merry appeared, reentering the circle of light from the
darkness where he’d no doubt been seeking some privacy.
He glanced at me then strolled my way. I grinned at his
approach.

“Mind if I sit with you a
while?” he asked, plopping down beside me and releasing a
mighty yawn.

“Your company is most welcome.
You are weary?” I asked.

“No. I’m fine,”
he said, and yawned again.

I looked off and grinned.

“Well, perhaps I’m a
little tired,” he admitted. “Pip kept me up last
night.”

I wasn’t sure if I should ask
anything further about what Pip might have been doing to keep Merry
up last night. I was intensely curious about these beguiling
little creatures, but I also felt a need for discretion. We
still had much to learn about each other. Merry and Pippin’s
relationship was clear, as was Frodo and Sam’s. They were
couples, intimates, and comfortable in that, another characteristic I
found entirely endearing.

“Pip kept you up?” I
asked.

“Mm. He kept saying he
heard something.”

I instantly recalled where Merry and
Pippin’s chamber was in relation to Aragorn’s and a hot
jolt shot through me. I had nearly bitten a hole through a
small pillow last night to keep from crying out while Aragorn heated
my backside, and I’d managed to keep quiet, weeping silently
and gasping small exploding utterances only when I could not bear
it. But the sound of the spanks! There had been no
stifling that.

I glanced at the hobbit from the
corner of my eye, looking for a clue to his thinking, but Merry
seemed his good-natured self, innocent of any intent to bait me, and
really, neither hobbit could know anything for certain . . . I
shifted uneasily.

“He just wouldn’t settle
down,” Merry continued.

“I imagine Pippin can be most
insistent when he chooses to be.”

“Oh, he’s that alright.
But I put a stop to it and he finally went back to sleep.”

“Well done, Master Brandybuck.”

“Pippin is younger than the
rest of us, you know. He’s only twenty-eight, still in
his tweens. He won’t come of age until he’s
thirty-three, so he tends to be excitable, and irresponsible.
All tweens are.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “He
just needs a firmer hand.”

“I see. Well, that
explains much.” I couldn’t help grinning at his
seriousness.

“Oh, yes. A good spanking
and he’s quite himself again.”

He said it with such a familiar air,
clearly assuming that I simply understood that this was the best way
in which to handle Pippin’s behavior and that I surely saw the
wisdom of it. I could think of nothing to say. But Merry
didn’t seem to notice any surprise on my part. He simply
moved on and began to ask me questions about Gondor.

The little one was delightful
company. We talked quietly for some time and I learned more
about their Shire and hobbit-lore. Merry felt concern over how
unprepared they were for this quest, especially since they’d
had little experience with swords. His fears came through when
he told me of their encounter with the Nâzgul at Amon Sûl,
and a shiver of horror shot through me as well when I pictured these
four terrified little ones facing those monsters.

“We must begin your training at
once,” I told him. “Henceforth, every time we stop
for the night I shall spend time with all of you, and you’ll
learn how to handle yourself with a sword.”

His eyes lit up. “You
mean, you’ll teach us? You? Really? A great
Captain of Gondor? You’d do that?”

“Of course. And you shall
learn well, little hobbit, for I am a ruthless taskmaster.”

He grinned from ear to ear.
“Oh, yes, we will indeed! Thank you, Boromir!”

I ruffled his curls. “You
may not thank me once we get started, little one, for I’ll not
let you shirk your lessons.”

He laughed softly and we continued
talking for some time. Finally, after a short silence, Merry
looked up at me and said, “I don’t mean to pry, but I was
just wondering, do you dislike all elves, or just Legolas?”

His question startled me and for a
moment I simply stared at him. Was the ill will between Legolas
and I that noticeable?

“I’m sorry,” Merry
said. “It’s none of my business.”

“No, no,” I quickly
said. “It isn’t that I mind you asking, it’s
just . . . I didn’t know our feelings were so noticeable.”

Merry nodded, gazing back at me
directly with a frown of understanding. Such a lighthearted
name for such an intense-looking little creature. “Well,
hobbits tend to notice such things easily, Frodo especially.
He’s known of it since the council. I think he’s
afraid it’s getting worse. He worries about things like
that, you know.”`

Ahhh. Merry the Protector had
surfaced. They all protected Frodo, all of them standing before
him like a shield, his line of defense, just as they had from the
first moment I saw them all gather around at the council, all
standing one step before him.   And small wonder.
Frodo aroused the guardian in all who saw him.

So Merry’s true meaning in
asking his question was for the sake of his beloved friend. If
he let me know that others were noticing our behavior, perhaps
Legolas and I would realize the impact our hostility had on the group
and straighten ourselves out for the good of all. I vowed Merry
would soon speak to Legolas like this as well. My heart glowed
pleasantly. Clever little hobbit.

He was also right, as Aragorn had
been last night in his chamber. Whatever our differences, it
was fitting that Legolas and I set them aside. I glanced at
Frodo, half-dozing on Sam’s leg, his youthful face serene, his
manner almost fragile, and a wave of guilt washed over me for having
troubled his already burdened mind.

I glanced back down at Merry who
still watched me, quiet and somber. Smiling softly, I said,
“Legolas and I got off to a bad start, and we have indulged
that anger for too long. But I understand what you are telling
me, little one, and I thank you for saying it. I shall do all I
can to see that Frodo no longer worries about this. He already
has worries enough, does he not?”

Merry’s small face spread into
a smile of gratitude. “Yes. He does.”

“Perhaps you would like to go
over and rest with him now.” I ran my palm over his thick
curls once more. “He is comforted with all of you near
him.”

He nodded and rose, looking relieved
and yet tired again. Watching him trudge back to his companions
I vowed that these valiant souls would suffer no more fears because
of my petty concerns.

Aragorn stood and stretched and said,
“Legolas, you shall take first watch. Gimli, you shall
relieve him later.”

Legolas pushed himself away from his
tree and stepped from the shadows, and I suddenly sensed an
overwhelming weariness in him.

I didn’t think. I just
acted.

“I will take first watch,
Aragorn,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “I am not
tired.”

All eyes turned my way. A
heated rush coursed through me. I glanced around quickly,
ending at a surprised Aragorn and an equally stunned Legolas.
At once I realized my mistake, but of course it was too late to halt
the wrath darkening the proud elf’s face.

“I am not tired, either,”
Legolas grumbled indignantly. He glared at me a moment longer
then nodded at Aragorn and headed off into the darkness.

The others shifted uneasily. I
couldn’t bear to look at Aragorn, but I stupidly glanced at
Frodo. His little face was contemplative, his worried gaze
studying the fire and I felt thankful that his soulful eyes were not
turned on me. I dared not glance at Merry.

Suddenly Aragorn was before me.
He took me by the elbow and steered me back a bit towards the
darkness.

“Come,” he murmured.
“A word. And fear not for I know your heart was in the
right place.”

I looked at him and saw that
extraordinary patience and understanding. He gave me a soft wry
grin. “Do not look so aggrieved, Boromir. Your
intent was to do good. Your strategy was ill advised to be
certain, however it is your purpose that concerns me, and that was
noble. But perhaps it would be best to pause and think the next
time you feel self-sacrificing, my fledgling, at least when it
concerns Legolas.”

I nodded. “I should
apologize--”

“No,” he quickly said.
“Not now.” At my sudden glance of distress he shook
his head and added, “I shall deal with Legolas. This
needs settling, but right now you must rest. Be at peace,
Boromir. All will be well soon.”

**********

I rarely felt such rage.
It had been less than two full days since I learned of Aragorn
spanking Boromir, yet I had not adjusted to the knowledge. I
doubted I could. Fury drove the beating of my heart. It
seared my lungs. It pounded a low and heavy thrum in my ears.

At times the anger would quiet, but
it never really left me. I felt disconnected from all that was
elvish within me and I also felt ridiculous for allowing myself to be
so affected. But I struggled to remain outwardly calm and
pleasant to the others, especially the little ones for they do see so
much.

I stood watch, glad of the singular
duty, seething over that knave’s outburst. Take my
watch? What had been his point? Surely it was not meant
to help me! Did I really care to understand what motivated
Boromir? No. Indeed I did not. I was simply
grateful for this solitude.

Perched upon a low branch of a tree,
I leaned against its trunk, seeking to take in its comfort.
These trees were old, friendly and curious about this visiting
woodland elf’s pain. But they preferred to heal more than
to they sought to know, so they swayed, humming a gentle lullaby and
lending me their consolation. Would that I could have taken it
in. It seemed ungrateful to be unable to do so, not that the
trees themselves would mind. They lent comfort nonetheless, but
my soul was full of bitterness and there was no room for solace.

I was being unreasonable, of course.
Aragorn had wanted to explain, insisting that we had much to talk
about, so I was being beyond unfair to presume that my beloved Ranger
had abandoned me for that Gondorian child. I knew it was wrong
of me to think so little of Aragorn when we had been together,
belonged to each other for so long now. We were life mates.
How could I jump to such unjust assumptions about his actions?
But I watched myself do it anyway, unable to halt the despondency
that swept me along.

I sighed and looked up at the stars,
reading the time. Gimli would be arriving to relieve me soon.
I had no information to report. Nothing threatening moved
within my range of senses and I had extended them far and wide.
I had already decided to send the dwarf back to camp when he arrived,
offering to take his shift. I preferred to stay out here rather
than return to camp where the source of my misery lay . . . no doubt
quite near Aragorn. I was exhausted in spirit, but I knew I
would not rest, as indeed I had not rested last night.

I did not care to imagine why Aragorn
withheld the truth from me about spanking Boromir, other than the
most obvious – he knew I would not like it. He was
right. But Aragorn’s action and his silence about it felt
like a breaking of faith. My feelings were not all that
unsuitable. Aragorn also felt that he had wronged me. He
had felt it last night. I had seen the guilt and remorse
filling in his gaze when we parted at his chamber door.

I took no pleasure in seeing my
Ranger suffer that pain, but I was too shocked by what I had just
learned to do anything but flee. I had endured my fears all day
in silence, so to have them all but confirmed by Aragorn tore a wound
within me.

I stormed from Aragorn’s
chamber, yielding the field to my enemy. I walked Rivendell’s
paths. I rested on the damp grass and gazed into the night
sky. And Aragorn had not come to find me. Several times I
brushed away tears, surprised to find them on my cheeks.

When I returned to my chamber, where
I rarely stayed, Aragorn and I preferring his bed to mine, I stood
looking out upon the woods until the sky began to lighten, all that
time battling to close off the anger and the fear and the loneliness
and the confusion. I lost that battle. I knew where
Boromir had spent the night. I had passed slowly by Aragorn’s
chamber and had heard them both breathing within. I did not
know what had transpired during the night, aside from the young man’s
second spanking, and I would not allow myself to think anything
dishonorable of my Ranger. But the hurt inside me grew. And
then I had been summoned and told that we were leaving a day early.

Aragorn had been fretting overmuch
with our final preparations. I saw it at once. However,
if he perceived my weariness he said nothing. I struggled to
decide which was worse – Aragorn failing to notice, or Aragorn
noticing and choosing to say nothing. Both were awful . . .
nay, the latter was definitely worse.

I would overcome this. I
would. It was absurd! I had lived amongst men for too
long! I would find my calm essence, reclaim the warrior’s
balance I had spent thousands of years polishing. I needed time
and a suitable distraction. This quest would serve as both my
source of torment and my saving grace, and I would adjust. I
simply had not yet determined how to ignore my adversary and my
sorrow.

The dwarf approached. Such loud
clumsy creatures. One dwarf easily made the racket of two men.
But I was glad of Gimli’s presence. He proved a fine
target for my ill will.

Earlier, while the hobbits had
readied the campsite and made dinner, the rest of us had walked a
perimeter and found this lookout point before night closed in, so
Gimli knew where I would be. But I decided to let him approach
and look around for me before I spoke.

He arrived. But he was not
alone. I froze. No wonder Gimli sounded like two.

“Legolas,” Aragorn called
in the stern voice I knew so well. “Show yourself.”

Aragorn and Gimli strolled closer to
the tree where I perched. The dwarf cleared his throat and
rumbled, “These younger elves are dreadfully ill-mannered, are
they not, Aragorn?”

Younger elves indeed! I could
hardly jump down now, giving into this shameful baiting. Yet
there was little point in remaining stuck up on this limb.
Aragorn would find me momentarily. I was facing some humbling
regardless of what I did. I chewed my bottom lip and tangled
with my temper.

“Aye. Ah, well, master
dwarf,” Aragorn said on a sigh. “Youth.”

“Hmmph!” Gimil
snorted. “We dwarves have little tolerance for
discourtesy in our younger folk.”

Dwarves had little tolerance period.

“We teach our beardlings to
respect those older and wiser.”

They were almost beneath me now.
I barely breathed. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at Gimli and the
creature blathered on.

“We tan their wee backsides for
them when it’s needed and they learn most effectively.”

I squirmed and ground my teeth.
Aragorn merely stopped and shook his head at Gimli. “You
dwarves are a savage lot,” he said, a smile in his voice.
Then he looked directly up at me and asked in a patient tone, “Well,
sir? Are you coming down?”

Gimli titled his head back and
spotted me, “Why, there he is! Did you fall asleep up
there, laddie?”

I jumped to the ground and adjusted
my clothing muttering, “Of course I did not fall asleep!
I do not fall asleep when on watch,” I said with suitable
contempt. I thought I did well. I had not called him a
lout.

“Oh.” Gimli rolled
his eyes up to Aragorn. “Oh, well, my mistake.
Perhaps you simply did not hear us approach then, since you surely
would’ve had the good manners to answer when called.”

I had no reply and that vile dwarf
knew it. So did Aragorn. We stood there for several long
moments during which I fought my urge to apologize or to explain that
which I could not. Aragorn finally came to my rescue.

“We shall take our leave of
you, Master Dwarf. Boromir will relieve you later.”

“No need, no need,” Gimli
said. “I’ve had my fill of sleeping this night.”

“Very well,” Aragorn
said. He bid Gimli farewell then turned to me and tugged his
head to one side. “Come with me,” he said in the
elvish. “I know you need rest, but first we have some
things to discuss.”

We had things to discuss?

I did not like the sound of that.
Yet there was little I could do to protest, especially within earshot
of Gimli. So I followed Aragorn on his trek deeper into the
woodlands. He moved in a direction further away from the
campsite, knowing that I would alert him to any danger if need be,
and he was therefore safe to journey as he wished.

I could not think where he was
intending to go, nor did I particularly care. Clearly he wanted
to talk alone. I was his subordinate. I would comply with
his orders. I would go where he told me to go, do as he
commanded. Beyond that I had no thoughts.

I was just about to ask if he had
forgotten something back at Imladris and we were returning for it
when he finally stopped in an area at the base of a gentle incline
where a small landslide had taken place ages ago leaving a sculpture
of boulders and stones in various sizes, some now overgrown with
moss.

I remembered this place now.
When walking the perimeter earlier we had scouted it out as a
possible area to set the watch but it had been too far from camp for
convenience. A warning cry would not have been heard from this
distance. I shot Aragorn a look.

He wandered over and wedged his torch
in a space between several rocks, then he took a seat on one of the
boulders and turned to me with his contemplative and quiet gaze.
I knew exactly what he planned, and he knew that I knew as well.
I wanted what he intended, and I did not want it. I did not
want to want it.

And suddenly, looking at Aragorn,
sitting there watching me, so ruggedly perfect, so familiar and
comforting, I felt as if all breath left my body, and that anger and
fear and staggering loss surged and grew until it exploded inside me
and a massive shift rocked my entire being, ripping the pain from me
and leaving behind nothing. A wall of solid stone slammed
around that nothingness, closing off all connection to anything
outside my calm inner core. And I fell into that core, drenched
myself in it, and then stood quiet.

There was no more struggle. I
stood unflinchingly under his regard. Aragorn could say what he
wished, do as he wished. It meant little to me. I stared
directly back at him, seeing not Aragorn, but my commanding officer.
I owed this man my attention, my respect and my allegiance, nothing
beyond.

Once firmly established in that
discipline, nothing he did could touch me. If grief resurfaced
I would address it later, but for now I could return his level gaze,
feeling no impulse to fidget, feeling nothing. I could stand as
fixed and unmoving as the trees around us, indeed, fashion my essence
to match theirs. I would agree to what Aragorn demanded.
I would submit to what he imposed. It mattered not.

And so I stood and waited for him to
speak, knowing that when he did, I would respond with all due
respect.

*********

I vow, an actual physical change came
over Legolas when he did this. His stance hardened with each
inward breath, his bright eyes dulled, his features held no life,
even his hair seemed to loose its luster.

But I knew what had happened to him.
Legolas had drifted into that silent place wherein he removed himself
from everything, everything we were to each other and all we had ever
been to each other. We had been life mates since my coming of
age, loved and trusted each other. Yet my Legolas had been
driven to this despair. He had taken refuge from his hurt
feelings behind a wall of cold distance. It was eerie, seeing
him sink this low. He had only done this a few times, but I now
recognized how far distanced from me he was.

“I move into a place wherein
you become no more to me than any other warrior,” he
had once confessed, wrapped up in my arms, half-draped upon me, and
trembling more from the aftershock of those powerful emotions than
from the spanking he had just received. “It is
shattering, to find myself so alone and so far removed, so lost and
far from you.”

“Oh, my poor beloved,”
I had whispered, kissing his head and stroking his hair,
trying to comfort him with my touch.

“It is an awful thing to
feel,” he went on, seemingly needing to
talk about it. “I see myself pulling away, and I
cannot seem to stop it. I become two people, the more angry,
hurt one in control, pulling me back and away from you. But,
then, when you are spanking me . . . then something else happens . .
. I begin to find myself again, and I can feel again, and I . . . I
--”

“Shhh, it is over now,
elfling mine.”

“I am sorry, Aragorn.”
And Legolas had cuddled closer, burrowing deeper into my
arms, as though seeking to further escape the darkness he had just
been through. “So sorry. I know it hurts you,
too.”

“Hush now. You are
safe, back with me. No more of that now. No more sorries
needed, sweetling. All is forgiven. Shhhh.”

It shocked me that Legolas could
wrench himself free from all he knew, remove himself from the years
of love we had shared and all we were to each other. I vow that
only the elves, capable of tremendous concentration, could do it.
But I was comforted by the fact that he knew what he had done, and
that it so rarely happened to him. Legolas only did this when
his sadness was so profound that he could not exist in the same space
with it.

It hurt to see him in that place now,
and it threatened to drag me down to where I would be of no use to
either of us. When Legolas fell to this depth it took all my
resolve to keep from wallowing in the guilt that tried to bury me
with brutal accusations as they did now: I had let this matter
go for too long. I had not dealt with it when I needed to.
I had neglected him, wounded him, perhaps irreparably. Perhaps
I would not be able to save him this time. He may have moved
beyond even my reach. And the most vicious, most self-serving
notion of all – perhaps Legolas was better off without me.

My arguments as to why all this had
happened meant little, for they were based on mere logic, and logic
carries no weight in matters of the heart. Difficult
circumstances or lack of time were never good excuses. It
mattered not that I had meant to prepare Legolas before telling him
of my new attentions to Boromir, that I had never wanted to leave him
with this. I could have sought him out last night after my
fledgling fell asleep. I could have risen and left my chamber
and gone out into the night to find my pain-ridden elfling. I
need not have fallen asleep myself. What did my weariness
matter when Legolas was alone and tormented and in need of my care?
What could have possibly been more important, least of all my own
physical demands? But I had given in to those feeble demands
and slept.

The only thing that kept me from
allowing that guilt to overwhelm me was the sight of Legolas,
suffering, lost to himself. My weakness had sent him to this
isolation. I would not leave him there. The connection
between us remained, strong enough for me to tug upon it and bring
him back to me. And that connection burned within him, too, a
small but strong glitter in his otherwise dead eyes, shining like a
silent plea: “I am here. Please. Come find me.”

I fully intended to.

“So, you resent Boromir,”
I began.

He did not even flinch. “Aye.”

“Why?”

“He is offensive.”

“Is that all?”

“How much do you need, my
lord?”

‘My lord.’ Ah.
Such distance. Such formality. I shrugged. “Is
he, say, more offensive than the dwarf?”

“His offenses differ.”

I paused to consider him.
“Differ how?”

“My lord?”

I sighed. “Tell me how
his offences differ from the dwarf’s.”

He paused, then said, “I fear I
cannot do so.”

“Why not?”

“They are personal dislikes,
difficult to summarize.”

“I see. And how do you
suggest we resolve this?”

He remained impassive. “It
is not for me to say, my lord. I shall, however, obey your
command.”

“And if I command you to take
your orders from Boromir henceforth?”

“Then I shall do so.”

Very well. I knew now for
certain where he was. He had no ability to touch anything but
his sense of duty. Legolas had gone that full distance from
me. During the few times that this had happened before Legolas
had faded into an almost wraith-like shadow of his luminous self.
And I had been the cause of it.

There could be no more talking.
He needed action. And so did I. It mattered little that
his physical prowess surpassed mine. The physical responded to
what the mind ordered, and at present my elfling’s emotional
strength was crippled. However, my anger and fear bolstered
mine to an overwhelming level. So Legolas would now fight me,
but he would not win. He did not want to win.

I stood slowly, purposefully and
removed my weapons, laying them carefully aside, my gaze fastened on
him. “Enough talk, sir,” I said. “Lay
down your weapons.”

He raised his chin. “Aragorn--”

“Set them aside. Now.”

“I shall not allow this.”

“I know.”

“I cannot allow this.”

“I know. Set them aside.
Now.”

I watched him remain rigid for
another moment, then he slowly did as I commanded, laying his weapons
at the edge of the clearing and returning to his place on the small
grassy patch near the boulders. Every gesture was stiff, so
removed was he from anything that resembled an honest feeling.
He faced me again, impassive and cold.

“Do not do this, Aragorn.
There is no need. And I have no wish to humiliate you.”

“I doubt you shall, sweetling,
but thank you for your concern.”

“But I told you that I would
obey whatever commands you gave me.”

“Very well.” I
stepped back and reseated myself on the boulder. “Then
come here, lower your leggings, and lay yourself across my lap.”

He did not move.

“Legolas.”

He remained still and wide-eyed.

“Now, sir.”

“Why, my lord?” he
finally asked. “You have always had a reason for giving
me a spanking. So what have I done to deserve such treatment?”

“You began by listening in on a
private conversation between Boromir and I. You were then rude
to him from the balcony. And then last night you baited him
with some quite vulgar elvish.”

“What harm was done? He
could not understand me.”

“But I could. The harm
was in your unkind intent. And when conditions are favorable, I
intend to treat your foul mouth to a proper cleansing. Sam
brought plenty of soap.”

Legolas paled visibly, a promising
flash of emotion igniting in his startled blue eyes. Ah!
There was my elfling.

“You said last night that you
would speak no more of what happened,” he said. “I
thought all was forgiven.”

“I have reconsidered the
matter. You are too important to me, Legolas. I do not
want to appear remiss. Now come here.”

He shook his head slowly. “I
shall not--”

Of course he could not submit.
He would have to be forced. He was begging to be forced.
One last time I said, “Come. Here.”

“No.”

***********

I watched him rise and advance.
It would have to come to this. I could not, would not submit.
He would have to force me, and he was clearly quite ready to do so.
Despite my approaching doom, a small fire ignited within my stomach.
It is a stirring sight when Aragorn is stalking prey. It is
even more stirring when I am the prey.

I wished he had not chosen this
course of action. But he was right, of course. I had just
said that I would do whatever he commanded, so I should have removed
myself from caring about what he did to me, willingly obeyed his
orders and stretched myself over his lap.

Part of me had longed to do just
that. And part of me knew it was impossible to allow it.

Aragorn’s spankings were
humbling, difficult to endure and distressingly long lasting, but
they were always fair. I deserved every spanking he had ever
given me, each spanking invited by my own actions.

But not this time. Aye, perhaps
my temper had been surfacing too much, but I had been provoked!
I had a right to my dislikes and I did not like this man from
Gondor! It was unfair of Aragorn to spank me for that. If
he thought I would or could submit myself to him for that reason, he
was sadly mistaken. And as for him soaping out my mouth –
oh! How I dreaded that act! Perhaps a little compliance
now would stay that horrible fate, but compliance was unappealing as
well.

But I had no more time to contemplate
the fairness of anything, because Aragorn was upon me. He
grabbed me by the forearm in an iron grip and began to drag me
towards the boulders. He did not get far. I braced my
legs, gave a powerful yank, and he flew backwards landing on his
seat. Kicking his leg out he caught me behind my heels and a
second later I was on flat my back beside him. Then Aragorn
pounced and our struggle began, and I immediately remembered
something.

When Aragorn and I fought over a
threatened spanking he had always shown extraordinary strength and
resolve, whereas I always faltered into some kind of bewildering
deficiency. My muscles and limbs went weak, the way they
sometimes had when I was a sapling and unused to spirits and the
celebratory wine had flowed too freely in my father’s halls.
I should have been able to trounce Aragorn as easily as I trounced
any mere human, but with my strength suddenly drained I found myself
simply fighting to hold my own.

It was worrisome, perplexing and most
inconvenient. And it made no sense. My determination was
always absolute, or so it seemed. And yet Aragorn would have
the upper hand the entire time, as indeed he did now.

I could never understand how Aragorn
always won, even though I told myself that this time he would
not be victorious. And, while somehow losing such a battle was
exasperating, the consequences were even more loathsome. I
would be hauled over his knee and subjected to a particularly intense
spanking. Defiance had its price.

This time was no different than all
the others. I was trying. I did best Aragorn in several
maneuvers. But he bested me in more and while my lagging energy
drained quickly, his seemed to gain strength. It was
infuriating! It was unfair! And it inspired a bit of
unfairness of my own. It made me fight dishonorably.

At one point, Aragorn had me down on
my stomach, my arms twisted and held at the small of my back while he
sat upon my behind. “Yield!” he said.

I spat out the grass in my mouth and
sputtered, “Aye!” And the moment his weight left me
I flipped over and sent him sprawling with a fierce kick to his ribs.

I scrambled to my feet, but I did not
get far before he grabbed me and downed me again, his outrage
increasing his strength even more. By now I was near spent, so
unlike me, so frightening this weakness, this exhaustion, and so
terribly advantageous for my Ranger! And, of course, Aragorn
being Aragorn knew that my will had finally collapsed. I was
now defenseless against him, impossibly, ridiculously defenseless,
just as it had happened before, every time I had challenged his
authority and refused to comply. I had lost to my Ranger.

Aragorn picked me up, hauled me to
the boulder, turned me over his knee and had me secured within
moments, with my leggings pulled down and my backside exposed, bent
over his left thigh. His right leg closed over both of mine to
stop any kicking. And finally, ever considerate of my comfort,
Aragorn lifted my upper body and settled me across the wide boulder,
that I might rest easy during my imminent bottom scalding. His
message was clear: I was going to be here for a while. I
shuddered, my skin flinching, my heart thudding.

“Aye, feel where you are,
sweetling,” Aragorn murmured, leaning over me, his arm wrapped
tightly around my lower back, his warm body covering me. “My
pretty Legolas, bare-bottomed and over my knee, yet again. Not
even your naughty underhandedness in our scuffle failed to keep you
off my lap.” He patted my backside. “But,
shhh. How you do tremble, elfling mine! So tense.
My poor little one.”

I whimpered and tensed more, this
waiting making my insides churn.

“Very well,” he said,
straightening again. “Let us get on with this. And
do not fuss, sweet bratling elf. I shall take care of all your
burdensome waywardness.”

I still vow that a spanking I was
being forced to accept was worse than one I submitted to gracefully.
There was no slow build up. Not that Aragorn ever held much
back from the start, but it was more intense when I had given him
trouble. He began swatting down fast and hot, clearly
determined to get my attention immediately. He did. I
squeezed my eyes closed and bit my lips shut, refusing to cry out
even though the stinging heat on my bottom built swiftly and
terribly.

Aragorn spanked me as if driven by
some force beyond himself. Yet he was still in control, as he
always was. He never frightened me. He was simply intent
on making his point. Aye, he was blistering my bottom, making
me gulp and pant and release inadvertent, desperate little sounds,
making me wriggle and try to squirm away, though I could barely
move. But I was safe, and I shook my head at the absurdity of
that.

Of course he said nothing, his usual
pattern. Aragorn spanked silently at the outset. No
distractions. He allowed me nothing to think about save my
rapidly heating bottom. I had once tried to incite him into
speech, much good it did me:

“Arag-gorn!
Pleeeease! I-I am r-ready to t-talk n-noooowww!”
No response, only steady spanks, hot and constant.
“T-Talk to meee! Please, p-pleeeease talk to me!”
Silence. Just a barely audible sigh. “I-I am
soorrry! I-I want to t-talk about it! Aragorn,
pleeeease!”

And when I could get nothing out of
him I lashed out in my frustration and uttered enough foul Sindarin
to earn me a mouthful of soap directly following my spanking.
But Aragorn never responded. Only when he was ready, when he
was satisfied with my surrender, did he speak, and he began by
scolding me for my naughty attempt to coerce him. Afterwards,
when he had me cuddled against him, he kissed my head and chuckled
over my behavior:

“I vow you honestly thought
I would allow such impudence,” he
said. “It was too amusing, little one. I had to
let you continue, just to see where you intended to go.”

Infuriating Ranger!

And now Aragorn’s spanking
began to seem unending. It had been unending! I longed to
kick or buck or wrench about. But all I could do was cringe and
quiver and hold my breath, waiting for each stinging spank to fall,
igniting my throbbing bottom. Finally, I burst into tears.
I sobbed. I again tried to wriggle away from his next searing
spank, to no avail. Then I lost all control and reached back to
cover my blazing backside with my hand.

Aragorn sighed, lifted his knee to
raise my behind and began spanking the tender undercurve of my
bottom.

“Legolas,” he said, and
it was enough.

“AHHHHHHHHH! S-Sorry!
Sorrrrrrry!” I wailed, snatching my hand back. I knotted
my fists near my shoulders and wondered what the Valar I had thought
to achieve. And with a quiet ‘mmm’ Aragorn went on,
his spanks returning to my burning backside, hardly a blessing.
He spanked on, and I wailed on, and time held still.

But eventually I became aware that
the solid wall I had formed around my core had crumbled.
Aragorn and his steadily falling hand raining down blow after blow
had forced me to accept this from him, forced me to accept that he
decided what he would do to me, and when he would do it, and for how
long, forcing me to take what he knew I needed, what he knew I
wanted.

And I did want this, so badly.
It was the horror of possibly losing it that had ignited the anguish
within me. Aragorn’s attention was essential to me.
It was always attention invited, needed, longed for, relished.
Aye, it sometimes took the form of what he was doing to me right
now. But, oh! How cherished an act.

I could not imagine any pain greater
than losing the attention, the care, and the affection of one who had
lavished such gifts upon me so freely, but the prospect of it had
sent me into a downward spiral so profound that Aragorn had needed to
thrash me this intensely in order to help me see reason and
rediscover the truth. And he would not stop until he felt me
back with him in heart and spirit, ready to submit to him, ready to
hear him.

Truth slammed into me as solidly as
Aragorn’s hand spanked my throbbing bottom, hurting even more,
a blessed wondrous hurt. Of course nothing had changed between
us! My beloved Estel cared for me, loved me, noticed everything
concerning me as he ever had, just as I ever had concerning him.
Aragorn and I had shared loving relations for more years than the
young man from Gondor had been living. Boromir’s arrival
made no difference in that.

I felt a wash of embarrassment amidst
my wails. What had I been thinking? What had come over
me? Aragorn most certainly was not ignoring me now. He
had not intentionally ignored me at all. Time and happenstance
and the unfortunate arrival of a compelling and intrusive young
warrior from Gondor had created the turmoil within me. It had
nothing to do with how Aragorn felt. And he was proving that
now. He would not allow my unmannerly behavior to go
unanswered. He was proving his devotion to me with every
grueling spank. I still mattered to him.

I sobbed louder and shook my head
against the surge of hot feelings, my feelings of stupidity and shame
for having doubted him, my feelings of anger at myself, and I writhed
fitfully, as best I could manage under his hold, which was not much,
my hair tangling across my face now wet with tears.

Ohhhh, I was more than ready to
yield. Now, would Aragorn allow me to yield anytime in the near
future?

*************

Legolas was fast approaching his
shattering point. He became more frantic during a spanking he
was forced to take as opposed to a spanking he felt he deserved, so
it took him longer to surrender, his anger and confusion getting in
the way of reason. But he did eventually reach a point of
understanding. This time his resistance had seemed especially
staunch. Where he found the energy I know not, for after our
wrestling match and his frenzied, useless squirming over my lap he
seemed exhausted.

But of course it was always the
battle within that drained Legolas the most, as indeed it had
lessened his strength during our little scuffle. He had done
his best to both win and lose that skirmish, but his inner conflict
weakened him before we had even begun. I had actually let our
paltry fight last longer than I needed to, hoping to tire him
further, and I let him win a few maneuvers to help him salvage some
of his elvish pride.

But Legolas seemed ready to listen
now, ready to talk this out, so I began quietly: “How is
my elfling?”

“AHHHHHH!”

“Legolas. You can do
better than that.”

“I am sorrryyyyy! Oh,
p-please, Aragorn! Please, p-please, stop!” he wailed.

“Aye, little one,” I said
softly. “Soon.”

“Now! P-Pleeease!”

I swatted down hard, watching him
arch and cry out. “Do you decide when this spanking ends,
sir?”

“N-Nooo! Y-You decide.
Y-You dooo!”

“I thought as much.”

“But, Ara’gorn,” he
gasped between repeated sobs. “P-Please! I-I am
sorry!”

“For what, melleth nin?”
I asked, slowing my spanks. “What is my elfling sorry
for?”

“S-Sorry for listening, and-and
for b-being mean to B-Bor’mir! I-I said bad th-things to
him!”

“Naughty words, you mean?”

Legolas buried his face in his
crossed arms and nodded, clearly and adorably embarrassed and, at
last, completely surrendered.

“Uh-huhhh!”

“Naughty elvish words?”

More nodding. “Aye,
Ara’gorn! N-Naughty elvish.”

“Hmm.” I slowed my
spanking even more, nearly stopping now, his usually fair bottom now
a dark rosy hue. “Well, perhaps it does not matter.
After all, Boromir did not understand your elvish tongue.”

Legolas raised his head, shaking his
silky blond locks and whimpering, “Noooo! It-It matters!
I-I should not have done th-that! And-And I-I am sorry! I
was t-trying to be mean!”

My poor elfling. Each slow swat
was making him flinch and quiver, his level of upset such that he was
clearly having trouble saying what he meant. I decided to help
him along. “Perhaps it was your intent to hurt and insult
that matters. Is that what you are trying to say, sweetling?”

“Aye!” Legolas wailed.
“In-Inten-tent! M-Matters, Ara’gorn! It
d-does!”

Smiling at his childlike terms, I
stopped spanking and tenderly began to rub his hot backside.
“Aye, sweetling,” I said. “It does.”

Weeping steadily, Legolas lowered his
head to his arms once more, and I shifted him, releasing his
imprisoned legs and re-draping him so that he lay stretched out fully
over my lap. There was no more resistance. He was limp
and surrendered. I did not let him up, though. I sensed
he had more to say.

“A-Ara’gorn, I-I was
un-unkind t-to Bor’mir!” he finally exclaimed between
weeping.

“Ah, and why was my gentle
Legolas unkind?” I asked.

“I-I was --” He
paused to weep a little, then: “J-Jealous. I-I was
j-jealous of him. S-So sorry, Ara’gorn! So, stupid
of me. I should have known b-better!”

I winced, my own guilty feelings
growling within. And suddenly I needed Legolas in my arms.
So I scooped him up, cuddling my elf to me, letting his sore bottom
drop between my spread legs. He clung to me and I rocked him,
listening to his hitching low sobs. But this was just my
Legolas, crying from his spanking and from the remorse of feeling he
had been naughty, not from any vicious inner torment.

“Shh, sweetling,” I
murmured. “I cannot allow you to speak of yourself so,
and should I hear you call yourself stupid again, you shall go back
over my knee. What you felt was understandable.”

He paused and drew back, perfectly
beautiful in his distress, his blue eyes bright and glassy with
tears. “Understandable? It-It was?”

“Aye. Very
understandable.” I kissed him gently, then said, “And
I love you elfling mine. Nothing can ever change my love for
you. You know that.”

“Aye, Estel. I-I do
know. As I l-love you.”

And that was all that needed saying.
He came into my arms again with a whimpered gasp and I continued to
rock him a little longer, then I shifted, moving and settling us down
upon the grass with Legolas gathered to me just as I had held Boromir
two nights before.

I smiled and smoothed my cheek
against the crown of his silky hair, thinking of how different he and
Boromir felt in my arms, so different and yet so alike. Both
needing this closeness, as I did, both practically lying atop me
while holding on, both making small moves against me, rubbing into me
as if trying to get closer, as if trying to somehow become part of
me. And I cherished all of it. We lay like that in
silence for as long as I felt we could, but we could not stay there
all night, and there was much to discuss.

“How is my elfling?” I
finally asked in soft Sindarin, kissing his forehead.

“Fine, Estel. I am f-fine
now.”

“Legolas.” I
waited.

“Weary. So very weary.”

“I know.”

“And you also know I shall walk
stiffly tomorrow.” He pouted adorably.

I smiled. “I always like
watching you walk after a spanking.”

He grinned again and buried his face
in my chest. “Hmmph.”

Kissing him again, I said, “We
have much to discuss and not much time. I needs tell you a
tale, little one.”

He nodded and I began telling him the
tale of Thorongil and of a bright little child from Minas Tirith who
adored the mysterious hero. I told him of how Boromir,
firstborn of Denethor, attached himself to the warrior and how they
formed a bond that even Denethor himself envied. I told him of
the day I had to leave the city, choosing to move on, pressured by
the increasing ill-will from the jealous father, and then I told him
of what it felt like to see that boy ride into Rivendell, a warrior
himself, proud and strong and full-grown, but still the lonely child
I knew so well.

Legolas listened quietly, barely
breathing it seemed. I told him what I knew, what I had learned
from Boromir about his father and Faramir, though careful to not
reveal anything I felt Boromir would rather Legolas not know.

When I began to speak about the
events leading up to, and including, Boromir’s first spanking
Legolas lifted his face to gaze at me, his large compassionate blue
eyes swimming with fresh tears. I knew they were tears for that
little boy who was lost and in need, adrift in loneliness and anguish
and the longing for the simple attention he so deserved. I
kissed my beloved softly, knowing I need say no more.

“Aragorn,” he finally
ventured, his voice a soft hush, “I have wronged him.”

“Nay, shhhh. What I said
before is true, sweetling - your feelings were understandable.
And you and Boromir are equally accountable for your actions.”

“I-I feared you had . . . .”

“Shhh, I know. Enough.”

“But, Aragorn, I-I must
explain. Please, let me . . . let me . . . .”

I nodded. Perhaps it was best
he let this out. He pulled back slightly so that he could look
directly at me, bravely settling more weight on his backside than he
was comfortable with if his wince was any indication. Intrepid
elf.

“I thought you . . . well, I
thought perhaps you . . . .” His worried gaze said all.
He could not bring himself to admit to his lack of faith in me.
“I am sorry, Estel. So sorry, to have thought so little
of you, to have doubted you for even a moment --”

“Hush,” I said, gathering
him close again. “Shhh, hush, elfling mine. Enough
I say. You have nothing to apologize for, Legolas, save that
foul temper.” I heard him answer my grin with his own.
“And I shall always make you answer to me for that.”

“You always have.”

He burrowed in closer, clearly loving
my stern attention. I gave him more comfort to enjoy.
“You have not been given leave to behave as you see fit,
elfling mine. I am watching as I always have been.”

A small sob broke free from him,
quickly muffled as he pressed his face against my body. I
crushed him to me, warmed by his breath on my neck and the feel of
his strong, graceful form against mine.

“My attention shall never stray
from you, beloved. I promise. Remember that. I
simply have another youngling to watch over.”

He scoffed and said, “Youngling
indeed! Need I remind you of my vastly superior age, human?”

“You have more years, Legolas,
not more maturity,” I returned with teasing disdain.

“And you take far too much upon
yourself, Ranger-child!” he shot back.

I burst into gales of laughter.
He had not called me that for a long time. Legolas laughed too,
sheepishly. Clearly he was startled to hear the old name come
out of his mouth as well.

We remained lying together in the
soft night for as long as we dared, then we had to gather our things
and head back.   I dropped back a few paces on our way,
letting Legolas walk ahead of me, and when he turned I grinned and
said, “I told you I liked to watch you walk like that.”

He blushed strongly enough to see by
torchlight and he gave me a smirk of annoyance. “You are
incorrigible,” he muttered.

Just before we arrived back at the
camp I stopped him and said, “There is something else,
Legolas. I-I ask that you forgive me for allowing you to suffer
so.”

He stared at me in frank amazement.
“But, Aragorn, your spankings always hurt --”

“No, no, my friend,” I
quickly said. “I mean that I should have talked to you
about Boromir before you found out and had to suffer the knowledge of
it alone. It was wrong of me not to prepare you. I was
lax in my duty to you and I am sorry, so sorry for what you suffered
because of my weakness.”

He looked stunned. “Aragorn,
I found out you had spanked Boromir because I listened to a private
conversation. The fault was mine.”

“But last night when you left
my chamber, I-I did not seek you out to ease your mind--”

“Because there was no time!”
he interrupted. “No time last night and no time today.”

“I could have found you last
night, and instead I fell asleep--”

“Because you were tired!”
he interrupted again. “You are human, Aragorn! You
are going to be tired at times, and you needed your rest! ‘Tis
true – I spent a difficult night, but that was of my making,
not yours. I had allowed my fears and doubts full reign.
But you are not to responsible for that. And I refuse to permit
you to assume blame for it!”

I considered hauling him over my knee
again if he interrupted me once more. But the tone in his voice
made me pause . . . .

There are times when Legolas sounds
far too sensible to suit me, times when he becomes that other
Legolas, fully capable of dealing with me as I had just dealt with
him, times when he will not be argued with. This moment had
suddenly become one of those times. I was not going to win.

I thought it over briefly and decided
that this issue was really of small concern. Legolas would not
accept an apology. Clearly the matter was finished . . . for
him. I would deal with what my heart told me on my own, learn
from it, and hopefully never do it again.

I nodded and smiled and said, “As
you will, sir.”

Legolas looked thoughtful. We
started walking again and he was silent for a few moments, then he
suddenly said, “Aragorn, you were . . . well, I was wondering .
. . .”

I gave him a moment, then looked over
and said, “Yes?”

“About the soap . . . you were
in jest, were you not?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Shh! We do not want to
wake any sleeping little ones.”

“You cannot have meant it!”

“Sam packed plenty of soap,
Legolas. I intend to use some of it on your nasty mouth when we
come to a good source of water.”

He stopped short, staring at me again
with those wide eyes full of horror.

“Fear not,” I said.
“I shall do it when there is no one else around.”

“You are in jest.”
He chuckled lightly. “You are.”

I simply smiled.

**********

He was watching me again. I
felt the elf’s eyes upon me as I worked with Merry and Pippin.

The hobbits were clumsy with their
wee swords, but they were doing well, all but poor little Frodo.
He simply didn’t have much aptitude for the sword. He did
try, and Sam made an effort to help him, a bit too much actually, but
Frodo had difficulty asserting himself and he couldn’t seem to
work up the necessary fierceness. Perhaps he would in time.
He worried me, though, this small gentle soul heading into the heart
of darkness. I would need to stay near him should we ever come
under attack, but then, I sensed that Aragorn would rather assume
that charge, and of course I would yield to whatever he willed.

Three days out of Rivendell now and
we were forming into a more cohesive group, getting to know each
other. It had been a strange few days with the elf, starting
with the morning after my unfortunate offer to take his watch.
Legolas seemed to have somehow calmed in the night, although how the
change occurred I cannot say as I slept so soundly, Gimli apparently
not needing to be relieved. But Legolas didn’t glare at
me once during the second day, nor today and I began to wonder what
had happened to him to affect such a change in attitude.
Aragorn had said he would talk to him, and I guess that worked
wonders.

Whatever the reason, I was certainly
glad of it since I felt eager to honor Merry's valid concerns by
striving for a more harmonious relationship with Legolas. At
the time I’d despaired of exactly how I was going to achieve
that, given his hostility towards me, but now it looked as if peace
between us might indeed come to pass. We were still keeping our
distance from each other, but I sensed in him a willingness to try,
and it felt promising.

After dismissing my hobbit students I
strolled down to a stream that meandered through the woods a little
ways from our camp. Sam was there, wringing out something he’d
just washed, no doubt one of Frodo’s belongings. Sam was
such a faithful servant and good-hearted little soul. He was
never far from Frodo, so to see him alone was unusual. He
flashed his ready smile and hailed me as I approached.

“Ho, Boromir! Did Pippin
attack you?”

“He did indeed, Master Gamgee.
I have come to revive myself and splash water on my wounds.”

He chuckled and gathered up his
things, coming over to meet me as I reached the water’s edge.
“You have to watch out for them Tooks,” he said
with a mischievous grin. “They have fierce tempers.”

“I vow the Brandybucks can
outdo them.”

“Oh, bless me yes!”
He laughed again, then he grew suddenly quiet and looked up at me,
his youthful face serious and full of honest concern. “I just
wanted to say that, well, I know you’re working hard with
Mister Frodo, with all of us that is, and it’s so good of you,
but, what I mean to say is, he’s doing his best you know.
Mister Frodo, he’s not a warrior type, if you understand my
meaning.”

I smiled down at him gently and
looked away for a moment, gathering myself. Such loyalty and
love. I did hold these hobbits dear. Looking down at him
I asked, “Do you think I am being too hard on him, Sam?”

“Oh no!” he quickly
stated. “No, no, not at all!”

“Because he will need to
learn--”

“I know, Boromir,” he
interrupted eagerly. “And that’s what I meant to
say, is that, well, I love Mister Frodo, and I plan to be at his side
always, but I can’t count on that working out the way I want it
to, if you know what I mean. I wanted to protect him at
Weathertop, and, and--”

He lowered his gaze and swallowed
hard and my heart went out to him. I nearly pulled him up into
my arms to comfort him, but I held off, letting him work this out.

“You did your best, Sam.
All of you did. I am certain of it.”

“Aye, but it wasn’t
enough,” he said, looking up with now glassy eyes. “And
that’s my point. Something like that could happen again,
at any time, and when it does Frodo needs to able to protect
himself.”

I saw at once where he was heading.
His earnest little expression carried his fear and his worries so
plainly he need not have said another word, but he went on.

“I never thought I’d ever
hear myself say this to anyone, but I hope you understand what I mean
when I say that you’ve got to be tougher on him, Boromir.
He needs to be ready. He has to learn. That’s bound
to be hard on him, but that’s just as it is. Better he
learn now than . . . .” He couldn’t finish the
thought. “And I’ve got to stop helping him so much
when you’re trying to teach him.”

It was obviously wrenching for him to
say that, but it would’ve been even more wrenching for him to
have held it in. I nodded. “I understand.”

Sam sniffed then released a great
breath. He scrubbed his forearm over his face, disguising his
need to wipe away the anxious tears that had clouded his eyes.
“Don’t blame yourself, sir. Frodo, well, he has
this way about him, always has. Folks just watch out for him,
you know? They can’t help themselves.”

I did indeed know. “He’s
lucky to have you, Sam,” I said smiling down at him.

He blushed and shrugged. “I
feel like as not that I’m the lucky one. But I’m
off to fix us some supper.”

He turned and scurried away. I
went to the stream to splash some water on my face, then stood
shaking off my hands.

“They are so loyal and loving,
these little ones.”

I flinched at the voice, my hand
instantly on my sword. But it was mere instinct, for the moment
I heard it I knew it was Legolas who had spoken. He stepped
from the shadows of the gathering dusk and wandered towards me.
I was too surprised to say anything for a moment. I think they
were the first kindly spoken words he'd ever said to me. I
collected myself.

“Aye, they certainly are.”

Legolas shifted his weight to one leg
and kicked absentmindedly at the small stones lining the water's
edge. “You are teaching them well, Boromir.” He
lifted his gaze and looked directly up at me. “It is a
great kindness you are bestowing upon them.”

Again I was too stunned to respond
right away. I glanced down, my face beginning to warm.
“It is no more than needed doing,” I said. “But,
thank you.”

“I would guess that you have
had few dealings with halflings,” he ventured.

“None,” I admitted.
I lifted a smile to him. “But they are wonderful, are
they not?”

He smiled back. “Aye,
these four especially.”

“They are delightful to watch
together.”

“So close,” he added.

“And playful.”

“And impossible.”

We both laughed, then I said, “So
like brothers, loving brothers.”

“Aye, most loving.”
The intimate tone in Legolas’ voice drew my quick glance.

“Closer, even, than brothers,”
I said softly.

“Close in a different manner.”

We exchanged quiet smiles. A
silence fell. I sensed in him a need to say something,
something I wished to say as well. And all at once, to my
astonishment, Legolas didn’t strike me as a pompous elf trying
to make my life miserable. I saw him as simply a young elf,
oddly bewildered by his own sudden awkwardness, vulnerable, even,
astoundingly so. I watched him, fascinated by my change in
feelings towards him, and I immediately thought to help him by
perhaps beginning to talk of the matter with which he was so clearly
struggling. But I recalled my blunder in trying to help Legolas
out before. He had initiated this encounter, and it suddenly
seemed more polite to allow him to guide it. I waited.

“I . . . .” He
faltered, and studied the ground searchingly. I clenched my
teeth to keep from interrupting. Then he quickly looked up at
me again, his eyes now calm and sincere. “I have wronged
you, Boromir.”

“I have wronged you as well,”
I blurted out, unable to hold back a moment longer.

We both breathed quick little grins.
I nodded at a fallen log nearby and said, “Perhaps we could sit
and talk?”

Legolas gave the log a wary glance
then shot one at me as well, but he joined me. He did not sit
when I did, though. I glanced up in question.
Legolas had actually become red-faced. He shifted from foot to
foot, then he muttered, “I shall stand, thank you.”

A hot jolt shot through me.
Those were the words I had spoken to Aragorn the day he had teased me
about sitting on the bench! I stared hard at Legolas. His
face said all. He had heard me that day? He . . . he
knew? He knew that Aragorn had spanked me?

I blinked and studied him more
closely, but Legolas was clearly not trying to hide the truth.
More hot explosions fired within me, thousands at once: He had
heard! Impossibly, he had indeed heard! And he’d
known my secret for days now! I could scarce fathom my
humiliation, and what followed it was worse.

I stood slowly, gaping at him, my
humiliation forgotten in light of the obvious explanation as to why
Legolas did not want to sit! Aragorn had – he had . . .
! And he had said nothing to me about spanking Legolas, not
even a hint that he did such a thing!

Legolas watched me his eyes growing
huge. “Please, Boromir, sit down. You look ill.”

Ill? I didn’t know what I
was but I certainly was not ill! Ill? My stomach churned
and my limbs shook, surging feelings of anger and betrayal and . . .
and . . . ill? Of all things! I felt an overwhelming urge
to lay into Legolas and then go lay into Aragorn!

I felt ridiculous. Why, after
all, should I care? But I did care! I cared very much!
And I did not like this, any of it! I tried to draw a normal
breath, tried to hear what Legolas was saying.

“Please, listen to me,”
he said in an urgent tone. “I know how you feel. I
do, Boromir. I felt just as you do now when I listened in on
your conversation that morning, the teasing little interplay between
the two of you, about the bench. I listened, for elves have
extraordinary hearing. I invaded your privacy, and I
apologize. Would that I had not, for then I knew that Aragorn
had done to you what he had ever done to me. Aragorn had taken
you over his knee, disciplined you . . . my Aragorn had spanked you.
So . . . so, you see, Boromir, I do know how you feel. I . . .
I do.”

I listened to his somber, quiet
voice. I took in the deep radiance of his eyes, and I saw that
Legolas did know how I felt. I couldn’t stop trembling,
but I heard him. And I realized that if he alone had shared
this relationship with Aragorn for a long time, then Legolas was,
oddly enough, the only one who could understand how I felt right
now. Aragorn spanking the hobbits likely made Legolas smile, as
it had me. Like me, Legolas probably sanctioned it. But
my involvement was an entirely different matter for him.

“I should not have listened
that morning,” he repeated. “It was wrong of me,
and I beg your forgiveness. In fact, I have wronged you in many
ways, sir, and I am sorry. I-I have no excuse. I was
simply . . . .”

Legolas paused and dropped his gaze,
swallowing hard. My chest tightened at the sight of him,
seeming suddenly so young and uncertain. Legolas, Prince of
Mirkwood. Uncertain before me.

“I-I was afraid,” he
bravely continued, struggling to murmur his words. “It
seemed that you . . . you had seemed to come and take over. He
was with you so often, and . . . and he became so fond of you, so
quickly.” Looking up at me suddenly, he charged on:
“But I did not know that he had met you when you were a child.
I had never heard that story. I did not understand your history
with Aragorn.

“All I saw was a beautiful
young warrior, a man, not elfkind, but a man, and my Aragorn taking
that warrior’s side against me, and . . . and it was wrong of
me to think this, so stupid of me, really. . . but I seemed unable to
stop myself from these vile thoughts . . . and I imagined that
perhaps you were . . . perhaps you were taking my Aragorn away from
me.”

I blinked, and I stared up at this
beautiful elf, seeing his discomfort, his silent and gallant
struggle, understanding all that he was fighting to admit, and his
shame in admitting it. And I suddenly understood what he’d
been suffering. I realized what had driven Legolas to such
angry extremes, and I shuddered from the power of it. Given the
circumstances, he had actually shown remarkable restraint with me.

I would likely have seen it the same
way: A usurper had invaded his place with Aragorn, threatening
to take away what Legolas had enjoyed exclusively, an invader who had
been confrontational to him as well. A warm swelling of sadness
expanded in my chest. I had just begun to enjoy the comfort of
Aragorn’s attention, and I knew that the loss of it, especially
the threat of losing it to an intruder, would be devastating.
Yes, I could imagine how that would feel.

And I’d only known such comfort
for a few days. Legolas had clearly cherished it for some
time. What might the fear of such a loss have been like for
him? I couldn’t fathom such anguish. How had he
borne it? How had controlled himself to the degree he had?

A sharp pain grasped my heart,
ripping through me, tightening my throat, stinging my eyes.
Again I didn’t think. I simply acted. I rose and
moved to Legolas and gathered him in my arms. I had to hold
him. I had to pull him to me, let him know how sorry I was for
what he had suffered, how sorry I was to have been a part of that
suffering.

Legolas stiffened for only a
heartbeat, and then his arms came around me, desperately, clinging to
me with a strength that nearly took my breath away. But I held
him with all my strength in return, letting him cling as firmly as he
needed to. We tightened our hold, suddenly understanding so
well all that we had in common, all that bound us together into this
tight embrace of brotherhood.

Legolas lowered his head to my
shoulder and I buried my face in his silky mane, breathing in his
most intoxicating, unearthly scent and we held on to each other,
saying nothing and saying so much. I heard him sniff and I
blinked back my own threatening tears, trying to quiet my regrets.
Finally we drew back, still holding on to each other by the waist and
gazing into each others’ eyes. Legolas was an incredibly
exquisite creature. I hoped my eyes reflected as much kindness
and compassion as did his.

Again I astonished myself. I
reached up and smoothed a few stray hairs from his perfect cheeks,
then I boldly ran my palm down his bright tresses and toyed with his
delicate braid. I had to smile. How wonderful this felt!
Holding Legolas, and being held by him, for I felt Legolas holding me
back, supporting me as I was him.

He grinned in return, then it was his
turn to astonish me. He leaned forward and kissed me, ever so
softly, but the thrill of it, the touch of his mouth on mine, that
brief puff of sweet elvish breath mixing with mine sent a hot quiver
shooting through me. He drew back, a quiet look of triumph in
his eyes. I blushed foolishly and sought my composure.

“How . . . How did you keep
from killing me?” I asked.

He released a gentle laugh.
“I had you in my sights several times.”

“I would be long dead if you
had.”

“Well, I felt we needed a
strong arm to help protect the little ones,” he said lightly.

We talked then, mostly sharing words
of understanding and apologies for our ill-mannered behavior towards
each other. Legolas refused to translate the elvish curses he
had hurled at me a few nights before, but he laughed at my asking.

“I dare not teach them to you,
sir, lest you forget yourself someday and use one within earshot of
Aragorn.”

I sat on the log again, but Legolas
once more hesitated. A sudden urge hit me and I patted my lap,
saying, “Come, nice and comfortable.”

He shot me such an astonished look
that I had to laugh, and I quickly explained the significance of what
he had overheard Aragorn teasing me about that day at the stone
bench. Legolas grinned beautifully while I told the story of
the hobbits’ conversation. Then he sighed and shook his
head.

“Aragorn has a little-boyish
streak in him, you know,” he said. “He sometimes
cannot keep from teasing.”

I smirked. “So I have
noticed. That night after you and I had words outside his
chamber, and then inside his chamber --”

“You were soundly thrashed that
night,” Legolas interrupted sinking down beside me with a wince
and look of condolence. “Were you not?”

I nodded. “Most soundly.
I tried to not make a sound because I feared someone might hear.
The halflings had chambers near to his.”

“But --” He looked
puzzled. “The first time Aragorn spanked you, the day
before, were you not in your chamber?”

“No. I had begged him to
let me take him to a place far away from Elrond’s house where
we would not be seen or heard, a private place I had found.”

“And he agreed to this?”

“Aye, well, he took some
convincing, but as it was my first time . . . .”

“Hmm.” Legolas
nodded. “He was feeling generous, my friend.”

“Well, he wasn’t feeling
generous that last night in Rivendell. He hauled me over his
knee right there in his chambers where I couldn’t allow myself
to cry out.”

“An ill-advised tactic.
It never does any good to try keeping quiet.”

“So I’ve learned, but I
kept quiet that night.”

“How did you manage that?”
he asked, clearly in awe.

I told him about nearly biting a hole
in the pillow, which made Legolas snicker. “And do you
know what he said while I was trying to restrain myself and biting
this wretched pillow as he heated my backside?” I asked.

Legolas shook his head, his eyes
alight with glittering sparkles of mirth.

“He said --” I
assumed an Aragorn-like voice, “‘Your pride shall
likely earn you a mouthful of feathers, little fledgling.’”

Legolas nearly fell off the log.
I’d never seen him laugh so hard and I fell right into it with
him. It took us several long minutes to recover.

“Oh,” Legolas finally
gasped, “I can just hear him!”

“And then that business about
the bench.” I sighed and shook my head and exchanged a
look of mock annoyance with the elf. “The man is
incorrigible.”

“Ah! The perfect word
indeed! I called him so the other night,” he said.

I studied him. “He took
you out alone after your watch was done, didn’t he?”

Legolas sighed and gave a short nod.

“Was it bad?”

“Aye, it was one of the bad
ones. But the ones when I fight him are always the worst.”

“You fight him?” I asked,
stunned. “But some say that elves are stronger than men,
so how --”

“I do not know,” he said
quickly. “Somehow my strength fails me when I am fighting
Aragorn over a spanking. I usually accept it because . . .
well, because I have earned it and I do deserve it, and . . . well,
the man is so eternally right.”

“I have noticed that as well.”

“Aye. But mostly I accept
it because . . . well, because . . . .”

“Because you want to accept
it.”

We shared a knowing look and a soft
smile.

“Nevertheless there are times
when I cannot submit, when I am feeling stubborn or I am blinded by
rage as I was that night. So I refuse to allow it. Those
times have been few, but they do lead to a fight. Aragorn has
to subdue me, and then, aye, those spankings are worse.”
He flashed me a wry smile. “So I am still reluctant to
sit.”

I shook my head in sympathy.

A mischievous glint came into his eye
and he said, “Once, however, after such fight that he had, of
course, won, and after he had given me a very long spanking, do you
know what I did?”

I grinned, enjoying this as he
clearly was as well. “What?”

“Aragorn had me down over his
knees, and he asked me if I would behave now, you know, the way he
does when he is ready to talk and he needs you to be calm.”

I nodded, hanging on every word.

“I was still humming mad
inside. It had been a harsh spanking, but he still had not
managed to swat all the rebellion out of me, and now I was doubly
angry because he had stopped too soon . . . .” He
paused. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course!” I shot
back. “If he had done his part well you wouldn’t
have had any conflict left to torment and tempt you.”

“Exactly!” He
glowed. “So I lied and told him that I was ready to
listen and behave.”

I groaned, knowing this could not
have ended well for Legolas, and knowing that I might have been
tempted to lie just as he had.

Legolas now shot to his feet, excited
by his own story, his eyes sparkling and his arms waving to help
animate his tale. “So Aragorn turned me, and he was
holding me there on his lap, just watching me and waiting for me to
calm. But instead I scrambled up and dealt him such a powerful
blow that he went sailing right off the other side of the log where
he sat!”

“You what?” I cried,
jumping up in shock.

Legolas was positively giggling.
“I did! He was flat on his back when I last saw him and I
took off running!”

My mouth opened and closed in
silence. I was too stunned to speak, but Legolas looked
completely delighted with himself. Then I fully envisioned this
again, and I couldn’t help it. I simply fell into gales
of laughter. It wasn’t funny, and yet the picture of it
was, so I gave in to my inexcusable mirth and the two of us howled
for several minutes more. We actually collapsed to the grass
and sat there laughing like idiots

It felt, as Aragorn would put it,
completely and wholly naughty, and yet it was wonderful to laugh like
that with Legolas, and to see him laugh, and to know that we shared a
bond like this and could talk in such a manner, open about our
situation with Aragorn, free to enjoy it without question and knowing
that another understood and that we were no lesser in courage or
warrior spirit for what we accepted.

“Oh, I tell you, Boromir,”
Legolas rasped when he could breathe again, “It was without
question one of the most ill-planned things I had ever done in my
life, and when Aragorn got his hands on me again --” He
paused and laughed anew. “I swear to you, I did not sit
for a week.”

“A week?” I
exclaimed. “His spankings last a woefully long time, ‘tis
true, but surely he couldn’t spank you long and hard enough for
it to last a week!”

“Oh, but it was not just one
spanking I earned with my stunt. He impressed his displeasure
upon me every other night for a week, long and meaningful reminders
that I was never, ever to do such a thing again.”

“But, but you had to know that
you would eventually have to face him again,” I said in
amazement. “You could not keep running forever.”

He looked mildly bewildered, then
said, “At the time I did not think that far ahead.”

We collapsed into more laughter, then
he added, “Yes, I knew I would regret it, of course, but I must
tell you, my friend, I was in such an unreasonable state that I did
not care. It seemed well worth it. I was very sorry at
the end of that very long week, though. But Aragorn had been
just. I deserved it.”

“I would love to hear this
story in full,” I said eagerly.

Legolas laughed. “Someday.”

“Are we enjoying ourselves?”
a familiar voice called.

Legolas and I both scrambled up and I
turned to see Aragorn, Frodo and Merry coming from the woods a little
downstream from us, heading for the water, skins in their hands for
filling. All of them paused and I wondered what they had heard,
but it seemed they hadn’t heard anything except our laughter.

They all paused and stood there,
smiling, studying us for a moment. Aragorn cocked us his
handsome grin, Merry winked at me and Frodo’s large blue eyes
glittered, reflecting the sparkles from the water. Aragorn
flashed a look between Legolas and I that warmed me inside and made
my heart feel full to bursting.

“Caught being friendly with
each other.” Legolas sighed and moved beside me. “I
guess we shall needs be on friendly terms from now on.”

I grinned at him. “I
guess so.”

Flashing me his perfect smile, he
said, “Shall we join them, my friend?”

I nodded and together Legolas and I
headed for the others.

end
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As the Journey Begins