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In Darkness and In Doubt	By : ElvenDemagogue Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 7706 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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*
“How long do I have to prepare?” he
asked, knowing he was going to regret this.< sty style="mso-spacerun:
yes"> But his curiosity got the best of him. He would go along with this little plan
and as soon as he was aware it had gone awry, he would haul the Hobbit to
Aragorn to save his own skin.
There was an inherent danger though, that Saralonde would be punished as
well as her Elf. That chance
caused Boromir to rethink his position.
But it was too late now.
Galadriel stood and looked down on him as if he were a canary that had
been cornered by the cat.
She made an insincere bow to him. “You have an hour. You will take Saralonde to the Hobbit
Grove and wait there. If anything
goes wrong you will claim you are there on an outing with her. Do I make myself clear?”
He lounged back in the chair, giving
her a half smirk. “Crystal,
Lady. We’ll be ready.”
The Elf woman left without another
word, offering him a look before she left. Boromir frowned, now sorting through all her words to try
and discern how much of that was rubbish.
Plenty of her schemes had hidden agendas. He was no fool as not to see that. Yet there was always the possibility that her secrets would
serve him. He was no patriot. He cared nothing of the living
conditions of Elves, one way or another.
He cared not if his king raped and murdered. There was no reason for him to do these things, except that
he was restless. Some of her words
had spoken to some dead part of his soul, he admitted to himself.
Hissing in an irritated breath, Boromir
pulled himself from the chair and headed into the bedroom where Saralonde lay,
nude beneath his sheets. She was
pleasantly asleep, her face restful instead of weary. Innocent despite all the darkness that had threatened to
take her. He wondered if her
little Elf lover would display that same innocence. Aragorn had been counseled by Galadriel, as was every High
King from Isildur’s grandson and on.
Aragorn had soaked in her darkness, leaving no trace of Boromir’s
boyhood friend.
He knelt on the bed, smoothing his hand
down her back, brushing the sheet from her. Her skin was warm to his touch. Saralonde awakened and pushed her hands to the mattress in
order to get up, but entranced, Boromir pushed her back down and held her there
as he took the covers completely off.
She said nothing, likely expecting him to ravish her again. He sighed, resting his hand on her
behind. “I would love to fuck you,
believe me, now more than ever,” he said, feeling a swell of desire pass
through him when she tensed. “But
it may not be for me to have you after all.”
Saralonde turned her face towards him,
looking through puzzled eyes. He
did not want to give that up, would not if he could help it. When this was over, when the Prince of
Mirkwood died, she would have no one else to turn to. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, her dark eyes
searching him.
He let up on her. “I mean get dressed. We have somewhere to be.” Her eyes widened.
Pulling the sheet over her, Saralonde
sat up and he brushed hai hair back on her shoulder. Her modesty amused him, as did the touch of fear behind her
eyes. “Where are we going?”
“An echedi le cain,” he answered,
running his thumb along her jaw.
She seemed afraid to believe him for that, but he could see the want of
it in her gaze. Impulsively,
feeling desire creep upon him almost uncontrollably, he pulled her face close
to his. “Aniron pen nad. Pen medui mib.”Boromir half-smiled at her. “Are you offering to stay?”
“No,” she replied shortly, staring
ahead.
He let out a breath and shrugged. “I have my reasons for wanting to join
this expedition, if by some miracle it succeeds.”
Licking her lips, she glanced at the
Captain of L�rien, wondering what those ons ons could be. She felt a sudden need to point something
out. “If it does succeed, Legolas
will not allow you to touch me. He
may kill you.”
“Aye, he might,” Boromir admitted
without a beat. “But I think he
may reconsider when he learns of what I can offer to this silly quest.”
“What is that?”
He took her hand when they reached the
stairs leading to the Hobbit Glade, pulling her down. “We will discuss that when the time is right.”
They hastened down the stairs and
through the same trail she had taken with Pippin. Voices were heard, low and chattering. When they came to where Pippin had
given her breakfast, she saw four Hobbits and the dreaded Marchwarden. Immediately Boromir tensed, but made no er ser sign he was surprised. “What
brings you here?” he asked rly.Haldir cocked his head. “I may ask you the same thing.”
The human grunted, letting Saralonde’s
hand go. “An outing.”
The Elf grinned darkly, nodding his
head. “Good answer, Captain. The time draws near and now I must
depart. But I am to ask you,
Wood-Elf, a question. Will you go
hence with Legolas into darkness or return to your people? Either way presents grave danger.”
This was the question Galadriel said
she would be asked. Saralonde
looked him over, noting his smug appearance, his hateful sneer. There was but one choice to make, even
though the threat of Boromir joining filled her with loathing. “I will go with Legolas. Wherever he goes.”
Haldir nodded once, the turned towards
the little breakfast table. He
removed two long, green cloaks.
“Take these, the cloaks of Lothl�rien’s guardians. In such a way will you leave the Golden
Woods and make your way along the river.
I must go now and see to Legolas.”
He tossed the fabric at them, then disappeared into the woods.
Throwing hers on, Saralonde looked down
at the Hobbits, seeing only one dressed for riding. His blue eyes glittered as he returned the gaze. The others were solemn and suddenly she
felt afraid.
*
Hours had passed and with the the
small party grew more nervous.
Boromir had removed his cloak with angry mutters, loosened his armor and
tunic to allow his overheated body some air. Frodo, their Ringbearer, had said very little. He was afraid, having been born here in
Lothl�rien and never been gone. Saralonde
could not blame him. She herself
was growing more anxious about this journey.
When the Marchwarden ran into the
woods, all eyes turned towards him.
A shadow behind him ran much slower, with much less grace. Her eyes widened in recognition of the
face beneath the Lothl�rien hood.
He was wounded.
“Legolas?” Saralonde
forsook all and ran for him.
“Where are you hurt?”
He shook his head, those beautiful eyes
traveling her over. “My leg. Ai, Saralonde…meleth n�n.” His hand smoothed across her
cheek. If felt as though they had
not seen each other in ages.
“Meleth.”
Looking annoyed, Haldir cleared his
throat. “There is no time for your
whoring. Give the Hobbit his
burden if you have honor, Mirkwood dog.”
His gaze hit the dirt. “I let her in.” As she wiped a falling tear from his
cheek, he closed his eyes. “I know
what she would have me do. Lead
Frodo to Mordor that he could end this war. Yet I feel something dark ahead of me. I feel I am walking into a trap. I do not want to hurt you. I would die first.”
Saralonde took his hand, giving it a
squeeze. “Then you see, that is
the first step in evading whatever darkness you think is over you. I am here for you. I said I would walk with you wherever
you went.” She pressed her lips
against his, awakening his desire once more. “We’ll beat this trap together.”
Legolas cradled his arm around her
neck, capturing her mouth with his in a long, hard kiss of need and want. “Do you mean that?” he whispered
against her, trailing his other hand to her thigh, squeezing over the material
covering her legs. “Will you walk
the darkness with me, even when I fail?”
She nodded immediately, trying to kiss him again. He stopped her, putting his hand on her
shoulder. “I love you for
that. Which is why I want you to
go home.”
Widening her eyes, she stared at him a
moment. “Home? I’m not going home.”
He nodded sternly, giving her a
squeeze. “Go home, Saralonde. I will not accept your death because of
my path.”
“Absolutely not,” she countered
quickly, frowning at her lover.
She appreciated the offer, but could not accept his release. His gaze sharpened. “Don’t look at me like that. It won’t work.”
“I am your Prince,” he stated
flatly. “You will obey me in this,
Saralonde.”
Saralonde shook her head. “Not this time, Legolas. If you want me in Mirkwood, you will
take me there yourself.” Her hand
found its way to his abdomen, rubbing to soften his mood. “Why not let the Shadow Elf and human
take Frodo?”
The suggestion made him
uncomfortable. He glanced off
towards camp, then back into her eyes.
“Abandon the Hobbit to those two?
One of them would steal the Ring for himself, ending all possibility of
peace.” The explanation was
plausible enough, but she couldn’t help feeling there was somng eng else behind
his want to remain, be it hunger for the Ring or something unseen. He rested his forehead against hers. “Go, Saralonde. I must do this alone.”
“That’s too bad,” she whispered,
running her hand up his shirt to caress his skin.
Legolas glared at her, then jerked her
into his arms, forcing his mouth over hers, growling, “You are impossible!”
Saralonde found herself rapidly losing
breath as he sucked hard, hands seeking her with a new fervor sparked by his
aggravation. She returned his
heat, going for his buttons and undoing them roughly, then jerking his shirt
open. He bit her lip for it,
glaring into her eyes as his tongue assaulted her own. He seemed quite pleased by her whimper,
but that didn’t last long when she gripped his side and pinched.
“Ai!” he gasped into her lips, then
fixed a stern look on her. He swept his eyes down her bare breasts before plunging
down, smoothing his tongue across the center of one. Saralonde arched into his mouth, rubbing his shirt down his
arms. He slipped his wrists from
the cuffs obligingly, allowing her to disrobe him as he murmured, “Meleth, boe
le…”
She bit her lip, feeling his hot hands
smoothing her skirts up her legs, felt herself flush in desire as those
expressive eyes seemed to gaze into her very soul. Returning his look of solemn need, Saralonde caressed her
hands down hise ste stomach to the rim of his pants. Slipping her fingers beneath the rim, drinking in his intake
of pleasured air, she opened the fabric and smoothed her hands over his hips. Legolas’s lids fluttered as he lowered
his brow to hers and ran his thumb along her hipbone. “No le tangada?” he whispered as he sank his legs between
her thighs, brushing the skirt up over her belly.
Saralonde watched those bright, moonlit
eyes grow hazy as she drew her legs up along his hips, tangling his body along
hers as she slowly pulled him down inside her. “Boe le, Legolas.
Boe le athan bronwe tir si,” she whispered hotly, finally jerking him
down.
Legolas dragged his hands up, resting
them at the sides of her arms as he smiled down, pulling back and plunging down
into her again. He groaned against
her lips, just barely dipping his tongue into her hot mouth as he thrust
again. Saralonde curled her
fingers around the dirt and took the initiative, coaxing his tongue further by
brushing hers against his. He
completed the kiss, running his hand along her shoulder to her throat where he
caressed softly.
His feet brushed the dirt in his need
to please her and find pleasure.
There was such an earnest need in his gaze that she felt her pulse
quicken by that alone. Impulsively
she threw her arms around him, drawing him closer into her hold. He groaned and kissed her cheek,
understanding, then quickened his pace, pressing his mouth down her cheek and
throat until he came to her shoulder.
Saralonde smoothed her hands across his moiste bac back, running her
hands along his fine muscle tone, appreciating the lines that made him who he
was. She missed him so much it
hurt her to think of it.
S'>Saralonde brought her hand to his face,
cupping his cheek and rubbing as she moved her lips into his, needing
more. He was very quick to oblige
the kiss, sensing her want. His
arms hit the ground to brace him as he moved harder, sparking desire between
them in his haste to reclaim their love.
Legolas sucked hard on her mouth, groaning his pleasure as she thrust up
against him, smoothing her legs along his own.
He plunged down into her deep, bringing
her voice into their kiss. She
could feel herself nearing, knew that not only her pleasure would vent, but her
anger and hatred as well. Her
fingers tangled into his pale hair, holding him to her lips as his movements
quickened. She could feel herself
coming close, could see by the fire in his eyes that he knew it and was driving
her towards it with all haste.
Legolas pressed his hand into her hip, keeping her still as he had his
way, moving in quick, jerking movements made to throw her into bliss. “Anno nin conath l�n,” he instructed
her softly, slowing up.
She writhed in the dirt, her senses on
the very edge of climax.
“Legolas…” she breathed, gripping his wrist to free her hip. It was like iron, holding her down to
his pace. “Please, meleth…”
Breathing raggedly, Legolas forced his
mouth over hers and began a hard movement to see them to their ends. Saralonde cried out into his forceful
kiss, unprepared for such ardor.
It was blindingly hard; she tightened her legs against his hips as he
plunged without mercy now. Without
care she fell into bliss, writhing against him and whimpering into his mouth as
he continued driving for his own pleasure.
Each movement drew her further into the
dark until she was shaking uncontrollable, feeling nothing but his rolling
thrusts. Her body weakened by the
time he fell against her with his own untamed groanings. Drawing a shuddering breath, Saralonde
tightened her arms around him, taking in all his pleasure, feeling every shiver
he made until he was still.
Then she opened her eyes, looking at
the stars with an expression of desperation. Her fingers traced his back as he came to his senses. When he looked down, the brightness of
hise die dimmed. “Why are there
tears in your eyes?” he asked, drawing her hand up to kiss it and impart some
comfort.
Saralonde shook her head, finge the the
end of a strand of his golden hair.
“Why does it seem as though time is slipping away from us?”
He needed no clarification. Legolas lowered his mouth to her jaw,
kissing softly as he looked down at the dirt. “Man mathich?”
“I feel love for you,” she answered
truthfully, quietly. “I feel our
lives have been ravaged and changed.”<
<
“Irreparably?” It was a hard question. He asked it as though trying to speak
through a stab wound.
She squeezed him impulsively, then
brushed his blond hair out of his wounded eyes. “No.”
Legolas kissed her softly, whispering,
“You will fight the pain with me?
You will try to win back what was stolen?”o:p>
Th'>There could be no other answer to
that. Saralonde nodded, watching
him as he removed himself from her and clothed himself. His fingers mingled with her skirts,
drawing the fabric down until she was covered. They were silent in there preparations to return to camp and
she couldn’t quite tell if she had wounded him or not. His eyes spoke nothing but love, but if
she had caused him doubt or pain it hurt her for him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as they got to their feet.
He shook his head, running his fingers
down her cheek gently. “Don’t be,
love. I would never have you
suffer with doubt by yourself. I
am sorry if it was too soon.”
“No,” she hissed sternly, jerking him into
her arms. She looked into this
soft dark eyes and rubbed circles on his side. “We’ll fight this.
I will be with you.”
Legolas smiled softly, then looked off
towards camp. “They will expect
us. Saralonde…they may say
things. If Boromir…” He trailed off, looking down.
Saralonde covered his lips with her
fingers, shaking her head. “You
will do nothing.” He looked ready
to protest, but her glare won over his frustration momentarily. “He is not worth the trouble.”
“But you are,” he retorted insistently,
looking justified.
Her glare did not diminish. “Your death is not worth his. How do you think I would feel if he or
Haldir killed you?”
His mouth pressed against her
forehead. “I know, meleth. But when I think of him touching you…”
20;T20;Then don’t.” She took his hand, smoothing her fingers over the tiny
unique lines that defined his palms as his alone. “I don’t want to live in the past. It does nothing but stagnate the future. We’re free.”
Legolas nodded softly and they departed
the solitary sanctuary of the woods.
Nothing more was said between them. She felt tired suddenly, as if the weight that had lifted
during their scant moments together was now returning. They entered the small camp and despite
herself, she looked up. Haldir
blatantly grinned, watching them with amused eyes. He was leaned against a tree, arms crossed and appearing
ready to say something.
Boromir watched only her. His gaze was dark, displaying an
aggravation that made her swallow.
She raised her chin in blatant defiance of his jealousy and saw his
fists tighten. Legolas noticed
this as well as Haldir, who headed off the Prince of Mirkwood’s anger by
inserting himself into the situation first. “Well, well.
The animals have finished mating.
Tell me, girl, was it as disappointing as the other little Mirkwood
beauty told me your men are? A
L�rien Elf could give you so much more, you know.”
Kicking dust at the Marchwarden,
Legolas sneered. “What does a
L�rien Elf know of love and of passion?
Ingon le isto tithen athan gwaur glam a unauth ritha.” Despite his agitation, Boromir grinned
openly at the insult.
Haldir was nonplussed. His dirt smile remained as he pushed
himself from the tree. “Pedo ad a
he istitha ‘unauth ritha’ n�n. Le tiritha.”
“I think there are more important
things to worry about just now,” the Captain of Lothl�rien interjected hotly,
letting dirt fall between his fingers.
He dusted his hands off and looked up at them with annoyed, glittering
eyes. “Let them have their fun, if
they wish. Any of us could be dead
soon.”
The Marchwarden snorted
derisively. “My. Aren’t you a well of comfort?”
“It’s not my job to comfort you, Shadow
Elf,” Boromir replied simply, stretching out on his bedroll, cupping his hands
beneath his head.
“No,” Haldir mused darkly, “it is your
job to protect the little whore while coveting her flesh in your own
heart. Hypocritical human. Typical of your weakling race.”
“Fuck you, Elf,” Boromir breathed
tiredly, rolling his back towards the Marchwarden.
Apart from the quarrelsome company, Saralonde
had drawn Legolas away to where Frodo slept. “Avo lasto, Legolas.
Boe ammen garo post.”
“Post no uanim,” he murmured, his dark
eyes straying to the others angrily.
Despite that, however, he came down to his knees at her urging, looking
into her face in realization once his legs hit the dirt. He smiled softly, brushing her hair
back as she knelt with him and smoothed her hands across his shirt in a
placating manner. “Le ardarel
echedi nin sodhui.”
p stp style='text-align:justify'>Saralonde drew him back to lean with
her against a tree. The stillness
would not last; they both knew it.
But it was their only comfort for now.
*
To Be Continued…
*
Elvish:
An
echedi le cain. – To make you free.

Aniron pen nad. Pen medui mib. – I
want one thing. One last kiss.

Nadeli hammannen. – Get dressed. Lit. Be-come clothed.

Goston, Saralonde. Galadriel norn
n�n ist. – I fear, Saralo
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In Darkness and In Doubt