To Resist both Wind and Tide

Chapter Eight: Breaking Through

"Ari is mine no more," mourned Brynja in lacklustre tones of weary defeat. "His heart is a stone. He hungers, not for the joy of our marriage bed, but for depraved and illicit acts that bring disgrace and shame. Nothing moves him to smile save the pain of others; nothing brings him delight save to be the cause of that pain. Even our son…"

Her voice trailed away into silence as her eyes stared unseeing at the elf on his knees, the boy standing there weeping with him.

"It's not my Da," the child croaked out. "My Da didn't hurt you and those other elves. He loves Mama and he never hurt me, not ever. It's not him. It was somebody else."

Legolas, submerged in a grief that had no bottom, halted in his plunge through those unsounded depths and slowly raised his head, focused fierce eyes on the boy, reached out and clutched him tight at the shoulder.

"Oh, yes, it is your father," he hissed coldly. "You wear his face; do not deny the loins that spawned you." He shook the child roughly; the knife glinted in his other hand. The boy whimpered, unable to tear his eyes away, forced to listen, while the adults stared in stupefied disbelief, paralysed in their horror of it. "Your father, Ari, just a man as any other of your kind; no demon and no wizard, he. Just a man who turned from all that is good and noble and pure in this world." He shook the boy again. "A man, as you shall be someday and find set before you the same choices. What will you choose, echil hên?" (human child)

The boy began to cry, a keening wail winding up in his lungs, squeezing free of his wounded heart in a shrill and reedy exhalation of misery and terror, but he could not look away and shook his head in futile denial.

"Aye," Legolas nodded, his face contorted in a horrendous grimace, half-leering like the mocking grin of death, half a snarling predator's ravenous smirk, and his relish over the boy's distress shimmered darkly in the torch light. "Choose, echil!" The knife hand shifted minutely, a shiver of tension running through the arm that sent a flash of silver over the boy's cheeks.

"No, never!" he sobbed, the words all but drowned in his heaving gulps. "Never, never, never! None can make me do it! I'll never hurt her, never never!"

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, desperate pleading in his voice, afraid to move a muscle lest that knife dart out and silence the boy forever.

The men around him were likewise held at bay, mouths split apart in shock, impotent of action, no courage in their bones sufficient to risk the child in the attempt to save him. Brynja stood in a disbelieving daze, incapable of comprehending the scene. The elf did not acknowledge them, that terrible glare fused to wide eyes of stricken innocence, and for an interminable flight of seconds probed and plumbed the boy's soul. Their communion yielded a subtle change, a nearly imperceptible shift in the pressure of the air, a critical moment of delicate imbalance.

"Never?" murmured Legolas and his head tilted in bemusement. His smile lost its repulsive gloating; the grip on the child's shoulder eased. "You need not resist so long as that, henellon, (boy child) only until you die."

"Never," insisted the child firmly and his tears dwindled; his wailing gave way to hitched hiccoughs. He raised his arm and wiped it noisily across his dripping nose, but his eyes did not move from the elf's, enduring the penetrating scrutiny with determination, no shield to spare him but truth. "Not even if I never die, I would never hurt my mother. Or you. I know he hurt you; my father, Ari, did those awful things. I saw him hurt my Mama and when I tried to stop him, he hurt me, too. I wish I did not have his face."

Legolas' inhaled a long, deep breath of the cool night's air; it left his body in a soft sigh of exhaustion and relief. Every hint of that virulent fury drained from his enflamed heart, flowing through his veins in icy rivulets that wrought a convulsive tremor down his spine. He dropped down atop his heels and his hold on the boy slipped lower to tenderly surround his arm.

"I believe you," he said softly and his eyes filled with compassion and admiration. "What is your name?" But the boy dropped his face at last, cheeks dark with shame, and would not speak. "Ah, I see," whispered Legolas sadly. "First born, you bear his name." The drooping head nodded and another quiet sob broke free.

For an instant the blade gleamed white and every heart froze in horror, a ripple of frantic reflexive motion rolling over the men, halted by the sight of the exquisite weapon lying discarded on the ground, the child enveloped in the archer's arms, safe within the strong, protective embrace of argent elf-light. Legolas spoke, the words soothing and soft, a benediction breathed in his native tongue; long fingers moved over the head of close-cropped hair pressed against his shoulder. Brynja swooned, her body collapsing with a dull thud, an unruly sprawl of arms and legs and yellow tresses.

"Mama!" cried Arison and tore free to run to her, but he thought her dead and feared to come near. He burst into tears anew. "No! Mama, Mama!"

Now everyone found their limbs unlocked and in a rush made for the fallen woman and her aggrieved son, but Legolas was there before them and again all drew back as though forcibly repulsed, and indeed his arm swept out to ward off their advance, his warning eye forbade approach. Beside her he knelt and lifted her hand, fingers tracing a curative caress across her brow. He spoke no words but his countenance brightened, his concern dissolving into barely concealed mirth as he glanced once at Aragorn, mischief in his eyes, then bent and kissed the woman lightly on the lips.

"Oh!" someone exclaimed, impossible to say who.

"Awaken, good-wife," ordered Legolas and beckoned the child closer. "She only fainted; no harm is done."

It was true. Brynja stirred, then blinked, then stared in wonder at the fair face regarding her with amused patience, let her eyes drift to her boy there beaming at her. Her arms opened to him and he fell laughing between them. Then she smiled and the darkness that had so plagued her lifted. Soon everyone was talking at once, overwhelmed with the release of tension, beseeching Brynja to lie still and regain her strength, asking if she had need of water, yet all remained a respectful distance from them, though now only partly from fear. Presently, Legolas stood and helped her rise and the crowd surrounded them, tentative hands reaching at last to touch her, patting the boy on the shoulder, reassuring themselves all was well.

Aragorn watched Legolas, a feeling of deep remorse overwhelming his heart, and though he wanted to go to him, stayed back, concerned and anxious, for he really had thought Legolas might murder the boy. Even now, seeing them together, he was not sure it was a calumny to think it. Yet the child was completely at ease with Legolas as was Brynja. What had happened here?

The man could not bring himself to ask, not yet. Had he not insulted his friend enough? Even as he watched, the archer effortlessly detached himself from the throng, taking Brynja and her son along, and the three went into the house. Immediately Hjördís exited with the second boy and shut the door. The golden glow of a lamp spilled out from the windows, illuminating the wondering faces of the soldiers as they peered in unabashed fascination at the scene revealed within: the elf listening intently as the family poured out their burdens.

"What was all that?" asked Hjördís and her voice was no longer tainted by suspicion but packed with fear, for she had been spying from the house and saw everything. It was plain to anyone that Legolas was no longer a prisoner and she had spoken strongly against him.

"I thought he was going to kill the boy," Bjorn spoke what they all had felt.

"I could not move a muscle," muttered Beldon, disgusted by his cowardly behaviour, but many other voices echoed his lament.

"Was that a glimpse of his true power?" asked Selwyn, addressing Aragorn.

"Then, why didn't he do that before and escape us?" Caedmon added.

"No, he has no such might to command our actions. Why did we all think he would harm the boy?" Aragorn demanded, staring hard at the men, angry but more so with himself than with them. After all, had he not been raised among elves? Had he not been trained by the most esteemed healer in all of Middle-earth?

"He had a knife in his hand," answered Selwyn. "He held the child captive and berated him."

"He had a knife in his hand," Aragorn repeated, nodding, "one that obviously held great significance to him. He was upset and reacted to the child's denials from the midst of his misery, but did he every raise that blade?" The men of Rohan glanced uneasily at one another, but there was no denying the truth or Aragorn's words. "No, he didn't. Legolas would never take a life without just cause, especially a child's," continued Aragorn gravely. Again he passed his eyes from man to man. "It is our own guilty hearts that put that fear in our minds. We have wronged him, punishing the victim for the crimes of the aggressor - a man! - and in our hearts, we wonder what Legolas deems just after all he's endured. We wonder if he would seek revenge upon us, for we know that most men would. How many of us have felt a rage so red, desiring to destroy our enemies to the very last soul?"

"By Iluvatar, now I believe you are Lord Thorongil," muttered the Sheriff. "It is told he reads even the inner heart a man hides from himself." There were many low and mumbling admissions of similar mien and the men gradually moved through their discomfort to a point of acceptance, inventing an explanation for Legolas' behaviour that was benign.

"He was testing that boy."

"I think Arison will grow to be a very powerful foe of the Shadow, for rare is the mortal who can bear a delving so deep as that witnessed here this night."

"But what befell Brynja?" asked another voice.

"Shock, fear," Aragorn shrugged, for this he would have thought obvious to everyone.

"Clearly, you know little of our women," chided Caedmon and a round of proud chuckling sounded through the yard.

"Aye," Selwyn elaborated. "The only one more in danger than Arison was that elf. A good-wife of Rohan is fiercer than a mother bear when it comes to her young."

"My sister has been wandering in fog for months now," admitted Hjördís. "Her mind was broken and her spirit crushed. Ari did dreadful things to her; things the vilest enemy we have would not even do. Because it was her husband whom she loved, the torment was a thousand times worse."

"Ai! This is dreadful," complained Aragorn. "Why did you not send word to Selwyn for help?" He was glaring at Bjorn, thinking this man should have acted to protect his brother's wife and children from harm. Hjördís was quick to defend her husband's honour.

"Easy to say, but Ari threatened the children's lives. My Bjorn would not risk our son Hama nor his nephew and niece. Nor would I. I defy any man here to say he would do differently!" Her words were strong, but the woman had difficulty meeting Thorongil's eyes, for she could tell he knew. To spare herself and her son, she had become Ari's ally, menacing Brynja and her children in Ari's absence to keep them from going to Selwyn for aid.

"Aye, it is not our place to judge such things," said Selwyn and held out his hand to Bjorn in friendship. It was grasped with gratitude and relief and many voices affirmed the Sheriff's words.

"Truly spoken," nodded Aragorn. "I was wrong to cast blame on you, Bjorn, for I know not what I would do if my own brother held my child hostage."

"I thank you, all of you," said Bjorn gruffly.

"It's the elf we should thank; he broke the spell of darkness from her mind," said Caedmon. A low murmur of agreement arose among the soldiers.

"Aye, elvish magic cured her."

"I saw it; he gave her light by that kiss."

"Soul-light, he called it."

"She will be marked by blessings now. She and Arison, too."

Aragorn recorded all this in a rather sardonic mood, recalling the men's suspicions and unkind words, but decided not to correct their misperception. Let them show him the respect and awe that is his natural due from men such as these. He hoped they would show their remorse and ask the elf's pardon without need to be prodded to do it.

"Now, Bjorn, tell us the rest," encouraged Selwyn, "for it is clear enough Brynja and Arison have suffered grievously and they should not be made to speak of it."

"How did they know the elf?" asked Aragorn, for this was what had struck him first.

"They didn't," denied Bjorn, "not until this day. Yet, Ari made us all listen to stories of his 'adventures', as he referred to them. He boasted of being a trusted confederate of the kings of the Black Tower. Yon elf was right. Ari may not have invented that plan to ambush the fair folk, but he knew all about it and was put in charge of it, according to his own boasting words."

"That is clear enough," complained Aragorn, "but Legolas recognised your nephew. I cannot be mistaken in that."

"Maybe he did," shrugged Hjördís. "The boy looks just like his father. Having seen the one, he would be bound to see the likeness in the son's features."

"Exactly my point," complained Aragorn in exasperation. "Legolas could not have seen Ari; he was not a member of the trading party and your law-brother was not one of Rohan's emissaries." Then Aragorn remembered Brynja's telling words. "By the Powers! Ari was his gaoler in Dol Guldur!" Horrible as this idea was, it was the only answer that made sense, and Bjorn was nodding confirmation. Aragorn cursed and turned to look upon the elf through the brightly lit square. Was it any wonder the child had come under his doom?

"What? I don't follow, Thorongil. Bjorn told us Ari returned here after the raid and I know this to be true," argued Selwyn.

"Nay, he's right," said Bjorn. "My brother left as soon as all the excitement died down and went back to Dol Guldur. The elf was Ari's charge."

"Neither Brynja nor the boy have been to that dread place. How could they recognise Legolas? He might have been any elf of Mirkwood and it is strange indeed that he is the very one your brother tormented." Selwyn said.

"We had to listen to Ari describing the things he did to his 'prize captive' in horrific detail." Bjorn frowned and shared his dismay with his wife, who groaned and went back inside. "I will not repeat those words for we all know about the vile practices of orcs and evil men." He paused as Hjördís returned and passed to her husband a small cramped packet of parchment. "My brother became obsessed with his prisoner and hungered for him. Not in the way he once longed for Brynja, but a perversion of that clean desire. Well, here. See for yourself." Unable to look any of his comrades in the eye, Bjorn shoved the crumpled scraps at Selwyn.

The Sheriff took them and as the soldiers gathered close to see he leafed through the pages. On each one was drawn the crude figure of an elf in various poses of grotesque torture, most of them obscene, the brutality of the punishment vivid, the agony of the victim palpable, so dark even these seasoned soldiers gasped aloud and turned away. Yet one of the pages was obviously crafted with great care to recreate the captive's features and there could be no doubt the portrait favoured Legolas, though the eyes looked empty and lifeless.

"And the fiend responsible for this escaped," Aragorn choked on the words, taking the parchment sheets with a shaking hand. Carefully he arranged them, setting the image of his friend's face at the top, and ground his teeth in useless fury. He had guessed all this, but comprehending what was generally done to elves in thrall to Shadow was quite different form virtually witnessing Legolas being debased and subjugated, bound and beaten, burned and starved, raped. "This is abomination," he growled and met Selwyn's troubled gaze. "Who will come with me to track down the perpetrator of such heinous deeds?"

"No one," spoke the archer behind him and everyone wheeled about in astonishment to see him standing there for none had heard his approach. His eyes glanced upon the parchment sheets but he gave no sign he was aware of what was depicted upon them. He smiled calmly at Aragorn's incredulous expression. "He has reached the Black Tower by now. I am not going back in and suggest none of you attempt it. You would never come out, nor could I or anyone effect your salvation, and death does not come easily in Dol Guldur."

"That may be true, but this man has done a great wrong to you and to your people," said Selwyn. He took a step closer and looked to his men to gain their attention to what he would say. "He was once a man of Rohan and we trusted him for that reason, though now his evil is revealed. We owe you an apology and more, for it is clear Rohan instigated this terrible crime, whether or not the impetus came from Dol Guldur. Say what redress your King demands and I shall see it done."

"My King has already exacted retribution from his foes, his true foes," Legolas said shaking his head. "Rohan owes nothing to Greenwood."

"The Elven King will grant forgiveness for these wrongs?" asked Caedmon.

"Forgiveness?" Legolas shrugged. "Rohan was not at fault and needs no forgiveness from the Wood Elves. If such was the case, Aran Thranduil would have made formal charges to your king. We are civilised people and do not go warring in other lands, having enough beneath our trees to keep us busy in that regard. For myself, I no longer hold a grudge."

"Well said," Aragorn smiled when Legolas looked his way, but the expression died on registering a flicker of contempt in the cool blue irises.

"Aye, you are generous in your mercy," added Selwyn, "yet on our part an obligation remains."

"I do not see it that way; Rohan lost citizens, also," reminded Legolas. "Brynja revealed what happened to those traders and Bjorn can correct me if I misunderstood her. Ari devised two ambuscades: the first to kill the men of Rohan, the second to capture my people. He arranged for a party of evil men from Dol Guldur to do this thing. They fell upon your kinsmen and killed them, took weapons and helms and other such things that would identify a man as one of the Rohirrim. In these outfits the criminals disguised themselves to fool keen elvish eyes.

"In the foment of the chase and the chaos that followed, my people did not know their attackers were not from Rohan, for it is long since we have visited the lands of the horse-lords or they to us." He paused for breath to say the last. "My brother was not left alive by accident. He was the dupe through whom passed this lie to Aran Thranduil. His death I have avenged, but this base usage by Shadow, for that I will yet have vengeance."

His quiet resolve and the hatred underlying these words demanded an interval of respectful silence from the men. None doubted he would wreak such havoc the Wraiths would regret their foul scheme for many long years. After a while, Bjorn spoke.

"That matches what Ari told me," he nodded. "The kings of the Dark Tower were pleased it worked so well, said it was a powerful blow to the Elven King."

This caused a flinch to rattle Legolas and a wave of sorrow washed through his eyes. He bowed his head a moment. "That is true, but Aran Thranduil's spirit is strong; he will endure. While Thranduil endures, Greenwood shall never fall to Darkness." He raised his chin in proud defiance.

"Even so, we cannot permit them to savour their victory," spat Aragorn. "We will go to Theoden and then to King Thranduil. We will go to the White Council and…"

"No." Legolas interrupted the man and his authority was paramount. "This is a matter between Greenwood and Rohan that is now settled. Just as you said once, neither side was at fault. As for the Wraiths, Greenwood has already soured the taste of their triumph, and Ari has likely as not paid for this insult wrought upon his chosen lords. I am satisfied." He breathed a deep breath again and stood tall, holding forth his right hand to Selwyn. "Let there be no enmity between our lands any longer."

"Gladly, gladly will I take your hand! This is good news I will report to Theoden King." The Sheriff eagerly gripped the slender fingers and squeezed them solemnly, doubting not that this elf could speak for his King and kinsmen, so noble was his bearing and proud his gaze. "I would not have you endure a retelling of this crime," he added quietly, "but I would have my King know what really happened. Besides, it is only right that Rohan show you the proper hospitality. Will you journey with me as my honoured guest to Edoras?"

"That I will not do," said Legolas and loosed a harsh laugh with no joy in it. "You have many witnesses and evidence aplenty." His eyes fell briefly on the parchment in Aragorn's fist.

"Aye, but Rohan has treated you ill and I am duty bound to reverse that injury. Come, say that you will celebrate our new friendship and be my guest at the crowning of the new King," Selwyn enthused, dearly hoping to right his people's wrongs.

"I thank you, but no," repeated Legolas, a touch of acid in the words. "You are now convinced I am neither a sorcerer nor a servant of the Shadow, but others may not be so easy to sway. I have no wish to make the attempt in a city filled with armed men." Seeing the Sheriff's crestfallen face and obvious regret, he relented of his bitterness. "In truth, I have need to return home for my obligations are many and there are those who await me in worried impatience, though they know I am alive and free of the Wraith's dungeons."

"You will not leave tonight?" Aragorn blurted out. He wasn't ready to be parted from the elf, feeling need to clarify things between them. The solemn face studied him a minute or two, an expression there he could not decipher, and then Legolas shrugged and moved off into the yard.

"I know you have need of sleep, Kalrô. I will stay the night." He called for Tuilelindô and met her soft whinny with a light laugh as he discovered her tucked into one of the stalls, greedily munching on oats.

Soon he was singing, the notes filled with the same intense sorrow and pain he'd expressed before, but now the men of Rohan knew its source and went uneasily to their tents. Yet, who among them could rest while his conscience assailed him so mercilessly?





Aragorn thought to remain apart from Legolas, affording him a respectful distance in which to vent his grief, for he was sure the blow to King Thranduil had not excluded the archer. There was a wound in his friend far deeper and more dangerous than any wrought by a poisoned arrow. Yet he was drawn to him and hovered near the stable, listening to the ancient hymn, fighting the urge to enter in. He looked with disgust upon the lurid images still clutched in his hand and swallowed back a surge of bile. With angry strides he crossed to the bonfire and threw in the parchment sheets, watching in dismal satisfaction as the hideous drawings were devoured by the flames and wafted away in the smoky wind. The solemn song ended then and Aragorn turned, debating what to do.

Again it was Legolas who took the initiative, emerging with Tuilelindô at his side, a hand enmeshed in her stringy mane. He beckoned Aragorn away from the fire, moving out into the moonlit meadow toward a small orchard, far from the house and the encampment of the Rohirrim. The mare wandered away in the grass and soon stood still, knees locked as she slept, one ear turned back to monitor her master's presence. Legolas paused beneath a tree, back against the bark, and studied the man's uneasy discontent.

"I am glad you destroyed those," he said quietly. "My thanks, Aragorn."

The man's spine stiffened; Legolas had not called him by his true name like this before and the simple syllables contained an indefinable quality of finality within them. He shivered. "I could do no less. I want to apologise for all the troubles I brought upon you, especially considering the trials you have already endured."

"I accept; though I might have to demand retribution." Legolas was once more teasing a bit, hoping to lighten the mood, but Aragorn remained pensive and wary. The ellon sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What is the matter now? Everything got sorted out and I think it was best that I did not speak. None could argue that I was making Bjorn say those things and I had need to hear them."

"Did you know this man Ari was the same who…"

"No, I never thought to see that face again."

A long pause followed in which the man sought a means to ask the questions that fuelled his curiosity without prying. Before he could manage it, Legolas spoke again.

"That was a pretty speech you gave back there, but completely inaccurate."

The statement took the man off guard for the words were shaded by that same bitterness Legolas had expressed to Selwyn. "What speech do you mean?"

"About the boy. I am quite capable of killing the innocent if circumstances demand it and have done so before."

"What are you saying?" Aragorn gasped, completely unprepared for such an admission. He shook his head in helpless denial. "Legolas, I know you have suffered, but…"

"What can you know of my suffering?" barked the archer. "You know nothing about me, echil."

"I know more than you guess, and everyone heard the sorrow in your song."

"And this inspires your compassion?"

"It does. You lost your brother in this raid and others dear to you."

"What of the bond between us?"

"What?" Again the man was nonplussed, seeing this as a separate issue. "It is because of that bond that I am here."

"Those are true words," nodded Legolas, but there was sadness about him and he sighed. "There is something more you would say. Speak; I would hear of what you think you know, though I cannot guess how."

"So be it," Aragorn shifted awkwardly, certain Legolas would be irate over his trespass. "I may as well confess it: when you were ill I looked through your pack for healing herbs. I saw there the golden ring."

"Ah. I see." Legolas scowled in dismay, peering at Aragorn keenly, but his gaze turned speculative rather than wrathful. "What did you deduce from that?"

"That it belonged to someone dear to you; so dear you went after her and thus became imprisoned in the Black Tower. You escaped but here you are, alone, and so your beloved did not. That is the burden you carry and I would lessen it if I could, but since such is impossible then I stand ready to share this grief with you." Aragorn came closer and settled a gentle hand on Legolas' shoulder, watching in wonder as warmth suffused the archer's eyes and fingers came up to softly touch his cheek.

"I could not escape; no one ever escapes from Dol Guldur save through death. Mithrandir got me free," Legolas said and fingered the man's bearded chin, eyes upon the firm lips pressed together in such forbidding reserve, and dared to hope. "She was my mother, Aragorn. Beloved, yes, but not in the way of mated partners." His gaze rose to judge the man's reaction to this, hearing the sharp intake of breath, seeing the comely features contorted in sympathetic affliction.

"Ai! Your mother? Ai, Legolas, mellon," Aragorn stammered, shaking his head, and clasped tight the hand at his face, cupped it safely within both of his. "I am so sorry for your loss, so sorry."

"Does this change things between us?" Legolas asked, smiling encouragement.

"Change things?" Aragorn swallowed with difficulty.

"Yes. I had no mate to lose; there is no claim upon my heart. There is none upon yours. We are free to explore whether each might supply that…"

"Ai! Legolas, mellon, nothing will ever change how I feel about you," Aragorn insisted vehemently and tried to extricate himself from the elf's hands. Strangely, he could not break from them and found he had somehow drawn the elf closer to him.

"What of our bond of life over death?" Legolas pressed, and leaned against him with a wispy sigh, twined lean arms about his neck. "I have need of the comfort that bond would supply."

"Legolas, mellon, mellonen," Aragorn whispered hoarsely. "Do not tempt me so. We mustn't." Yet his hands bracketed the slender waist and he trembled to feel the archer's warm flesh against him; his nose delved into the golden strands and inhaled the ellon's scent.

"Why, for it is clear this would give you as much pleasure as it would me." Legolas briefly rubbed his hardening shaft against the man's groin, grinning as strong hands grabbed his buttocks and groped him freely. Teeth nibbled at his neck and he moaned, darting out his tongue to lap an earlobe, but his anticipation was squashed.

"Nay!" Aragorn gave forth a wrenching groan of frustration and misery, shoving Legolas off him roughly. "Legolas, after all that's happened to you, your mind is not thinking clearly. What seems the answer to this immediate pain would only cause you more in the future. How could I take advantage of you this way?"

"Advantage? Surely it is advantageous to give and receive love. I know not what your heart forebodes, but this is the nature of the bond we share. You say you would do anything to comfort me, and I say this is the comfort I need."

"Comfort? I…You want me to…"

"Have you never done this for a friend?"

"No, I mean yes, but…" Aragorn's mind struggled to disentangle his rising desire from the elf's words, but the two were hopelessly mingled. Legolas spoke of comfort and of love in the same breath, and the man had no idea what he meant. He wanted the archer, but feared to indulge that need while Legolas' spirit was so compromised. Yet he wants me, too. "Our lives cannot entwine thus, for I would not be the one to hurt you. I do not love you, Legolas." He had to turn his back on the pained expression in the elf's eyes. "Ai! Don't look at me like that. It cannot be."

Thinking to hear his name cursed and the faint sound of elven feet retreating, his breath caught at the rustle of coarse cloth cascading to the ground. Sturdy arms encircled his bare chest and the solid bulk of an erection wedged against his backside. Legolas was naked.

"Love, comfort, desire," whispered Legolas huskily, "whatever it is, give me what you feel right now, Aragorn." His hands roamed over the furred chest, brushing nipples that were tight and hard, and settled lower to work at the buckle holding the man's sword secure. It fell away with a heavy thud and his fingers dipped below the waist of the pants, fondled the silky soft pinnacle of the man's cock. He exulted in the spontaneous thrust that provoked.

Aragorn discovered he could no longer argue. He watched the hands that teased him, sighed as they untied the lacing and eased his pants down, freeing his erection and returning to cup his balls. It was more than he could stand and he turned in the hot embrace, one hand taking the elf behind the neck as he devoured the mouth parted for him, the other gripping the archer's rigid shaft and pumping vigourously. Legolas responded in kind and the lethal fingers wrapped round his cock soon drove Aragorn beyond all reservations.

In a frenzy of passion he pulled the elf to the earth and covered him, hauled a long leg over one shoulder and out of the way, entered the tight confines of the supple body, sheathing himself fully with a mighty thrust. A deep tremor ran through Legolas and he loosed an excited oath, but Aragorn barely registered these reactions, retreating only to plough deeper, desperate to claim the ellon for his own. The position was awkward and he felt fingers claw at his back and sides as his relentless lunges curled the elf upon himself, but every impact raised a low cry of pleasure form him, too, and excited Aragorn the more.

The coupling was rough and rapid, Aragorn sparing no energy for tender endearments or leisurely exploration of the body beneath him. The friction was too sweet, the scent of the archer's flesh intoxicating, his urgent pleas of needy want too exhilarating. He spent too soon, unable to forestall release when he sensed Legolas begin the convulsive throes of orgasm, heard a quick gasp and then his name murmured in pure joy, felt slick, wet warmth smear his belly. Aragorn came in a rush of delirious ecstasy, unmindful of the shouts he made, and soared on the spiralling current of unbridled passion. Panting and sweaty, reason returned to him with the sensation of lips softly anointing his chest with delicate kisses. The man shivered and thought he might grow hard instantly, shifted to peer down into the dreamy eyes regarding him.

"Valar," he croaked, swallowing to try and gather some composure. He shifted as Legolas' leg moved off his shoulder and aside, the elf wriggling to unfold and spread himself wide beneath him, and Aragorn's penis twitched impatiently. "Legolas, I…" but he had no idea what he could say that would make this right.

"Kalrô" sighed Legolas happily and once more stroked the dark beard, tracing the panting mouth with both fingers and eyes. "Anno enni calad lín." (Give me your light)

The man could not but obey, taking his time to savour the pleasure they shared, telling himself it was just the comfort of comrades in arms, the desperate need of his grieving friend justification for so thoroughly mastering the elf. He drifted into sleep just before dawn, Legolas resting in his arms as if there had never been any other place he could find rest. Deep in his heart of hearts, Aragorn hoped it was so.

TBC


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

NOTE: Thank you everyone for taking the time to share your thoughts about this story with me. Finally, Legolas gets his wish, but what exactly is it that he really wants from Aragorn? I promise to let you inside Legolas' mind next chapter.