Title: Release 
Author: Aelora Greenleaf (aelora_greenleaf@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine but oh what I could do with them if they were.
Summary: Frodo finds peace and love in the touch of an Elf...
Feedback: Gods, please!  You have no idea how much I hate everything I 
write!
Comments:  THANK YOU, MY LOVELY 'BETA'!!! *HUGGLES*

******

*They all swore to protect me, to follow me into Mordor.  Must this mean 
that one by one I must watch them die?*  Frodo shivered at the thought, 
and huddled deeper against the wall of the small shelter that had been 
given to the Fellowship during their brief stay in the woods of Lorien.

It had all become too much.  Frodo was no longer certain how to grieve.  
Gandalf was gone.  He had watched him fall into the abyss, had been 
unable to do anything about it.  Had been unable to do *anything*.  How 
was he to reach the fires of Mount Doom without the Wizard's wisdom?  
Gandalf was not *supposed* to die.  None of them should.  Not for him.

*Why do they feel they owe me this loyalty?  Why is the weight of the 
world to be hung around my neck?* How he wished he were back in 
Hobbiton, his only worry in the world being how to deal with his 
relatives.  He and Sam should have been, that very evening, sitting among 
the lush green landscape of the Shire, smoking their pipes, wondering 
what mischief Merry and Pippin were delving into.  Gandalf should never 
have sent poor Sam along with him, though Frodo knew in his heart he 
could not have kept his dear friend away.

And now Gandalf was dead and in the end, it was truly all his fault.  
Gandalf and the others were there because they wished to follow him; to 
protect him.

*I do not deserve such loyalty.*

Restless, Frodo stood and moved quietly through the shelter, stepping 
lightly over the sleeping form of Sam.

Dear, loyal Sam.  How Frodo loved him.  How he wished he could see 
him just once more kneeling among the flowers of Bag End, pruning and 
planting, smiling as he buried his hands into the dark soil, loving every 
moment of his work.  In a moment of selfishness, Frodo thought to wake 
him, to demand some form of comfort and commiseration.  But the desire 
quickly passed and Frodo found he was unwilling to wake his beloved 
Sam from the rest he most certainly needed.  And more so deserved.  
Leaning forward, he gently brushed the curls from Sam's forehead and 
placed a light kiss on his brow.

Moving past the entrance, Frodo glanced over at Gimli, who rested 
nearby, his sorrow over losing first Balin and then Gandalf, having spent 
all his strength. 
Frodo would not wake him either, no matter how much he desired 
company, someone to ease his painful thoughts.  Shivering against a chill 
that was more internal than external, the Hobbit quietly scanned the glade 
around him, searching for a friendly and welcoming face.

Though it was tucked away in his shirt, Frodo could feel the weight of the 
Ring resting against his chest.  He wanted it to be cold and painful but the 
longer it touched him, the warmer and more comforting it became.  He 
fought secretly against its power but slowly it was taking control, 
*becoming* his friend.  Perhaps his only friend.  The only one he felt he 
could trust and yet knew that he should not.  He hated its burden; he loved 
its presence.

But the Ring was not enough.  He needed someone with whom to share 
his grief. 
He needed soft words and a soothing touch, if only for a short while.  The 
Lady Galadriel had said that the quest was in danger, that if they strayed 
but a little, it would fail.  Frodo understood this, believed it 
wholeheartedly.  This could be their last moment of peace.  He didn't want 
to forget what kindness was.  He didn't want to forget what it meant to 
have a good friend beside him. 
He didn't want to forget about loyalty and goodness and love.

He did not know to where Aragorn or Boromir had disappeared.  Merry 
and Pippin had wandered off sometime earlier.  They had tried to get 
Legolas to tell them what the Elves sang of Gandalf, but the valiant archer 
had resisted, claiming his own pain was too new for him.  As if in a need 
to escape their questioning gazes, the Elf had quickly left them, and Frodo 
had seen no sign of him since. 
Merry and Pippin followed sometime later, acknowledging that they were 
too restless of heart to give over to their grief.  Frodo doubted not that they 
more than likely discovered some Elvish wine and food in which to drown 
their sorrows.

Moving across the glade, Frodo entered the cover of the Wood.  There, the 
Elves' song was sweeter, more poignant.  It seemed to reach through the 
leaves and branches of the mallorn trees, caressing his skin, whispering to 
his heart, pulling at him.  Frodo paused, listening carefully, trying to 
distinguish the words and provide himself with some sort of translation.  
He wanted to know what the Elves spoke of Gandalf; he wanted to share 
in their grief.

*A Olorin i yaresse
Mentaner i Numeherui
Tirien i Romenori
Maiaron i Oiosaila
Mana elye etevanne
Norie i melanelye*

"They sing: Olorin, who once was sent by the Lords of the West to guard 
the lands of the East.  Wisest of all Maiar, what drove you to leave that 
which you loved?"

Frodo turned at the whispered, honeyed voice to find Legolas moving up 
beside him.  "I know," Frodo said, fearing that his own voice was too loud 
among the wood.  "I mean, I understand some of it... but not all."

The Elf nodded and placed his long, pale fingers upon Frodo's shoulder.  
The Hobbit felt unexpected warmth at the touch.  His entire body seemed 
to lean into it, begging for the strength of the Elf to take over, if only for a 
moment. 
Entranced, he stared up at Legolas as the Elf lifted his voice in song with 
the others, its poignant beauty reaching out into the night:

*Mithrandir, Mithrandir a Randir Vithren
u-reniathach i amar galen
I reniad lin en mor, nuithannen
In gwidh ristennin, i fae narchannen
I lach Anor ed ardhon gawanne
Caled veleg, ethuiannen*

"Mithrandir, Mithrandir O Pilgrim Grey," Legolas sang suddenly in the 
common tongue.  "No more will you wander the green fields of this earth. 
Your journey has ended in darkness.  The bonds cut, the spirit broken.  
The Flame of Anor has left this World.  A great light has gone out."

Frodo gasped at the pain he felt pierce his heart at the beautiful words, the 
echoing voices that rippled through the night air.  Legolas glanced down at 
him, gentleness caressing his delicate features.

"You should get some rest, Frodo.  There are many more trials ahead of 
us."  The Elf pulled away from him then, moving deeper into the trees and 
their enveloping darkness.

The lack of the Elf's presence was a tangible one.  Frodo suddenly felt as 
if he could not let Legolas go.  It was exactly his magic, his *beauty* that 
he needed at the moment.  Breaking into a sprint, Frodo pushed through 
the trees, desperate to find Legolas before he disappeared completely from 
sight.

The Hobbit came to an abrupt halt when he entered a sheltering thicket; a 
carpeted floor of moss and shamrocks, walled with mallorn trees, the 
canopy above little more than a starry sky.  Before him, Legolas lay 
stretched out across the bed of foliage, reclining against a tree trunk, one 
arm thrown back behind his head, his gaze fixed on the night sky.  He still 
wore only the thin silken shirt of blue-silver over the cypress-colored 
leggings.  At some point of the evening he had discarded his boots and his 
perfectly shaped feet lay buried within the warmth of the flora and fauna.  
In the moonlight, the Elf appeared as little more than a wisp of 
quicksilver, a jewel to be admired but not touched. 
Briefly, Frodo wished that Sam were there to glimpse the beauty with him, 
to be able to put into words what he himself could only appreciate in 
silence.

"Mani naa ta, Mellonamin? (What is it, my friend?)"  Legolas turned his 
gaze toward Frodo, without moving from his position on the ground.

*How did he know I wished to hear the language of the Elves?* Frodo 
wondered. 
He trembled slightly, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I... I'm afraid."

There he had said it.  Admitted that perhaps back in Rivendell, during the 
Council, he had made a grave mistake in accepting the responsibility he 
now carried.  He would never succeed.  He was too little, too 
insignificant... And even now, the Ring called to him...

Legolas frowned, if one could call such perfection in features by so ugly a 
word. "We are all afraid, Frodo.  And you are the one carrying the burden.  
The rest of us are mere followers."

"No.  I -- " He could not speak the right words, form a coherent sentence.  
All he really wanted to do was curl into a tight ball in a dark corner and 
remain there.  Alone with his fears and anxieties and the whispered voice 
of the
Ring... calling to him.

Legolas seemed to understand and reached out his hand.  "Tula sinome 
(come here)."

Taking a hesitant step forward, Frodo reached out for the hand - warm, 
soft skin enveloping his, colder, callused - and allowed the Elf to pull him 
down next to him on the moss.  Giving over to his need for 
companionship, Frodo curled up against the soothing form of the Elf, 
placing his head on Legolas' chest, his hand over the silken fabric of his 
shirt.  Lightly he felt the Elf's heart beating beneath his ear.  The sound 
was comforting, peaceful.  He felt himself begin to relax as Legolas 
stroked his arm, softly humming some Elvish tune.

For a long while, there were only the sounds of the woods around them, 
and Legolas' beautiful voice, sometimes humming, sometimes rising in a 
poignant melody, singing of love and memories long past.  Frodo allowed 
the lovely voice to lull him into a sense of security and he soon found 
himself dreaming of the Shire.  He was back at Bag End, smoking his 
pipe, watching children play among the fields of flowers.  All was golden 
and perfect and peaceful in his world. 
But soon a shadow loomed, casting its pall over the land.  The sky 
darkened, the flowers wilted.  Frodo awoke and shuddered slightly as his 
memories returned.

"How do you do it?" Frodo finally asked.

"Hmmm?"  The Elf glanced down at him, the moonlight shimmering off 
his pale hair.  For a moment he appeared wreathed in an iridescent glow.

Frodo leaned up, meeting the sharp blue gaze.  "How do you live for 
thousands of years, continuing to see pain and death and treachery all 
around you and yet still sing of love and beauty and happiness?  How do 
you not just hide away where the darkness of the world cannot touch you?  
How do you not wish for death?"

"Ah.  A mortal's view of the world."  Legolas flashed a sad smile, then 
reached out and caressed Frodo's pale cheek gently.  "Look around you, 
Frodo.  Does this look like a place of Evil and horror?  Places such as 
Lothlorien exist everywhere.  Evil cannot exist without Good.  There 
would be no comparisons otherwise.  Every night brings beauty; and every 
night brings even more wonder to the world.  Look to the stars." He 
pointed a slim hand upward.  "The magnificence of the moon.  The 
blackness of a sky that turns a brilliant blue upon sunrise."

"But Evil does exist," Frodo insisted.

"Yes," Legolas agreed.  "And so does Good.  Here."  He placed his hand 
against Frodo's breast, felt the Hobbit's heart beating steadily through the 
coarse fabric of his shirt and the mithril coat beneath.  "I believe there is 
quite a bit of Good beneath my hand, Frodo.  And that is enough for me."

Frodo shook his head.  "I do not understand.  All of this seems so... 
pointless."  He looked away from the Elf, unable to meet his knowing gaze 
any longer.  The pain and sorrow was burning now.  Burning through his 
heart and mind, piercing sharp arrows into his throat and the back of his 
eyes.  He fought the tears that threatened.  *If I give in to the sorrow now, 
what then?*

Legolas silently watched the Ring-bearer for a long while before finally 
reaching out and gently running his fingers through Frodo's dark 
curls. "Ai'aer (little one), the weight of the Free Peoples is on your 
shoulders.  But you are not alone.  Love surrounds you."

"I do not feel it."  Frodo turned his gaze back to him and could no longer 
fight the tears.  "What good is love if by its expression one receives only 
death?  I loved Gandalf, and because of me he is gone.  I love Sam and I 
lead him to death.  I love all of you, and you follow me to death.  Where 
does this end?" 
Frodo's voice reached a tone of desperation.  "If love is a harbinger of 
death than I must be the manifestation of all that is Evil in this world.

"I do not want love.  I do not see the need for love."

"Love gives us strength," Legolas told him softly, continuing to caress 
Frodo's dark curls, his own heart breaking inside at the pain he perceived 
from the being before him.  "It is what we need to carry on, Frodo."

The Hobbit shook his head, weeping.  "It is folly and I do not think I can 
feel its touch ever again."

Sighing, Legolas pulled Frodo against him, holding him as he cried.  
*Such despair!*  The pain in Frodo's voice pulled at Legolas, demanding 
that he prove to him that love still existed and always would, no matter 
what happened in the End of Time.

"Amin mela lle (I love you), Frodo," Legolas whispered against his tear-
stained cheek.

Frodo shook his head in denial.  "Do not say such things!  I cannot be 
responsible for your death as well."

"Then be responsible for my life, my love.  Do not reject what I offer, 
Frodo.  Let me give you my strength."

Lifting his head, Frodo was prepared to deny the Elf once more but was 
silenced when Legolas claimed his mouth with his own.  The kiss was 
gentle and yet allowed Frodo no room to pull away.  Instead, Legolas 
magically pulled him into the moment, quieting his fears and objections, 
silencing the pain that screamed within his breast, promising a gift of 
solace and much-needed strength.  Unable to deny any longer the comfort 
that his heart and mind silently screamed for,
Frodo relaxed into the Elf's touch and the kiss gentled even further, to the 
point where the Hobbit was certain he was being touched by Love itself.

Pulling away, Legolas knelt before Frodo, his slim fingers deftly working 
at the buttons of the Hobbit's shirt, drawing it from his shoulders before 
next pulling at the coat of mithril, discarding it with a toss.  All the while 
he did this, his feather-light touch continued to brush against Frodo's skin, 
sending delicious shivers throughout his body.  He trembled, causing the 
Elf to ask:

"Are you cold?"

He shook his head honestly, the tiniest flicker of dread still casting its 
shadow over his soul.  Frodo waited for the inevitable moment when the 
Elf's eyes would be drawn to the Ring, when it would work its power over 
him and destroy the moment.  But not once did Legolas glance in its 
direction and once more, Frodo began to relax under his soothing 
ministrations.

Grasping his shoulders, Legolas pulled Frodo to him, enveloping his lips 
once more in a tender kiss.  Finally, Legolas gently eased Frodo back 
against the bed of moss and knelt over him.  He ran his hands across the 
pale chest and shoulders, caressing Frodo's skin with a warm and loving 
touch.  Leaning over, he nipped lightly at his shoulder, before leaning over 
and claiming his mouth once more.  He kissed him long and hard, delving 
his tongue between his lips, tasting him, licking and nipping at his lips, 
loving him thoroughly.  Frodo moved beneath him, a groan issuing from 
low in his throat.  Legolas pulled his mouth away, his lips trailing across 
the slim neck and down to Frodo's chest, where he captured a dark nipple 
and suckled at it greedily.

Frodo soon began losing himself to the myriad of sensations roiling 
through his blood.  The Elf's hands seem to move everywhere at once, 
touching him, awakening sensations he did not know existed within him.  
The feather-light touch moved down his stomach, loosing the ties of his 
trousers, pushing the fabric aside and caressing his hip before covering 
over his scrotum, cupping it within the warmth of the Elf's palm. Frodo 
felt himself push into that touch, a silent plea for more. Closing his eyes, 
the Hobbit lost himself in feeling as the warm hands closed over the length 
of him, stroking and teasing him into a mindless oblivion.  Legolas 
continued to press tender kisses across his skin; the hollows of his neck, 
the juncture where thigh met hip.  When the Elf's mouth finally descended 
over the shaft, his tongue - full of heat and strength - dancing in endless 
circles over the head, Frodo cried out as, deep within him, all the fear and 
pain and sorrow he had suffered through the months began to coalesce, 
building to a peak that demanded release.

Legolas expertly loved him, laving the hard shaft with his tongue from tip 
to base, taking Frodo deeply into his mouth, providing him with both 
warmth and release.  Frodo's hands entwined themselves into the Elf's soft 
golden locks, holding him as he thrust his hips up against Legolas' 
attentive mouth.  He wept as the sensations came together deep within 
him, pain mixed with joy, and the blanket of sorrow that enveloped his 
heart became wrapped in love.  Frodo felt as if he would soon explode 
inside, and as the Elf's mouth moved over him, the pressure continued to 
build until he was unable to tell the real from the unreal.  He was soaring, 
yet melting away as before his eyes a kaleidoscope of colors exploded, 
becoming tiny stars, guiding him through the darkness.

It was some while before Frodo's mind returned to the reality around him. 
Legolas had moved back against the tree and was once more holding 
Frodo within his embrace.  At some point the Elf had restored his clothing 
and he felt a distinct loss of Legolas' touch against his bare skin.

As if sensing the Hobbit's thoughts, Legolas told him softly, "You must 
return soon.  The others will miss you."  He kissed the dark head.

Frodo did not wish to move.  A feeling of languor and (love?) had stolen 
over him.  He felt cherished, safe, and the darkness around him was no 
longer stifling but beautiful, promising the coming dawn.  Everything 
around him was alive, radiant.  *He* was alive.  And for that fleeting 
moment, it was all he needed.  Tomorrow a new day would dawn and soon 
their journey would continue. 
They might succeed; they might not.  But that did not distract from the 
*now* nor did it take away from the eternal love he knew was silently 
pledged to him by his friends.

"Thank you, Legolas."  He raised his head, meeting the silver gaze.

"Ta nae amin saesa, ai'aer (It was my pleasure, little one)."  Legolas lightly 
took his mouth once more, a selfless kiss full of love and allegiance, 
before helping Frodo to his feet.  "Go now.  The others need you, 
especially Sam.  Remain true to one another, and love will never leave 
you."

Frodo nodded, his heart lighter, and he moved to find his way back to the 
shelter.  In the last moment, he thought to ask Legolas to return with him, 
to stay at his side through the night.  But the Elf was already gone.  
Sighing, Frodo moved off once more, pushing through the trees out of the 
thicket.

Finding his way back to where the others lay sleeping - Gimli had not 
moved; Merry and Pippin lay lightly snoring beside one another, the Men 
positioned just outside of the shelter, as if protecting it.  Finally Frodo 
found Sam, curled against the corner, his hand stretched out to where 
Frodo's pillow lay, holding the corner tightly within his grasp.  Smiling, 
the Hobbit lay down next to his friend, taking his hand in his.  Sam stirred 
but did not awaken.

Closing his eyes, Frodo silently welcomed sleep.  Drifting into his dreams 
of the Shire and Bag End, a beautiful Elvish voice whispered across his 
mind:

"Quel kaima, ai'aer.  Quel du. (Sleep well, little one.  Good night.)"



*****END****