Title: When All Other Lights Go Out
Author: Rutaari (pippa250@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Frodo/Legolas
Rating: R
Warnings: Rape
Summary: Long after Frodo is supposedly off with Bilbo, Legolas finds      him
injured after being forced into slavery. Legolas must heal Frodo, but can not do
it alone. Another of the 9 companions comes to aid Legolas, and while Frodo is
wounded, the elf's feelings for the hobbit are aroused.
Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to Tolkien. I am merely
borrowing them for a while. I'm not making money.
Author's Note: My first fanfic! I hope everyone likes it! Feedback is
encouraged! Let me know what you think, but don't be too brutal if you don't
like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frodo looked out over the sea and to the east. On very clear days, like this
one, he could sometimes see the coastline of Middle Earth. But today the small
fishing boat he was on was too far away. The only thing he could see was water.
Water in every direction. There was no escape.
	His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, harsh voice.
“Hey! You damned little halfing! Where’s our drinks?”
Frodo looked up to the top deck of the boat and could see Avrole, his master
hanging over the railing, shaking his fist at Frodo.
	Frodo hurried down to the lower deck of the boat, afraid of a possible beating,
and grabbed four beers. Trying his best to go quickly, he hobbled up the stairs
and to the top deck with the drinks, where four angry men were waiting.
“Took you long enough.” One of them called Estalar said, and he snatched his
drink from Frodo’s hand. “Should beat you for it.”
	Frodo handed another man, called Natar, his drink.
“Thanks love.” Natar said, grabbing Frodo’s cheek with one hand, and squeezing
Frodo’s testicles in the other, causing Frodo to cry out in pain when Natar
tried to kiss him. The men all laughed, and Natar sent him along with a slap on
Frodo’s buttocks.
“Have you started skinning fish yet, halfling?” Avrole asked him.
“No, sir.” Frodo said meekly, staring at the floor. He knew he would be beat if
he looked at the man’s eyes.
“Well get to it.” Avrole said, and aimed a kick at Frodo. He aimed true, and
Frodo stumbled foreword and fell onto the deck as a sharp pain pierced his side.
All the men laughed once again as Frodo gingerly stood and made his way down the
steps.
	On the lower deck was a dark, stinky room that wreaked of dead fish. Frodo
picked up a knife and began hacking away at the small, lifeless bodies. A tear
rolled down his cheek. His life had become horrendous. He almost couldn’t
remember how it had gotten this way, but the memory was still stored in the back
of his mind.
	He had left with Bilbo for the Undying Lands, on a ship like this one, but
bigger. Raiders had attacked the ship, and stolen most everything on it. They
had killed everyone aboard, including Bilbo, but had kept Frodo alive, and sold
him as a slave to Avrole. That would have been nearly twenty months ago.
	Frodo had become a whore. Avrole and his crew took turns with him whenever 
they
liked, and on occasion would loan him out to someone on shore for a day or two.
	Now Frodo’s body was weak and tired. The men were too large for him and 
after
an especially sex-driven night or a brutal kick to the abdomen, Frodo’s backside
would bleed. Most often this would happen when the men were drunk-which they
usually were- and would call him things like “bupid stastard” in an attempt to
insult him.
	Frodo had tried to escape once, while they were docked, and had been found 
and
received a vicious and tormenting flogging for it.
	Frodo skinned fish for nearly three hours, his stomach churning from the smell
the entire time, tears falling down his face. Finally, Avrole stuck his head
into the room, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“Go wash up.” He ordered. “I get your tight little ass tonight.”
Frodo frowned at the floor and dropped his last fish. He hade his way past
Avrole and to his room, which consisted of a cell six hobbit-paces in all
directions, a small wash basin, and a straw pallet on the floor.
	Frodo shut the door and carefully pulled off his shirt. Lifting his arms sent
another pain through his ribs, and he gasped. Both of his sides had turned black
and blue, and his back bore whip slashes and scars down to his legs. A scar cut
across his face and down his beautiful cheek bone, and both his eyes were
swollen and black, as well as the rest of his face.
	Frodo picked up a dirty cloth and dipped it into the wash basin. he dabbed at
his bruises, but the pain did not go away. His senses had been numbed by the
amount of drugs Avrole had put into him, but pain was still very much alive in
him.
	After Frodo had washed up (but still smelled like dead fish) he put on a clean
shirt and curled up on his straw mat. As he did so, a rat crawled out of his
blanket and scurried away. Another tear caressed Frodo’s face, and he went to
sleep.

	Frodo didn’t know how long he slept. It had to have been a good couple of
hours, because the men had already eaten dinner when Natar pounded on the door
and told him to go to the kitchen. Frodo stood up, his body aching, and went to
the kitchen.
	Avrole shoved him to the sink and instructed him to wash the dishes. He set out
a piece of stale bread and leftover fish scraps for Frodo to eat. The same thing
he ate every day.
	Frodo scrubbed at the grimey dishes and choked down his dinner, and 
reluctantly
followed Avrole to his room.
	Unlike the others, Avrole actually had a bed, which he threw Frodo onto and
went to his dresser. A small vial sat on the shelf, filled with a bright blue
liquid. Frodo’s eyes grew wide with fear. The vial contained a sedative that put
its drinker to sleep, but increased the senses, including pain.
	Avrole jumped onto the bed and straddled Frodo, his already hard member 
pushing
against Frodo’s stomach. He wrenched Frodo’s jaws open and poured the liquid
into his mouth. Frodo’s throat and lungs burned as the liquid seeped into his
body. His eyes began to water as Avrole ripped his clothes from his body and
rolled him onto his belly. Frodo’s face was shoved into a dirty, smelling pillow
and he struggled to breath. Avrole laid himsel on top of the small hobbit,
smashing him. He released his stiff manliness from its bindings in his trousers,
and pressed it to Frodo’s backside. Frodo whimpered in protest, and Avrole
slapped him.
	Shorty after, the other men on deck laughed as pain-filled hobbit screams came
from the middle deck.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
	The next morning Frodo awoke in Avrole’s bed, but his master was gone. The
sheets around him were stiff with his own, dry blood, and fresh slashes and
bruises littered his body from various beatings Frodo vaguely remembered in the
night. Frodo’s head spun from the sedative last night, and his body screamed
with every move he made. Frodo forced himself to rise, his hips and buttocks
protesting against him. He stumbled slowly to the deck, and to his surprise
found that they had docked. he went to the side of the boat and tried to focus
on the commotion on shore. He could not, but instead he became dizzy, and Frodo
leaned against the railing and vomited into the sea.
“I’m glad you’re here, little one.” Avrole’s voice came
from behind, and Frodo turned to face him, but kept his eyes to the floor. “I’ve
found a new master for you.”
Frodo was slightly aware of the presence of a gruff man standing behind Avrole,
smiling.
“Frodo? Is that you?” I joyous voice came from the shore. It was somewhat
familiar to Frodo, and he turned to see the ecstatic face of a beautiful Elven
prince. His bright hair seemed to glow, and the space around him was luminscant.
When he saw the hobbit clearly, his face fell to horror, and his blue eyes
turned stone grey with worry and anger.
	Frodo had just enough time to give a weak smile before his body gave out and 
he
fell to uncontiousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Legolas could not believe his eyes when he saw Frodo. His face was so swollen
and bruised he was almost not recognizable, and his clothes were covered in
blood. his shirt and trousers were slashed where a whip had stung his back.
	Legolas shoved his way through the crowd of the trading market his father had
sent him to, and he ran swiftly up the boat ramp and to Frodo’s side. Frodo was
breathing, but weakly, and he had lost far too much blood.
	Legolas looked around, and saw that the man who apparently “owned” Frodo 
was
exchanging money with another man.
	Legolas would have liked to kill the man right then, but he knew he would not
escape prison if he did so. He jumped up and went to the man.
“How much do you want for the hobbit?” Legolas demanded.
“He is already sold.” Avrole said, and started to walk away.
	In a flash Legolas had drawn his dagger and had it to the man’s back.
“I want the halfling.” He growled.
“Well you can talk to his new owner.” Avrole said, motioning to a man walking
toward Frodo. “If you’re lucky, you may have a turn with him.” Avrole grinned
wickedly.
Legolas ignored the man and ran to the new owner, putting himself between him
and Frodo. He had his sword to the man’s throat before the man could do
anything.
“The halfling is mine now.” He said, and threw ten gold coins to the man.
	The man started to argue, but Legolas had already picked up Frodo and left the
boat. He carried Frodo to the edge of the woods along the beach, and put him
astride his horse, Hasufel. Legolas took Frodo quickly away from the market and
to the nearest town with an inn, about seven miles away.
	After quickly seeing that Hasufel was stabled well, Legolas carried Frodo into
the front desk of the inn, ignoring odd stares and whispers he knew were
directed to him that came from the other inhabitants of the bar. Legolas reached
behind the counter and and took a key without looking for the innkeeper, and he
made his way up the stairs and to a room on the second floor.
	On the way to his room a small boy came down the hall. Legolas stopped him, 
and
the boy, seeing Legolas holding the lifeless body, grew frightened. Normally
Legolas would comfort him, but now he was too worried about Frodo.
“Go retrieve the innkeeper and bring him here, and I will give you a sixpence.”
The boy nodded his head, smiling, and took off down the stairs.
	Legolas laid Frodo’s limp body down on the bed and locked the door to the 
room,
afraid someone would come after his sickly friend.
	Legolas gently pulled Frodo’s shirt off him, gasping at the sight of his
wounds. When he took off Frodo’s pants, Frodo let out a moan of pain. His legs
and thighs were covered in  dry blood, and fresh blood still oozed out of his
backside. Legolas studied the poor hobbit for a moment, admiring his finely
chizeled features under all his injuries.
	A knock came on the door, and Legolas covered Frodo with a sheet and opened 
the
door. The innkeeper stood there.
“What are you doing in here?” The plump man demanded. “You did not pay for this
room!”
	The small boy stood behind the innkeeper, and Legolas ignored the man for a
moment and retrieved his coin purse. He handed the boy a silver coin, and then
pulled out the money for the room and pushed it into the innkeeper’s hand.
“My name is Legolas.” He told the man. “I am the Prince of Mirkwood. My friend
is wounded.”
The innkeeper’s eyes grew wide as he suddenly noticed Frodo on the bed, but said
nothing.
“I need a bath drawn.” Legolas told him, “and after a while I will need food and
water brought up here.”
“Whatever you need, Prince Elf.” The innkeeper said. “I am Mr. Shounty, just ask
for me.”
	Before long, a warm bath was drawn and Mr. Shounty left. Legolas lifted 
Frodo’s
small body from the bed and eased him into the water.
	Frodo’s eyes suddenly flew open and he yelled in pain. Legolas started and
Frodo slipped out of his hands and hit the ceramic tile with a thud.
“Stay away!” Frodo yelled, covered his face with his arms, and backing into the
corner of the tub. Legolas’ heart wrenched at the sight of the pitiful hobbit,
curled in a corner like a frightened animal.
“Frodo, it’s alright. It’s me.” Legolas said soothingly.
Frodo did not move. He finally dropped his hands a little, but remained prepared
to defend himself.
“Who is ‘me’?” He whispered cautiously. “I- I can not see.”
	Legolas knelt down and slowly took Frodo’s hand. The hobbit flinched at his
touch.
“See for yourself.” Legolas said, and guided Frodo’s hand to his face. Frodo’s
icy fingers touched Legolas’ soft skin, and the elf struggled not to flinch.
Frodo’s hand explored Legolas’ face, and as his fingers passed over the elf’s
lips he gasped.
“Legolas?” He whispered, his words choked with tears.
“Yes, dear Frodo, it is I.” Legolas said.
Frodo’s hand jerked back, and his head hung.
“I am ashamed you have seen me like this.” He said.
“Do not be ashamed, Frodo.” Legolas said softly. “It is not your fault.”
Neither of them moved or said a word for a moment.
“I must bathe you, Frodo.” Legolas said at last. “Before I can try to heal you.”
Frodo gave a weak nod and Legolas proceeded.
	A wet cloth ran over Frodo’s legs and arms, but his face contorted in pain as
Legolas washed his back and sides.
“I’m sorry, my friend.” Legolas told Frodo sincerely. “I will be done in a
moment.”
	Legolas ran his hands through Frodo’s hair, rinsing the grimey smell of fish
out of it. Frodo whimpered in pain when even the elf’s more-than-gentle fingers
came upon a bump on his head. Legolas removed his hand quickly, finding it
stained with blood. Knowing Frodo could not see him, so he could not give him a
comforting face, Legolas began singing quietly one of the Elvish tunes which he
knew Frodo loved. A weak smile appeared on the hobbit’s face.
“It is good to hear that language again, Legolas.” Frodo whispered. “Especially
when it comes off your tongue.”
	Legolas did not stop singing, knowing that it was comforting the still
frightened hobbit. He gently finished bathing Frodo, and then lifted him out of
the wash tub and set his feet on the floor. He reached for a towel, and Frodo
wavered, not able to hold himself. Frodo’s hand reached for something to grab a
hold of, and the only thing his hand found was Legolas’ long and muscular leg. 
The elf smiled at the hobbit. He hoped that Frodo would see again. He was not as
good a healer as Aragorn or Elrond, but Aragorn had taught him much of what he
knew. Secretly though, Legolas knew that Frodo’s life was balanced on the blade
of a knife, and a wrong move from Legolas could end it.
	Legolas covered Frodo in a towel and rubbed him dry, then once again lifted 
him
and set him on the edge of the bed. He reached into his pack and produced one of
the smallest shirts he owned. He slipped it over Frodo’s head, but the shirt was
still far too big.
“It will do as a nightshirt.” Legolas told Frodo. He had Frodo lay down on the
bed, and began seriously looking over his wounds. Using bandages from his pack,
Legolas bandaged Frodo entire torso, having found cracked ribs and bruised bones
and muscles. It also protected the whip lashings that had cut through Frodo’s
skin, and held an oil Legolas had put there to help the pain.
	Legolas then moved to Frodo’s head. The bump was too large for an ordinary
knock on the head.
“He shoved you?” Legolas asked Frodo, knowing the answer.
Frodo nodded.
“You fainted afterwards.” Legolas stated.
Frodo remained quiet.
“That is the reason you can not see, Frodo.” Legolas informed him. “That, and
the Marinar’s potion he gave you. I smelled it on your breath. Too much of it
will cause this reaction in any man, much less a hobbit.”
	Legolas had Frodo drink a vial of a potion that would help cure the Marinar’s
reactions.
“Do you feel queasy? Are you dizzy.” Legolas asked Frodo.
“Yes.” Frodo said meekly, telling the truth.
	Legolas put oils and liniments on the rest of Frodo’s bruises and scrapes. The
hobbit moaned in pain and gritted his teeth, but held still and did not protest.
“Frodo, the last thing I need to do will be the worst.” Legolas finally informed
him. “I need to look at you backside.”
Frodo gulped, and was silent for a moment.
“I trust you, Legolas.” He said, giving his permission.
	Legolas rolled Frodo onto his belly and watched as the tiny hobbit’s knuckles
turned white as they gripped the bedsheets. He was still afraid.
	Legolas gently pulled open Frodo’s buttocks, and a whimper came from the tiny
creature. Legolas, not knowing anything better to do, began singing his elvish
song again. Frodo’s body immidiantly relaxed a bit.
	Frodo’s backside was swollen around his hole, and the skin was rough and
chaffed. Legolas carefully looked inside the hole, and noticed scars and tears
in the tissue inside. They would heal, but it would take time. There really
wasn’t anything Legolas could do about it. He put a bandage over Frodo’s hole to
soak the blood that oozed out, but that was all.
“There.” He said, pulling his own shirt down to cover up Frodo. “I am finished.”
	Frodo seemed content, but Legolas was still worried about internal bleeding. He
wished there were some way he could get Frodo to Gondor to see Aragorn, or to
Rivendell to Elrond. But alas, both cities were far away, and would take days to
reach, even on the fastest mount with healthy men.
	Frodo yawned and started to close his eyes to go to sleep.
“Not yet, little one.” Legolas said, and made Frodo sit up, propped against a
pillow. “You are far too thin to be a healthy hobbit, and you need food. You
must try to hold a little down.”
“I don’t think I can, Legolas.” Frodo said, a wave of dizziness falling over
him.
“You must try.” The elf said.
	Legolas sent for Mr.Shaunty, and had him bring up bowls of soup and some tea. 
Truthfully, Legolas was exhausted from the long hours of healing, and he had not
eaten since the morning. He needed something to tide him over, and his eyelids
could use some rest. But before he went to sleep, he wrote a letter to his
friend in Gondor. He was just far too worried about Frodo to do this alone.
Aragorn would come to the aid of his friends. He always did.
	Aragorn,
		You would not believe who I have found today in Browyn Market. 
Frodo! I am
sorry to say that our friend is in bad shape, after being held as a slave for
over a year. I do not think I can heal him alone. We are at the Inn in Bryton. I
trust you get this soon, and I hope you will come. If I must flee to anywhere,
you will find me at our usual meeting place near Anrolion. Our hero needs you.
		                                 Your friend,
			Legolas
		                               Prince of Mirkwood

	Legolas sent Mr.Shaunty to find a man to carry the letter to Gondor, saying
that whatever the person requested he would pay.
	He then turned to Frodo. The poor hobbit had a tray of soup in his lap, but was
unable to see it at all, and soup was being dribbled down his chest and onto the
bed. Legolas felt a pang of guilt for not helping Frodo to start with.
	Silently, he went to the bed and took the spoon from Frodo, and without saying
a word, he hand-fed Frodo until nothing in the bowl was left, and the tea was
almost all gone.
“Thank you, Legolas. I do not mean to be a bother.” Frodo said, embarrassed at
having to be waited on.
“Do not give it a second thought, little one. It is my pleasure.”
	Legolas then helped himself to his own supper, and had it down in a matter of
minutes. He went back to Frodo and helped the halfling lay down in his bed.
Legolas started to sit in a chair in the corner when Frodo stopped him.
“You are tired.” Frodo said. “I can sense it. Please, the bed is big enough for
two.”
	Legolas took the offer gladly, and kicked off his boots, removed his shirt and
crawled into the bed next to Frodo. He faced the hobbit and planted a kiss on
his bruised forehead. Frodo, who was already asleep, curled into a ball and
leaned up against Legolas’ bare chest. He unconsciously traced his hand over the
elf’s flawless muscles. Legolas knew Frodo had atlast made peace with himself,
and he drifted into slumber.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	The next morning Legolas woke with a start. It was still dark outside, but his
eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light.
	Legolas did not know what had woken him, until a knock came on the door.
Legolas crawled out of bed and picked up his bow. He cradled an arrow across the
string, ready to let it fly. Legolas unlocked he door and swung it quickly open
with his foot.
“Legolas! It is just me!” Came a familiar voice, followed by a quiet laugh. “But
I would expect no less from you.”
Legolas lowered his bow and smiled at Aragorn.
“How did you get here so quickly?” He asked, giving his friend a hug. “Were you
not in Gondor?”
“No.” Aragorn said quietly, so as not to wake anyone. “I was in Waflong having a
drink in the bar. I had been on my way here anyway. Your messenger was stopped
there as well, saying quite loudly he had an urgent message to deliver to the
King of Gondor.” Aragorn chuckled. “He was rather drunk by that time.”
“I am relieved to see you.” Legolas told him. “Come inside.”
	The man and the elf went into the dark room silently, so they would not disturb
Frodo. The hobbit was so sunken in to the sheets one could hardly see him.
“What is wrong with him?” Aragorn asked.
“He has been raped and beaten badly.” Legolas answered, and told Aragorn the
whole story. Aragorn’s face grew red with fury.
“Did you slaughter the man?” He asked Legolas, clenching is sword hilt in anger.
“There were too many people around.” Legolas said. “But I wish I had done it
anyway.”
	Legolas and Aragorn sat on the floor and quietly discussed Frodo’s wounds 
until
dawn. A little after sun-up, Frodo stirred, and his eyes opened.
“Good morning, Frodo.” Legolas said, going to him. “A guest came for you in the
night.”
	Frodo cringed at the thought of having someone other than Legolas in the room.
“Who?” He asked.
	Aragorn stepped foreword and knelt to Frodo’s level, knowing that he could not
see. He took Frodo’s hand and put it on his face. The moment he felt Aragorn’s
bristly face Frodo smiled, but it did not last for long. Tears sprang from his
eyes and he began to sob.
	An instinct overtook Legolas, and the elf sprang onto the bed and pulled Frodo
to him, gently rocking him back and forth.
“What is wrong, little one?” He asked, stroking Frodo’s back. “It is our
companion, Aragorn.”
“I can not believe you both are here.” Frodo cried. “Two of my dearest friends
are with me again.”
“Of course we are.” Legolas soothed. “We would not leave our friend to suffer.”
Frodo pulled himself away from Legolas, and gave Aragorn a hug.
“I’m glad you are here.” He told Aragorn, who smiled. “I only wish I could see
your face.”
“Well, that is why I am here.” Aragorn said. “To help you see again.”
Noone said anything for a while, as the two warriors sat and watched the tiny
hobbit silently shed tears.
Aragorn at last broke the silence.
“There is no time like the present.” He said. “Frodo, let me take a look at your
injuries.”
Frodo nodded, and Aragorn retrieved his pack that had been refurbished with all
of his healing tools.
	Aragorn pulled the nightshirt gently off Frodo, but left his lower body covered
for the moment. Aragorn did not say anything when he unwrapped Frodo’s bandages
and saw his sides and back, but Legolas could see his face crinkled in worry,
and his eyes were sharp with pain for his friend.
	Aragorn felt through Frodo’s bruises and found more than three cracked ribs.
After a long time of studying Frodo’s torso, Aragorn spoke.
“Legolas has already done everything that needs to be done here, Frodo. This
will all heal with time.”
Frodo nodded in appreciation.
	Aragorn then moved up to Frodo’s head and face. He felt the bruises that
covered Frodo, and the hobbit winced and groaned in pain when Aragorn touched
the back of his head.
“There.” Legolas told Aragorn. “That is the place where he fell.”
Aragorn said nothing, but looked hard at the bump on Frodo’s head.
“Frodo, I believe you will see again, but not right away. We will need to tend
to you atleast twice a day.”
	Aragorn reached for his herbs and picked up a plant Legolas recognized as
Asnatia. Legolas had never seen Aragorn use the plant before, and did not know
what it would do.
	Aragorn wet the plant, and placed it over the open wound on Frodo’s head, and
held it in place with a bandage.
“Alright.” The king said quietly. “Frodo, I need to look at your backside.
Legolas tells me the damage is quite extensive.”
Frodo bit his lip, and turned himself over willingly. He clung to the bed sheets
and the pillow, and groaned as his weight shifted onto his hurt ribs.
	As Aragorn pulled open his buttocks, Frodo cried out loudly into the pillow and
began to sob. Legolas, having felt useless until now, crawled onto the bed
beside him and slipped his hand into Frodo’s four-fingered one. Once again, he
began singing quietly in Elvish to Frodo, and the hobbit listened carefully.
Every now and then, when Aragorn would touch Frodo, the hobbit would cry out,
and by the time Aragorn was done the hobbit had blood on his hands where his
finger nails had dug into his palms. The blood also leaked on to Legolas, but
the elf did not care.
	Aragorn sighed and leaned back in his chair. As he spoke, his words were soft.
He did not wish to have to say them, but he was forced to.
“Frodo’s insides are torn in three places. His lower intestines are pushed too
far up. It is bleeding internally.”
Aragorn looked grim. Frodo could not see the worried look on his face, but he
heard the tremors in the king’s voice. He sighed and  tried to keep from crying.
“Do what you must, Aragorn.” He said. “Even if you can not save me, I thank
you.”
At these words Legolas interrupted.
“No!” He cried, putting his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “We will save you, Frodo.
It will just take time. You will not leave us.”
“Legolas is right.” Aragorn said. “You will not die, but in order to keep you
from dieing I must do surgery.”
Frodo gulped and nodded.
	Aragorn busied himself in preparation. He put clean sheets on the bed,
disinfected his tools, as well as almost all of Frodo’s body. He put Legolas in
charge of keeping Frodo well.
“Here.” Aragorn told Frodo. “Eat this.”
He pressed a piece of a plant onto Frodo’s tongue and Frodo swallowed it. Soon,
he was fast asleep.
“Legolas,” Aragorn said. “hold his hand, and comfort him. I do not have anything
to kill this pain.”
	Legolas nodded and sat on the bed with Frodo, the hobbit’s head in the lap, and
his small hand in the elf’s large one. He felt Frodo clinging to him with more
strength than he thought the hobbit possessed as Aragorn made the first slit
into Frodo’s abdomen.
	Aragorn first made himself busy by quickly stitching up the three torn places
in Frodo’s tissue. That was not difficult. The hard part was to put Frodo’s
organs back where they should be. Aragorn slowly and gently shifted them to
where they should be, and sewed the very loose ones in place. More than two
hours had gone by by the time Aragorn was done and Frodo was completely stitched
up.
	Legolas helped Aragorn clean all his tools, and throw away the blood-soaked
sheets. They put new ones on the bed, and tucked Frodo into them. Once they were
finished, Aragorn collapsed into a chair and shut his eyes.
“I am sorry Legolas.” He said, his eyes still closed. “I must rest. I rode all
night and have not had food nor drink for the time of more than a day.”
	Legolas smiled knowingly, and picked his friend up from the hard, wooden 
chair.
“Then go.” He said. “I will look over Frodo. You go and eat and drink, and go to
your room and sleep as long as you desire. I will come wake you if I need you.”
“Are you sure?” Aragorn asked, but picked up his pack and weapons in preparation
to go.
“I am sure.” Legolas said.
	Aragorn gave his friend a hug, and then stood back and looked into the elf’s
eyes. Though Legolas tried to hide it from him, Aragorn knew he worried over
Frodo. The elf was not used to death and pain, and did not handle it well.
During the entire procedure his face had been wrinkled in worry, though he
thought Aragorn had not seen.
“Do not fret.” He told Legolas, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Our brave
little hobbit is stronger than the rest of us, though he does not seem it. He
has bourn a burden greater than even the elves could carry in their lifetime,
and lives now to tell them tale. He will pull through.”
	Legolas smiled at Aragorn, and closed and locked the door behind him. Though 
he
had not eaten in a while, he was not hungry, and he wasn’t tired. He stood for a
moment by the door, trying to find something to do with himself. Denying his
restlessness, Legolas crawled over Frodo and laid next to him in the sheets. It
took all his will to keep from bending down and kissing the soft, pink lips of
the hobbit. Instead, he ran his fingertips along Frodo’s eyelids, and down his
gently sloping nose.
“A touch that gentle could only come from an elf.” A soft voice came from
Frodo’s mouth.
“I did not know you were awake, little one.” Legolas said, and continued to
stroke Frodo’s nose. “Are you in pain.”
“Yes.” Frodo replied. “But not as much as I was. Am I alright?”
“You are fine.” Legolas said.
	He could not keep himself away any longer. Legolas started to lean down to 
kiss
the hobbit, but was surprised when he felt Frodo’s lips meet his halfway.  The
hobbit’s kiss held passion in it that Legolas was not aware existed in the
halflings. He kissed him harder, and found an opening into Frodo’s mouth,
exploring the hidden crevices inside. Frodo moaned in delighted pleasure.
“This is wrong.” Legolas managed between kisses.
“Love is never wrong.” Frodo replied, and put his hand behind Legolas’ neck,
holding him down close to him. He let go of Legolas’ mouth and began licking his
pointed ear. A breathless sigh came from the elf, and Frodo continued his
ministrations.
	Legolas’ body urged him to go farther with Frodo, but his mind told him that
Frodo was far from well enough to do so.
	The two creature continued for a while longer, and ended in utter bliss in
eachother’s arms.
“Little one?” Legolas asked.
“Hm?”
“Where will you go after you are well?” The elf’s voice was soft, as if he was
afraid to ask the question. “Will you return to the Shire?”
Frodo’s face went grim, and Legolas immidiantly regretted the question.
“I do not know, Legolas.” Frodo replied. “I do not think I can ever find peace
in the Shire. Not after what has happened. I would like to visit, but not soon.”
“Will you come to Mirkwood?” Legolas asked, staring into the hobbit’s blue eyes.
The elf’s voice was smooth and clean, but Frodo could see in his eyes that the
request was really more of a plea.
	Nothing would make him happier than to go to Mirkwood with Legolas. He had 
been
hiding feelings for the elf for quite a long time. Returning to Middle Earth and
living among the elves as Bilbo did would make him quite happy.
“Yes, Legolas. I will.” He said, and closed his eyes to sleep.
Legolas sighed his contentment, overjoyed that the small hobbit would at last be
his. He drifted into sleep beside him.

	Aragorn knew that Legolas could take care of Frodo for the short time it had
taken him to eat and drink, but he still wanted to check on them before retiring
to bed. He walked up the stairs and to the room, and quietly unlocked the door.
The sight that greeted his eyes was certainly something that surprised him, but
was also something that he knew deep down in his heart he would discover one
day.
	Frodo lay sleeping in the bed, and beside him lay Legolas. The elf had an arm
draped over Frodo, as if to protect him, and the hobbit’s tiny, four fingered
hand was twined in his fingers. Aragorn nodded in understanding. He knew now
where Frodo was going when he was well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
	Eight days later Frodo sat upon Hasufel once again, and hugged his friend
Aragorn goodbye.
“Thank you, Aragorn. For everything.” He said.
“You are welcome, my friend. I am glad you are well and that you can see.”
“You will visit?” Frodo questioned the king.
“Atleast three times a year. I promise.” Aragorn told him, and kissed his
forehead. He then turned to Legolas.
“Keep him well.” He said, and embraced the elf. “And keep yourself well.”
“I will.” Legolas said. “Give our best to Arwen and to Gondor.”
“And you to your father and Mirkwood. I will be around there toward Fall.”
Aragorn said, and mounted his horse.
“Goodbye!” He waved, and took off toward Gondor.
Legolas mounted Hasufel behind Frodo, and spoke the the horse.
“Nuralim Hasufel.” He said, and the horse sprang into a smooth canter.
	Frodo laughed as the wind blew at his hair.
“How far to Mirkwood?” He asked Legolas.
“Three days.” Legolas told him. “But for Hasufel, only two.”
	The two companions rode fast and hard, eager to reach their home and greet the
other elves. Frodo was excited to meet the King of Mirkwood, and to see the
forest Legolas was always so excited about.
	Just when he thought he would burst with excitement Legolas rode them into a
magnificent forest of green and brown, that whispered as they rode by. The trees
were old, and held much wisdom, and the light that passed through the leaves
cast patterns on the earthen ground. A horn sounded, and many other horns
returned its call.
“What do they mean?” Frodo asked Legolas.
“The Prince has returned.” Legolas smiled at Frodo.
	Hasufel halted in the middle of a small clearing, and Legolas jumped down 
from
his back. He gently pulled the hobbit down from the tall back of the horse, and
set him down in the fallen leaves. He watched Frodo look in awe upon the trees,
and jump when a dozen elves who had been unknown to him landed silently at the
foot of the trees. Each one bowed in honor to him.
“Welcome to Mirkwood.” Legolas told Frodo, his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.
Frodo turned to Legolas.
“Thank you, Legolas.” He said.
“For what, little one?” Legolas asked.
	Frodo gave him the first real smile Legolas had seen on his friend’s face in a
long time. Frodo took the elf’s hand and pulled him down to face him.
“You were my light, when all the other lights went out.” He whispered in the
elf’s ear, remembering Galadriel’s words.
A single tear rolled down Legolas’ cheek, and he silently stood and placed a
kiss on Frodo’s head.
“An er arya kaale telella min.” He whispered. “You are my light, little one.”