Title: “Pure” Author: Bex E-mail: juliebehrens@yahoo.com Webpage: http://www.juliebehrens.blogspot.com Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine at all. I receive no compensation for my efforts in providing interesting if entirely inaccurate entertainment with these Tolkien characters as props. Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn/Arwen, minor hints of Legolas/Haldir, Frodo/Sam Rating: NC-17. But don’t worry, they’re married. Warnings: Arwen’s here too, but she has a rather tangential role. Rather long – I really got into this one. Hurt/comfort/interracial/domination. Summary: Aragorn wants to marry Arwen – but Elrond requires that a third be added to their marriage by way of an ancient law still on the books. Enter Legolas, who’s not entirely sure about this whole “accessory” thing … Author’s Note: Many thanks to Caz and others for beta reading this one! Aragorn stared, dumbfounded, at Lord Elrond, who stood resolutely before the man, quietly assured of himself. “Threol’s Law?” Aragorn sputtered. “Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but surely you are not serious.” “I am firm in my decision, Aragorn. As much as I respect you as a king among men, I love my daughter. I will not see her waste away in the long years after your death for the sake of but a short time of happiness.” His stern expression eased a bit, and he stepped down the shallow stairs to place a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Do not think on this as a death sentence passed upon your love for Arwen. This is an opportunity for you to provide her with comfort long after you are gone.” Aragorn removed himself politely but firmly from Elrond’s affectionate gesture, stepping briskly to the open bay window. “I do not see how forbidding me from marrying her is an opportunity for anything but despair,” he said bitterly. “Are you fully familiar with Threol’s Law, Aragorn?” “Of course I am,” he replied, digging his nails into the delicate sill of the window. “In the event that an elf and human are to be bonded, one or both of the elf’s parents may prevent their bonding for the protection of their child, unless a third can be provided to care for and comfort the elf after the death of the human.” “I would think this solution would be preferable to being separated from Arwen,” Elrond said carefully, “given that your eternal separation is the only other available option.” Elrond lowered his tone, leaving no doubt as to his firmness on the topic. Aragorn turned to face him as Elrond also moved to the window. “You did not think I would leave my daughter here to die alone, stricken with grief at your passing? I must be assured that she will have some comfort after you are gone.” “I understand your concern,” Aragorn replied, his temper a bit cooled. “And I am comforted to know that it is your intention to find a third. I had thought perhaps you were invoking this ancient law to prevent our bonding; such loopholes did not seem to fit your character. But you know Arwen better than any. How can you think that she would accept another, even as an addition to myself and not a substitution?” “I have considered this difficulty, of course. You are singularly blessed with her unwavering devotion. That, I believe, is the key to someone else winning her acceptance, if not her love.” Aragorn tipped his head. “I do not understand.” “The primary bonds will both be to you, and a secondary bond formed between Arwen and your second mate. If the dynamic works, she will become affectionate towards your second due to mutual devotion to you. You – and eventually your memory – will be what binds her to this other once you are gone.” Aragorn shook his head. “Arwen will not appreciate your manipulations. She has never shown any inclination in sharing her heart, or mine, with others. What makes you think a bond will change that? She has no interest in other women. She has said as much. Neither bond nor obligation can change that.” “And you? I have not heard much of Aragorn’s inclinations in this discussion. Do you think of other men?” Aragorn’s gaze turned back to the window. “Rarely have my thoughts lingered on men since I pledged myself to Arwen.” “Then it will be another man that will be your second.” “I can think of no one we both would accept.” “Then you are not thinking very far. That is unbecoming of a king.” “A foreigner, then.” The doors to Elrond’s study swung open with a bang, and a heady spring wind blew in behind Arwen as she strode into the room. The outside light threw strong shadows across her face, and her brow furrowed as she gathered her words, lost in unveiled anger as she braced herself before her father. Seeing Aragorn, she steadied herself and said in a low voice, “We were to discuss this further.” Elrond sighed. “There is nothing more to discuss.” He stepped heavily away from his daughter and gently closed the great double doors, casting the room back into the dim lighting that always seems to permeate rooms full of books. “You seek to bond me to a stranger and yet tell me there is nothing to discuss?! You will leave me alone in these lands and yet you will not let me choose how I will live out those lonely years!” “Then you admit to your impending despair,” Elrond pointed out. He moved to a side table and poured a thick red liquid from an iridescent green pitcher into four matching goblets with silver filigree designs. “It is Aragorn who will take on the second bond, not you. Your acceptance of this third is all that is needed.” “I will not do it,” she rasped, standing straight and stiff. “I have only love enough for one, and I have chosen him. I will not share him.” Elrond picked up two of the glasses and handed one to Aragorn and one to Arwen. “My dear young ones, you know I only wish you peace and happiness. Please hearken to my words and consider – just this once – that I might have some wisdom yet to dispense to you. Do not make a final judgment until you have met your third, at least.” He picked up his own glass. “He will be here shortly. Aragorn, I believe you know him.” “Do I?” “Yes. You would have met in Mirkwood.” “Mirkwood?” Arwen and Aragorn said at once. With a glance to each other, Aragorn continued, “I thought Thranduil and you were not on good terms.” “We have come to an agreement, to be sealed with a marriage. So you see, there are many motives for this arrangement.” He looked into Aragorn’s eyes and his expression was heavy with intent. Aragorn dropped his gaze; he knew now whom Elrond had in mind. He now found himself so flustered that he was unable to argue. He was saved from having to do so by the sound of the study door opening. Unlike Arwen’s uncharacteristically dramatic entrance, this intrusion was hardly noticed, announced only by the brightening of the light. It was the entrance of one accustomed to moving quietly and unobtrusively. The three turned to see Thranduil’s youngest son enter into the chamber, still dressed in his traveling gear of leather armor and elven cloak, though devoid of his bow and quiver. He glanced uneasily at the trio. “I am not interrupting, I hope. I was told you wished to speak with me.” He spared a glance and a thin smile for Aragorn by way of greeting. Elrond motioned for the elf, still hardly more than a child by elven measure though ancient by men, to enter. He handed the lad a goblet. “I do indeed have need to speak with you, Legolas. You know Arwen, my daughter, and Aragorn.” “Aragorn and I have met before.” He turned to Arwen and bowed slightly. “And of course I know of the Evenstar, though I do not believe we have met in person before.” Arwen extended her hand. “Legolas? I have met your brothers, but you are correct; we would have been strangers before now.” She smiled as he took the tips of her fingers. He smiled broadly back. “My father has high hopes for this alliance. We may yet have a chance to be friends.” “Or more than that,” Elrond interrupted. Arwen’s hand fell away and all three stepped back half a step unconsciously. Legolas tipped his head slightly. “My lord?” “Your father, Thranduil, has granted me the honor of finding you a mate.” Legolas’s bright blue eyes grew wide and his brow furrowed in surprise. “A mate? I had no idea. Why did he not speak of this to me?” “Ideally there would have been no need to burden you with worry and concern over a pending bonding ritual until much farther in the future. I believe this was what your father had in mind. However, we have found ourselves in a late hour, and in short order you will see that events in this world must move with all deliberate speed if we are to be spared pain and torment. Your father meant to discuss this with you, I am sure, and I wish it were he to do it. Perhaps you will not be opposed to a small, informal bonding ceremony, if you approve the match?” “It is not often a prince is given any option at all in his choice of mate or ceremony, so as I expected none, nor do I opposed its loss. But do tell me, and forgive me for my impatience, whom do you have in mind, for surely if you plan on moving us along quickly you have already made your choice.” Elrond motioned to Arwen and Aragorn, who stood to either side of them. “You are to be a third to my daughter Arwen and Lord Aragorn, according to Threol’s Law, which allows two elves and a human to be joined, for the sake of the mutual comfort of the elves after the death of that human.” Three elves and a man stood very still as Legolas processed this information. He looked back and forth between Arwen and Aragorn. “A third?” he said softly. “To … to whom will be my primary bond?” “To me,” Aragorn said, turning to face Legolas fully. “You will be my mate, as will Arwen.” Legolas glanced furtively at Arwen. “You do not oppose this?” Arwen steadied herself. “If you were a woman, I might have been jealous. But as you are both male … It will be interesting. I will accept you, for my part.” Her words were clipped and she directed them to her father with a sideways glance, making sure he caught that she did not feel her words. She looked past Legolas to Aragorn, and only he could see the addendum in her eyes: If it is the only way I can have who I want. The news seemed to have finally fully sunk in on the young prince. With a laugh he set aside his goblet and grasped Aragorn’s arms. “Elessar, this is wonderful! Better than I had ever dared to hope! We are going to be mates! Well, aren’t you pleased?” Aragorn managed a thin smile, hardly enough to match Legolas’s enthusiasm. “I would not have had it be anyone else.” “You’re doing it wrong.” Legolas looked up from the small mirror to the open doorway where Arwen stood, stiff and cold. He smiled genuinely to warm the air. “Perhaps you could show me.” She entered his chambers with an impatient air. She undid the beginnings of the love knot in his hair. “You have not done one of these before, have you?” She took up a silver comb and brushed out the tangles that remained. “No, though I have watched my brother tie these knots into my sister-in-law’s hair. I did not realize how complicated they are.” “They are supposed to be nearly impossible to do on your own. Someone else is supposed to put them there for you.” “That makes sense,” Legolas mused. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I would have liked Aragorn to have helped, but he is quite preoccupied and I would hope not to disturb him in this troubling hour for so menial a request. I myself was hoping to clear my mind before the council tomorrow, but I have found little peace.” It took a great deal of willpower for Arwen not to yank out the little handful of hair she had in her hand. How dare he speak to her of Aragorn, especially tying a love knot in his hair! He would never – but Legolas is to be his other mate, Arwen reminded herself. She sighed deeply and continued twisting the hairs around in little circlets. Around and through and behind and – “Does he like of me?” The question took her off guard. “What?” “He used to. But he does not look at me the same now … Not like before, anyway.“ Arwen nearly choked. “When? When did you know each other?” She unintentionally yanked his hair, but he didn’t seem to notice, or mind. “It was long ago. But I have thought of him often, and in my inexperience I imagined that he would as well.” He paused, then laughed a bit. “I did not know you were so beautiful, then. What use would Aragorn have for me when he has you? I fear I will be little more than a political footnote in this story.” “What were the circumstances of your acquaintance?” she pressed. “He was known to the elves of Mirkwood, and I had often seen him talking with my father. I was drawn to him instantly – his strength, his smooth gait, his eagerness to protect and reluctance to stay.” He smiled at Arwen over his shoulder. “I am sure you know of what I speak. I went on a long hunt with him, and others. Aragorn and I made camp together; everyone was spread out over several miles. It had turned bitterly cold and drizzling, and Aragorn found me to offer that I share his camp, as he had found shelter beneath an overhanging ledge. I was quite innocent then and thought nothing of it. He lifted his blanket and suggested we bed together for warmth, and I agreed. In truth my mind was devoid of lustful thoughts until ...” He hesitated. Then he continued in a more subdued tone, “It was you that stopped him, not me. I knew nothing of love or lust but I knew that I would let him do anything he wanted, because what I was feeling in that moment was blissful. You need not worry. We did not so much as kiss. But I felt his weight on me, his breath next to my ear telling me what he wanted to do to me, what he would do if he were not promised to you. I felt his hand stroking my sides and my throat, feeling my collarbones, and I knew that he wanted me. I have never felt like that with anyone else.” He turned around fully to look at Arwen. “And it seems now that I never will, for what use could he have for me with you to satisfy him? I do not sense any affection for me left in him – not in his words, his motion, his gaze, or his heart.” The bitterness in his voice caught Arwen off-guard. “What makes you say this? You were pleased with the match only a few hours ago.” “That was before I had a chance to watch you, to watch him. I sense naught but dread in him. He is apprehensive and regretful … and it is not just the quest ahead of us that worries him.” “Then you do think he will go to protect the ring.” “Yes. There is no one better suited. And I will go with him.” Arwen sat silently, twisting and knotting his hair, mulling over his words. She pitied the prince of Mirkwood; she empathized with how she would feel in his place, how truly unfair it all was. At length she said, “Do you need help with your purifications rites?” He gave a short bark of a laugh. “I have been going through these rites since I was a child. I know every possible method of purifying oneself. I hated it; I couldn’t even get dirty without these elaborate motions. People think I’m fastidious, neat to the point of a fault. In truth I just don’t want to take more baths than absolutely necessary!” “But surely, before the ceremony … It is more important than ever, is it not?” He sobered a bit. “Yes. Of course you are right. All those years of inconvenience, of being chastised for hours for tangling my hair in a branch, of rubbing my arms raw with limestone salt, sleeping on marble slabs … I would hate for it to have been for nothing.” “Does your father know?” “He knows that I wanted it to be Aragorn. He does not know about the ceremony, I am sure. It will not please him. But that is not my concern.” “Isn’t it? He is your father.” “He has shown me neither trust nor regard.” “I pity you in that respect, as I have always been close with my father and cherish his love. Perhaps Elrond will adopt you in his heart as he has Aragorn.” The love knot was finished, but she still held the end loosely in her hand. Legolas turned partially around to look her in the eye. “I do not need two fathers telling me how I ought to behave. I want to live my own life … I want to be free, to love and run and fight! There is very little I fear, but I am afraid of being still. I feel I will become like one of the trees, rooted to the ground, unable to speak or feel anything for myself.” Arwen smiled sadly and brushed her fingers against his cheek. He was so smooth, pale and soft, so unlike Aragorn’s rough countenance. Legolas was by far the oldest of the three, but he seemed younger. “You are a warrior, poised to embark upon the greatest quest this world has known. I think you underestimate yourself.” He said nothing but leaned slightly against her hand. His eyes dropped and he seemed to relax, like a horse reassured of his rider’s hand. Feeling bold, she moved her hand back behind his ear and felt the fine hair on the nape of his neck.. He breathed in sharply. “Do you want help with your rites before the ceremony?” “Yes.” Elven purification rites were long and elaborate. Due to time constraints many of the usual lengthy rites (one was a year long) had to be eliminated. Arwen thought that in some way the rites would be reassuring to Legolas; they were familiar actions but with a very different end in mind. He was tense and high-strung; she thought that if she were to pluck him he would vibrate from end to end. She led Legolas through the woods up the path to a warm, spring-fed pool she knew. He looked around with a highly discerning eye and deemed it acceptable. The trees were of proper age and condition; they were not of ideal stock but they would do. The shape and alignment of the pool was pleasing, and the bedrock seemed to contain some limestone. He was gratified to find little vegetation on the floor of the pool; Arwen explained the natural minerals of the ground made it difficult for plants. After hearing a run-down of the minerals found in the pool, Legolas approved the site. “Alright, first things first,” Arwen said. “Take your clothes off.” He stopped stock still and stared at her, his bright blue eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Eh-excuse me?!” “Well, do you plan on bathing clothed?” He slipped slowly out of his tunic. “It’s just … no one has ever seen me naked. With the exception of my mother, of course.” “What a loss for the rest of the world,” Arwen breathed, running her eyes down the lines of the other elf’s chest. Here, too, he was nothing like Aragorn. His muscles were lean and taut; his skin was a beautiful peach color, with hardly any hair as all, and the hair he did have on his arm was fine and blonde. He was absolutely lovely to look upon. Legolas shifted, appearing uncomfortable. Arwen raised her eyes back to meet his. “Are you not going to continue?” He crossed his arms. “This is not fair.” “You have said that before. I wonder what your basis for comparison is.” “I do not know that I am comfortable with this, or that it is completely appropriate.” “Would you prefer it if I joined you in your state of undress?” He shifted again, one foot to the other. Arwen thought she ought to remember that movement; it might come in handy if she were ever pitted against him in poker. He hemmed and hawed, until finally Arwen groaned in frustration and began undoing the lacings on her shirt. “You do not have to,” he reassured her. But she just smiled. “You will feel better. Take your leggings off.” Notably uncomfortable, he pulled off his leggings and climbed quickly into the pool. Arwen undressed quickly and efficiently, then slipped in next to him. He had settled himself into a sort of corner and appeared to be trying to disappear into it. Arwen had to stifle a giggle; he was about as red as a holly berry. She pressed his shoulders against the pool and appraised him unabashedly from head to toe. He stayed stock still the entire time, unable or unwilling to move a muscle. Finally, Arwen nodded. “You are quite lovely,” she said as she reached over his shoulder for a bottle. “I can see why he wanted you.” Eyes averted to the side, Legolas answered “Likewise.” Arwen grasped his chin and pulled him to look her in the eye. “I am here to help you, Greenleaf. I feel you and I are of a similar mind in regard to Aragorn. I can sympathize with you. But you must trust me for the rite to work … and for this bonding to work..” Legolas held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. He relaxed a bit, and Arwen glided behind him. She poured a bit of oil into her hands, then threaded her fingers through his hair. “This will feel somewhat greasy,” she explained, “but the minerals in the water will clean it out.” She wiped her hands on a towel by the edge of the pool and took another bottle, this one large and gray. Again she poured some into her hands and began rubbing a thick, rough cream across his shoulders and back. “This has some sand in it, so it may feel rough. But you will feel very clean later.” Yet another bottle appeared, this one an iridescent green. From it she poured an amber liquid that strongly resembled honey, but held a stronger, spicier scent, like cinnamon. She led Legolas to a shallower end of the pool and spread the liquid across his chest. It clung to the baby-fine, blonde hairs on his chest. Arwen smiled. The hair on Aragorn’s chest was thick, curly and dark. She had begun making lists in her head as to the similarities and differences between the two men. Carefully she dipped her finger into a red powder and delicately drew old elvish letters in the amber liquid across Legolas’s chest. “You are right,” he said at length. “This would have been nearly impossible without help.” “You’re welcome,” she answered. She had nearly forgotten she was naked. It was unusual for her to be so at ease with another so quickly, particularly considering the stakes that were at risk with this one. He was disarming in the way that young boys sometimes were; so sure of themselves until it came to romance. But he was no young boy, she thought, glancing below the water line to remind herself. No young boy looks like that, she smiled. He shifted from one foot to the other, apparently remembering their state of undress. Arwen looked up and held his eyes for a moment, then boldly ran a hand down his side to his hip. He caught his breath in his throat and held it there, gazing at her like a deer that doesn’t know if it should be afraid or not. Arwen circled slowly around behind him, moving her hands over his body in an appraising sort of way. She ran a palm down his spine and heard him sigh softly. He made a low noise in his throat when she felt his rump and his legs. He said softly, “What are you trying to do? I thought this was for purity’s sake. I might be a bit naïve but that does not feel like purity.” “What do you think purity is?” she questioned, moving around in front of him again. “The absence of feeling? A vacuum of influence? Purity is not a void; it is a singularity of purpose. It is true north, devotion, compelling surety. Do not think that stillness and solitude will ready you for a bonding ritual? It is purity of love and desire that you seek now.” Seeing the befuddled look on his face, she dipped her hand below the water and gently cupped him between his legs. “Do you want him to touch you like this?” “Yes,” he breathed in response, struggling to control himself. “Him? Only him? Or anyone?” She grasped him firmly around the shaft of his cock. He grew hard in her hand as she gently stroked him. “Only him. I …” He swallowed and continued rasply, “I love him.” “Good. Concentrate on that. Let is consume you and guide you. It is that devotion that will guide you along your true path.” She smiled, running her fingers along his ribs, appreciating the sinewy, slender form that trembled lightly under her touch. She leaned forward to whisper in his delicately pointed ear. “He will take you, again … and again … and again, and as long as it is love that drives you into his arms, you will be purer than you have ever been.” He shuddered and grasped her by the elbows, sighing deeply. She squeezed her hand lightly as she pumped her hand up and down his cock. It took him a moment to speak. “I take it that is what drives you. But tell me then – why do you touch me now?” “I touch you because I love him. You are a way to him.” “And that is why … I let you.” He let out a series of deep, ragged moans as he came into the water. Arwen moved beside him and supported his weight as he caught his breath and his strength. There were long moments spent there, the warm water of the pool sending up spires of steam, their minds and bodies perfectly understanding one another. Finally, Legolas said, “Shall we continue with the ritual?” Arwen smiled. “Yes. Let me see what should be done next.” Legolas groaned inwardly as the elven retinue from Lothlorien came through the gates the next morning. It was too early to have to deal with Haldir, he thought. The Council of Elrond was to take place later that afternoon, and he was to be married tomorrow. What a schedule to keep, with the strange events of yesterday still weighing on his mind! Still, he knew better than to be rude to the ones representing Lady Galadriel’s interests. So he smiled politely, if coldly, as Haldir and his two brothers came marching down the hall towards Elrond’s study, where he was receiving council representatives as they arrived. To Legolas’s irritation, Haldir walked right past him without any sort of acknowledgement other than to walk around him. How rude! Legolas seethed. Leave it to Haldir to be impolite at a time like this! He must have heard of my engagement and is jealous, Legolas concluded. This end pleased him, and he stalked down the hall, feeling uncomfortably self-confident. The council ended as Legolas had expected it to – he and Aragorn would go with the ring to Mordor. He had not expected, however, to be accompanied by such a retinue. Four hobbits, a dwarf, a man and Gandalf. The dwarf he had disliked instantly, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Gandalf, of course, was a most welcome addition. The hobbits seemed alright; childish, perhaps, and a liability in a fight, but their resistance to the ring would be just as valuable. This journey would be fraught with as much danger from within as without, Legolas mused. As for the man, he was not sure. There was little he knew of men that did not come from Aragorn, or some other second hand source. Boromir would give him a chance to observe a supposedly fine example of man up close. From Boromir’s behavior at the council, Legolas imagined he would find men to be rash, courageous, powerful, easily influenced and unreliable. He hoped, as time went on, to see more of Aragorn’s nobility of character and singularity of purpose reflected in men. His reverie was interrupted by a stern “ahem” from behind him. He had been sitting on a high rock overlooking the waterfalls beside Rivendell. He turned now, half-twisted on the rock. Haldir leaned against a tree, gazing at Legolas with an amused expression. “I hear you are engaged.” He turned back around. “I am to be bonded tomorrow.” “To a man. A dirty, witless roamer.” “You will rouse no reaction from me, Haldir. I have learned not to respond to your manipulations.” “Oh? And who taught you that? As I recall you once responded very well to me.” Haldir had moved up beside him and rested a hand dangerously near him on the rock. Very conscious of that hand, Legolas held his ground and did not answer. Presently, Haldir’s hand rested against the small of his back. “Remove your hand from my back.” “It was not so long ago you would not have complained.” “I did not know you so well back then.” He turned his head to look Haldir in the eye. “You had your chance and you did not want me. What makes it so different now that you pursue me when you cannot have me?” Haldir smiled, his hand still. “You have answered your own question. Actually …” He hopped up on the rock to sit beside Legolas. “I wanted to ask you what makes you think that he is allowing this because he wants you.” “He is not. He is marrying me so he can marry Arwen as well, and so Arwen will have a companion after he is gone.” “And you will allow this?” “Of course. What choice could I possibly have? I am a prince. I do as I am told in political matters.” “You have a choice!” Haldir hissed. Legolas turned to look at him, breaking his blank expression. Furrowing his brow, he started to move away but Haldir grabbed his wrist. “Please, Legolas, listen. Do not let this man use you this way. Do not let Elrond use you! You know it is not what your father would want for you!” “And what makes you think my father’s choices would be any better? I would stay locked in a room for all eternity if he had his way, only to be shipped off to the Gray Havens at the first available opportunity! At least now I have some hope of contributing to the world – and seeing a little of it at the same time! If he does not love me … so be it. It is better than solitude.” “You could come to Lothlorien. You could come with me!” Legolas cocked his head. He wasn’t sure he recognized the elf before him. Haldir had courted him once, then rejected him when Legolas made known his feelings in return. The heartbreak had nearly undone him, and he had steeled his heart against the Lorien elf. But now Haldir held his wrist tightly, almost painfully, and had dropped his careful guard to beg Legolas to go with him! It seemed … suspicious. With a jerk he tore his wrist away from Haldir and slid off of the rock. He began backing away, slowly. “I do not know what new game you are playing at, but I will not listen. You have brought me nothing but sorrow in the past, and elves are slow to change. Good day.” He spun on his heels and stalked away as Haldir called after him, trying not to hear his words. The bonding ceremony was short. It was almost comical that a ceremony of such importance, among an elven prince, an elven lady and the heir to the throne of Gondor was so sparse and short. Elven bondings, the precursor to a true marriage ceremony, usually took days to complete – over a year if you included in that the time for all the rituals - with both feasts and fasting, long speeches, much music and very deliberate superstitions. Within a year the legalities would be made final with a much less elaborate legal marriage, with the idea that emotions were far more fragile and needed more care and attention than paperwork. As it was, the ceremony lasted not even twelve hours. Legolas, Arwen and Aragorn knelt at three points murmuring in elven. After an hour, Legolas and Arwen each contributed a drop of blood from a pricked finger into separate goblets. Aragorn drank from each, bled a drop of his own blood into the mixtures, then they drank. Lastly, Legolas and Arwen traded cups and drank, to acknowledge the other’s bond with Aragorn and to form a secondary bond to each other. Legolas smiled at Arwen as he drank, and she couldn’t help but to smile back. Their time at the pool had certainly made this easier. She was happily anticipating their newfound friendship. Perhaps it would not be so bad, sharing Aragorn with this one. It was certainly better than forsaking Aragorn altogether, as her father would have had it. She understood his concern, but she had neither desire nor capability to change her heart and leave him behind. Besides, she had always held a kind of curiosity about men’s relationships with other men. In truth, she found it exciting to think about her love, Aragorn, touching Legolas. She was secretly looking forward to being an observer. Aragorn watched Legolas and Arwen drink solemnly. He wished they had more time to consider their options, but between Legolas’s enthusiasm and Elrond’s insistence they had been rushed into having their bonding ceremony now. He was fond of Legolas, that was definitely true; Thranduil’s youngest son had always been a temptation for him. He remembered watching Legolas from a distance, admiring his grace and alertness, his slim body. What had truly made the young elf an object of desire, however, was his purity, as it was strictly enforced for royalty in Mirkwood. Aragorn had very nearly been expelled from Mirkwood just for desiring Legolas. He’d had to be careful how he looked at the boy every day in court. Now he let his eyes wander freely over the elf’s body, thinking of how no one had touched him, no one but him. Aragorn was looking forward to introducing this one to the pleasure arts. He was just not sure how the blonde archer would fit into the dynamic with Arwen. If things went poorly, it could be disastrous – for his two elves, for Elrond and for Mirkwood. Aragorn was determined to try to make it work; he knew how much they were asking of Legolas. If this bond failed, he could take no other mate; he’d be considered tainted. It wasn’t a fate Aragorn desired for the young prince. It was too late to go back now, though. He sighed, dreading the next few days. Legolas, for his part, was centering all his attention on not shaking. He thought the time at the pool with Arwen had steadied and prepared him for this moment, but now he was positively terrified. He smiled at Arwen, hoping to alleviate his nervousness. He felt the goblet quiver in his hand as he drank, and he forced his arm to be still. He kept thinking of Haldir, of all people. And archery. It’s funny what you think about when you’re under stress, he thought. He couldn’t look Aragorn in the eye. He thought he had seen hesitation, perhaps even regret, written in the ranger’s face, and it froze his heart like a frightened stag. Since he had first seen Aragorn, a wild thing roaming Mirkwood’s borders, he had been drawn to the man’s strength and confidence. He hadn’t known at first what he was feeling. As a prince – nay, as a political asset – Legolas’s purity had been highly valued by the royal family. In truth, he had been kept intentionally naïve these many long years. His brothers were married, and he’d had some indication from them as to what life had in store for him, but as for first hand experience, he had none. And there had been Haldir, but that was nothing more than talk, really. No, the closest he’d come to any sort of real romance was the night when Aragorn had slept next to him. The man had said that night that he wanted the elven prince, that he only refused because of Arwen. Watching Aragorn’s face, Legolas’s heart fluttered nervously, hoping desperately that Aragorn had not changed his mind. That evening there was a great feast. The council of Elrond had been just the previous day, so tempers were still running fast. Aragorn sat between Arwen and Elrond, leaving Legolas to sit across from them. He had felt that he would die as he walked up to the table to realize that he could not sit by his mate of only a few hours. He could think only that he wanted to chance to talk with Aragorn, and perhaps to kiss him, touch him – any kind of reassurance, he felt, would steady his heart and allow him to survive the evening. Right about now survival looked like a long shot. On the other side of Elrond sat Gandalf, and next to Gandalf sat Frodo and the other hobbits. That was safe company, Legolas decided. But his heart sank as Boromir, that insufferable, ignorant man, sat down to Legolas’s right, and on Boromir’s other side the dwarves were making themselves comfortable. To Legolas’s further discontent, Haldir and his brothers of Lorien sat down to Legolas’s left. Legolas hoped Haldir would be kind and bring up neither the current situation nor his past flirtations with the prince. As it was, he already felt that he had come to a battle of wits unarmed. He looked across to Aragorn and received no comfort from the ranger who stared off into space, lost in thought, his eyes squinted with worry. Legolas sighed and helped himself to wine. “So, Legolas,” Haldir said, once the meal was underway, “I understand you are newly married.” Legolas smiled thinly. “Yes, just this afternoon.” “Not very elaborate for a lady, a prince and a king.” Legolas tried to ignore Boromir as the man swung about heavily in his seat in surprise, and just kept smiling at Haldir. “I believe the ceremony to have been appropriate to Rivendell’s quiet and subtlety. In truth I had always hoped for a ceremony that was more personal than grandiose.” He bit his tongue, hating to lie, but he knew better than to expose his doubts to the Lorien elves. He took a deep swig of wine. “And will your father consider it appropriate that you are to play accessory to an already endangered duo?” Legolas’s goblet landed with a much heavier thunk than he had intended. He had stopped smiling. “I am no accessory. Aragorn is my mate as much as he is Arwen’s.” “Oh, but how could that be true? After all, he loves her, doesn’t he?” “I think it is a lovely arrangement,” Frodo said unexpectedly. “Your hearts will lend you strength on the hard journey ahead of us. It was wise to move quickly.” A few heads bobbed in approval around the table, and Legolas began to feel better. “You and Aragorn are married?” Boromir blurted out. “I thought you looked like a girl, but I was not sure – “ “I’m not a girl!” Legolas snapped, whirling on Boromir, who now appeared utterly confused. From his other side he heard the Lorien elves snickering. Elrond looked up from a discussion with Gandalf and shot both Legolas and Boromir a warning look before turning back to Gandalf. Legolas looked wildly across the table for some support, to find Aragorn and Arwen talking in hushed tones, not listening to the rest of the table. “That is a relief,” came a booming voice from the other side of Boromir. “It is nice to know that Lord Aragorn has taken measures to harness the wildest of the Fellowship, so that he might be useful for something. Perhaps there is some wisdom in men after all.” The other dwarves chuckled. One of them added, “Seems to me he is indeed wise who could snag two mates. You are in luck, Gimli; perhaps Lord Aragorn in his newfound wealth will be willing to share.” Legolas stood up abruptly, giving the table a clumsy thump as he rose. Suddenly every eye was on him. He flushed a bright red and smiled nervously to Elrond. “My Lord, forgive me, but I am not well and would not be good company. I beg your pardon to be excused.” He hardly waited for a wave of Elrond’s hand to go stalking out of the room and down to the river. As soon as Legolas had gone, the various factions around the table began murmuring speculations. Aragorn and Arwen looked around in confusion, having missed the entire ordeal. Frodo stood up unexpectedly in his chair and glared around the table. “I think you all ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” he said in a loud voice that hushed the entire company. “Where I come from love is not to be mocked, but cherished. You who speak of the salvation of Middle Earth turn without a thought upon whoever seems the most vulnerable to your barbs. I hope he proves you all wrong, and that the marriage you criticize is strong, because I have to believe that love can prevail over hardships, both exterior and internal.” He hadn’t meant to look at Sam that moment, but his eyes dropped and swept to the side and sought Sam’s hunched figure. “I know something of what it means to love when the rest of the world seeks to destroy that love. I do not think you are right to mock him, is all.” Turning bright red, Frodo climbed out of his chair. “Excuse me, Lord Elrond.” He padded away from the table after Legolas, as much to find and comfort the elf as to escape the eyes of the men, elves, dwarves and hobbits of the table. Why had he waxed poetic like that? He’d only meant to rebuke them for their cruelty. Huffing to himself, he went out in search of Legolas. He found the young prince of Mirkwood sitting on a bridge, looking out over a stream. He sat with his legs dangling between the railings, his head against the top rail. It looked to Frodo like how a young child might sit. He approached slowly, knowing the elf probably already knew he was there but feeling that he should be quiet out of respect. He sat down lightly and watched the water rushing beneath them. After a long while Legolas said softly, “I do not even know if he wants me.” “What makes you say that?” “The way he looks at me. The way he looks at her. He used to tell me he wanted me, used to rake his eyes over me in a way that left no doubt as to his desires. But that was so long ago … I did not know that men could change their hearts so much. I did not expect to be exorcised from his thoughts. He only has a mind for her now. And truly … after getting to know her a bit, I cannot fault him for it.” Frodo turned sideways and crossed his legs to look at Legolas. “It may not be so simple. This has been an emotionally exhausting time for you; your judgment is not clear. Perhaps your imagination is running away with you. Have you spoken to Strider of your concerns?” “Of course not. I have barely had time to compose them.” “And do you know much of relationships?” “No. Only what I have been told.” “Then do not be so sure yet. He has had a lot to process in the last few days. Give him some time. You will be with us on the journey, and she will not. It will give the two of you some time alone. Surely that will be good for you.” Legolas turned his head to look at Frodo. “How is it someone so young can dispense wisdom of this sort?” Frodo smiled sadly. “Your situation is not entirely unique. You may not have noticed, but I am quite devoted to Samwise Gamgee, though he in turn is devoted to a certain young hobbit lass named Rosie. She is a delightful girl, I cannot fault him … “ “… And you wonder how you could ever compete … “ “ … But how can you be content with friendship?” “Especially when it would seem to be so perfect a match … “ “… So you see how I know what you are experiencing. Do not lose heart. It will all turn out for the best. We will all need you, Legolas. Do not begin this journey with a heart in despair.” Legolas smiled. “Well said, Frodo Baggins of the Shire. Thank you.” Frodo smiled in return, got up and walked back. Later that evening Legolas trotted nervously around Rivendell. He had not worked up the courage to go into Aragorn’s room, where he was sure Aragorn and Arwen were, seeing as how he had eliminated just about every other location in Rivendell. His heart in his throat, he approached the heavy oaken door and knocked. “Come in,” called a female voice. Legolas pushed the door open. Aragorn and Arwen were in robes, lounging on a large bed. He put his back to the door and pushed it shut. “I hope I am not interrupting.” “Of course not.” Aragorn motioned the elf over. “Have a drink.” It was the best idea he’d heard all day. With shaking hands he poured himself a glass of wine and sat down on the edge of the bed, his muscles and sinews drawn tight as piano wire. He threw the wine back in a single gulp and sat clenching the empty cup. Aragorn exchanged a glance with Arwen and moved beside the elf. “Legolas, you do not have to be so tense.” “I am not tense,” he snapped. “I am just terribly, terribly alert.” Aragorn placed a hand on Legolas’s to steady his shaking. The elf seemed to calm slightly; his back bowed a little, like a drawn bow. He couldn’t meet Aragorn’s eyes. “I am sorry for my behavior today. Haldir’s words played upon my unreasonable fears and I allowed them to get the best of me.” He managed to meet Aragorn’s gaze for a moment. “I am sorry,” he whispered again. Arwen’s hands rested on Legolas’s shoulders. She gently began massaging his neck; Aragorn reached up to hold Legolas’s hair away. He took the empty wine glass from Legolas and put it out of reach. He smiled at the bundle of frayed nerves that was his newest mate. “There is nothing to fear here. I understand what made you afraid; there is nothing to apologize for. Everyone’s emotions are running at full speed this day.” Legolas sat silently for a moment, then said softly, “You have not so much as kissed me, Elessar.” He glanced over his shoulder at Arwen. “And I do not know if I ought to be asking for your permission.” Arwen brushed a finger along Legolas’s ear, evoking a small gasp from the prince at the unexpected caress. “You may ask my permission if it pleases you to do so, but the answer will ever be the same. You are his mate as much as I am, and I will not stand between you. I hope you will afford me the same respect.” “Then let us begin,” Aragorn cut in. He grasped Legolas by the jaw and gently moved the elf to face him. He pressed his lips against Legolas’s, stroking his cheek and the delicately tipped ear. Legolas shuddered and moved closer, reveling in Aragorn’s kisses. Aragorn opened his mouth and ran his tongue along Legolas’s lower lip, back and forth, and nipped him. Legolas moaned softly and mimicked Aragorn’s movements. He was caught between terror and exultation. His heart was thrown into convulsions of joy by Aragorn’s long- awaited attentions, and at the same time was afraid to find that his inexperience would displease the more highly skilled man. But Aragorn patiently kissed Legolas over and over, letting the elf follow his lead and experiment. He was in no hurry. Kissing Legolas was everything he had imagined it would be – and he had considered the matter no few times. The elf tasted sweet; his lips were soft but strong, and he was quick to learn. He was sensitive to Aragorn’s subtle guidance, and his soft, low moans made Aragorn’s own breath run ragged in his throat. At last Legolas sat back and stared into Aragorn’s eyes, his own eyes wide and searching. He smiled. “Your beard is scratchy.” Aragorn smiled back. “And you taste of clover honey.” “Does he?” Arwen murmured as she deftly nipped Legolas’s ear. Legolas gasped and arched his back, turning his head to expose his throat to her. Arwen smiled; “It is easy to arouse you.” “Do not tease, Arwen,” Aragorn gently rebuked her. “If I am correct in my estimation of Thranduil’s guard, this is the first time anyone has touched him like this.” He reached out and ran his hand gently over Legolas’s torso, from the flat of his stomach across his chest. Legolas shook slightly in response, confirming the man’s appraisal. Aragorn smiled. “We will have to be gentle.” “Only if it pleases you to do so,” Legolas said breathlessly. “Oh, he is going to be good,” Arwen sighed, running her palm down his spine, secretly reminding him of how she had touched him before, and of the mood of the ritual the previous day. She leaned her back into the pillows set against the headboard of the bed and pulled Legolas to lie on top of her with his back to her. She gently stroked his hair and cradled him against her, murmuring softly in elven. He looked over his shoulder to look into her eyes. “I thank you for your acceptance,” he said in a low tone. “You do not have to do this if you do not want to.” Arwen smiled. “In truth, fair prince, I find it fascinating to watch him with you. It will be your first time, won’t it? You’re a virgin?” Legolas nodded as Aragorn pulled his shoes off of him. “Yes.” “You will not be for long.” Aragorn wordlessly moved Legolas’s legs apart and lay down on top of him, settling himself firmly between the elf’s legs. Legolas gasped, feeling Aragorn’s cock rigid, pressing against him. His own responded, straining against the soft fabric. He pressed himself against Aragorn and opened his legs wider. Arwen pressed her mouth close to his ear. “I want to watch him take you.” Aragorn slid his arms beneath Legolas and locked his hands over the elf’s shoulders. He pulled Legolas against him, grinding his cock against him. Legolas moaned and pushed his legs as far apart as he could, drunk on the new and wonderful sensation. Aragorn kissed him roughly, forcing his tongue into Legolas’s mouth as far as he could, then flicked it in and out in rhythm with his thrusting hips. Legolas opened his mouth wide and chased Aragorn’s tongue with his own, welcoming the dominating erotic sensation. After long moments of this, Aragorn pulled back. He sat back on his heels. “Sit up,” he said. Legolas did as he said, and Aragorn moved close to him on his knees. He opened his robes slowly, untying the knots that had held it in place this long. He pulled open his robe, exposing himself fully. Legolas shakily ran his hand over Aragorn’s body, his chest, sides, stomach, hips … he stopped short of Aragorn’s groin. His cock strained, full and swollen and stiff. “Go ahead,” Aragorn said. Legolas slowly placed a hand over Aragorn’s cock, examining it as if he’d never seen one. And he probably hasn’t seen one on anyone but himself, Aragorn thought. He allowed Legolas to handle him carefully for a moment, then put his own hand over the elf’s. “Like this,” he murmured, and began moving his hand up and down the red shaft. Legolas moaned long and ragged, and Aragorn looked down to see that Arwen had reached around and was now mimicking their movements along Legolas’s cock through his leggings. Aragorn let Legolas enjoy it for a moment, then took him by the jaw. He gently opened Legolas’s mouth. “Please do this,” he breathed. “See if you will like it.” He put his cock into Legolas’s mouth. At first, Legolas seemed a bit confused, then scared. But Arwen leaned against his back, still caressing him, and began speaking into his ear so that Aragorn couldn’t hear what was being said. Whatever it was, it calmed the elf and he began licking and sucking Aragorn’s cock, hesitantly at first, then with greater fervor. The elf prince was obviously inexperienced, but his enthusiasm made up for what he lacked in skill – that, and Arwen’s quiet instruction. Aragorn tried to control himself not to thrust with wild abandon into Legolas’s mouth, but he was so warm and wet; it was the first time anyone had put anything into his mouth. Aragorn felt, almost guiltily, like making his mark on his new mate. He withdrew at last, regretfully. Legolas looked up at him with wide, questioning blue eyes. “This last part is difficult,” Aragorn explained. “It would be easier on you for Arwen to finish for you, this time,” “I may as well try,” Legolas insisted. “I will have to learn sometime.” He added after a moment’s hesitation, “Please … “ Aragorn sighed. “Alright,” he said. “But I am afraid you will gag on the taste.” Arwen said something else to him that sounded suspiciously like, “He likes it if you’ll swallow.” A few full, nearly dangerous thrusts later, Aragorn came into the young elf prince’s mouth, spurting madly. A white hot flash overcame his body; his muscles convulsed; he had to strain to remain upright, to cum completely into Legolas’s mouth. Legolas, for his part, gagged visibly but rallied, and swallowed. Aragorn fell sideways onto the bed, breathing hard and heavy and covered in sweat. He looked up at his two elven mates, who stared at him with nearly identical expressions that were a combination of concern, amusement and arousal. Aragorn chuckled. “What a pair you are,” he rasped. “What other man could have such mates? I would have been overly blessed with just one of you. I shall be overcome with bliss.” Legolas smiled widely. He and Arwen spoke quietly together, forehead to forehead. She stroked his cheek and throat and told him he had done very well, that he was a very promising lover. He smiled back genuinely, relaxing under her touch. Aragorn lay there recovering himself, watching them. It seemed that Elrond had made a wise decision in joining Legolas with him and Arwen. The young prince was both masculine and feminine – undeniably dangerous in combat and in the field, innocent but enthusiastic in bed, submissive to their requests but most likely would not remain so. As his experience grew, so would their acceptance of him as an equal. Meanwhile, he and Arwen were bonding quickly, as he accepted her advice and comfort as one would a mentor. Aragorn’s heart sagged as he remembered that they would one day be supporting each other over much less joyous events. But those days are far in the future, or so I would hope, Aragorn reminded himself. He could not ask for more happiness in the present moment. Legolas stroked Arwen’s hair. “Shall one of us do something to please you, Arwen? You have been quite patient thus far.” Arwen smiled. “Aragorn and I had our fun earlier this evening, before you arrived. But it was very kind of you to offer.” She smiled like a Cheshire cat and rolled onto her back. She reached out a hand for Legolas and he rolled on top of her, facing her. “You are so beautiful,” she said in a whisper. “I am glad that he wants you.” Legolas smiled. “Why is that?” “I am going to enjoy watching this. Your first time.” She nodded over his shoulder, and motioned for Aragorn. Legolas turned over to lay down on her, facing up towards the man. Aragorn straddled him roughly, pinning his legs. He slowly undid the lacings on Legolas’s tunic and pushed the soft leather over the elf’s shoulders. He ran his hands down Legolas’s body, kneading his muscles with strong, sword-worn hands. “Does this feel good?” Aragorn asked. “Mm-hmm,” Legolas answered. He arched his back, aching to be pressed against Aragorn. But the man kept his distance for now, only hovered over the young elf. He smiled and slid his hands beneath the thin fabric of Legolas’s undershirt. He felt the elf’s torso, deliberately caressing and massaging all of his chest and sides. He experimentally played with the twin nubs of flesh on his chest. “And that?” Legolas moaned in response, his breath ragged and dry. Pleased, the man undid the clasps of the shirt and slowly drew back the edges of the cloth. He gazed lustfully at his new mate’s body, a smile tugging at his lips. Legolas was growing impatient. He ran a hand up Aragorn’s leg and started to reach under his robe. But Aragorn caught his wrists and handed them back to Arwen. “No, no,” he said softly, his face inches from Legolas’s. “You let me take care of you tonight.” With Arwen holding his wrists and his legs pinned beneath Aragorn, he could hardly do otherwise. Aragorn slowly undid the lacings on the elf’s leggings, then expertly slid them off. He was breathing quickly as he examined his mate, brushing his hands over well-muscled thighs and strong joints. Legolas felt very exposed, and shivered a little. Only Arwen had seen him naked like his before. He was glad now that she had; it comforted him a bit, made him feel not quite so nervous. Aragorn ran his hands up the insides of his thighs and moved his legs apart. Aragorn lay down between Legolas’s legs, but not like before. He slowly began stroking Legolas’s cock and sac, watching Legolas with unabashed wonder as the elf moaned and arched his back. He took Legolas’s cock into his mouth and began sucking gently. Legolas let out a soft cry and strained against Arwen, who was still holding his hands above his head. He had never felt anything like it before; Aragorn shuddered and moaned himself, kneading Legolas’s sides and thighs with his hands, immersing himself in the feeling of his new mate’s body. Legolas smiled broadly and sighed. This man liked him well enough, and might even love him – if not now, then eventually. Aragorn took a moment to wet his fingers in his mouth, then slowly slid a finger up the cleft between Legolas’s legs to the tight ring of flesh. He paused for a moment to say, “Relax. I will not hurt you,” before going back to his oral ministrations. It wasn’t difficult for Legolas to relax at this point, though he didn’t expect the man to insert his finger up inside of him. This particular mode of intercourse had never been introduced to him, and he wasn’t terribly sure what to make of it. He glanced over his shoulder at Arwen, trying to seem politely confused. She smiled. “What does it feel like?” “I … I cannot describe it. I … was not expecting – “ He gasped as Aragorn stroked in and out with his finger. “Does it feel good?” “Maybe … What will he do next?” He whispered. “Add a couple of fingers, then replace them.” Legolas raised his eyebrows. “With?” Arwen smiled wider. “How did you think men had sex?” “No more talking, loves,” Aragorn said as he pushed a second finger into Legolas’s ass. He was so tight and hot, he wanted so badly to fuck him, as hard as he could … He wanted to dominate this beautiful creature. He had wanted him for so long, had felt so conflicted over his attraction to Legolas, but now he could lay all that aside and just take him. His own cock had grown hard and impatient again. He gently eased a third finger into Legolas and worked him expertly, widening the passage inside him. He let his robe fall from his shoulders at last and lay down on Legolas again, in the same position they had begun in – only unclothed, this time. Behind him Arwen had lost her robe, and her body was warm and soft to lie against. Aragorn gently rubbed his cock against Legolas’s, softly and delicately, then harder, until he was lying with his entire weight on the elf, thrusting hard. Legolas groaned and arched, raising himself off the bed. He pushed his legs as far apart as he could, eager to accommodate the man. Aragorn shuddered hard and grasped Legolas’s buttocks decisively. “I can wait no longer,” he said with a ragged breath. He pulled Legolas against him, raising him off the sheets. Legolas felt the man’s thick fingers enter him gently, probing, stretching him, stroking him from the inside. “I want you,” Legolas rasped. “I want you so badly. I wanted you from the first time I saw you. God, please, take me.” “I will have you,” Aragorn answered. He withdrew his fingers, and reached for a bottle on the nightstand. Legolas saw, slightly amused, that it was the same spice-scented, amber-colored liquid Arwen had used before. Aragorn poured a dollop into his hand and quickly rubbed it over his length, then hurriedly pushed a bit against Legolas and inside him. Legolas trembled as Aragorn moved over him once more. He pushed the tip of his cock into the tight ring of Legolas’s anus. He slid a little back and forth. Gradually Legolas relaxed enough to let him in. When he at last slid entirely into the elf, he ran his hands over Legolas’s torso and sides, rolling his hips to make Legolas feel him completely. “You are mine,” he said. “Every inch of you is entirely mine. I will have you over and over.” “Yes, yes,” Legolas answered. “I never knew I could be possessed so fully. I am your mate.” Despite Arwen still holding resolutely to his wrists, he arched his back and brought his face close to Aragorn’s. The elf’s eyes flashed unexpectedly – not with anger, but perhaps with spirit, or determination, or mischief. “But never forget – you are mine as well. My mate,” Legolas reminded Aragorn. The man smiled broadly as he began thrusting into Legolas, and the elf fell back onto Arwen, gasping Aragorn’s name. He was going to like being mated to this one. He quickly found the spot in Legolas’s body to drive him wild. He took Legolas’s cock in his hand and stroked him expertly, pulsing his hand and moving in rhythm with his own thrusts. He forgot himself for a moment and thrust as hard and as fast as he could, coming violently into the elf’s body. He spurted into him, rolling his hips and gasping. Legolas came as well, quite loudly. Aragorn was glad they had a room far off from everyone else. He was making wonderful little noises in his throat as he lay motionless beneath Aragorn. Arwen held him tightly against her, kissing his shoulder. She looked up at Aragorn and smiled. “You two were beautiful,” she breathed. “I have never seen anything like it.” “And you will see it many times more,” Aragorn said, smiling. To confirm that point he gently moved himself against Legolas, rolling his hips once more, just to make the point that he was still inside the elf. Legolas moaned in response. When he withdrew from the elf’s body he was disturbed to see blood. Later, as he lay beside Legolas, stroking the elf’s pale form with soft caresses, he said, “You did not tell me I was hurting you.” Legolas pressed the length of his body against the man’s. “I am sorry,” he said. “But I did not want you to stop.” “You liked feeling pain like that?” “Mmm,” was the only response. Legolas kissed Aragorn, flicking his tongue in and out of the man’s mouth. “I want you again,” he said. “Again? I am sorry; I do not think that is going to happen tonight.” “Too bad,” he purred. “We may not get much time alone on the road.” “Well then. If things go on too long like that, I may just have to take you in front of everyone else.” “No,” Legolas said, suddenly solemn. “I do not mind Arwen, but only because I knew she was your mate before me, and if it were a choice you would pick her. Stop,” Legolas said, putting a hand on Aragorn’s mouth. “I know because you have made that choice before.” He removed his hand and kissed Aragorn. “Arwen is an exception. No one else.” “No one else,” Aragorn agreed. “Arwen?” “Yes, m’love?” Arwen was on his other side, half- asleep. “What do you think of our third? Will he do?” Arwen smiled and stretched. “He is lovely,” she purred. “I so loved watching the two of you. It was one of the most beautiful things ever. I say keep him.” Legolas smiled. Aragorn wished he could stay a little longer. In the morning they would strike out for Mordor. He wished he could’ve given them both the elaborate ceremonies they’d deserved. Oh well; it didn’t matter, in the long run, as long as he had their love. He wrapped himself around his elven lovers, and dreamed of the woods.