Title: As It Should Be
By: Peaceangel .2004
Beta: Tularia
Pairing: FPS: Aragorn/Legolas, Other Character/Legolas
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content and some violence.
Warning: mpreg (but not typically so) Set after ROTK
Feedback: Greatly appreciated! Please send to: earthdanser@comcast.net
and thanks for reading!
Disclaimer:  The LOTR Characters do not belong to me and this is non
profit story telling for entertainment purposes only. The story plot
and original characters are mine.
Summary: An unusual tale of the King falling in love with the Prince.
Will their love survive when rather astonishing family secrets emerge
from Mirkwood?


Legolas dropped his bow and pulled out his short knives as another orc
plunged towards him.  A quick slice dispatched the foul creature, only
to be faced by another lumbering body coming for him through the night
mist.  Legolas shifted his stance and prepared to meet the new foe,
when a man's cry pulled his attention away.  Aragorn was on the
ground, having received a blow to the chest, which did not cut through
his armor but was enough to send him reeling.  The enemy raised a
sword over the ranger's head but froze and toppled to the ground, an
elvan knife protruding from its throat. 

Aragorn's eyes searched the battlefield and locked his eyes on the
archer who barely had time to acknowledge him with a smile of relief. 
The elf's attention was suddenly brought back to his own predicament
with blunt urgency as he now faced a very large and foul looking
Uruh-kai.  He thrust forward with his one remaining blade but knew
even as he attempted to block the descending strike that his attention
to Aragorn had left him woefully unprotected to meet the threat. 
Aragorn saw it too and jumped to his feet, sword in hand as he rushed
to the elf's aid.  In those scant seconds that it took to cross the
distance the Uruh-kai evaded the elf's weapon and easily wrapped a
large arm around the archer's waist and lifted him off the ground. 
The blade was knocked from his hand by a blow to the wrist, which
shattered bone.  Through the haze of pain Legolas felt his body
crushed against the Uruk's large frame.  He was being squeezed to
death he thought, and just as spots started to appear before his eyes
a foul stench assailed his senses and his mouth was plundered
ruthlessly by an enormous black tongue. His gorge rose at the putrid
taste of the large organ invading his mouth. This was so disgusting he
flailed and kicked against the assault with renewed vigor.  He must
have landed a good kick to the creature's privates because the
stinking mouth came off him with a grunt. His relief was short lived
when he felt the large, sharp-clawed hands roam roughly over his body,
ripping at his clothes, and slashing his flesh.  Legolas cried out
indignantly when the cruel hand clutched the swell of his buttocks.
The mouth assaulted him again, this time it landed on his neck with
bared teeth.  A scream pierced the night. To his deep shame and
mortification, Legolas realized it was his own.  But the affront was
too much to bear, having this thing's hands, teeth and tongue on his
flesh.  And then he was on the ground.  His head impacted hard and
stars flashed before his vision again.  He was vaguely aware of
Aragorn standing between him and the Uruh-kai.  He never heard an Uruk
speak before, thinking them incapable of language, and was vaguely
surprised to learn the beast new the common tongue. This surprise gave
way to an even greater one when he distinctly made out the beast's
guttural command to Aragorn to 'give up the elf-whore.'  It was the
foul beast's last words as anduril severed its gruesome head from its
shoulders.

He must have blanked out for a moment because when he opened his eyes
again he realized he was being carried like an elfling away from the
battle that still raged around them.  Aragorn's face swam into focus
and Legolas could feel a flush of humiliation stain his cheeks to be
in such a state.  He pushed against the man's chest in an effort to
free himself, mumbling "I am alright,…no need for this…'

Aragorn only cursed at him soundly and tightened his grip.  "Be still,
Legolas, you're hurt!" 

He tried again, "nay, Aragorn, this is not necessary…" but even as the
words feebly escaped his lips he was assailed by a very distracting
stab of pain in his chest in the vicinity of his ribs.  His left wrist
was swollen and throbbed unmercifully and his shoulder and chest were
covered in dark red gore as the wound on his neck continued to pulse
with bright red blood to each beat of his heart.  The pain was
accompanied by an embarrassing wave of weakness leaving him to
consider that perhaps he wasn't in the best shape to reenter the fray
just yet.  Still the thought chafed that he was being carried from the
field of honor and prayed the dwarf was nowhere around to witness his
weakness.

Aragorn managed to find an isolated location hidden far from the
battle, whose sounds had grown distant indeed.  Perhaps it was coming
to an end.  Legolas couldn't tell for he was now fading in and out of
consciousness.  The ranger placed him gingerly on the ground, on some
soft moss, that felt very welcoming to the elf's battered body.  The
man's face was a mask of concentration as he dug around in his pack
for the healing herbs that he always carried with him.  Legolas opened
his eyes to find that his tunic and silver shirt had been removed and
a cold wet cloth was being used to cleanse his face. It felt very good
against his skin, especially on his cheeks and forehead.  For some
reason he felt like he was burning up and the cool cloth was all that
kept the flames at bay.  His wrist had been bandaged and he could feel
a tight wrap around his chest.  Aragorn must have bound his ribs. 
There was a cool wet poultice at the juncture of his throat and
shoulder where the Uruh-kai had bitten him.  He shivered at the memory
of that assault.

The man's warm hand was suddenly on his cheek, stroking and soothing. 
"Are you well, mellon?"  He asked solicitously.

"Aye, Aragorn.  I am well," he lied.  Aragorn's brow furrowed as if to
say 'I don't
believe you,' but he merely nodded. The ranger lifted a steaming cup
of mint tea to the elf's lips. He drained the cup, grateful for the
relaxing aroma and cleansing taste.  He closed his eyes letting the
tea's warmth sooth his jangled nerves.  Although Aragorn's eyes never
stopped perusing the elf's face the man's silence began to trouble
him.  Legolas opened his eyes and looked closely at his friend. The
man's face was filled with concern and there was something else,
underneath that emotion.  Because it was not something he found there
often, it took a moment for Legolas to understand what it was.  So
clearly, underneath the obvious worry of the man, Aragorn was seething
with anger and somehow he knew it was anger directed at him.  Legolas
blanched at it.  Aragorn took hold of his hand in concern.  "What is
it?  Are you in pain?" he asked urgently.

Legolas shook his head but then raised his eyes to the man, bright and
wide.  "Why?" he asked.  At Aragorn's confused look he added, "Why are
you angry at me?"

Aragorn withdrew his hand quickly and glanced away.  He looked as
though he would deny it but then stopped and looked down at the
stricken expression on the beautiful elf's face.  He reached out to
tenderly stroke a cheek and to brush the damp strands of sun kissed
hair from the angelic face.  But his words were harsh when he finally
spoke.

"You could've died!  And after all we have been through…"  His voice
was a strained whisper that shook with the effort to maintain his
control. "That thing…when I saw it defile you…" Aragorn's face
contorted in that moment into something frightening. "I never was more
frightened and more enraged…to see that hideous thing touch you." He
finally choked out.  "If I hadn't been able to get to you… I know what
else it would have done."

Legolas flinched at these words, the memory all too vivid in his mind
of that foul breath in his mouth and those clawed hands ripping at his
flesh.  He shuddered, fighting the urge to retch, and put a hand on
Aragorn's arm to stop him from going on.  But the man turned angry
eyes on him.  "You should not have opened yourself up to that attack.
It only happened because you were protecting me.  I don't ever want
you to do that again, Legolas.  Do I make my self clear?"

Legolas blinked at the harsh words and the burning gray eyes, which
bore into him.  "Aragorn, I didn't mean to leave my self open… but you
were in trouble…"

Aragorn growled in frustration and emotions raged within him, which
were rather mysterious to him and frightening in their intensity.  He
grabbed the elf roughly by the shoulders, knowing he was causing pain
to the broken ribs, but unable to stop himself. "Do you hear me,
Legolas?  That thing was going to rape you!  It was going to rape you
and kill you!  All because you looked over at me…because of me, you
would have died!"  He shook the elf violently, voice rising
uncharacteristically.  And hot tears sprang to the man's eyes.

Somewhere in the course of his outburst Aragorn registered the shocked
and vulnerable blue gaze that mutely stared back at him.  Physically
shaking, Aragorn choked off further speech and gave into the impulse
to wrap his arms around the slender frame of the archer.  He lowered
his head to brush his cheek against the softness of the elf's face. 
"I am sorry, my friend." He whispered, tears squeezing out of the
corners of his tightly shut eyes.  "Please forgive me."

Slender arms slowly came around him, as he remained nuzzled against
the elf's neck.  He breathed in the fresh scent of crystal waters,
green leaves and summer grasses so typical of Legolas. There was no
rebuke in the elf's gentle touch.  As always his friend accepted him
and his human emotions.  The wood elf, ever patient and comforting,
never complained of any of the man's moods or irrational bouts of
guilt. He never even begrudged Aragorn his human tendency to seek
solace in physical acts of intimacy like this one.  Aragorn had once
laughingly explained that he found his elf companion's preternatural
soft skin and silky hair soothing for his human nerves. Though if
truth be told, he might even say, he found them intoxicating,
especially when the man was really out of sorts.  He sometimes felt
guilty but the elf never seemed to mind it much when Aragorn would
impulsively run his hands through the golden tresses.  Unbraided the
gold silk curtain would frame the elf's perfectly sculpted face and
drape becomingly to his waist.  When they traveled together it had
become a joke between them that the man would have to run his hands
through the silvery strands at least once before the archer would be
permitted to braid it, or better yet, be persuaded to let the man
braid it. 

Privately, Aragorn found it difficult to reconcile himself to his own
gross and ungainly humanity whilst being around the perfect prince of
Mirkwood.  No creature could compare to his friend's grace, agility,
unparalleled combat skills, and, of course, his considerable beauty. 
But it was his friend's uncommon compassion, which would banish
Aragorn's insecurities when they loomed large. Basking in the warm
emotions, which the archer so freely gave, it was difficult to not
feel content and happy when Aragorn was around him. For some reason
the prince deemed him, a Man, to be worthy of both his trust and his
unwavering loyalty. Such a bond, between a man and an elf, was an
uncommon one, Aragorn knew, and had attracted much unwanted attention
over the years. Legolas in particular had suffered much criticism
because of their relationship; Thranduil having all but said nothing
good would come of it. 

Even if the man was now finally the King of the Western World of Men,
to the Monarch of Mirkwood, Aragorn would never be anything more than
the weak progeny of Isildur.  Aragorn buried his face deeper into the
elf's hair as he contemplated these things and breathed deeply of the
familiar scent in an effort to banish his guilt over what hurts a
friendship with him might bring to the archer.

"Aragorn?"  The uncertainty in the elf's voice made him cringe.  On
top of all this had he really just lashed out at this blessedly pure
being? The elf had just endured a disgusting violation at the hand of
Sauron's foul creation and what had Aragorn done but blame him for it. 
Aragorn wanted to slam himself into a tree.  His vulgar reaction had
been so typical of a man.

"Its alright, mellon.  I am not angry any longer."  He soothed,
pulling back to look into those impossibly blue eyes.  He saw the eyes
search him for any lingering anger, and finding none, they relaxed to
reflect the quiet joy Legolas always reserved just for him.  Aragorn
breathed a sigh of relief and let his hand trace a gentle path along
the elegant line of the jaw.  "Its just,… I could not bear your loss." 
He said quietly.  His fingers just barely grazed the cheekbone and
moved up to the sweep of an ear. The pale skin glowed as if it were
made of moonlight.  Legolas breathed in, lips parting slightly.

"You will not lose me, Aragorn. I promise I will be more careful in
the future. It was my own carelessness that got me hurt this time.  It
was not you."

The elf's face was flushed, but perhaps not from the slight fever that
had been there from before.  The man's hands were on his skin again. 
At first it was an infrequent gesture peculiar to his friend. But as
time went on and Aragorn seemed to take more comfort from these human
touches the elf began to notice certain lingering effects.  He did not
mind the little caresses.  It was gratifying to be able to offer
solace so easily to the ranger.  The man had so many cares placed upon
him.  He bore them all unflinchingly.  A braver and nobler man Legolas
could not hope to meet. Nor a better king. And since their paths had
been brought together by what ever invisible hand it is that weaves
the fates of men and elves, Legolas was content to be a companion and
friend to someone so deserving of both.

But of late, the elvan prince began to notice his own anticipation of
these endearing human encounters.  He found the sensations pleasant
but also a bit disturbing. Why that would be so he couldn't say.  At
the moment, however, he was finding the attention very disturbing and
yet not distasteful.  Perhaps it was the assault of the Uruh-kai,
which has left him now in an overly sensitive state.  For never before
had Aragorn's gentle touches had the effect of stealing his breath
away, or halting his thoughts, or bringing sharp sensations down the
length of his body to settle shockingly in the region of his groin. 
Perhaps he should tell Aragorn to stop.  But one look at the man's
face halted him from that plan. 

Aragorn was gazing at him with such a look of transported peacefulness
that Legolas found his own heart lighten to behold it.  The man's
hands were now in his hair, again, but kept traveling to his face and
to the hollow of his throat.  Aragorn was speaking but Legolas had
trouble focusing on the words, mostly about how guilty the man felt
about Legolas getting injured, because the warm hands were stroking
his arms and placing gentle touches down his chest.  His nipples
became taut at the accidental brushing of calloused fingers.  Legolas
was finding it increasingly hard to breathe normally or to engage in
conversation whilst the man was stroking him thus.  He found his own
hands wanting to touch and his fingers gently moved up the corded
muscles of the ranger's forearms.  For some reason the rippling
sensation of those powerful arms under his questing fingers excited
him greatly. 

Legolas was finding his breath coming in shorter gasps and felt as if
he would burst into flames if something didn't happen.  "Aragorn…" he
stammered, looking confusedly up at the man. "What is it mellon?" the
man crooned, still caught up in a dreamy state of contented
exploration of the body in his arms.  "Aragorn!" the elf said again "
I …I need to …"

"What? Mellon? What is it you need?"

"I need to …to…" he didn't know what to say, embarrassed and caught as
he was, in a state between agony and desire.  The man seemed to come
out of a trance, as he looked down at the flushed face, the glazed
half lidded eyes, the parted lips that looked unbelievable sweet just
now… Aragorn sucked in his breath.  Never had he seen a more alluring
vision.  The desire was so deliciously apparent in the face of this
wildly beautiful creature that he thought he would swoon from the need
to taste it. 

Before the poor confused elf could see it coming the man's hungry
mouth descended upon him, taking his lips into a kiss that stopped
time and slammed Legolas into this single eternal moment of passion
beyond anything he'd ever felt before.  It went on and on until the
need for air forced them to separate.  The sapphire eyes went wide
with confusion, desire, and a touch of fear.  Legolas tried to speak
but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the questing tongue of
the man now fully embedded in the warm cavern of the elf's mouth.  It
was a completely different experience from the violation he had
experienced earlier by the Uruk.  Aragorn was musky, and manly.  His
kiss was passionate and demanding but not brutal.  The tongue explored
his mouth, while the hot hands of the ranger skimmed over his face,
arms and chest, sending a blazing flame of desire licking over the
elf's entire body, 

Legolas groaned and found himself pulling the ranger down on top of
him.  The weight of the man pressing into him was incredibly arousing.
He groaned again uncontrollably and the man growled in his throat as
he latched onto the slim arms and pinned them to the ground.  He
trailed hot kisses over the elf's face and down the column of the
throat.  Mindful of the elf's injuries, Aragorn rained in his passion
enough to not cause the elf any discomfort.  He was thankful that the
healer part of his mind was still able to function when the rest of
him was completely overthrown by passion and desire for the gorgeous
blond beauty beneath him. Pausing briefly to pull his own shirt over
his head, he lowered himself down to feel the elf's naked chest
against his own. The elf's moans of desire where like an aphrodisiac
in his blood.  He kissed his way to a gracefully upswept ear and
swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip.  The elf shuddered at the
overwhelming sensations and bucked wildly beneath him, gasping the
man's name.  Aragorn smiled ferally and continued to suckle at the
delicate ear.  Meanwhile his hands found the hardened nubs and pinched
them between thumb and forefinger. His hands suddenly couldn't get
enough of the soft flesh.

"Oh…oh, Aragorn," cried the elf, "oh, Elbereth!  What are you doing to
me…"

"I am loving you, my beautiful one."  Aragorn whispered huskily before
bringing his lips and tongue down on one of the elf's nipples.  The
elf moaned at the sweet sensations that were rapidly overwhelming him. 
And then he was catapulted to another peak of unexpected pleasure when
the man's hand found his burgeoning erection and released it from the
confines of his leggings.   Aragorn's large hand stroked his length
and finding the little pearl of precum at the tip spread this over the
shaft making the strokes sweeter. His hand continued to glide expertly
over the smooth skin until Aragorn's devouring kisses trailed their
tortuous way down to Legolas' elfhood. The man held the elf's bucking
hips still and descended upon the lovely column of flesh.  It was as
perfectly flawless as the rest of the elf's body. The sexual longing
that the ranger had somehow managed to avoid looking at all these
years now slipped very naturally into the forefront of his
consciousness.  Aragorn found himself completely lost in the powerful
desire to claim this precious being and make the elf totally his, as
it should be.  He devoured the archer's erection whole and was pleased
to hear Legolas' loud cry of ecstasy.  He swirled his tongue expertly
around the head and hollowed his cheeks while sucking the slender
shaft with all his might.  Legolas gripped his shoulders and screamed
out his name.  Never could he have hoped for a more perfect moment,
thought Aragorn, than to hear the beautiful prince scream out his name
in a fit of passion.  

"Aragorn!  I'm going to …to.." the elf tried to pull the man's head
away from him but Aragorn had other plans.  Sensing the elf's orgasm
was imminent he clutched tighter onto the hips, fingers bruising the
perfect flesh, and pulled the elf into him as deeply as possible. 
Legolas screamed in abandon as he finally exploded into the man's
worshiping mouth.  Aragorn sucked deeply, draining the organ of every
last drop as if the elf's essence was the elixir of life.  Finally, he
released the softening flesh and came up to embrace the exhausted limp
body into his arms.  Legolas slowly came back from the distant heaven
where his powerful orgasm had propelled him to and opened his eyes to
see the bewildered and beaming face of the ranger. 

Legolas was speechless for a few long moments then said in an awed
voice "How did we…I can't believe we just did that." 

Aragorn, still looking bewildered but eminently pleased, said, "I
can't believe it either, mellon."  His hand came up to trace the
familiar lines of the archer's face reverently.  "But," he continued
in a husky voice, "I think that its something I have wanted to do for
a long time."  His hand now moved to trace the elf's ear and Legolas
gasped as the touches began to enflame his blood yet again. 
'Unbelievable,' thought the elf, as the stirrings of desire began to
build in him once more, what witchcraft did the man possess over him? 

The ranger did not fail to notice the elf's returning desire and he
descended yet again to claim the elf's mouth in a deep kiss.  Legolas
gave up any further attempts at rational thought and gave in to the
passion that flared between them for a second time.  This time the elf
met the man's tongue with his own and moved to place hungry kisses
down the man's throat.  Aragorn moaned at the elf's response and
allowed Legolas to gingerly move on top of him.  The elf lowered
himself down the length of the man's body.  Trailing kisses and
pausing to run his fingers down the hairy chest in fascination.  He
let Aragorn, who was ever mindful of Legolas' broken wrist; remove his
own leggings and boots. He gently pushed the man to lie back down
while the archer gingerly touched the man's thick shaft.  It was
larger and rougher than an elf's but Legolas found himself enjoying
the musky scent of it. He found he wanted to taste it.  Carefully
lowering his mouth to the engorged cock he looked up and found the
man, propped up on his elbows, watching him avidly.  The look was one
of passion and of the deepest devotion.  Legolas found himself
unaccountably moved and blinking away the sudden tears that clouded
his vision.  He kissed the head of the cock tenderly. Then took it
gently into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head, and
placing sweet kisses up and down the shaft. Aragorn sighed deeply at
the erotic sight and the love he saw swimming in the elf's blue orbs. 

"I love you, mellon nin."  Aragorn said softly.

 A sweet rosy blush graced the elf's face and the bright indigo orbs
that turned up to look at him swam with unshed tears.  "And I love
you, Aragorn."

The man reached down and gently lifted the being into his lap. He
cradled the elf in his arms and placed gentle kisses on the cheeks,
brow, tip of the nose and finally claimed the rosy mouth in a
passionate kiss.  When he pulled away they were both breathless and
very aroused.  Aragorn nuzzled the sweet fragrant neck and whispered,
"I want to be in side you, mellon."  He felt the elf stiffen
momentarily than relax and found the man's mouth for another kiss. 

Legolas whispered against his lips, "It would be my honor and my
pleasure to take you inside me, my King."

"Are you certain?" asked the man with concern,  "we don't have to do
that if you don't want to."

"Nay, Aragorn, I want it" Aragorn hesitated as the elf gingerly lay
back against the moss bed beneath them. 

Sensing the man's hesitation the elf looked at him knowingly through
long lashes and breathlessly whispered,  "Will you take me, Aragorn? 
Take me," he purred challengingly, "and make me yours."

Aragorn growled deep in his throat at the words.  He needed no further
persuasion and growled again as he dragged his eyes over the pale body
of his lover laid out for him on the soft forest floor.  He quickly
discarded the last pieces of clothing, eyes never leaving the vision
before him, and reached into his pack for a small vial of medicinal
wildflower nectar.  He pushed the elf's thighs apart with his knee and
kneeled between the wide spread legs.  He opened the vial with his
teeth and poured a generous amount of the sweet smelling nectar into
his hands.  His eyes never leaving the stunning luminescent eyes of
the elf he lathered up his own engorged organ, then gently spread the
cheeks wider he found the beautiful star shaped opening to his lover's
body.  Suddenly feeling overcome by the enormity of what was
happening, Aragorn stilled his movements.  How could he dare to touch
this shining, magical creature, he wondered.  His eyes took in the
pale moonlight skin, the mysterious electrifying eyes that seemed to
pierce him to his very soul, the cascading waterfall of silver hair. 
He was but a man, rough and ungainly.  Legolas deserved so much
better. 

As if reading the thought the elf moaned and wiggled his enticing
round backside
onto the man's lap.  "Aragorn! Please, you are torturing me…I want
you, melethron!  Will you make me beg you?"

The words had the desired effect for the man snapped out of his lowly
thoughts and took hold of the elf's shaft and bent down take it into
his mouth and gave it as much loving attention as he could without
letting the elf come.  He brought a slick finger to the elf's entrance
and gently inserted it up to the knuckle.  His attentions to the elf's
shaft kept his lover too occupied to notice the stretching and burning
sensations as the first finger was joined by a second and later a
third.  Aragorn lifted his face from the sweet column of flesh he had
been pleasuring to gage the elf's reactions.  Legolas was arching in
pleasure at the panorama of sensations.  "You will never need to beg
me, my love." Aragorn said, then added devilishly, "At least, not too
much."

He curled his fingers and rubbed at the small mound he found inside
his lover and watched with satisfaction as Legolas almost bolted into
the trees with a scream.  "Oh, Oh, OOOOOh …Aragorn!  I never knew….Oh,
don't stop!"

"Do you like that?" Aragorn asked wickedly, stilling his movements to
watch.

"Yes!" cried the elf and looked at him in consternation.  "Why did you
stop?"

Aragorn laughed at the pout on the pretty lips.  He withdrew his
fingers, very slowly, after brushing the spot again lightly.  The elf
moaned and glared at him plaintively.

Aragorn laughed again and said, "Don't worry, beautiful one.   I have
something else here for you that I think you will like even better." 
He pulled the elf's rump high onto his lap and gently lifted the
archer to sit up.  Legolas wrapped his arms around the man's neck and
looked deeply into Aragorn's eyes.  The ranger swallowed hard at the
look of unabashed desire and complete trust he saw in those eerily
stunning eyes.  He gently lifted the elf by the hips and guided his
cock to the stretched opening.  Gently he lowered the elf onto his
throbbing flesh.  Legolas bit his lower lip as that thick human cock
penetrated him. Eventually he was fully sheathed and after a few
moments to let him get accustomed to the fullness, Aragorn lowered the
body gently back down. 

He looked at the blissful look of anticipation on the archer's face
and asked, "Are you well, mellon?  Are you ready?"  The elf nodded and
Aragorn began to thrust in and out of the tight warm space.  His
movements were very gentle and small at first; afraid he might hurt
this precious being.  But the tide of passion grew to an unbearable
height and he began to slam into the body beneath him with
unrestrained force.  The elf moaned in pleasure as the human's cock
filled him over and over again.  Each time it pulled out it dragged
maddeningly across that tender spot which sent sparks up his spine and
into his cock. And then Aragorn slammed into him again each time with
increasing force. He was being rocked into the ground and he felt the
pain in his ribs, but he bit his lip and pushed back to meet each
thrust with a push of his own.  Harder and harder they met each other
in the frenzied timeless dance that took them soaring into peaks of
unbridled pleasure, flesh slapping into flesh. Finally with a wild
shriek of ecstasy Legolas exploded his essence between the two
straining bodies.  One, two, three thrusts later and the ranger
followed him with a long moan of his own.

Aragorn collapsed onto his lover.  The elf's cry of pain made him
recoil and roll off to the side. "Legolas, what is it? Did I hurt
you?" 

"Yes." The elf laughed.  "I think you might need to rebind my ribs." 
He laughed again seeing the stricken look on the ranger's face and
reached over to caress the man's face.  "I am only joking, Aragorn." 

The man smiled at him ruefully and sidled up to lie down along side
the elf.  He pulled the lighter being into his arms carefully so that
the elf's head was resting on his shoulder. Aragorn sighed in deep
contentment and stroked the beautiful silk hair that fanned out around
them.

" I am yours now, Aragorn." The elf said softly. 

The man swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and with tears in his
eyes, he shifted to look into his companion's face…into his lover's
face.  "You don't regret this, do you, mellon?"

"How could I regret this, Aragorn?  I love you. You know I always
have."  The elf smiled at him sweetly.

"And I have always loved you, Legolas."

"I know."

"Some people won't be too happy about this, mellon."

"I know."  But the elf didn't want to have to think about all that
just now.  He snuggled deeper into the warmth of his man's arms. 
Nothing would separate them, he vowed silently to himself.  Not even
Thrunduil.

"But there is one good thing…" continued the man.

"What is that, Aragorn?"

"I don't need to make up anymore excuses to touch your hair."

Legolas chuckled softly.  "No you certainly don't.  But I shall now
have to teach you to braid it properly."  That earned him a poke in
the ribs, a very very gentle poke.





Ch2
"King Elessar!  Where are you?"  a distant voice cried out.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily, the persona of the ranger
dropping away from him like dust after a summer rain.  Legolas smirked
as he accepted the king's hand and allowed himself to be helped to his
feet.  Fortunately they had dressed some time ago but, unwilling to
leave the fable like serenity of their new found sanctuary, they had
chosen to linger in each others arms for as long as possible, knowing
it could not be long before reality intruded on their magnificent and
unexpected tryst. 

The sounds of men in the woods disturbed the quiet of the dawn and had
alerted the ranger and the elf some time ago that the battle was long
over.  A small contingent of Gondor's personal guards to the king were
slowly and noisily making their confused way toward their escaped
royal charge. Aragorn could have taught them a thing or two about
tracking. Something to add to his 'to do' list, he mused.  When he had
carried Legolas into the tiny grove last night he was hardly trying to
hide his tracks, concerned as he was about the elf's injuries.

In the past several weeks, since the new king's coronation, the
Gondorians had learned this ranger from the north was not going to
tolerate being smothered or protected inside his castle walls.  So
'upon pain of death, or something like that,' they were ordered in no
uncertain terms 'to stay out of Aragorn's way' and let their liege
indulge his need to participate in the 'real work' of restoring the
White City. In this case that meant go out and fight along side the
men in the skirmishes against the marauding orcs that continued to
plague the borders of Gondor and Ecthelian since Sauron's defeat.

With the approach of the guards came the unspoken understanding
between the two friends, turned lovers, that a renewed formality would
have to be adopted in the way king and prince conducted themselves. 
The voices of the men grew louder, but while still hidden within the
sheltering burnt red foliage of the trees, the man and the elf gave
each other one last lingering kiss, before separating to a respectable
distance.  Their eyes remained lock on each other, however, exchanging
vows, which now could not be spoken out loud. 

"King Elessar, there you are!"  Faramir yelled, relief evident in his
voice, as he emerged, looking rather stressed, through a clump of
bushes.  It was not in the young man's nature to let annoyance at his
new king show in his voice, but another member of the little search
party had no such compunction.  The unhappy grumblings of a worried
dwarf easily reached their ears. Legolas exchanged a guilty glance
with Aragorn as Gimli's disgruntled visage materialized from the
woods.  The stocky dwarf was sporting an impressive black eye but
looked none the worse for wear.

"Well, isn't this jus' grand!  Jus' grand!  …We look all over creation
for the two of ye, worried to death, I might add, that some terrible
fate befell the lot of ya' and here ye both are…lookin' like…like…"
the dwarf stopped suddenly, for all his dwarfish ways he was shrewd
enough to sense some new aura about his two friends.  Legolas shifted
uncomfortably, glancing askance at Aragorn, then darting his nervous
blue gaze to the leafy ground.  Seeing the dwarf's sharp eyes riveted
on the unusual sight of a fidgeting elf, Aragorn quickly stepped
forward, deflecting the discerning gaze.  "Master Gimli, my stout
friend," he said loudly with arms out stretched wide, and clapping the
dwarf rather roughly on the back, "you are quite right.  My apologies
my friends, we stumbled here to treat Legolas' injuries and lingered
longer than we should." He drifted back to the elf's side, as he
spoke, unconsciously laying a possessive hand on the archer's back.
"But it was clear the mighty forces of Gondor had the situation well
in hand. My congratulations, Lord Faramir, on a successful campaign. 
Soon the lands will be finally purged of the last of these orcs," he
concluded expansively.  Gimli stared at the man as if he had suddenly
sprouted two heads.  A 'gregarious Aragorn' was something new under
the sun.  Legolas shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another,
sliding surreptitiously away from the hand that had been pressed
between his shoulder blades.

Meanwhile, the king's high guards puffed with pride to hear the
praises of their new chieftain. Unlike the stuffy old steward of
Gondor, Denethor, this ranger was a battle-hardened warrior and his
praise meant something.  Faramir bowed gravely and then stepped
forward, "My Liege, do you or the Prince require a healer?"  His kind
eyes traveled over the form of the elf, taking in the bound ribs under
the ripped and bloodied tunic, and the bandaged wrist, which now hung
in a sling at his chest. "Fortunately, we suffered no losses, but
there have been some injuries, which are being attended to as we
speak. I can call one of the healers, at once." He added, eyeing the
nasty looking wound on the pretty elf's slender throat, which looked
like something had tried to take a bite out of the supple flesh.

Legolas stepped forward with a slight bow of his head in
acknowledgement of the man's concern. His gold unbraided hair fell,
forgotten, down his shoulders and into his face, sending a momentary
ripple of appreciation around the small group of men. "No need, Lord
Faramir. I thank you for your concern. But your king has long been
known among the elves for his skills as a healer.  I assure you, he
has taken care of all my needs."  The elf did not, quite, look at
Aragorn with this last statement but saw the man bite his lower lip. 

"So you were injured, eh, Master Elf?" asked the dwarf in concern,
eyes moving past the injuries to catalogue the elf's unkempt
appearance, the unbraided hair. The dwarf's dark eyes narrowed in
suspicion, as they did not fail to notice the ranger's halfhearted
attempt to stifle the slight smirk on his lips.  And was that a
mischievous little glint he saw just now in the elf's eye? 

"Nothing serious, Gimli." The elf said in his sweet melodious tones.

"Well," said Aragorn brightly, with an energetic clap of his hands. 
"I'd say its time to gather our troops and return to the castle. We
can all use some rest and food.  Faramir, if you would please see to
the preparations for the clean up here. I will await your report after
dinner this evening."  With that the king stepped forward, gathering
the elf to him with a solicitous hand at the small of the prince's
back, and led their way to their horses which were being held at the
ready by one of the king's guards.  "Prince Legolas, your injuries are
still too recent and I have a concern about those ribs, so you ride
with me," said the king loudly.

The elf glared at him, slightly abashed and ready to protest, but
sensing the curious eyes of the company upon them he clenched his
teeth and merely nodded.  Once he had been 'helped' up to the saddle,
and nestled within the circle of the King's arms, he whispered
testily, "I hardly think I need to be coddled so, my Liege."  Aragorn
did not miss the none too slight sarcastic tone with which the last
word was spat at him, but he laughed quietly into the elf's pointed
ear.

"You may not need coddling, this is true.  For you are a mighty elvan
warrior, and none here can doubt it, my proud Prince." He placated,
but then leaned in and said even more softly, "But do not begrudge me
the need to stay close to you, Legolas.  I feel so full of love for
you that I fear to part from your company even for a moment would turn
everything that happened between us into a dream."

The elf inclined his golden head and the chagrin was gone from his
soft voice when he spoke. "I understand what you mean, Aragorn.  But I
will not disappear and neither will my love for you.  When we return
to the castle, perhaps the King can be spared for a short time from
his duties, so that I may remind him of the reality of my devotion."

"The 'King' would like nothing better," agreed Aragorn.  The man
tightened his grip on the slim waist of the elf, pulling him back
surreptitiously, as the horse started into a trot, almost onto his
lap.  Aragorn couldn't resist a little snuggle and leaned his chin on
the elf's shoulder in front of him, heedless of the curious looks from
the men or the particularly intent gaze of one dwarf.  Legolas,
however, did not find it as easy to dismiss the glances occasionally
cast in their direction. He cursed quietly in elvish and tried as best
he could to scoot away from the man's public display of affection
without drawing more unnecessary attention to them.

Legolas was well aware of the ranger's disdain for the courtly
protocols now being demanded of him and wondered at times if the man's
defiance wasn't deliberate to irritate his court advisors.  Legolas
could sympathize with his friend, having had similar feelings for many
years when he was forced to attend his father's court.  Now he mused
on the vagaries of fate that he should find himself in a position to
continuously advise the ranger on the need to follow proper kingly
etiquette.  He knew the king's advisor, Faramir, was grateful to him
since the young Gondorian often turned to the elf, as a last resort,
when the king of Gondor was being uncooperative or deliberately obtuse
in matters of etiquette and concerns with public image.

By the time the gates of the white city came into view, the elf was
swearing profusely and wearing a pretty rose blush, which reached all
the way to the tips of his delicately pointed ears, although none
could have guessed as to its cause.  Thankful for the king's flowing
velvet robe which Aragorn had pulled around them, ostensibly to
protect the two riders from the dipping temperatures, none but the elf
was aware of the king's burgeoning royal scepter which had found its
new home nuzzled between the elf's nether cheeks, despite the layers
of cloth between them.  Legolas squirmed in the man's embrace, hissing
elvish promises of revenge, low enough for only the ranger to hear. 
The rumble of an appreciative chuckle in his ear was the man's only
response. Aragorn's amusement was infuriating, as was the man's
erection, which pressed demandingly against his neither port.  "For
the love of the Valar, Aragorn," he hissed, "Faramir is right behind
us!" 

"Faramir can find his own elf," quipped the ranger turned king,
"You're mine." 

Legolas' hopes for a quiet, unobtrusive arrival into Gondor proper
were instantly dashed when their group crossed the city gates.  A
cheering crowd of loyal subjects immediately greeted the king and his
party. Aragorn graciously thanked the people of Gondor and reminded
them to show equal appreciation to the Gondorian soldiers and to the
two remaining members of the fellowship who eagerly joined the quest
to hunt down all remaining orc bands that still plundered the land. 
The enthusiastic crowds needed no such reminding, however. Since the
elf and the dwarf, had accepted the invitation to stay as advisors to
the King of Gondor, they were revered almost as much as Aragorn was
himself, for their part in the liberation of Middle Earth.  

Still ensconced within the circle of the king's arms, the elf did his
best to pretend he was invisible, while at the same time acknowledge
politely the shouts from the adoring crowds that called his name along
with the king's.  Aragorn whispered into his ear, "They love you,
mellon, almost as much as I do."  Legolas was grateful for the warmth
with which the people of this city had accepted him. But he still
hated public appearances like this one, just as he had hated similar
events in Mirkwood that often held the prince up as an icon of
worship.  And it bothered him that he rode into the city on the king's
horse instead of his own steed.  Although the Gondorian's would
dismiss this lapse easily enough in light of his obvious injuries,
Legolas felt a trifle angry at Aragorn for putting him in this
unbecoming position.  To fail to ride home on one's own horse in
Mirkwood meant one had better be near death or suffer Thranduil's
displeasure.  Living among men was turning him soft, thought Legolas
in self-chastisement, and he was grateful at the moment to be far from
Mirkwood's eye.

The king's party arrived at the castle and grooms came to retrieve the
horses.  Not surprisingly the Gondorian's did not end their
enthusiastic greeting in the courtyard.  Within the great hall, a
reception was awaiting them and Aragorn again was forced to address
the lords and ladies of the realm who eagerly sought him out.  Legolas
finally managed to dislodge himself from Aragorn's possessive arm and
drifted to a corner of the great hall were the king received the
courtiers. It would not do to turn away the worshipful subjects who
had emerged to show their new king how much they appreciate his
tireless efforts to restore the white city to her former glory.   

Legolas watched, somewhat amused as Faramir tried desperately to keep
Aragorn's attention on the practice of properly receiving his
courtiers. Time and again the man's eyes would drift to the back of
the hall, sending the elf a silent plea for rescue from the tedious
proceedings. It was a look Legolas had seen in the eyes of the ranger
on countless missions through out their long association.  The elf
shrugged his shoulders and sent him a playful wink that said 'you're
on your own this time.'  He was gifted with a mock glare in return
that was equally playful in its response; 'you'll get yours later.' 
Legolas smirked.  He wondered how he'd entertain himself until it was
time to receive his 'punishment.'

"His Majesty seems to be having a hard time keeping his attention
focused on his courtly duties, eh, Master Elf.  Might ye know why?" 
Gimli's question had managed to startle the Legolas, whose own
attention was so singularly focused on the object of his desires that
he failed to notice the dwarf's presence.  Gimli watched him, in smug
satisfaction, as the elf tried to recover himself. 

"N - Nay, Master Dwarf," Legolas stammered, not used to prevarication. 
"Aragorn is most likely tired from the battle and is in need of a
rest."  He tried to follow up the lame sounding response with the
sweetest smile he could muster, hoping to throw the persistent dwarf
off the scent. 

Recovering his footing in this old game, he added,  "Don't you feel a
need to lie down, Gimli?"  He dropped his voice to a purr and,
accompanied as it was with a well calculated lowering of his long
lashes, the dwarf didn't stand a chance. He watched Gimli's cheeks
blush under the attack of the solar powered elvish smile.

Shifting suddenly from one foot to the other, the dwarf stammered some
thing about being rather tired, after all, and excused himself. 
Legolas watched, bemusedly, as his friend moved hurriedly toward the
stone stairs and disappeared around the corner, but not before
catching a dwarfish curse on the devilish wiles of pretty elves. 
Mission accomplished, thought Legolas.  It was a source of perpetual
amusement to the archer, and embarrassment to the dwarf, that Gimli
could be so easily affected by the elf. 

Whether the provocation was a well placed taunt designed to elicit
anger or an irresistible tease to arouse an embarrassing swell below
the dwarf's shiny mithril belt, both served to put an end to what ever
the current debate might be about and the elf tallied himself another
victory in the odd competition which characterized their unusual
friendship. 

Just then the king himself suddenly appeared at his elbow.  With a
warm guiding arm around the elf's shoulders, Aragorn whispered
hurriedly, "Come on, lets get out of here before some one else asks me
one more blasted thing about treaty violations, border infractions,
old laws and new statutes.  By the Ring, I want nothing more than to
sweep you off your feet and take us both as far away from here as
possible."

Legolas couldn't agree more and, feeling a little giddy, allowed
himself to be steered toward the north wing, which led to the king's
chambers.  They did not manage to get far, however, when they were
stopped by one of the lords who served as one of the financial
advisors to the king.  The man was a bloated, wealthy landowner who
had served the old steward, Denethor, although rumors suggest some
less than ethical conduct between them. Aragorn did not like this man
but he had been warned by Faramir to not make too many changes to the
established group of court advisors so soon after his installment as
monarch. It was important to firmly establish himself in the hearts of
the royals as well as the general populace before he began to make
some of the sweeping changes that he had already set down in the
privacy of talks with only those closest to him.

"Your Majesty, if you please, one more word with you."  The man had
positioned himself in front of them and Aragorn did not miss the
openly curious and rather licentious look the pervy old man gave his
elf.  Tightening his arm around the elf, unconsciously, Aragorn glared
at the old lord but bit off the sharp comment that instantly
threatened to spill past his lips.  Instead he said, "I am sorry, Lord
Tilgard, but Prince Legolas and I saw some hard battle during this
campaign and we are both in need of retiring.  I will be sure to give
you my full attention tomorrow during court hours."  Oddly enough, the
man was either too stupid or too arrogant to accept the dismissal he
was just given by his king.  Instead, the man held his ground and
unabashedly stared at Legolas, sheltered within the circle of the
King's arm.  

"You are retiring for the evening, King Elessar?"  He asked, his beady
yellow-gummed eyes shifting back and forth between the man and the
elf.

Before Aragorn could spit out the sharp retort, which now could not be
stopped, Legolas smoothly slipped out of the king's arm and with a bow
towards Aragorn, said, "My Liege, your concern over my injuries is
much appreciated but I assure you I will see to them. I will bid you
good night. I believe this fine Lord has need to speak with you
privately." Assuming the proud royal tones of a prince, the elf
acknowledged the other man with an almost imperious nod and smartly
turned on his heel.  He strode out of the hall, in a swirl of gold,
and followed the path Gimli had taken earlier.  But his footsteps did
not take him to the rooms he had been assigned since his installment
as part of the king's council.  Instead, feeling suddenly very stifled
by the huge stone walls, he headed toward the ramparts in one of the
upper towers of the castle. 

Once the cold night air hit his face, he felt the tension he had been
carrying all day begin to drain away from him.  His mind drifted back
to the sheltered little grove where Aragorn had made love to him, as
men call it, and had claimed the elf as his own.  The memory seemed
almost surreal, now that they were back behind these thick walls,
surrounded by men.  It was love that had compelled Legolas to remain
in Gondor when Aragorn had come to him and Gimli after his coronation. 
Now, Legolas realized he had even more reason to remain. Yet, he could
not deny his heart was troubled.  For if he now had more reason to
stay, perhaps he also had more reason to leave.  What would the
reaction be if the people of Gondor realized that their King had taken
a male elf for a lover?  If that fat lord's insolent behavior was any
indication, this could potentially be disastrous for Aragorn's rule. 
It had been scandalous enough when the promised Queen had failed to
appear at the coronation.  Legolas had no idea why Arwen had chosen to
break off her promise to bind herself to Aragorn, but wouldn't the
king eventually be forced to consider the question of heirs. 

His spiraling thoughts seemed to cast a shadow over his mood. 
Suddenly the unbidden image of Thranduil surfaced in his mind.  The
elf king had already sent an inquiry, politely asking when Mirkwood's
prince would be returning to his own kingdom.  Legolas had not spoken
of it with Aragorn, intent on simply ignoring the missive altogether,
for perhaps a couple of years. The man was curious about the contents
of the message, easily guessing whom it was from, but the ranger did
not  press the elf about it, apparently sensing Legolas' unease. 

The prince now thought of Mirkwood's mercurial king and had no doubts
as to what Thranduil's scathing reaction would be if he learned of
this new, most recent development between his son and 'that mortal
corruptor of young elves.'  Legolas had at first believed that
Thranduil's reactions to Aragorn had much to do with the feud between
the Mirkwood king and Lord Elrond.  But as the years went by, Legolas
began to wonder if there was something deeper and more mysterious
which fueled his father's growing hostility towards Aragorn.  Even
upon the eve of Aragorn's coronation as King Elessar, Thranduil had
demonstrated a surprising lack of respect toward the ruler of the
reunited kingdoms of men.  Legolas was of course in attendance but
Thranduil's personal message to Aragorn was brief, almost dismissive. 
Aragorn had not spoken of it but Legolas was deeply shamed and hurt
for the sake of his dearest friend and brother in arms.

Legolas sighed. The weight of so many concerns settling once again
around his heart deepened the shadow that threatened to engulf his
earlier joy over his joining with Aragorn.  So preoccupied was he with
his thoughts he did not hear the approach of the man who had claimed
his heart.  The warm hands settled on his shoulders from behind him
and the familiar voice was in his ear all at once, sending a shiver
through his body, as the lips brushed the sensitive point.  "You left
so suddenly, my elf.  I have been looking everywhere for you."  The
words were filled with reproach but the hands drifted instantly to
skim across his chest and possessively secure themselves around his
waist.

Legolas leaned back into the embrace, his head coming to rest on the
man's shoulder with a sigh.  He found himself marveling at his body's
strange new reactions to his friend's touches.  His doubts of a moment
ago were momentarily forgotten as he reveled in the ranger's potent
embrace.  He brought his left hand up to caress the man's face, as
Aragorn rested his chin on the elf's shoulder, while the fingers of
his right traced the roughened skin of one of the man's hands at his
waist.  After a long moment of silence he let his thoughts have a
voice.

"That man's reaction, Aragorn…it troubled me.  We were being too
obvious.  Gimli keeps asking questions.  I don't know what to say to
him.  But…surely we can't let anyone know of this." Doubt creeping
into his voice, he went on softly,  "Maybe…maybe this is not a good
idea?"  His throat constricted as he said those last words, hating
himself for them.

The man's reaction was immediate.  Aragorn spun the elf around in the
circle of his arms to face him and brought a hand up to clasp the
point of the chin firmly, bringing the face up to look at him.  There
was a burning intensity in the steel gray eyes that locked onto the
elf's.  "No, Legolas.  We belong with each other.  I will not allow
weasels like Tilgard to do anything to ruin what we can have
together."

The elf tried to look away from the king's intense gaze but Aragorn's
hold on his body was firm.  Legolas could hear the tremor in his own
voice when he began to speak again but he remained resolute in his aim
to make the man think of his duty as king.  "I feel the same way,
Aragorn, you know that.  But have you given thought to how this would
affect your rule?  You are a king, now.  If this got out…" but the
elf's words were cut off sharply by the man's lips which descended on
his in a possessive kiss. Aragorn plunged his tongue into the warm
inviting mouth and brought his arms around the elf in a tight embrace,
crushing the lithe body against him.

When he finally ended the kiss, the elf was shaking in his arms. 
Legolas had draped his arms around Aragorn's neck and was now holding
on as if the sudden weakness of his legs would not support him. 
Aragorn brought his mouth to the delicate ear and kissed it gently,
sending another violent shudder of desire through the body he now held
tightly against him.  "You see?" he whispered huskily, "We are meant
to be together.  I will not have you talk like this again, Mellon. 
Let anyone even try to suggest we shouldn't be together" 

Legolas's body trembled excitedly at the words, but his mind rebelled
at the man's recklessness.  Aragorn continued, "And besides, I have no
intention of keeping you hidden like some courtesan.  I plan to make
this public."  He pulled back to look at the elf, as if his
authoritarian statements sounded suddenly strange to his own ears. 
"Mellon?  Will you consent to marry me?"

Legolas looked at him, mouth dropping open in a most unelvish look of
shock.  "What?" he finally choked out.

The man took two steps backwards, and with a wry smile, dropped to one
knee in front of the elf.  Legolas' shock doubled at this and stood
dumbfounded starring down at the King of Gondor.  Aragorn took the
elf's uninjured hand tenderly in both of his and brought the fingers
to his lips. Legolas stood frozen as the man placed a tender kiss on
the tip of each slender, porcelain like finger.  He then clasped the
white hand reverently to his chest so that Legolas could feel the wild
beating of the man's heart, as though it was some wild thing about to
fly loose from its cage at the elf's command.  The man's gray eyes
locked onto the wide indigo orbs, and swallowing past the sudden lump
in his throat, Aragorn said in a firm voice, "Legolas, Prince of
Mirkwood, would you do me the honor of joining with me in marriage,
and sharing in the rule of the Kingdom of Gondor as my Prince Consort?




Ch3
"YOU WHAT?"  thundered King Thranduil, the flawless baritone voice
echoed eerily off the marble walls. "Impossible!  You cannot marry
this mortal."  The imposing figure of the Elf King gestured rudely
toward Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor and the United Kingdoms of
Men, as if he were the ill favored creature, called Gollum, once held
captive by the wood elves of Mirkwood. 

"Father, please…" but the prince's soft words were lost in another
deluge of vulgarities, which shockingly issued forth unchecked from
the great monarch's voluptuous mouth. The elves at the other end of
the tremendous hall looked over at them but quickly turned back to
their respective duties, perhaps unwilling to draw fire to themselves,
thought Aragorn.

Thranduil stood tall, an imposing figure to be sure, taller than
Aragorn, even, and crowned by a thick mane of dark burnt gold hair
that skimmed just past his broad shoulders. The warrior braids were
joined expertly into the more intricate plaits signifying Mirkwood
royalty.  Legolas frequently chose to forgo this symbol of his station
when outside his realm.  Now, standing before his king and father the
proud prince stood erect and immobile as if he were a work of art
created by the finest artisans to adorn the halls of the king. 

The young elf was arrayed in the finest of silvery spider silks, a
long sleeveless tunic, cinched at the waist with a thin embroidered
mithril belt that looked as if it had been woven by fairies for its
delicacy.  Long silvery mithril strands hung from the belt circling
the gentle swell of the prince's hips to hang almost to the floor. 
Dark silver leggings hugged the long muscled thighs and black suede
boots encased the feet and ankles.   A sumptuous velvet burgundy robe
adorned the pale shoulders and flowed eloquently to the floor to
puddle at the princes feet like a poem paying homage to his fine form. 
The robe was adorned ornately in gold filigree with the runes of the
Silvan elves of the royal house. The archer's finely muscled arms were
wrapped in spidery bands of mithril lace that swirled around his upper
arms, and again at his wrists, in intricate scrollwork. The prince's
hair was unbound but for the fine network of braids that twined around
the mithril circlet and cascaded down his back.  In his agitation, the
pale skin of the cheekbones was flushed to a deep rose, as were his
lips, which he continued to lick in nervousness.  The elf's eyes were
a striking azure blue, a sure fire sign, Aragorn recognized with some
concern, that an explosion was imminent.

If Thranduil took notice of this, he gave no indication or perhaps
more to the point he did not care.  In this palace, no one out did the
King in psychopathic rage.  The monarch's vocal diatribe, if anything,
seemed to be picking up speed rather than spending itself out as one
might have expected.  With a sigh, Aragorn resigned himself to the
fact that he would have to wait his turn to speak, so he took this
opportunity to study the face of  Mirkwood's Sovereign.

He was handsome with a chiseled masculine bone structure, so unlike
the more refined and delicately boned features of the prince. The
mouth was full and shapely not unlike the lips of the younger elf,
which Aragorn found to be so kissable. But the king's eyes were green
not blue.  Legolas must have inherited those expressive blue orbs from
his mother. Yet the intensity of those blue eyes, Aragorn had come to
realize were equally as capable of stripping the bark off a tree, as
they were of filling one's soul like miruvor on a parched tongue. 
Perhaps Legolas had inherited this intensity from his father for
Aragorn could well see the same fiery gaze in the eyes of the great
elf monarch that paced before them. The sharp intelligence within
those smoldering green eyes suggested to Aragorn that Thranduil's
fearsome temper might be more a thing of design.

This thought did not, however, make him in any way less threatening.
Such fear tactics seemed completely foreign coming from an Elf.  Lord
Elrond was intimidating as well, but the intimidation one may have
felt from Elrond was due more to his seemingly limitless reserve of
knowledge and wisdom.  Elrond did not purposely use intimidation to
coerce others. The fact that the Mirkwood King would resort to
something so human was disturbing.  In fact, Aragorn found the
contrast between the elf King's intelligence and his willingness to
inflict pain very disturbing indeed.  There was a certain coldness in
the sharp features of the classic Silvan beauty, that gave the ranger
a sense of foreboding.

The king's golden head was adorned by an intricately patterned crown,
made of gossamer mithril webbing, interlaced with bold leaves of gold,
which pierced the air about his head like a halo of fire, giving him
the look of some exotic prehistoric demon.  His green dragon scaled
raiment glittered in the sunlight, that poured into the golden hall
through the windows of the vaulted ceilings, and set off his dazzling
green eyes creating a somewhat frightening and awe-inspiring effect. 
It also created a sense of danger, that Aragorn had to remind himself,
was more than mere theatrics.   Elrond had told him of Mirkwood's
ruthless and cutthroat campaign during the last Alliance.  It was that
surprising lack of reverence for life, so contrary to elvish
philosophy that was the cause of the distant feud between Elrond and
Thranduil so long ago. Since that far away time the elves of Mirkwood
were not frequently seen outside their dark realm. As a result, they
were frequently viewed as secretive and unpredictable. The Silvan
elves, it was said, were mysteriously volatile in comparison to their
kin in Imladris and Lothlórien. 

For these reasons, Aragorn had always sought to avoid entering
Mirkwood. These notions in part contributed to the problems he and
Legolas had encountered early on in their friendship. The young prince
had dispelled any prejudices he may have had about the inhabitants of
Mirkwood.   Observing Thranduil's rage at that moment, however,
Aragorn realized, the Mirkwood king was eminently representative of
everything he had ever heard about him. The ranger sensed that
Thranduil's tirade was a smoke screen, in fact, and that more was
going on here than met the eye.

The man glanced at his lover but the prince had, in effect, shut
himself off to everything but the moods of his father and did not
respond to Aragorn's silent inquiry.  The blue eyes were locked
wearily on the back and forth pacing of the king, not unlike the vigil
of a woodland creature marking the movements of a potential predator. 
It was mystifying to the man that a pure being like his elf could be
sired by someone like Thranduil.  Yet, Legolas, in his own way had
confirmed Aragorn's suspicions that the descriptions of the mercurial
elf king were in some way true.  Not that the archer had ever spoken a
single ill word of the elf monarch.  He merely did not speak of him at
all.  His silences were telling, as were the looks of anxiety or
sadness, which would often seem to haunt the beautiful sapphire eyes
if discussion turned even remotely towards his father or of family in
general. 

Aragorn turned his gaze again from Thranduil's pacing to the still
form of the prince. Never had his lover looked more exotically
beautiful, arraigned, as he was in the traditional vestments of
Mirkwood royalty.   The young elf's anxiety, however, was a silent
thing that seemed to vibrate off his marble stillness.  His beautiful
features were schooled to reveal nothing of his inner thoughts. 
Aragorn's heart constricted at the sight, wondering what his lover's
life, as a youngling, must have been like to require learning such an
important survival skill.  Aragorn felt his anger at Thranduil go up
another notch. 

"Let the mad king rage,' thought Aragorn with a certain savageness. '
Legolas is mine,'

Thinking back to the night of his 'proposal' the man allowed himself a
small feral smile.  He had claimed the young prince and if need be
Aragorn would make sure his elf would never again be subjected to
another cruel word from this bastard of a king.




-Flashback-

"Will you marry me?" 

Legolas dropped down to his knees in front of the king of men and took
Aragorn's hands in his own, his heart breaking.  "I can not, Mellon
Nin."

The man's hands tightened on those of the archer.  They were
deceptively delicate hands, Aragorn knew, but he felt he was crushing
them now in his large rough grip.  "Why?" he demanded, pulling the
slighter being closer to him so that their chests were pressed
together.  He could feel the fluttering of the beautiful elf's heart
against his own madly beating human one.  Who ever thought only elves
could die of a broken heart?  Aragorn knew if he did not make this
creature his he would not live to see another dawn.

Legolas' blue orbs now swam with unshed tears and Aragorn could read
the torment in the angelic face. This alone almost broke him.
Searching the fathomless cerulean depths, it was as if the gorgeous
creature's soul was laid bare before him, and his ranger's eyes told
him all he needed to know.  Aragorn knew his elf.   For all his
softness, the being that now regarded him so sadly, had a regal
bearing.  This was, first and foremost, a prince.  He would put the
needs of a kingdom before those of personal desire.   

Steadfastly loyal to the end, Legolas would put Aragorn's needs, as he
judged them, before his own.  Aragorn cursed silently.  In this case
the elf's selflessness would lead them to ruin. The elven prince's
sense of duty to the King of Gondor would misguide him into denying
them the love that they both desperately needed.  'All for Gondor. 
And for her mortal King' Aragorn mused in realization, a sudden gleam
in his eye.

The man released the porcelain hands and gripped the elf roughly by
the shoulders, dragging him forward so that their lips barely touched. 
"Gondor claims you for herself, Prince of Mirkwood.  Submit."  The elf
gasped at the sudden change in the man, his blue eyes widening in
surprise, a spark of defiance flashing in their swirling depths. 
Aragorn's heart hammered wildly in response to those flashing eyes,
which now sizzled with indignation. The man's breath caught at the
sight of the proud tilt of the chin. The silver hair lifted on the
breeze and the flawless skin glowed with an inner light. The aura of
the being before him crackled in the air around them, and Aragorn
breathed in the vision of his elf, so stunning in his grace that the
stars themselves would weep to possess it.

He pressed forward, purring,  "Submit, my Prince. You will be revered
as the elf that brought the White City back from the ruins with your
love for her King. Our rule will unite the kingdoms of elves and men,
ushering in a new era." 

The electrifying eyes snapped in challenge and Aragorn's blood pumped
with a predatory heat.  "You ask me to submit?" asked the prince, in
an imperial tone that would make Thranduil proud.

"Gondor will not suffer a refusal," returned the king of men, squaring
his shoulders.

"Mirkwood does not willingly submit to any one."  The pointed chin
tilted in defiance.

"Mirkwood will submit to me!" 

Before the elf knew what was happening the king of men lunged at the
archer, knocking him to the stone floor.  But the man's attempts to
pin his prey were thwarted as the elven warrior slipped deftly out of
his grasp to round on the king with a snarl. Silver hair and electric
eyes blasted the darkness with their preternatural light. Aragorn was
slammed with surprising force into the wall of the rampart, his breath
exploding out of him by the impact.  He looked at the elf in
amazement, gulping in lung fulls of air. 

The image of the magnificent archer recalled to mind a snatch of a
poem Aragorn had learned in his youth, 'His Flashing Eyes, His
Floating Hair, Beware! Beware! ….Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice; For
He on Honey Dew hath Fed and Drunk the Milk of Paradise!'  The elf
could have easily been the inspiration for those lovely verses.  He
certainly would have inspired fear in a lesser man, but Aragorn was
Gondor's King.  And if the only way to claim this prize for the White
City, was to conquer the proud prince, than Aragorn would do just
that. This prince would be his.  He pierced his prey with a glittering
eye and struck at the elf in a blinding move, which recalled the days
of his youth in Imladris, where he learned to best his elven brothers
at their own games. 

The maneuver took them to the edge of the ramparts where the elf was
now pinned against the railing.  The wood banister separated him from
thin air and a sheer perilous drop to the courtyard far below.  The
man growled triumphantly in his ear and spun the elf so that he faced
the dark mountainous landscape of Gondor.  He was bent over the
railing at the waist, a strong arm pinning him securely between the
wood banister and the warm body behind him. The wood creaked under
their combined weight. The distance to the ground below was dizzying.
The man's breath was in his ear, the lips just barely brushing the
sensitive tip.  "You see my little Prince? Look out at she who would
claim you…Gondor."

The elf's struggles were easily subdued as his body responded to the
possession by the strong warm arms that held him.  The man's lips were
now on the back of his neck, leaving a hot trail across his flesh. 
The silver mane of his hair was flung over one pale shoulder, which
peaked out from the torn tunic.  The man reached around and with deft
fingers easily pulled off the tattered remains of the green cloth,
exposing his smooth pale torso to the chill night air.  The elf moaned
uncontrollably at this treatment.  His flesh was quivering to be taken
by this most worthy of men.  He wanted the king of Gondor to claim him
body and soul according to the ancient code.  His love for Aragorn
made him want to give in willingly as he had before, but this was
different.  He was a Prince of Elves and if this King wanted him, he
would have to take him, and Legolas was not going to make it easy. 

The man's hand skimmed down the sculpted curves of his chest, pausing
to pinch at the hardening nipples, before moving further down to close
firmly around the prince's erection within his leggings.  The prince
bucked at this treatment and as he was spun around to face the king,
he managed to loose one hand and land a loud resounding slap across
the man's cheek.  The gray eyes flashed steel and returned the slap in
kind, rocking the elf's head back at the impact, silver strands flying
like streaks of flame in the darkness.  The king took advantage of the
elf's disorientation to quickly pull down the prince's leggings to his
knees and spun him around again, before the elf could catch his
breath, and bent him over the rough wooden railing. 

The man paused, clamping one large hand around two slender wrists at
the small of the elf's back, pulling the arms up behind him, trying as
best he might to be careful of the broken wrist.  He secured the elf
to the railing with his other hand laid flat between the two sharp
wings of the shoulder blades.  The elf hissed a smattering of elvish
curses, which earned him a stinging slap to his bared bottom.  The
prince yelped in indignation and resumed his struggles, but it was
futile. He was completely mastered.  The rough calloused hand of the
king now traveled almost lazily down the curves of his muscled back,
tracing the dips and swells as those muscles continued to ripple in
token resistance.  The glow of the moonlight reflected off the perfect
alabaster flesh. Aragorn sucked his breath in at the sight of such
beauty.

"You can not escape, my fair Prince. You are loved too much," came the
whispered tones, tender and soothing into the elf's ear.  "Look out at
Gondor."  The soft voice commanded.  Legolas raised his head and
looked out at the landscape, dotted with the lights of torches and
small fires where people huddled in tents or in the ruins of their
devastated homes.

The hand of the King traveled gently down to the smooth skin of his
buttocks.  Fondling and caressing the marble perfection, Aragorn
whispered close to his ear, "What do your elf eyes see, when you look
at Gondor?"  The man's hand continued its roaming, bringing goose
bumps of desire over the white skin.

Legolas tried to steady his rapid breathing as he looked out over the
ruined landscape and his heart constricted at the vision of senseless
destruction. A woman carried a pail of water on her head, the hand of
a small child that walked at her side, clutched in her fingers to a
little camp fire amongst the rubble of their destroyed home. 
Elsewhere an old man poked through the rubble of a building with his
walking stick. He bent and pick up something small and shiny, a piece
of jewelry, and looked at the beloved object for one unbelieving
moment, before clutching it in his thin veined hand.  The old man
brought his hand, holding the object to his heart, head bowed. 
Legolas's breath caught in his throat as he said, "I see grief, I see
despair…" 

The man's hand continued lower, fondling his sacs and reached for the
erection, which, despite the fell vision beheld by the elf's eyes,
could not block out the sensations of being so exposed to the night
air and of the questing hand that sought to conquer him.  Legolas
gasped as the hand of the man closed around his flesh, milking him
expertly with firm grasping fingers.  "What else do you see?" asked
Aragorn.

Legolas's eyes roamed the countryside seeing people sharing a meal
around a fire. Children ran around squealing in delight as a man
dressed in the armor of the king's guard playfully chased them.  The
children laughed and cried "get the orc, get the orc" and jumped on
the man's back bringing him down amidst peels of laughter.
A sob escaped the elf's lips, his heart blossoming at the sight,
recalling a time when their fallen comrade Boramir played a similar
game with the hobbits.  Tears spilled from the blue orbs and the elf
said, "I see courage, and I see hope."

The man's questing fingers now separated his nether cheeks and he felt
a cool slick digit enter him gingerly.  The elf caught his breath at
the delicious sensation. The man's voice shook as he spoke, "There is
much courage in Gondor.  There is much beauty, still."  The elf's
breathing was coming in short rasps as the finger found the mound
within him and brushed past it.  Legolas cried out, moaning and
squirming around the intrusion, his head dropping and the curtain of
hair falling to cover his damp face. The finger was relentless in its
exploration and the elf arched his back thrusting backwards against
the finger, trying to take more of it into him.  He needed more.  The
king leaned against him, his own breath coming hard against the elf's
damp neck. The man's lips nipped at the sensitive point of his ear,
his tongue dipping into the delicate whorl, and a second finger
entered the elf's narrow channel joining the first. Legolas thrashed
his head, hair fanning down over his face, a keening noise coming from
deep within him, unable to stop the rampant desire which over took
him.  Then the man's fingers were gone and his wrists were released.
The elf clutched the railing for support with his two numb hands.  He
spread his legs unconsciously, preparing himself.  Two hot hands took
firm hold of the elf's hips and the tip of the man's cock pressed
against his opening.  Legolas waited, holding his breath.  When
nothing happened he rose up slightly, feeling dizzy from the blood
that had been rushing into his head all this time, and twisted to look
at the man behind him.  Aragorn had tears rolling down his cheeks. The
elf's throat constricted at the sight of him.  Their eyes locked and a
sob escaped the elf's lips as he whispered, "Mirkwood submits."

Without braking their locked gaze the King of Gondor entered the
Prince's quivering flesh in one quick thrust.  Legolas cried out in a
mixture of pain and ecstasy to be finally filled.  The man pulled out
slowly and filled him again.  The human's heavy cock dragged against
the sweet mound of the archer's most sensitive spot bringing him
almost immediately to the point of climax.  The man's fingers deftly
squeezed the base of the elf's shaft delaying his gratification. 
"Wait for me, beloved," came the command.

The elf moaned loudly, "Then be quick about it!" he snapped back. 

The man's chuckle was infuriating.  "Yes, my Prince.  But first," the
thrusts stilled and Legolas screamed in frustration, twisting to glare
at this smug King of Men, but he was trembling from desire too much to
come off as anything other than pleading. 

"Aragorn, please!" he begged brokenly.

"First," continued the man, "tell me, beloved, that you will marry
me."

"YES!" came the immediate response.  Then shamelessly the prince
wiggled his rear enticing the man into movement again.  The king was
all too happy to comply.  But before he could move an inch a voice
from the stair case below the ramparts barked up at them, "Hold, who
goes there?!"

It was one of the king's guards.  Legolas made a desolate noise
something between a moan and a shriek. Aragorn froze, his fingers
clutching at the marble skin of the hips beneath him. He took a moment
to recover and before the footsteps of the guard brought him too close
he yelled out, "Salin, is that you?" hoping he got the man's name
right.  "Aye! Who is it up there?"

Taking a deep steadying breath, he responded in his most authoritarian
voice "It is your King, Salin.  Now go back down and guard the
entrance to the stair well and let no one come up."

"My Liege?" the man asked, obviously confused.

"Did I not make myself plain, Soldier?  Your King wants privacy! Now,
upon pain of death, …or whatever, let no man climb up these steps."

"Yes, My Liege!" snapped the man's frighted response.  The sounds of
the man's running feet echoed in the stairwell as he descended them
two at time.

Aragorn released the breath he was holding and Legolas let out a
strangled laugh.  The elf sounded a bit hysterical when he spoke
again, "That was very Kingly, Aragorn, now please finish me before I
fly apart!"

The man took firm hold of his mount's flanks and began pumping in
earnest, this time driving them both rapidly over the edge in mutual
sparks of climax.  Aragorn's seed exploded inside the tight convulsing
channel of the elf in long shuddering jerks.  He clutched the body of
the archer to him, away from the railing as the Prince' seed rained
down over the parapet, christening the burned ground below. They both
collapsed to the cold stone floor and Aragorn pulled the bruised body
of the elf into his cradling arms.

They held each other for a long time, in the damp air, faces flushed
and chests heaving.  Finally the prince raised his beautiful blue eyes
to look into the exhausted face of his king.  The man looked at him in
loving adoration.  The elf beamed tiredly and said in his soft dulcet
tones, "Mirkwood is conquered."

Aragorn hugged him close and placed a tender kiss upon the elf's lips. 
"I fear it is I, my love, who is conquered by your grace and your
beauty.  And I would have it no other way.  From this day forward, my
Prince, count me as your humble servant."  So saying the king rose up
on his knees and bowed his head, bringing the elf's hands to his lips
to place  tender kisses on the captive fingers.


-End Flashback-


Aragorn, reached out and clasped the slender white hand of his
betrothed, interlacing their fingers.  He squeezed the hand
reassuringly, and flashed him a confident smile as Thranduil continued
to boom oaths at the couple for their rashness. 

Aragorn then daringly raised his voice to match the Elf King. "Your
Majesty, I cannot pretend to understand all your reasons for opposing
this alliance between our two great realms.  But I must believe that
you love your son and want his happiness.  I vow to you, I will do all
in my power to keep him happy all the days of his life." 

"And how long do you, King Elessar, imagine that life will be if my
child is bound to a mortal?  Even to one of the Dunadain." 

Aragorn swallowed reflexively at this.  This was a valid issue, which
he and Legolas had already discussed.  But before he could say another
word, Thranduil continued with a hand held up to forestall further
conversation.  The Elven King took a long breath and leveled a stern
gaze upon the couple.

"Although I can see that my son loves you, Elessar, the simple fact of
the matter is Legolas is already betrothed to another.



Chapter 4

"WHAT?!"  two voices cried out in unison. 

Thranduil turned his hard green gaze on his son and regarded him with
what might have passed as sadness but for the disapproving line
between two elegantly arched brows.  Aragorn guessed that sadness or
regret were emotions the proud features of this King were unused to. 
If such soft a sentiment had been there at all it flickered rapidly
and was gone.

"My son, I have told you this before.  During the feast of the Dead
Moon of the Fifth Age,' the King reminded him.  " I told you of the
importance of formalizing our alliance with the house of Xanthi
through your marriage to the heir of that realm."

Legolas stared at his father, face ashen.  He could feel Aragorn's
eyes boring into him.  The man's silence only hinted at the enormous
shock he must be feeling from hearing something so completely
unexpected.

"Legolas?"  The Elf could feel the human's incredulous eyes turned to
him.

But the elf, still frozen in his own state of shock stared at his
father with a growing dread.  Then as if coming out of a dream the
young elf pinned the King of Mirkwood with a fiery blue gaze and said
in a low voice, "That feast…..The feast of the Dead Moon?  ..That
was…But that was more than 1000 years ago!  I was only an elfling, and
it was right when nana…." 

His voice broke and he stopped speaking, but the fire in the azure
depths flared.  Aragorn could see a fine tremor seize the form of the
archer and the man held his breath, fearing the slightest movement
would trigger his elf to violence.  Perhaps the Mirkwood King sensed
it too, for he now stood as if carved in marble, green eyes locked
with their cobalt blue counterparts in a contest of wills.

"Nana," the stricken voice continued, softly, laced with pain,  "Nana
had just died….and that was what you came to me to speak of… a
marriage with someone I didn't even know…"   Legolas shook his head in
a gesture of disbelief.  The young elf raised his burning, shimmering
eyes to his father and Aragorn thought he had never before, nor ever
would again, see a look so forlorn and mournful than what he saw in
the face of his lover at that moment. 

A soft sob escaped the young elf's lips before he caught himself, but
his accusing stare remained on the King.  "How could you?" he asked,
voicing at last what he would not have even dared to speak of in
private.  "How could you do that to me?"

"Mirkwood needed the arrangement.  I thought it best to tell you
immediately, to prepare yourself."

"I was only an elfling…How could you expect me to prepare myself for
something I did not understand?"  the prince's voice was as cold
glass, the weight of each word placing another fine crack in the
surface.

"You were my heir," said the haughty king with emphasis.  "I expected
you to do what is required of a Prince of Mirkwood." 

The prince's trembling increased, as more cracks in his self control
threatened an out and out explosion. 

"I was your son.  I needed a father when she died, not a king," the
tears that the elf refused to release scalded his throat and his face
burned with the crimson fire of a thousand summers of loneliness and
heartache.

Aragorn thought his heart would break in half at the painful sight. 
He burned with a desire to wrap his love up in a cocoon of safety and
take him from this horrid place.  In all their years together Aragorn
never heard Legolas speak of his mother's death.  Clearly it was not a
topic his lover was prepared to discuss, even a thousand years later. 
Now Aragorn began to get an inkling of what the elf might have cost
the Elf to endure that grief in silence. The coldness of the Elf King
was a chilling revelation.  Even now it was eerie to behold the
supreme detachment with which Thranduil favored his only child.  The
King was as immovable as the snowy peaks of Caradhras.

Aragorn had had enough.  He moved with purpose to stand by his love's
side and with a protective arm now placed securely around the stiff
shoulders, he looked at his elf confidently, a silent reminder of
where and with whom he belonged.  Thankfully, he felt a minute
relaxing of the muscles under his touch as Legolas gratefully leaned
into him.

Aragorn turned his steel eyes onto the King of Mirkwood, summoning
every inch of regal stature within his mortal frame. The King of
Gondor faced Thranduil of Mirkwood as an equal and the Elf King
paused.  The two monarchs silently took stock of one another, and then
the man spoke in a quiet measured tone.

"Legolas is joined to me, your Majesty.  In our hearts we are already
bonded.  Any who would contest it will face the might of Gondor, and
her allies."   The man tilted his chin in challenge, his voice low and
steady.  Legolas turned wide eyes to look at the man in wonder.

The green eyes of the King, widened fractionally, before narrowing in
a snarl.  "Are you threatening me, Man?"  He asked in disbelief, the
last word spoken as if it were an insult.

"I do not threaten, King Thranduil. I had hoped that you would give us
your blessing. But you tell me something I had not expected to hear. 
If you are suggesting that after one thousand years there is an elf
out there who is expecting to bind themselves to Legolas, then I mean
to let them know that the Prince of Mirkwood is already taken."

"Without asking the permission of his King and father?"  The voice of
the older Elf boomed, and the green eyes were dilated so the irises
were almost completely engulfed in black.

Thranduil seethed with a rage that made everything that had preceded
this moment pale in comparison.  Legolas must have sensed something
for he stirred in Aragorn's embrace with a sudden alertness.

Before the man was aware of what had happened, the Mirkwood King had
drawn a slender gold blade in a swirl of movement too fast for human
eyes to follow and had it pointed at Aragorn's throat.  Indeed it
would have pierced the man's throat, undoubtedly killing him, had not
the equally fast Elf Prince moved to interpose his body between the
man and his would be executioner.  The three bodies stood frozen in a
living sculpture of violence.  The barely restrained movement of the
dagger was now almost piercing the alabaster skin of the prince with
its finely lethal point. 

Aragorn could see the fine tremor in the hand that held the dagger
against the archer's throat.  The cool calculating look of
intelligence was gone from the green eyes, and Aragorn trembled.  It
was replaced with a look of rage, and horror.  Aragorn did not dare to
breathe until the suspended moment passed with the loud clanking sound
of the dagger hitting the stone floor.

The young Elf was pulled into a large hug, all but disappearing into
the arms of the King of Mirkwood.  Elves did not cry but there was a
suspicious glimmer in the green eyes of the King as he held his son's
head to his chest.

"My child," his voice was a whisper as he spoke into the golden hair
of his son, "what would you?  Do you love this mortal so that you
would take a blade for him?"

The golden head of the Prince looked up from the warm nest of his
father's embrace, he looked into the earnest green eyes, unveiled for
once to show his love for his offspring.  "I would die for him, Ada."

The great King sighed heavily, pulling the young elf back against his
chest, absently stroking the gold hair. "My Greenleaf, you above all
deserve happiness. How I wish things could be different. But I fear
nothing good will come of this.   Have I not done my best to dissuade
you from this path?"


"Apparently, Thranduil, you have not done enough." 

The voice was icy and sent a shiver down Aragorn's spine.  A dark
figure emerged from the shadows as if he himself was made of them. 
Black shiny hair hung straight to frame a pale face with sharp
aquiline features that was strangely handsome in its austerity.  The
figure moved noiselessly with a supple grace and strength in the long
limbs encased in black, reminiscent of a panther. 

Aragorn jerked, startled at the sudden appearance of this dark and
lethal looking stranger but the surprised gasp that echoed in the
silence came from Mirkwood's own King. What Aragorn saw in the face of
the Elf monarch filled him with more dread than the fact that
Thranduil had just tried to kill him.  The King's fiery green eyes
were wide with fear. 



Ch. 5

Both Thranduil and Aragorn moved in unison, standing side by side, to
draw blades against the unannounced intruder.  The dark figure
regarded the two monarchs with a look of wry amusement.  He did not
approach them but standing tall and in an attitude of supreme
confidence, he smirked at the Elf King.

"Thranduil, do not tell me you do not recognize me.  It has only been
a single millennium since we last …conversed." The dark being
addressed the Mirkwood King in a menacing tone but his obsidian eyes
flitted over the King's shoulder to the Prince barely hidden from view
behind Thranduil's back.  A knot formed in the pit of Aragorn's
stomach as he noted the dark man's interest in the younger Elf.

"Yes," said the Elf King, without lowering his blade. Aragorn noted
that Thranduil squared his shoulders in a movement that would block
his son from this stranger's roaming eyes. "One millennium has past
and this is how you enter my realm, by sneaking in the shadows and
eavesdropping on me in my own hall?"  The Thranduil's eyes blazed with
a dangerous fire. When they caught Aragorn's for the briefest of
moments the man read a clear warning to stay on guard around this new
menace.  

"I thought it best," came the silky response, "given the turn of
events."  The dark head inclined fractionally towards Aragorn.  "You
have disappointed me Thranduil.  I thought you exercised better
control over your kingdom and your son."

Thranduil's jaw clenched but it was Legolas who strode around the bulk
of his father, before either mortal or Elf King could stop him, and
faced the dark stranger with the imperious air of Mirkwood royalty. 

"Who are you and what business is it of yours how we conduct our
personal affairs?"  the young Prince demanded.

The menacing aura of the stranger slipped away as soon as the young
elf addressed him to be replaced with something darkly seductive,
something which was not to Aragorn's liking in the least.  The sharply
handsome features of the intruder seemed to light up with an actual
smile as Legolas addressed him.

"Ah," said the dark man appreciatively. "Of your beauty I knew, but
such spirit as well…"

The stranger bowed low from the waist in front of the Prince of
Mirkwood with a flourish.    His lean body was well muscled and the
tight fitting black tunic and charcoal leggings highlighted his
deceptively youthful beauty.  The raven hair seemed to catch the light
in an odd rainbow hue.  It fell forward silkily as he lowered his head
in a show of respect. 

Legolas stood nonplussed at this surprising approach but recovered
himself as the stranger rose from his bow to face him.  "My fair
Prince." He said with a sigh.  "I do beg your forgiveness that we
should have to meet under such unpleasantness.  Long have I dreamed of
this moment."  Aragorn clenched his teeth as this silky interloper
continued.  'And indeed, I must say your grace and beauty exceed all
my expectations.  But then again, I was present at your birth and
never a more beautiful babe had ever graced Arda with his coming.
Indeed the stars themselves hid their faces in shame to behold your
light."

Legolas stared at this creature of midnight colors and the tongue of a
mage, for his words and his manner were bewitching.  "You were present
at my birth?  I do not understand.  Who are you?"

Before the dark haired beauty could respond to the Prince's polite
inquiry, the King of Gondor stepped forward decisively to interpose
himself in the conversation, which was becoming a tad too genial for
the man's tastes.  Aragorn placed a possessive arm around the
shoulders of his Elf and leveled a steely gaze on the intruder.  "Who
he is, is of little importance.  Let us speak to the heart of the
matter.  Legolas is bonded to me.  Since you have obviously been
eavesdropping on our conversation then you already know this. 
Therefore state your business clearly because my betrothed and I plan
to return to Gondor post haste."

The black eyes turned to the man and an undeniable aura of power
raised the hackles on the back of Aragorn's neck.  He'd be loath to
admit it, of course, but there was something slithering, something
frightening about this unusual person.  Aragon mentally prepared
himself for battle although he was not quite sure what he was up
against.  This being had the look of a mage about him. His pale skin
had an almost bluish translucent quality. The eyes were so black they
seemed to be without pupils.  Even the clothing of the stranger
rippled in a sheen of color that made it look alive. Before words or
aught else could be exchanged, between the two, however, Thranduil
intervened. 

"His name is Darrow Xu.  He is the heir to the throne of Xanthi." 
Aragorn could have guessed as much.  Mirkwood's King moved forward to
stand at Aragorn's shoulder; sword now lowered, and spoke as if he was
greeting a visiting dignitary. 

Legolas shifted uncomfortably under the scrutinizing gaze of the
mysterious stranger, and asked softly "Xanthi?  But I have not heard
of such a realm in Middle Earth." 

Before Thranduil could hasten a reply the smooth tones of the dark man
rippled languidly on the air. "Xanthi, my fair Prince is a realm known
only to those elves who have dared to make the crossing.  Your father
is one of the few, so I am surprised that he has not told you of his
experiences with us.  We are not known among the lesser species of
Middle Earth." He made an obvious gesture to Aragorn.  The man stood
tall and made as if to raise Anduril in challenge, unwilling to let
the arrogant bastard get away with that insult.

Thranduil stepped forward, and raised a hand to forestall the ill
advised action.  "Darrow Xu, you have observed what transpired here. 
Legolas loves Aragorn, King of Gondor."  Aragorn tried to hide his
shocked look as Thranduil seemed to be coming to his defense. 
Instead, he watched the odd reptilian like glint of light that passed
over the handsome features as the stranger took note of Thranduil's
apparent position on the issue.  The dark being's eyes were cold when
they passed over the man and Aragorn fought down a shiver.  He met the
obsidian eyes confidently. 

The dark eyes moved to take in the form of the Prince, protectively
ensconced within the arm of Gondor's King.  A change of tactics seemed
to be the stranger's response to this unsatisfactory declaration. 

The dark man glided forward to take the Prince's hand in his own and
bowed gallantly again at the waist.  Legolas stiffened within
Aragorn's arm but did not protest when the dark head lowered to place
cold lips against the Prince's hand, quickly, for a chaste kiss before
releasing it and taking a deferential step back. 

"Young Prince," he said silkily.  "I cannot deny that this news
grieves my heart.  But I must accept that which I cannot change.  In
days of old I would have been inclined to attack the Green Wood and
fight for a beauty such as yours. But the lands have known much
heartache of late, and despite the breaking of a valid contract," the
black gaze touched on Thranduil, " I must be the gracious party and
wish you and your intended the best of fortune." 

Legolas bowed his head regally, in cautious  acknowledgement of this
stranger's graceful response. After all, if what he had heard was
true, Legolas was responsible for the breaking of a treaty that had
existed between Mirkwood and Xanthi for the better part of the last
thousand years.

Aragorn exchanged a suspicious glance with Thranduil.  The Elf King
looked to be no more convinced by this sudden acquiescence than he
did.

Ignoring the passing looks between the two monarchs, the dark figure
approached the Prince again, this time offering him a small gold box,
which mysteriously appeared in his hand.  Legolas hesitated but the
ebony haired being favored him with a hopeful smile.  Unwilling to add
greater offense to the already uncomfortable situation, the Prince
gracefully moved to accept the proffered gift, ignoring Aragorn's not
so subtle attempt to hold him back.

"I hoped this would be my gift to you to symbolize our joining,
Beautiful Legolas.  But as fate would have it otherwise, I hope you
will accept it as a wedding gift to show I bare no ill will. For who
could hold anger in their heart against the golden grace of the Prince
of Mirkwood."  When the Elf did not extend his hand to the offering,
the stranger added, more quietly, " It was your mother's.  She would
want you to have it."

Legolas gasped and reached hesitantly for the gilded box.  He glanced
at Thranduil who now looked very ill at ease, and tentatively opened
the hinged lid.  He gasped at the gem held within.  A brooch in the
design of a green leaf, entwined with mithril filigree and embedded
with silver and blue sapphires. It shimmered strikingly with an
unusual rainbow light.  Thranduil gasped at the jewel.

In response to his son's silent inquiry, he nodded, apparently devoid
of speech for a long moment.  Aragorn did not like the way his
betrothed now favored the dark stranger with a mixed look of wonder
and gratitude.  The dark man bowed his head again and favored
Mirkwood's Prince with a sad smile. 

"Despite the manner of my arrival, I have traveled a long distance and
am weary.  Might I impose upon your Majesty for a respite within the
hospitable walls of your Palace." 

Thranduil stiffened fractionally but nodded.  Unfortunately, the
ranger could not contain himself any longer, as his eyes took in
Legolas's rapt perusal of the jeweled brooch, which had belonged to
his mother. 

"So…you mean to tell us you have no hard feelings that your betrothed
of the last millennium is going to wed a mere human?"  The challenge
in the man's tone was unmistakable and Legolas shifted at his side. 
Aragorn did not like subterfuge and was more than willing to bait this
faker out into the open.

"Aragorn.." Legolas began, uncomfortably.

"One moment, Legolas."  The ranger interrupted him sharply.  "I want
to hear it from this person's lips that he in fact is willingly
stepping down."

The dark eyes settled contemptuously on Aragorn and the ranger
swallowed reflexively at the hatred that revealed itself to him and
was concealed again within the fraction of the second that their gazes
met.  Before the dark being could address the man, Thranduil rapidly
stepped forward and gestured to Legolas.

"He said as much Elessar." Mirkwood's King said with apparent
impatience. Thranduil placed a hand on his son's shoulder, giving it a
gentle squeeze, " My son, will escort you, Darrow Xu, to the guest
chambers.  King Elessar and I have much to discuss." With an almost
imperceptible whistle, the King summoned two elven guards to walk with
their Prince and the mysterious guest. The King's dark eyes sent a
warning to his son before taking Aragorn quickly in hand. The Elf King
clasped an iron grip onto the human's shoulder and guided him toward
the nearest arched door way.  The man attempted to protest but the
grip threatened to crush the bones of his shoulder, forcing him to
remain quiet.

Once safely outside, Thranduil hissed in rage, "What do you think you
are doing, human?  Even you must have some idea by now that that is no
mere elf in there.  If he chooses to kill you I doubt there would be
anything I could do to prevent it."

Aragorn stared at the blazing expression in the King's eyes.  He
allowed himself an infuriating little smirk.  "I thought you would
want to help him kill me."

"Human, do not tempt me.  If I wanted you dead, I assure you, that is
precisely how you would be.  My son could not have saved you.  I only
wanted to see if Legolas did in fact love you as he professed he did."

"It was a test?!"  Aragorn sputtered in disbelief.  "That whole thing
back there, when you attacked me…it was all to test Legolas?"

"Do not favor me with one of your judgmental looks, Elessar.  I had to
know if my son truly loved you."

"You couldn't just take his word for it?" Aragorn could not resist
asking, still angry that this King would choose to put his son through
that torment.

"Listen to me, human," the King responded with diminishing patience.
"We have a bigger problem than how I parent my son and whether it
suites your human sensibilities." 

Aragorn squared his shoulders and looked into the Mirkwood King's eyes
expectantly.  Thranduil escorted Aragorn to the privacy of his
chambers before he continued.  "As I have said, and as you must
realize, Darrow is not an elf.  He is a creature of dark powers not
unlike those of a mage.  What he said was true.  He was present at
Legolas's birth because his mother is …was his kin."

Aragorn gasped at this stunning revelation suddenly going cold as the
implications began to wash over him.  "Go on," the man said, feeling a
fluttering in the pit of his stomach that told him he was not going to
like this.


Legolas walked with the mysterious stranger by his side in silence.
The elven guards several paces behind them as was the custom.  Darrow
seemed to be comfortable with this arrangement.  He walked at the
Prince's shoulder contentedly, humming a soft tune under his breath. 
He was surprised when the young Prince suddenly stopped walking and
turned wide eyes to the stranger. 

"That song!…How do you know it?"

Darrow stopped also and looked at the Prince with an inquiring
expression.  "I am sorry, Prince Legolas.  What did you ask me?" 

"That tune …you were humming a tune that my Nana sang to me.  She said
she made it up…I've never heard anyone else sing it."

The dark man blinked and reached out tentatively to touch the young
elf's shoulder.  He seemed to be genuinely saddened by the look of
grief that played over the Prince's fair features. 

"Forgive me, my Prince.  I did not mean to stir sad memories."

Legolas bowed his head in gratitude of the sentiment he saw in the
man's unusual features.  "It is alright, Darrow," he said tentatively. 
"But how do you know that song?  I have not heard it for many
centuries," he added wistfully.

"It is simple, Prince. I told you I knew your mother. I heard her sing
it to you.  In fact it was a song she did create herself long before
you were born.  Seeing you now, grown into such a beautiful youth, I
suppose it brought the tune to mind."

Legolas stared at the handsome stranger in amazement.  He knew he
should be cautious around this dark person.  Thranduil's reaction to
him was telling enough.  The King of Mirkwood did not see this person
as a friend.    Undoubtedly the political affairs between their two
realms were now hanging on the brink of disaster.  And it was all his
fault, Legolas realized with a sickening feeling. If Thranduil felt
compelled to promise his only son's hand to wed this person, a
millennia ago, it must have been to ensure the continued safety of
Mirkwood.  Why would this being now relinquish his claim on Mirkwood's
heir?  Aragorn had been right to ask the question, even though Legolas
had been angry with him for doing so.

They had reached the door to the guest chambers and Legolas paused,
glancing at the ground, feeling the turmoil of what his rejection of
this man might mean for his kingdom.  Darrow Xu gently touched a
finger to the Elf's chin and raised the Prince's face to look at him.

"Young Prince, you look sad.  Would you like to come in and sit with
me a while? I am sure I have raised many questions in your mind.  I
would be happy to answer them for you."

Legolas studied the austere features, and noting openness in the dark
eyes, he found himself relaxing in Darrow's presence.  He smiled shyly
and opened the door for the man to enter, gesturing to the guards to
stay outside..



Mean while, in King Thranduil's private chamber Aragorn sat, his face
hidden behind his hand, as he leaned his head down to momentarily shut
out the world which was rapidly changing around him.


Ch 6
The door closed behind them and Legolas stood uncomfortably by it as
Darrow Xu walked around the sumptuous rooms before returning to gaze
at the Prince.  He smiled indulgently at the young Elf's discomfiture. 

"Won't you come in, Prince?"  The dark lord said in his silken tones,
pretending at casualness.  Legolas moved a few feet into the room and
watched the strange man move to sit comfortably on the large bed that
dominated the guest chambers.  Darrow ignored the Elf as he set about
taking off his black boots and removing his outer tunic.  A black silk
undershirt hugged his muscular frame as he lifted his arms to tie his
shoulder length black hair into a ponytail at the back of his neck. 
Legolas ignored the odd sensation he felt watching this intimate
display.  He drifted further into the room, eyes pinned to the
stranger as Darrow swung his long legs up onto the bed and propped
himself up against the massive, ornately carved, wooden headboard with
a sigh. A few tendrils of black shimmering strands had escaped the
clasp of the ponytail.  Legolas followed one of the errant locks with
his indigo eyes as it curved to the corner of the sumptuous mouth. 
The dark eyes noted the Prince's interest and raised a pale hand,
experimentally, to move the dark curl behind one pointed ear, fingers
lingering for a moment around the curve of the sensitive point.  The
changeable blue orbs followed the movement, as anticipated.

The generous mouth turned up in a knowing smile. The mage gestured
amiably for the young Elf to come closer and watched with increasing
amusement as the Prince cautiously moved to a chair close to the bed. 
The long mithril fringe parted around his muscular thighs like a
waterfall as he sat delicately on the edge of a cushion, his movements
accompanied by the soft sound of wind chimes.  The Prince's rich
burgundy robe puddled at his feet.  Regarding the golden Elf as if he
were a rare exotic bird, that might just as swiftly take flight as
grace him with the rarity of sharing such a moment, the dark one
wasted no time.

He leaned forward, only slightly for emphasis, and he said,
melodiously, "I know this has all been a shock to you, fair Prince. 
For some reason, your father saw fit to not discuss at any length the
promise of betrothal with you, after it's inception, on the eve of
your mother's death."  The shadowed face permitted Legolas to see the
displeasure he felt about this.  Legolas shifted uncomfortably, the
light from the fireplace reflecting on the silver mane of his hair,
kissing golden strands to life, as it cascaded down the burgundy field
of velvet, which draped his pale shoulders.  Darrow's charcoal gaze
followed the lines of light, wishing to run his fingers through the
smooth curtain of silk. Legolas's fidgeted under the dark man's
perusal, rustling the fringe and filling the still air with the song
of tiny bells.  The Prince's lower lip, plumped into a charming pout,
as he chewed on the corner of his mouth.  Darrow laughed softly at the
childlike gesture and noting the look of indignation that flitted
across the Prince's fair brow, he held up a hand to explain,  "Your
mother did that little thing with her lip, when she was nervous, or if
she thought she was in trouble with the King."

Legolas started at the mention of his mother.  His eyes swam with
unbidden tears for the umpteenth time this day.  Chagrined with
himself, he swallowed them and attempted an air of polite interest.
Darrow noted the young one's struggle and visibly softened in
response.  

"Why do you do that?" he asked the Elf, with sincerity.

"Do what?" Legolas asked stiffly.  Hearing the defensiveness in the
sound of his own voice, the Prince silently chastised himself and went
for a more neutral stance.

"Hold your self back so much," said the dark one.

Legolas did not have an answer for this rather personal question. In
truth, his emotional reserves were beginning to wear thin.  Centuries
had passed him by with little more to do than wonder the forests,
patrolling the borders of Mirkwood and communing with nature.  He was
proud to protect Mirkwood from the growing darkness but not much new
ever happened beyond killing spiders and orcs; although he enjoyed
talking with the trees.  Life however took an interesting turn when he
went to Rivendell, and joined the Fellowship. It was perhaps the most
exhilarating time of his long life.  And it had been nerve racking. 
He even found that, on occasion, he doubted himself though none of the
others could have ever guessed such a thing.  For he was flawless in
all that he did. As a Prince, nothing less would do, especially in
front of dwarves, and men.  When the quest was over and the Fellowship
ended he privately feared returning to a life that could no longer
satisfy him.  But he must have found favor in the eyes of the Valar. 
At first he had been delighted to stay with Aragorn in Gondor.  Then
the unimaginable happened and they became lovers. 

Now, between his decision to bond with Aragorn; having to face the
mercurial wrath of Thranduil; being confronted by the unexpected
appearance of this dark menacing creature, who was at the moment
looking at him with …well, tenderness; it was really more than one
young Elf could bare in such a short span of time.  

And as heir to the throne of the Green Wood, Legolas had to consider
the safety of his kingdom before all other considerations.  He vowed
to do whatever he could to appease this dark prince, short of actually
bonding to him. At least he prayed it would not come to that.  And, by
the Valar, if all this were not sufficient to produce a good cry even
from an Elf of his station, this dark and dangerous person was the
first being he had ever met who seemed to have known his mother.

Legolas felt his eyes sting with the turmoil of his repressed
emotions, aware of the observant dark gaze upon his features. 
Silently cursing his lack of stamina and embarrassed to have been
caught brooding, he stood to leave, with a mumbled apology, but the
dark man was at his elbow instantly.

"Again, I ask for your forgiveness, Prince.  I fear I have summoned
painful memories."

Legolas shook his head, mutely, and made to leave but found himself
suddenly blocked by arms that closed about him in an embrace,
presumably, meant to comfort.  He hesitated, not wanting to give
offense.  While the golden Elf attempted to politely disentangling
himself, the smooth voice crooned in Legolas's ear, "You must not hold
back your tears, young Prince.  It is not healthy.  She loved you a
great deal, your mother."  A bluish pale hand stroked his hair
tenderly, the voice was a smooth whisper lulling him to remain,  "You
were her entire world." 

Legolas felt ensnared be the words.   Thranduil rarely spoke in this
way about his Nana, evidently finding the memories too painful to
share with his son.   Discussion of the Queen became a taboo subject,
and the young Elf learned early on to curb his curiosity about her.  
Now this strange, mysterious being was telling him he knew her. It
pushed him emotionally over the line and a single hot tear finally
escaped, to roll its way to freedom, down the slope of a perfectly
sculpted cheek.

The stroking hand left his hair to brush at the tear, capturing it
like a quivering dove, on the pad of one gray finger and held it up to
the Prince's eyes.

"You see, it is not so fearsome a thing."  The voice held a gentle
smile, and Legolas watched the stranger bring the glistening teardrop
to his pale lips to kiss it away, the tip of a pale tongue peaking out
to swipe at the moisture. Legolas felt his face flush red at the
intimacy of the gesture as well as the unbidden stirring in his own
body.  He could not quite fathom what was occurring here. Was he
feeling attraction for this dark and dangerous stranger?  This
couldn't be happening, thought Legolas disjointedly.  The stranger's
embrace was gentle and comforting.  He could feel the cool breath on
his face as Darrow stroked his back and crooned words of comfort. 
Legolas felt himself pulled gently to the bed where he sat gingerly on
the edge, tears still threatening to spill down his cheeks, perhaps in
anticipation of following their comrade's traitorous path to the dark
man's lips. Legolas shuddered at the disloyal thought, aghast at his
own weakness. He looked closely at Darrow, wondering if this sorcerer
had in fact put him under a spell.   Darrow sat next to him, with an
arm around his shoulders.

"Would you like me to tell you of her?" he asked softly. The question
disarmed him completely, as intended.

Legolas looked at the sharp featured face, now softened into lines of
caring.  He nodded. Of course he wanted to hear about his mother.  He
wanted to learn everything about her, what she was like, who her
people were…  Legolas knew she was not a Sindar Elf. He had a few,
albeit, sweet, memories of her.  The King's reticence however meant
that Legolas had many unanswered questions about his Nana and her kin.  
Now he felt his stomach twist in anticipation, as it seemed he might
actually have some of those questions finally answered.

 "I would like that very much, Darrow." He said softy, smiling through
his tears, and trying not to sound too eager.  He allowed himself to
relax into the unfamiliar embrace, no longer feeling guilty about the
feeling of the hard wiry frame pressed against him.  He wondered at
this, mildly, but dismissed that as well.

"Well, to begin with," Darrow said with a smile, "she had your eyes. 
They were blue like cornflowers.  Most of the time.  Sometimes they
were violet, when she was in a towering passion.  She had a temper,
you know.  I think she was the only one in all Middle Earth who could
put Thranduil in his place with one well placed look. And if she
bestowed such a gift upon him, he fully deserved it." 

Legolas laughed and Darrow joined him.  Legolas was surprised to
discover it was a pleasant sound.  He looked at the man next to him,
who reined in his mirth enough to continue with his story telling.

"In court, Legolas, she would do this thing with her eye brows…" The
dark man wiggled his eyebrows theatrically, eliciting more peals of
laughter from the Elf, " and the King would lose his train of thought! 
She had a sense of humor, you see. He would just stop in mid sentence
and stare at his Queen, can you imagine Thranduil at a loss for
words?"  The two burst into laughter again at the image of the
typically somber King, derailed into silence by his playful Queen.

Legolas wiped a tear from his eye but this time he knew it was one
which sprang from joy rather than from grief.  He looked at Darrow
appraisingly. 

"Thank you, Darrow.  You have lightened my heart."  He admitted.

The mysterious mage stroked the Elf's cheek with tenderness.  "It
pleases me to hear that, young Prince," he said in a voice that was
guileless. He looked at the Prince's face and let his hand stray to
the golden hair momentarily before drawing it away. 

"You look like her, Legolas.  She also was very beautiful. I think she
would have been quite proud at how you have turned out."

Legolas swallowed and looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap,
wrapping and unwrapping a strand of mithril around his finger.  He
looked up after a time to find Darrow also looking down.  He studied
the sharp profile, the dark inscrutable eyes, the full generous mouth,
the shimmering black hair that had escaped again to hang down in front
of the sharp hawk-like eyes.  Legolas reached out a tentative hand
before realizing what he was doing and brushed the stray lock again
behind the pointed ear.  His hand lingered and the dark eyes turned up
to study the golden prince with interest.

The dark being did not move and the Prince froze, hand still extended,
still touching the black strands, the tip of the ear.  Then the oddly
tinged pale hand lifted to take hold of the Prince's fingers.  Darrow
brought them to his lips as he had before and placing a chaste kiss
upon the porcelain digits he rose, bringing the speechless Prince up
to stand with him.  With a courtly bow, he said, "My Prince, I would
not confuse you into undoing your oath to your human, although I
confess he's a bit of a scoundrel and I don't like his manner." 

Legolas found himself being gently escorted to the door. Darrow halted
before opening the door for the Prince to leave.  He brought his hands
to the pale shoulders, fingers skimming the skin underneath the
burgundy robe, and looked into the blue eyes for a long dreamy moment. 
Legolas found himself leaning forward as those obsidian eyes drew him
into some nether world of seascapes and bird song. The dark mage
leaned in to close the space between them and placed his lips on those
of the Prince.

Legolas should have pushed him away instantly.  He should have felt
outrage on Aragorn's behalf.  He should have apologized for his own
scandalizing behavior of a few moments ago.  But he did none of these
things.  Instead, he opened his mouth to the questing tongue that
tasted oddly of Legolas's favorite astar and lilac flower pastries. 
His arms came around the dark man's neck and noted the strangeness of
the cold skin.  The lean muscles that drew him close were almost
serpentine in their fluidity.  Before his numbed brain could scream
its revolt he was released.  The dark eyes swam with passion but the
man's voice was soothing, "I promise you, Legolas, we will speak
again.  There is much I have to tell you.  Much you will want to hear. 
But now it is best that we part." 

 Darrow opened the door and bowed gallantly to the Prince who drifted
over the threshold, as if he was sleep-walking, eyes still bent on the
dark features of the stranger who had entered his life.

The heavy door closed with a thud and Legolas stood staring at it for
one numbed moment.  Suddenly aware of the curious looks of the two
guards stationed at the end of the hall, he quickly turned and hurried
away, trying not to break into a run.

He could not rid himself of the feel of those lips against his, nor of
the memory of the stranger's tongue exploring his mouth.  What had he
done?  How could he do this to Aragorn?  A sick wave of dizziness
swept over him.  His heart felt like it would burst from his chest and
he finally gave into the impulse to flee, breaking into a frantic run.
His long legs carried him through a remote part of the palace,
careening down passageways he had not visited for decades, and
bursting through a curtained archway he flew into the inviting green
woods beyond.

He sat in the branches of a favorite tree for what seemed like hours
until a rustling near by alerted him that he was not alone.  He
started and looked down to see King Thranduil making his way carefully
toward Legolas's branch, some twenty feet in the air.  Before the
Prince could utter a word in surprise, the King was sitting before
him.

"Why do you look at me like that, young one?  Am I so old and decrepit
that I cannot manage to climb a tree in my own kingdom?"

Legolas smiled, despite himself.  "No Ada, I am simply surprised that
you found me."

"And why would I not find you, my son?  This is the very tree you
escaped to for centuries, as an elfling.  Although I can well imagine
you might have thought your father was so busy with ruling a kingdom
that he would not notice the habits of one little Prince."

Legolas never dreamed Thranduil took such careful notice of his
movements.  He swallowed at the burn of salty tears that threatened to
defeat him again.  Blast, was this becoming a habit? It was
humiliating.

The King laid a strong hand on his son's shoulder.  "What troubles
you, my son? I can see something weighs heavily on your heart."

"There is much that weighs on my heart and more even that preys on my
mind," confessed the young Elf. 

He chanced a look at Thranduil. He sensed they had reached a turning
point in their relationship. Perhaps it was his performance with the
Fellowship, or his firm decision to stand with Aragorn. What ever the
cause, no longer was the King viewing him as an elfling to be
protected from too much information. The relaxing of Thranduil's
protectiveness brought a renewed warmth to his affections towards his
son.  Legolas did not understand this but found himself welcoming it
none the less.


The King waited patiently.  Legolas feared to reveal that Darrow had
kissed him and he had allowed it.  He did not fear what Thranduil
would say.  He feared that speaking of it aloud would make it real and
he would have to face his human lover.  But this was nonsense, he
chided himself.  To keep it a secret was not an option.  Aragorn would
undoubtedly know the instant his man laid eyes on him.  Thranduil
observed the changing expressions on the lovely face of his offspring
and sought to make things easier for him.

"So, my son, why are you hiding up here in a tree?  Is Elessar afraid
of heights?" 

Legolas started.  Was he so transparent?  He stared at his father in
amazement as if seeing Thranduil for the first time.  The King of
Mirkwood was surprising him endlessly this day.  Thranduil laughed
heartily at the stunned look.  "Am I so different, Legolas, that you
stare at me so?"

"Yes." The young Elf said simply.  "Or perhaps," he ventured, "I have
been unfair to you, Ada, all these years and did not really see you
for the observant father that you are."

Thranduil wrapped his large arms around his son, and drew him close
against his chest.  It was a good feeling, noted the King.  One he had
missed.  He sighed at his own foolishness.  The Valar were working
hard it seemed to bring the gift of understanding to the great House
of Thrandulion.  He whispered a prayer of thanks.

"I fear it is I who have been unfair to you, my son."  The King said,
intent on making his own admission.. "Under the guise of instructing
you in the ways of royalty, I realize I have kept my heart closed from
you."  Legolas looked up at him in sheer amazement.  The elderly Elf
regarded his son with a somber look, taking in the vulnerability in
the wide blue orbs, feeling the last of the hardness about his heart
dissolve. He stroked the blonde hair gently as he had done when his
son was small enough to be cradled in one arm.

"I hope you can forgive me, my son.  In my own way I was trying to
protect you.  Perhaps, I was also protecting myself…I feared losing
you, as I lost your Nana.  If I didn't get too close to you…" the
King's voice hitched, "then it might not hurt so much if you did go
away. I see now how mistaken I was…I can not bare to lose you, my
Greenleaf." 

"Ada," his son wrapped his arms around his father's neck and rested
his head on the strong shoulder, the way he used to.  "Why would you
think I would go away?"  he asked softly, sensing there was more to
this fear than what the King said.

Thranduil stiffened and Legolas pulled back reluctantly to look at his
father.  Thranduil sighed deeply.  "I take it, my son, that you spoke
at some length with our …visitor."

Legolas shifted his gaze away from his father's discerning eyes. 
Thranduil narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in a gesture of
inquiry.  "We…spoke, Ada.  He told me a little about Nana."  He looked
up furtively to assess what reaction his father might have to this
information.  But the older Elf merely nodded his understanding,
apparently having expected this.

"And what did he tell you of your mother, my son?" the King prompted.

"Only a little, Ada.  About some of her mannerisms….that I look like
her…that she loved me."  The younger Elf's voice faded on a wistful
note.

"She did love you, my Greenleaf.  More than anything.  And you do look
a great deal like her…" but Thranduil's voice was not reassuring.  He
sounded worried.  Legolas looked at him closely, feeling disquieted by
the obvious anxiety in the tight lines around the King's eyes and
mouth.

Legolas placed a reassuring hand on the King's shoulder, and trying to
sound more confident than he actually felt, he said, "Tell me, Ada.  I
want to know everything. What is it that troubles you?"

Ch 7

When Legolas returned to the Prince's chambers he found his lover
seated on the floor in front of the huge ornate fireplace.  He
hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed and feeling more exhausted than
he had ever felt during his days with the Fellowship.  Even when he,
Aragorn, and Gimli had tracked the Uruk-hai for several days and
nights, on end, in pursuit of Merry and Pip, he had not known such
overwhelming tiredness.  Even in the Battle of Helms Deep, or in the
Battle at Pelennor.  He had been tired then.  Once he had even
despaired.  But not like this.

Perhaps this was a tiredness of the Spirit, he mused.  He and
Thranduil had talked long into the night. Something he could not
remember ever happening before.  He had asked the King to tell him
everything, sensing yet more secrets were about to be unveiled but he
had been completely unprepared for the information finally given to
him.

Thranduil was succinct and brisk as he related the facts.  It was the
same manner he used in court when tragic events needed to be
addressed.   It was this ability to stay focused, when others
succumbed to grief or panic, which made Mirkwood's King a strong
leader.  So it was that Thranduil spoke with his son. Unbeknownst to
Legolas, the King recited a speech that he had been rehearsing for a
millennium. 

The Prince sat in silence for some time once the King had finished.
Thranduil did not press him for speech.  The King had rehearsed this
too, all the possible reactions his son might have to the stunning
news. So Thranduil waited.  And when the Prince did ask questions he
answered them as best he could.  The young Elf remained stoic, as
befitting a royal heir to the throne of Mirkwood, and did not give
voice to the fear behind the blue orbs.  Only a slight tremor of the
full bottom lip betrayed the Prince's inner turmoil.  Thranduil was
proud. 

When the morning light heralded the approach of dawn, the King guided
the oddly passive young Elf down from the tree and led him quietly to
his chamber door.  It was up to Elessar, now.  How ironic, thought the
King of Mirkwood, as he left his son, that he should now have to place
all his hopes in a man!   Estel.  He was named after hope.  Perhaps
Elrond had named him well.  Estel was Legolas's last hope.

The Prince was left standing by the open door, after having been
brought back to his rooms. Back to his waiting lover.  To his
betrothed. 

The King of Gondor sat on the floor, in his trousers and a loose
fitting shirt, bare feet extended towards the fire. He looked weary,
dark smudges under his eyes, shoulders hunched as if an invisible
weight had settled on them. He looked like a man who had been up all
night, thinking and waiting and thinking. But the steel eyes were
sharp and shone with an angry, possessive light.  Legolas froze when
they snapped upon him. 

Everything after that happened within a fraction of a second.  The
gray eyes passed through his defenses and saw all the scared places
within him.

He stood in the doorway, half way over the threshold, and he began to
tremble. 

He could not do it, his mind screamed.  He could not walk into this
room and face the man.  He could not tell Aragorn about the kiss with
Darrow Xu.  He could not tell the ranger all that Thranduil had tried
to explain about his ancestry, although he knew his father had told
Aragorn the same things. He dared not admit how very afraid he was. 

Most of all he did not want to walk into this room and hear Aragorn
say that he was leaving him. 

Aragorn had not yet announced to Gondor that he intended on taking
Prince Legolas of Mirkwood as his consort.  The Elf had wanted to
fight their battles one at a time, so they traveled to Mirkwood to
confront Thranduil with the news first. After having secured the Elf
King's blessing and establishing a formal alliance between their two
realms, Aragorn would be in a stronger position to deal with the
counsel members of Gondor. 

But what now?  Was King Elessar going to announce that his chosen
consort was, not only a male Elf, but also part Xuan, a member of a
remote magical race?  A powerful and mysterious race, that preferred
to stay secluded from the rest of Middle Earth but, nonetheless, may
be on the brink of war with Mirkwood if the young Prince did not
return peacefully to his mother's people. 

Yes, Legolas could well imagine how that council meeting would go. He
could see the Gondorian's eagerly agreeing to take their tattered city
into another conflict, all for their King's love of an Elf.  
Aragorn's rule would be quite secure after that little bombshell.  The
Xuan realm was a power to rival Mordor had they been inclined toward
conquest.  But that was not the way of the elitist Xanthi-xuan race.
They merely wanted Prince Legolas, the mistaken product of a love
affair between a rebellious Xuan warrior and an Elf King. The Xuan
were jealous of their mysteries and did not share their secrets with
other races. The Xanthi-Elf child was expected to be returned