Title:  Before the Tide
Author:  Emma Keigh
E-mail:  emmakeigh@ithilas.com
Rating:  NC-17
Characters:  Legolas, Aragorn
Pairings:  Legolas/Aragorn
Category:  Library of Moria TTT/anniversary Challenge
Status:  complete
Date:  31 December 2002
Archive:  Library of Moria and where posted; elsewhere 
please ask first
Series:  none
Website:  http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma
Summary:  Edoras. Legolas and Aragorn.
Disclaimer:  The characters and melieux from *The Lord of 
the Rings* are the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien 
and New Age Pictures (AOL). I only play with them from time 
to time for my own amusement and without compensation. No 
harm; no foul; no profit.  Anything or anyone new, however, 
is mine (left-overs again!).  

Warning:  This story contains an explicit scene of sex 
between consenting adult males of different species.  If 
you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. Not 
Beta-read.  You have been warned.  

*italics*


BEFORE THE TIDE

By Emma Keigh

Edoras, Rohan, in the Hall of Meduseld.

*"…Théoden, not Aragorn, is King in Rohan…"*

The elf-prince held his tongue through Théoden's rhetoric, 
knowing that Aragorn seethed under the skin.  It was true; 
Théoden *was* king in Rohan, and though he was the heir of 
Elendil, Aragorn was still not king of Gondor.  Leaning 
forward from his seat, Legolas touched the man's shoulder, 
bringing Aragorn's eyes to his.  "I know what you need, 
*Estel*," Legolas whispered in Elvish, using the name by 
which he had first known Aragorn.  "What *I* need," he 
added, then glanced about the common room.  Gimli gave more 
attention to the plate of food and flagon of ale before 
him; the others went about their business, paying the elf 
and the Ranger no heed.

"Come."

Legolas led Aragorn down a side corridor and stopped before 
a stout wooden door.  "The Lady Éowyn thought I would 
require privacy, since there are no others of my kind 
here," he explained as he lifted the latch and pushed open 
the door.  A single candle flickered in the draught of the 
opening door, revealing a small table with a rough stool 
and a narrow bed.  The stone floor was covered with a hide 
rug, and the small, high window was curtained with the same 
fabric that covered the bed.  It was a guardsman's cubicle, 
anonymous and cold.

"Legolas," the Ranger muttered.  "I cannot ask this of 
you."  A hand on his back pushed him into the room.  Two 
strides sufficed to cross to the far side of the chamber, 
and he turned back to Legolas.

The elf-prince threw the bolt to secure the door and turned 
to face the man.  "You did not ask."  He stepped closer and 
held the troubled face between his hands.  "The door is 
locked," he stated.  "We have an hour, perhaps more, before 
we are missed."  There was no response from Aragorn, 
nothing in the pale blue eyes but pain and doubt.  "Let me 
do this for you," the elf pleaded.

Their lips met gently, the taste of pipeweed and ale 
lingering on the man's mouth.  It pleased Legolas when 
Aragorn returned the kiss, the man's hunger for this 
intimacy nearly tangible in his response.  Long, slim 
fingers combed through the dark hair, holding Aragorn's 
head as the elf kissed eyelids and brow.  Another step 
pressed their bodies together, and after a second's 
hesitation, strong arms encircled the elf's slender form.

Aragorn's embrace ignited passions they had both kept 
deeply buried, and again they kissed.  Legolas touched the 
closed lips with the tip of his tongue, and they opened to 
each other with a low moan of shared desire.  His nimble 
fingers made short work of the fastenings of Aragorn's 
jerkin and shirt, soon revealing the strong shoulders and 
broad chest.  He felt the heat of passion rising in the 
man's body, but tore his hands away to unfasten his own 
garments. 

Quickly they stripped, dropping their clothes to the floor, 
and the leather straps that supported the thin mattress 
creaked as they lay on the rough-woven coverlet.  "You are 
too tense," Legolas said as he passed his hands over he 
strong shoulders.  He bent his head to kiss the base of the 
man's throat, then nuzzled his way through the thick, brown 
hair to tease an already peaked nipple with quick flicks of 
his tongue.  He felt Aragorn's fingers comb into his hair, 
holding his head to the heaving chest.  The strong scent 
was a heady perfume of sweat, horse, and pipeweed smoke, 
and he breathed it in, making it a part of himself.  
Suddenly, between one breath and the next, the familiar 
musk of arousal overwhelmed the other scents, and Legolas 
moaned deep in his throat.  He pushed one knee between the 
man's thighs, shifting his hips so Aragorn's erection rose 
alongside his own.

Aragorn gasped, and Legolas took his mouth again, 
plundering the cavern with his tongue, learning the man's 
taste and texture, then pulling Aragorn's tongue into his 
own mouth, demanding the Ranger do the same.  "Take me, 
Aragorn," he whispered when the need to breathe forced them 
apart.  "Make me yours."

With a quick motion of his hips Aragorn rolled them both, 
the effort forcing a growl from his body.  He loomed above 
Legolas for an instant, then fell upon him, kissing mouth 
and neck as his hands roamed over the pale, smooth skin.  
Nipples peaked at first touch, inviting suckling kisses as 
hands moved lower over the perfect body.  The slender hips 
bucked with a caress along the crease of the thigh, and 
Legolas moaned audibly when strong fingers stroked the firm 
flesh of his erection.

"Take me," he pleaded.  "Before I lose control and take 
you."

Aragorn lifted his head, his breath hot against the skin 
abraded by his coarse whiskers and dampened by his licking 
kisses.  "I shall," he said.  His eyes were dark, the 
barest ring of blue remaining around the dilated pupils, 
the gleam of desire unmistakable.  "Though the thought of 
being yours excites me all the more."  Without moving his 
eyes away, Aragorn again stroked the column of hard flesh, 
his caressing fingers slickened with the elf's own essence.  
Faster and more forcefully he pumped, until Legolas writhed 
in throes of passion and spilled his seed into the man's 
hand.

His breath quickened to gasps, Aragorn covered his own hard 
member with the fluid, then bent his head to reverently 
kiss away the last traces from the softening organ.  As he 
licked and kissed, bringing more moans of pleasure from 
Legolas, he slid a slickened finger deep into the elf's 
entrance.

There was no way Legolas could stifle the cry that erupted 
from him.  He felt it begin deep in his groin, the double 
assault of pleasure overwhelming any remaining sense of 
discretion.  Jamming one fist into his own mouth he 
thrashed his head left and right when a second finger 
joined the first, and when a third opened him even more.  
He bent his knees up, lifting his hips to thrust against 
the invading fingers, silently begging more.  In a brief 
moment of clarity he pulled the pillow from beneath his 
head and shoved it under the small of his back.

"Now, Aragorn," he whispered, his voice hoarse and gasping.  
"Now!"

He barely felt Aragorn's fingers retreat before they were 
replaced by the thick pillar of the man's sex.  It plunged 
into him, stretching him more, pushing past the sensitive 
gland deep within him.  He was filled with the throbbing 
heat until he thought he could take no more, then blessedly 
Aragorn pulled back, leaving only the bulbous head inside, 
the rim tugging at the tight ring of muscle.  Legolas took 
a deep breath, only to have it forced from him as Aragorn's 
next thrust drove even more deeply into him.

Again and again the man pulled back and thrust, each time 
pushing farther into the elf, each time sending undeniable 
surges of passion to every part of the elf's body.  No 
other lover had ever filled him so deeply, and Legolas 
silently called on the Valar to give him the strength to 
take all this man would give him.  He felt the hair of the 
man's body against his cheeks, and knew he had finally 
taken Aragorn's full length.  He wrapped his long legs 
around the man's waist when the rhythm of thrust and 
withdraw changed.  Keeping a constant pressure against the 
elf's body, Aragorn twisted from side to side, moving his 
sex deep inside the elf.

Aragorn's head was flung back as he tried to push even 
deeper into the elf, his chest heaving with each gasped 
breath.  Legolas lifted his arms to the man's shoulders and 
pulled him down, trapping his own re-hardened organ between 
them.  He captured Aragorn's head in his grasp and guided 
his mouth to his own.  Their tongues dueled, first in one 
mouth, then in the other, and they breathed each other's 
breath as they climbed the precipice of passion, each of 
them calling the other's name as they fell into the abyss 
of release.

It seemed a long time to Legolas that he idly toyed with 
Aragorn's hair, twisting and twirling his long fingers in 
the dark strands.  He felt the man's breathing change, a 
shuddering gasp taking the place of the slow, shallow 
breaths.  "Ah," he sighed, and kissed the man's forehead.  
"You come back to me."

"I did not mean to…"

"Hush, *melethron-nîn*.  We have time to rest together."

They lay still for a long moment, only the slip of fingers 
on sweat-slickened skin and their still ragged breathing 
breaking the silence.  The alabaster skin quivered under 
the man's touch.  "Come kiss me again, *Estel*."  He tipped 
Aragorn's chin back and let him shift position so their 
lips met again.  Their hunger for one another sated, their 
kisses were soft and tender.

As their time together was short, they drew apart before 
their passions could flare again, and rested peacefully for 
some moments more.

"I shall remember this for all the ages," Legolas 
whispered, half to himself, then kissed Aragorn's brow once 
again.

"How did you know I wanted this?"  The question startled 
the elf, but in truth, it was the type of inquiry he would 
expect of Aragorn.

"It has been in your eyes," he answered, then breathed 
deeply, "and your scent.  I have known since before Lórien, 
before Moria.  Perhaps even before we left Imladris."  Bow-
calloused fingers touched the jewel that lay in the hollow 
of the man's throat.  "I feared there would always be 
something — someone — between us."

"You have wanted me that long?" Aragorn whispered.

"Since first I saw you, all those years ago," the elf 
admitted, a blush rising across the alabaster skin.  "But I 
have always been easily -- "

" -- seduced?"  Laughter glinted in the pale blue eyes.

"Attracted."

"Why now?"

"I sensed your need, *Estel*.  You are near despair that 
you will ever find your destiny.  You shy from asserting 
yourself to those who should be at your feet."  The elf-
prince bowed his head to the man who would be king.  "I 
would give you back your *self*."

The man sat up and away from the recumbent elf.  Gazing 
into the blue eyes he fingered a flaxen braid before 
standing and without words donned his clothing.  As he 
fastened his jerkin his fingers brushed against the jewel 
of promise he wore.  

"You *will* be King, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Legolas 
continued.  He sat up and hugged his knees, then 
effortlessly rose from the bed and gathered up his own 
clothing.  "To seat you on the throne of Gondor is as much 
the mission of this quest as the destruction of the One 
Ring."

He pulled on his leggings and shrugged into his shirt and 
surcoat.  "The time of Elves in Middle-earth is ending; you 
know that.  The Age of Men is upon us."

"I have never wanted this."  He buckled his belt, knife and 
sword sheaths still empty while they bode in the Hall of 
Théoden King.

"I know.  The tide of fate rarely consults the destined.  
Though I am a younger son, I, too, must be prepared to one 
day lead my people, as much as I hope it will never come to 
me."  He pulled on his boots, then straightened.  He stood 
before Isildur's Heir and placed his hands upon the man's 
shoulders.

"Your destiny is come, Aragorn; you must meet it head on."

The End

Notes:
melethron-nîn — my lover

c 2002 Emma Keigh