****************************
 
Title: Destiny Part 1
Author: Lady Osolone
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: PG13 for this episode - whole story will veer between PG13 and NC17
Disclaimer: Legolas is mine, Aragorn belongs to Elfie and Boromir is betrothed 
to the Lady of the Silver Cobwebs. Oh, all right then, they all belong to the 
Tolkien Estate and I’m not making any money from this. I’m just playing with 
‘em and I promise to put them back when I’ve finished.
Distribution: Just let me know where its going
Summary: Aragorn muses
Author’s notes: This scene is set in Rivendell, just prior to the Concil of 
Elrond. Aragorn and Legolas have not seen each other for three years, since 
shortly after Aragorn’s betrothal and bond to the Lady Undomiel was 
announced. The next short chapter will be Legolas’ POV on their meeting, 
before we get into the story proper.
 
Rivendell
(Aragorn’s POV)
We are but pawns in the great game of destiny. Or so the Lord Elrond once told 
me.
I did not realise the significance of those words. Until.
Until I was called several years ago, to Rivendell . . . on that cold Autumn day 
after Harvest-tide, with the dripping leaves turning a myriad hues of russet, red 
and gold, and the mists hanging low over the valley . . . called before Elrond 
and his council, and informed of the Revelation.
The wisest of his Council had stood slowly, and solemnly, and told me of what 
had been revealed to them, of the prophecy, of its fulfillment.
That the soul of Beren was beleived to have been reborn in my body, his far 
distant descendant and son.
Just as the soul of Luthien Tinuviel, his immortal love, had been reborn in 
Arwen Undomiel, Elrond’s beoved daughter.
The love of Beren and Luthien was too pure, too everlasting in its essence to be 
dispersed by death. In every age, their souls would be born anew, into two who 
would continue their love, in its purest and deepest form. Arwen and I were 
those so destined. 
I remember meeting Arwen’s shining midnight blue eyes, which gleamed with 
unspoken joy at this knowledge. We had long been close, indeed, I had often 
suspected that her feelings for me went deeper than mere filial affection, but 
now we were bound, bound together with unbreakable bonds, which 
represented all the Elven race held dear, their legends, their history, the very 
meaning of their existence. Destiny had willed us to be another’s chosen 
soulmate, for all of eternity.
How could I reveal that my heart had already chosen the one it longed to 
treasure forever?
I am pledged to the Lady Undomiel, destiny had played its hand, made its 
move, and I, in the name of all my heart holds dear, am unable to resist. 
I am merely a pawn, after all.
But now, when I see him standing not quite ten feet away from me . . . ethereal 
in his other-wordly perfection . . . his hair is like burnished gold, never quite 
tamed by braids and clasps . . . a few stray silken strands are stirring slightly 
around his angelic face in the cool breeze that flows down from the mountains. 
His lithe form is covered in the silvery folds of a formal Elven robe . . . strange 
to see him so clad, I am used to his simpler tunics and breeches of the warm 
mossy colours beloved by his people, the Silvan race. . . when I see him here, 
so close to me after three long years of separation, I long to throw myself at the 
feet of destiny and beg for mercy.
He turns, and for the first time he sees me, although I am well aware that his 
exquisitely-tuned senses have long registered my presence behind him. His 
smile is gentle.
"Estel" he says softly. And he holds out his hand - his long, slim fingered hand, 
its unblemished skin as soft as the finest satin and as pale as the purest marble, 
that dear hand which can inflict so much destruction when he draws his bow 
and expertly releases volley after devastating volley of Elven arrows, but at the 
same time is capable of being an instrument of total pleasure, of inflicting the 
most excruciating of lovers’ touches, of capturing my very soul . . .
I take his hand, marvelling at the contrast between his slim, ivory fingers and 
my own, clumsy, bronzed and calloused ones, although he is infinitely older 
than I and has handled many more a weapon than I ever have or shall. I take his 
hand and hold it for a moment in my own, possessing a small piece of his 
beauty, unwilling to relinquish it, before I lift it to my lips, and stifle a groan as 
they graze the sweetest and tenderest flesh that ever existed.
"Legolas" I breathe, the ache in my heart threatening to tear apart my very 
chest. "It has been too long."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End Chapter 1



Title: Destiny Part 2
Author: Lady Osolone
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: PG13 for this episode - whole story will veer between PG13 and NC17
Disclaimer: Legolas is mine, Aragorn belongs to Elfie and Boromir is betrothed to the 
Lady of the Silver Cobwebs. Oh, all right then, they all belong to the Tolkien Estate and 
I’m not making any money from this. I’m just playing with ‘em and I promise to put 
them back when I’ve finished.
Distribution: Just let me know where its going
Summary: Aragorn muses
Warning: Graphic M/M sex in part 3! You have been warned! No like - no read!
Genre: Slashy Romance/Angst
Author’s notes: This scene is set in Rivendell, just prior to the Concil of Elrond. Aragorn 
and Legolas have not seen each other for three years, since shortly after Aragorn’s 
betrothal and bond to the Lady Undomiel was announced. .
Rivendell
Legolas’ POV
The Star of Luthien has always guided me, since my boyhood, I have beleived in its Light 
as a saving grace in the Darkness of the world, which is growing ever more day by day.
I am noble, I am brave, or so I am told. We Elves are held in fascination by the minds of 
Men, which are so much simpler in contrast. They think us exquisite, yet do not realise 
the agony of a heart and a mind which is perpetual.
For Men, pain lasts as long as a mortal lifetime. One lover dies, they grieve and find 
another. 
For Elves, pain is eternal.
We have been called here to this place to face the growing darkness which is casting its 
hideous shadow over our world - a world which I no longer recognise as the beautiful 
place it once was.
And he is here. So close. I can almost hear the beat of his dear heart.
Mine own is threatening to burst from my chest, it has hammered so hard ever since we 
entered the gates of Imladris, knowing he was here. It has been three long years since we 
were last together, since I was told of the prophecy concerning my dearest Estel, and the 
Lady Arwen. 
Since I resigned myself to the necessity of letting him go.
* * * 
I have known him since he was a youth - sweetly beautiful then, yet with an air of 
majesty about him that denoted his noble birth. And I have to say that I have loved him 
almost as long as I have known him. We spent many happy days together then, as he 
learned to hunt and to fight - I taught him archery as the Lord Elrond taught him 
swordsmanship. We would ride out together, he and I, with Elladan and Elrohir, in search 
of adventure, and, all too often we found it. However, there was always a warm and safe 
fireside to return to in Imladris, a hot bath with scented oils to wash away the sweat and 
blood of the day, a fine meal and a goblet of finest mead to replenish our strength, before 
we retired to bed.
Even if, for Estel and I, our nights were often spent in pleasures other than sleep.
We Elves are not as easily seduced by the pleasures of the flesh as are Mortals. There are 
those among us who have lived millenia without knowing the sensual touch of another, 
because, so we beleive, they are above the need for such things. Excessive sexual activity 
tends to be viewed, particularly among the higher Elven houses, as coarse and Mortal - a 
weakness. Estel and I did not give into our desire for each other for a long time. Instead 
our friendship, comradery and finally our love, grew, blossoming like a rose, from 
tremulous bud it opened and bloomed forth into voluminous fullness before it began to 
crave the nourishment of the physical. Although I imagine for Estel that this desire had 
long been in his breast, men being what they are. But he waited, he controlled himself as 
is fitting for a man of such noble ancestry and blood, until, when that night finally came, 
it was all the more beautiful.
Unfortunately, just a day later, we parted, not to set eyes on each other again for these 
three long years. And now he stands behind me, the betrothed soulmate of the Lady 
Undomiel. I am his comrade, his friend. Nothing more.
I turn to greet him. His eyes are as blue as ever, although there are a few more fine lines 
at their corners, and I notice a slight touch of grey at his temple that was not there before. 
I want to press my lips to it, to urge it to be glossy raven black again, to nourish it with 
my love. Has the absence of my love caused the colour to leave his sweet locks, care to 
wear away at his handsome face, the sparkle to flee those dearest of eyes? 
Instead I offer him my hand.
He takes it in his own. His hand is as it always was - warm, rough and calloused . . and 
strong, so strong - a delicious Mortal strength that I once had the luxury of knowing he 
would spend in my defence. It is strange - he always thought of me as fragile, like a 
beautiful flower that could easily be crushed, as I suppose my appearance would lead 
anyone to beleive. But to me he is the delicate one - with all his mortal fragility. A few 
years can carve lines on his dear face, paint his raven locks with grey. Illness or a simple 
accident could take him from me, and even if they do not, the advancing years surely 
will. He is fragile - far too fragile for me to love, but I have no choice in this matter - I 
suppose that loving him was my destiny as his was to wed the Lady Evenstar.
His lips brush my hand, and I have to strangle a gasp. They are rough as always, rough 
and full of passion, I know well the feelings they can create when they roam over my 
body, worshipping every part of me. 
I swallow those memories, and instead content myself with looking deeply into his lovely 
eyes, so blue - as blue as the sea which calls to our kind from far away. Or rather . . . the 
summer sky. The small glimpses of it which peek through the canopy of leaves when one 
lies on the soft grass of the forest in my home. The sunlight illuminates the leaves, just as 
his presence illuminates my heart.
He takes my hand in his, and we move towards the hall, where many others of my kind 
have already gathered. Our eyes rarely leave each others’ as we walk. We do not speak, 
speech is unnecessary at this moment. We are twin souls, long sundered, and finally re-
united . . . even if only partially. It is enough.
************
We are here to discuss the strange things that have been happening all around us, the 
darkness that is growing and threatening to envelop our world. There is hope, surely. For 
there are here in this very Company pure hearts, steadfast souls, and those who would lay 
down their very lives for the Light. The Lady Evenstar has gifted Estel with her own and 
he wears the pendant around his neck as a sign. The rebirth of Beren and Luthien is to all 
of Elvenkind a joyous portent, which tells us that pain and fear can never truly triumph in 
a world where the Light of Eru still resides.
Yet, for me, the greatest light of all pours forth from my Estel’s eyes. Not my Estel, and 
yet he is - he once was. I find little comfort other than that he is near. The insult thrown at 
him by the Son of Gondor drove me hastily to my feet in his defence. Uncaring of the 
shocked glances I received from those present at the council - I will protect that which I 
value most highly. 
I met his eyes as I re-took my seat, saw his look of concern "You should not have done 
that, fair one" I heard his voice chide in my head. No matter. He has my protection 
whether he wants it or not.
When the Quest is announced, I stand forth. For I can think of no greater honour than to 
represent my race in this endeavour to banish darkness from our world forever, ensuring 
the perpetual reign of light. Then will the souls of Beren and Luthien Tinuviel be able 
once again to unite and peace will lie on our lands. As for my own soul, I believe that 
will be called away. For to desire my Estel would be to desire the breaking of his bond to 
the Evenstar, the prevention of the prophecy’s fulfilment and the eventual return of the 
great Light. I will not be an instrument of the Darkness. 
Yes, Elves can die from grief and I know that will be my fate once Estel slips the 
jewelled band onto Undomiel’s fair hand and clasps her to himself. But my work will 
have been done - I desire no more than to fulfill my destiny as a warrior against the 
darkness.
And to fight at HIS side one last time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End Chapter 2
next chapters will get smuttier, I promise!!!!


Title: Destiny Part 3
Author: Lady Osolone
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: NC17 for this episode - whole story will veer 
between PG13 and NC17
Disclaimer: Legolas is mine, Aragorn belongs to Elfie and 
Boromir is betrothed to the Lady of the Silver Cobwebs. 
Oh, all right then, they all belong to the Tolkien Estate and 
I’m not making any money from this. I’m just playing with 
‘em and I promise to put them back when I’ve finished.
Distribution: Just let me know where its going
Summary: Aragorn muses
Warning: Graphic M/M sex! You have been warned! No 
like - no read!
Genre: Slashy Romance/Angst
Three years earlier.
Aragorn had been raised among the Elves, he had been 
tutored in their ways. To him, their magical swiftness of 
foot and action, their lightness of step, every thing about 
them that exceeded his own kind in perfection was not as 
strange to him as it may have been to an "ordinary" man. 
He was used to it. So used to it in fact that he sometimes 
forgot that he was not one of them.
Leaving the cold and lonely life of a Ranger for just a few 
weeks, he was here in Rivendell with his foster family and 
closest friends, a place that to him would always signify 
home and contentment. He, his dear friend and Elven-
brother Legolas (whom as usual had greeted him with the 
utmost affection), Elladan and Elrohir had been riding 
through the mountainous forest country that skirted 
Rivendell, and as usual, the twin sons of Elrond were 
hunting their favourite sport - Orcs. 
These hideous beings in all their vile glory presented little 
match for the speed and skill of the three Elven princes - 
when they came upon a company, rooting through the 
spoils of a small log cabin, the previous occupants of which 
lay lifeless on the bloodstained grass outside, the fight was 
quick and fairly one-sided. The twins’ sword blades flashed 
unceasingly as they hewed through the monstrous foe, 
Legolas’ arrows, as fleet in the air as the archer was of foot, 
flew in unending vollies from his bow, and Aragorn 
himself, working up a mortal sweat, hacked his way 
through many of the foul company before he found himself 
surrounded. His skill with a blade was almost unrivalled 
and he was noted among the Elves of Rivendell as a 
swordsman of greatest prowess, yet the fact remained that 
his power was in his mortal strength, rather than the nimble 
speed and dexterity of the Elves. Unable to fend off so 
many foes at once, he received a crushing blow to his right 
arm, the jagged blade of an Orc’s poisonous dagger slicing 
roughly through the skin and partly into the muscle. His 
doublet sleeve quickly became dark with blood and a haze 
swam before his eyes. He was aware of the hideous face of 
his assailant lit for a moment with a grin of terrible 
triumph, before an arrow came singing from his left, 
lodging itself firmly in the Orcs’ black heart. The 
monstrous face contorted in agony, and the heavy body 
lurched and fell, before Aragorn was aware of slim arms 
pulling him to safety, and the swish of Elven blades as the 
twins routed the remaining Orcs, sending them fleeing back 
into the safety of the mountains. 
A darkness descended over Aragorn and for a while he 
knew no more.
******
When he came to his senses he felt beneath him the smooth 
and steady movement of his horse. Around his waist were 
slim, green-clad arms, and pale hands held the reigns in 
front of him, expertly steering the steed along the wooded 
hillpath. Aragorn stirred slightly and made to turn around, 
but Legolas’ voice came softly to his ears. 
"Hush, Estel" he murmured gently. "You have been hurt 
and we need to get back to Imladris as soon as possible. 
Try not to move - Elladan has bound up your wound, but it 
may start to bleed again. You cannot afford to lose any 
more blood than you already have."
Glancing down at his shoulder, Aragorn saw the sleeve of 
his doublet torn away and a piece of blue cloth which he 
recognised as coming from Elladan’s tunic bound tightly 
around the bicep area, which throbbed painfully. His 
forearm from the elbow down was dark red with dried 
blood. The sight made him feel slightly nauseous and he 
closed his eyes, leaning back against Legolas’ chest. The 
slim elf was so much stronger than he looked, and at this 
moment, Aragorn was glad of his dear friend’s presence. 
He let his head loll backwards onto Legolas’ shoulder, a 
strand of pale gold hair slightly tickling his cheek. Aragorn 
inhaled purposefully, Legolas’ hair always carried the 
sweet scent of honeysuckle, and the green aroma of the 
forest. It was a scent that to him represented security.
He felt foolish. A piece of meaningless sport, a thoughtless 
attempt at heroism, and here he slumped, wounded and 
bleeding in the arms of his fair Elven-brother, helpless as a 
child. He was too old to be seeking such sport like a youth 
with his first sword. His life, as he had been told, was more 
important than that.
*******
Aragorn must have lost conciousness again for a while, or 
else dozed, for he was aware of little more than brief 
snatches of time - being lifted gingerly from the horse by a 
servant of Lord Elrond, the melodious voice of Legolas 
ordering "be careful, don’t jolt him!", the sweet smell of 
clean linen beneath his cheek and the face of the Lord 
Elrond, swimming slightly in and out of his vision, a look 
of concern in his grey eyes. Warmth and a stinging 
sensation against his wound, a steaming, strong-smelling 
potion that made him gag as the cup was held to his lips. 
The faces of his friends, and of Legolas, his dear sweet 
Legolas, stroking his hair softly with a smooth hand and 
bidding him to sleep. 
He slept for a long time, or so it seemed, for when he 
awoke it was early evening. 
Allowing his eyes to accustom to the half light he looked 
around carefully. The windows were slightly open and a 
cool evening breeze blew in, stirring the light gold fabric 
that draped them. Glancing at his wounded shoulder, he 
saw that it had been carefully bound with clean cloth, and 
the smell of Magdarast, a favoured healing-herb of Lord 
Elrond, faintly hit his nostrils. He lay among fresh linen 
sheets, scented slightly with lavender. Again, a feeling of 
intense foolishness hit him, to have put himself in such 
danger and suffered such an injury, needlessly.
A soft knocking on the door drew his attention. The door 
opened slowly, and in came Legolas. He was carrying a 
tray of food.
Aragorn’s breath caught at the sight of his friend’s 
beautiful smile. Legolas came towards him, balancing the 
tray gingerly and laid it on the small table beside the bed. 
He reached over and smoothed Aragorn’s brow.
"It is good to see you awake, dear Estel" he murmured. 
"You have slept for over a day."
Aragorn raised eyebrows in surprise.
Legolas smiled and esconced himself gracefully on the side 
of the bed.
"I was thinking that perhaps you might be hungry" he said. 
"So I arranged to have our evening meal prepared and 
brought it here".
Aragorn’s stomach was beginning to growl at the delicious 
scent of the food which Legolas had brought. He raised 
himself up, wincing slightly at the pain in his arm. Legolas 
gently supported him, placing a pillow behind his back. 
The sheets pooled in Aragorns’ lap, his bronzed, well 
muscled chest with its slight covering of dark hair, exposed 
to the cool evening air. 
Legolas swallowed. The familiar feeling of desire that 
awoke in him whenever he was alone with his dear Estel 
like this had begun to throb in his lower body. His stomach 
turned over and he looked away, busying himself with 
heaping Aragorn’s plate with food and pouring him a cup 
of warm mead that was made from the finest honey of 
Rivendell.
Aragorn watched his beautiful friend and Elven-brother as 
he did so. The Elf was the most stunning creature Aragorn 
had ever encountered, despite a life spent among the 
Elvenkind. The beauty of the youngest Prince of Mirkwood 
was legendary, and Aragorn well remembered how those 
emerald eyes had seared into his heart on their first 
meeting, how he had been struck dumb by the loveliness of 
the Prince. It had been to his great delight that he had 
grown to know that the Prince was a lovely to know as he 
was to look at. He was surely Aragorn’s greatest friend and 
brother.
Although the Man wished deeply for the Elven Prince to be 
so much more.
Legolas caught his gaze and held it over the rim of his cup. 
Aragorn’s heart gave a strange beat.
The Elven Prince laid aside his cup and, with slight 
hesitation, took Aragorn’s hand in his own. He gazed down 
for a moment, marvelling at the strength of the man’s 
fingers, so different to his own.
"I was afraid" he said at last, not raising his eyes to the 
Man’s face. He traced the larger, thicker fingers within his 
grasp with his own, ivory-pale ones. "Afraid that . . . you 
would not recover. You lost so much blood, Estel, in all my 
days I have not seen a Man bleed so, and we feared we 
would not get you back to Imladris in time, that you would 
die in my arms before we arrived here. You have an Elf’s 
skill with a blade, Estel, but you do not have an Elf’s 
swiftness or powers of healing. And I fear for you, 
sometimes, when we hunt together. I fear that you will be 
taken from me."
Aragorn laid aside his plate and sat up a little more, moving 
slightly closer to the Prince. He tightened his grip around 
the pale hand him his, glanced down briefly and then up 
into the beautiful face of his dear one.
"And that would grieve your heart?" he murmured, softly, 
his lips almost touching the Elf’s cheek.
The emotion in the beautiful green eyes, made Aragorn’s 
own heart tighten and leap within his breast. They filled 
with tears.
"More than you could know" the Prince whispered, 
brokenly.
It seemed little more than a beat before Aragorn and the 
Elven Prince were in each others’ arms. Aragorn sighed 
deeply with the joy at finally being able to embrace his 
beloved in this way. He pulled away only slightly before 
pressing his lips to Legolas’, tasting their sweetness for the 
first time.
Legolas moaned gently against Aragorn’s mouth and his 
lips parted, seeking Aragorn’s presence. The Man’s tongue 
slipped between them, filling the Elf’s sweet mouth, 
tasting, exploring.
Their softs moans of pleasure filled the air - for so long 
they had desired this moment. Aragorn’s fingers shook 
slightly as he took the laces of Legolas’ tunic and began to 
untie them. A quick and anxious glance at the face of his 
beloved assured him that this was what the Elven Prince 
wanted. He untied the tunic and slipped it from slim 
shoulders, turning his attention to the white silk shirt 
beneath.
Legolas slipped the shirt from his body and bared his chest 
to Aragorn’s sight. The man drew in a breath. Never had he 
seen such beauty. Legolas was sculpted like a statue of the 
finest and purest marble, every muscle perfectly defined, 
curve and line. Aragorn’s trembling fingers traced a path 
down Legolas’ collarbones and finally found the small pink 
nubs of the Prince’s nipples, beginning to tighten in the 
cool evening breeze. 
Softly he rubbed them between his fingertips, drawing an 
exquisite cry from that perfect throat. Lowering his head, 
Aragorn took one tender pink bud between his lips and 
sucked it into full hardness. Legolas’ slim hand flew to the 
back of his head, holding Aragorn at his breast. The Elf 
murmered soft words of love in high-Sindarin, the language 
of the poets and bards of that tongue, which Aragorn 
understood only vaguely. However, the sentiment 
expressed in those words transcended language.
"You are my own, beloved. My soul and yours are as one"
Raising his head from his dear one’s breast, Aragorn laid 
the Prince gently back onto the soft linen. His eyes gleamed 
with anticipation and with promise, of what was to come.
"At last" he whispered. "I have dreamed of this moment for 
so long, dearest one. Finally we can become one , I will 
make love to you, and you will become mine, forever."
Legolas shivered.
Aragorn began to kiss a path of fire from the Princes’ brow, 
down over his slim, shapely nose, full ,moist lips and chin, 
down his slender neck and along his collar, down onto his 
firm pectoral muscles and the defined muscles of his 
abdomen. When he came to the waist of Legolas’ breeches, 
he stopped and glanced up at his beloved’s face.
Legolas smiled at him tenderly, reaching down to run his 
fingers through the unruly black locks. The Elven Prince 
was a virgin this night, having been born of a high Elven 
family, an ethereal race for whom the temptations of a 
lustful nature were generally avoided until one had found 
he or she who was their soulmate. Legolas knew that 
Aragorn was this one, and this night would be a 
demonstration of this, making it a reality that he and 
Aragorn were bethrothed to be together forever. He had no 
hesitation, other than the natural nervousness of entering 
into an act he had not previously experienced. But he 
trusted his Estel totally.
Aragorn’s heart leapt with joy at the realisation the Legolas 
was bestowing upon him this greatest of gifts. He pressed a 
tender kiss to the Prince’s flat stomach, before taking the 
waistband of Legolas’ breeches in his hands and drawing 
them down the shapely legs.
The Man sat back on his heels, speechless at the beauty 
which lay in front of him. Legolas could not help a blush 
and squirmed slightly under Aragorn’s intense gaze. The 
blue eyes of his lover were blazing with a heat and a 
passion that frightened him nearly as much as it excited.
Aragorn’s hand traced the outline of his dear one’s body, 
skin as pare and pure as ivory. At the apex of the slender 
and shapely thighs, the Elf’s organ, long and very aroused, 
rose from a nest of dark golden curls. Aragorn moaned, yet 
he kept his hands at his sides. Legolas’ eyes roamed 
impatiently over Aragorn’s chest, and he reached out to the 
waist of Aragorn’s leggings. With a smile, Aragorn drew 
them down, exposing his body fully to his lover.
Legolas’ eyes grew big as they took in the site of his Estel’s 
aroused hardness, its considerable length and girth, jutting 
proudly from his body. As if drawn by a force he could not 
control, the Elf reached out and wrapped his slim fingers 
around the aching shaft, drawing a deep moan from the lips 
of the Man. He stroked, once, twice, then released the 
member, leaned in closer and took the head of Aragorn’s 
manhood onto his tongue. Aragorn cried out, his hands 
fisting in soft golden locks. Legolas closed his eyes and 
suckled hard at the delicious treat between his lips, the 
scent of his Estel so strong here, the taste musky and 
divine. He began to slide the length of the shaft slowly into 
his mouth, but Aragorn’s hand under his chin stopped him. 
Legolas looked up in surpise, assuming he had done 
something wrong, but his heart melted at the sight of his 
lover, biting his lip in an effort to keep control.
"I don’t think I will last long that way, my fair one" 
Aragorn whispered. "And I want to be inside your body 
when I come".
Legolas’ heart skipped a beat at these words. He took 
Aragorn into his arms and pressed their bodies together, the 
man’s hair covered chest against his own, smooth as silk. 
They pressed their hips close, naked erections meeting for 
the first time. Both moaned deeply. Aragorn laid his blonde 
beauty back onto the sheet, one hand stroking his own 
member lazily.
He reached across to the table beside the bed, where stood a 
small earthen pot filled with salve. Legolas watched 
hungrily as Aragorn scooped some of the salve onto his 
fingers and slowly began to stroke his own member with its 
slickness, closing his eyes in pleasure.
Aragorn’s blue eyes opened and he smiled at the Elf whom 
he adored above all else. "Raise you knees, sweetest one" 
he murmured, and nervously, Legolas did as he was bade. 
Aragorn gently pushed his lover’s thighs apart, exposing 
him fully. He scooped out a large amount of the salve, 
spread it over his two longest fingers, and then placed then 
at the flower between Legolas’ buttocks. With a gentle 
push, the first finger entered.
Legolas tensed immediately and emitted a slight whimper. 
Leaning over, Aragorn gently kissed the still swollen lips 
and held his finger still while his lover grew accustomed to 
its presence. Slowly he began to work it in and out, 
swirling it slightly until it came into contact with that 
sweetest of spots deep within his dear one’s body. Legolas 
cried out and arched off the bed. Aragorn repeated the 
motion and when the tight ring of muscle around his fingers 
had sufficiently relaxed, he inserted another finger.
Legolas rocked back an forth, in an agony of delight, he 
had no idea that the mere preparations for the act could be 
so pleasureable, so divine. When Aragorn finally withdrew 
his fingers he made a small noise of disappointment, 
silenced by the look from his lover’s blue eyes as the Man 
moved over him, one hand on his own erection which was 
weeping with need.
Aragorn pressed a passionate kiss to Legolas’ full lips, then 
gazed deeply into his lover’s green eyes, the pupils of 
which were fully dilated.
"Do you want me?" he whispered
"Oh yes!" Exclaimed Legolas, clutching at his lover’s 
muscular thighs. "Ai . . . yes, Estel . . .!"
"Shh" Aragorn soothed. He positioned himself over the Elf, 
until his aching manhood touched the entrance. Then he 
slowly began to push inside.
Immediately Legolas tensed again, Aragorn felt the velvety 
flesh around him tighten to the point of pain. He paused in 
his minstrations to reach down and gently massage the tight 
ring of muscle, stretched wide around his arousal. Legolas 
murmured softly with approval and began to relax, 
allowing Aragorn to slide the rest of his aching length into 
his Elf’s warm body.
For a moment neither moved. Their eyes met and held over 
what seemed an eternity.
"Mine" whispered Aragorn softly, gazing rapt into his 
lover’s eyes. He took Legolas’ slim fingered hand and 
placed it over his own heart.
"Yours" he said, his voice beginning to break with emotion.
Legolas smiled, despite the tears of joy which were 
beginning to prick his eyes.
"Mine" he repeated after Aragorn. "And you know my 
heart is yours, dearest Estel. It always will be"
Aragorn began to move, slowly, thrusting into his 
beloved’s tight depths. They coupled slowly and sensually 
for a long while until their passion began to get the better of 
them and Aragorn’s thrusts increased to match the arching 
movements of his lover. Their lips met the instant that 
Legolas’ release began to surge through his body and he 
moaned deeply into Aragorn’s mouth. Aragorn followed 
moments later, filling his beloved with his mortal seed.
They lay together for a while, breathless and speechless 
with joy. Aragorn turned to the Elf and saw that the green 
eyes were swimming with tears of happiness. He brushed 
them away and planted a soft kiss upon the swollen lips.
"My beloved" he murmured, pulling Legolas into his arms.
Legolas laid his head on the strong chest of his lover, 
feeling the soft prickle of hair under his cheek, the 
heartbeat slowing returning to normal. He belonged to 
Aragorn now, as surely as the Man belonged to him. They 
would be together for the rest of Aragorn’s mortal life.
*******
It was only a day later that they separated, Legolas being 
called home by his father to attend to important business. 
They exchanged many a kiss and tears were shed. Aragorn 
swore on his bended knee that Legolas would from now on 
be his only, and that they would be formally betrothed by 
the coming of Winter, while Legolas in his part determined 
to inform his father of his love for Isildur’s Heir, knowing 
that Thranduil would be content for his son to marry so 
great a Man. They parted, therefore, happily.
It was only a week later, however, that Aragorn was 
recalled to Rivendell, and the Prophecy’s fulfillment was 
revealed. In a moment, Legolas and Aragorn were torn 
apart, and Aragorn was pledged to the Lady Undomiel. It 
would be three long years before they set eyes on each 
other again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
end chapter 3


Title: Destiny Part 4
Author: Lady Osolone
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: PG13 for this episode - whole story will veer between PG13 and NC17
Disclaimer: Legolas is mine, Aragorn belongs to Elfie and Boromir is betrothed to the 
Lady of the Silver Cobwebs. Oh, all right then, they all belong to the Tolkien Estate and 
I’m not making any money from this. I’m just playing with ‘em and I promise to put 
them back when I’ve finished.
Distribution: Just let me know where its going
Summary: Aragorn muses
Warning: Graphic M/M sex in part 3 and chapters to come! You have been warned! No 
like - no read!
Genre: Slashy Romance/Angst
Author’s Notes: Dedicated to Rune for licking this into shape with a brilliant beta, and to 
Kirsty and Elfie for encouraging me to write again!!!
*****************
 
It was the evening after the Council, and Legolas stood alone, one slim, pale hand resting 
lightly on the intricately carved railings of the balcony outside his rooms, gazing out at 
the moonlit landscape before him. Above the turbulent, inky black waters of the falls, the 
far peaks of the Misty Mountains rose high against the midnight blue sky, their ice-
capped tips glittering under the light of the stars which whispered soft consolation to him. 
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog slightly in the air. The day had been long and 
trying for Legolas, for more reasons beyond those he would have admitted to. 
His sensitive elven hearing picked up a faint movement behind him. His heart began to 
beat faster at the sound, and at the familiar scent of leather and sweat which assailed his 
nostrils. He did not however, turn around and continued to stand in contemplation of the 
scene before him, moonlight illuminating his golden hair and beautiful, rapt features. 
"The stars are singing loudly tonight," he said softly. "And the air is so clear I feel that I 
could see to the ends of the Earth and beyond." 
The dark man came up behind him, laying a bronzed, callused hand on the silver fabric of 
the elven robe that covered Legolas' slim shoulders. "And can you?" He asked. 
Legolas shook his head. "My vision is clouded" he replied, and in his melodious voice 
was a note of deep sadness, which pulled at the man's heartstrings. 
Aragorn, for it was he, followed the gaze of his companion out beyond the furthest tips of 
the high Mountains, and into the starlit sky. "So much is happening" he said, squeezing 
Legolas' shoulder, a movement which made the delicate Elf shiver slightly. "I feel as if 
the world I know is coming to a rough and abrupt end, and I do not know what will 
follow it". 
Legolas sighed. 
"For an elf, the world is always changing." He murmured. "And mine has been altered 
irretrievably". 
Aragorn felt a flash of pain in his heart. He fell silent for a few moments. "You defended 
me against the insults of the Captain of Gondor" he said, swallowing hard. 
Legolas shrugged. 
"I could not bear to hear him say such things about you. He does not know you, does not 
know who you are, and more importantly, what you are." 
"And who am I?" Aragorn replied, his voice a husky whisper, choked with emotion. 
Legolas trembled. 
"A dear friend" he replied, simply. 
Neither spoke for a moment. There was so much remaining unsaid between them, that it 
seemed like a silent taboo, a void that could not be crossed. 
Aragorn felt the frustration well up within him. He tightened his grip on the Elven 
Prince's shoulder and made to turn him around. 
"Legolas . . ." he began. 
The elf swiftly brushed away the man's hand, turned and finally met Aragorn's steel blue 
eyes, with his own eyes which were wide and green. For a moment the man was taken 
aback. They held his gaze for a few moments, steadily, yet betraying no trace of what 
Legolas was feeling. 
"Don't, Estel" he said, firmly. "Please don't." 
Anger swept through Aragorn at the immovable nature of this ethereal being, the typical 
stoic Elven reserve and composure, which hid emotion deep beneath a facade of serene 
beauty. He himself had been in an agitated state, sleepless for many nights whilst 
awaiting his former loved-one's arrival at Rivendell, and now that Legolas was here, the 
words that Aragorn so longed to say, had practised over and over again in the privacy of 
his room, were forbidden to him. He spun away from Legolas, unable to deal with his 
feelings. 
The Elf looked at him in some alarm. "I did not mean to . . ." he began, reaching out a 
pale, slender hand for the King of Men. 
Aragorn turned, gritting his teeth to try and staunch the flow of tears which were 
threatening to spill forth. He felt as if his heart were breaking all over again. 
"No, you never mean to" he replied evenly, as he gazed intently into the fathomless 
emerald depths of his once-beloved's eyes. "You have successfully swallowed and 
extinguished your feelings over this whole situation, and now in your cool Elvish manner 
you expect me to do the same! Well, as you told me on that night over three years ago, 
Legolas, I am no Elf, though I may dress, speak and fight like one. I cannot remain silent 
and detached for fear that my weak mortal heart will burst!" 
Legolas looked down. "Is that what you think?" He asked, so quietly that Aragorn could 
barely hear him. "That I've extinguished my feelings? How little you know me Estel!" 
Aragorn regarded him for a moment, and was shaken to see the first drops of moisture 
begin to bead the long lashed green eyes which were intently focused on the ground.
"How can you be so composed about this, Legolas?!" He exclaimed, reaching out to 
touch the soft fabric of the silver Elven robe once more. "My own heart has been torn 
into shreds and I barely know what or whom I believe in any longer! I was so selfish in 
my actions - to love you, to take from you that most precious of gifts, which can never be 
returned. And then to break the bond that we had forged because I was too cowardly to . . 
. " 
Legolas looked up sharply, his eyes blazing. "Do not say that!" He cried, pressing a 
finger to Aragorn's lips, an action which made the man start in its swiftness and fervour. 
"Do not ever call yourself a coward, else you insult both of us! You are a good man, 
Estel, a brave and righteous man, who will do whatever is right for the good of others - 
and I fell in love with you for exactly that. I treasure my love for you, and my pride in 
what you are, in my heart. It is more precious to me than life itself, and when I finally see 
you take your seat as King of the line of Isildur, with the fair Undomiel beside you, the 
prophesied unity of Men and Elves will be fulfilled and my heart will swell over with 
pride! You will fulfil your destiny as a valiant man, for I love you as such!" 
Legolas stopped and bit his lip, the admission having slipped from him so easily that he 
loved Aragorn still. The man, for his part, felt a swell of joy in his breast - he had not lost 
the Elf's precious heart, despite all that had transpired. 
"Thank you" he said, tenderly, and on an impulse, tucked a stray strand of golden hair 
behind Legolas' delicately pointed ear. 
Then he turned and left the room.
******* 
The chambers belonging to the Lord of Imladris were opulent and richly furnished, 
although ever mindful of the love of Elves for all the Earth's natural bounty. The pillars, 
which supported the ebony ceiling, were made of burnished mahogany, intricately carved 
in a myriad different leaf and vine patterns. Along the walls and ceiling this pattern 
continued, set with brilliant, semi-precious stones in shades of amber, azure, deep green 
and purple, upon the facets of which the firelight glimmered and flickered. 
It cast its golden glow also on the stately figure of the Lord Elrond, returned to his rooms 
at this late hour from the revelry that had only recently ceased in the great Hall of Fire. 
He wore robes of the deepest plum, which were ornamented with thread of gold and 
silver, the train of which swept the floor as he paced back and forth, his dark head bowed, 
and his pale hands clasped before him. 
The door opened a fraction and Elrond looked in its direction. He knew instinctively who 
stood without. 
"Estel" he said. The door opened and into the room stepped the tall figure of his mortal 
foster-son, dressed in a coat of shining silver mail, upon the shoulders of which his ebony 
locks lay in stark contrast. In the half light of the chamber, lit only by the otherworldly 
red glow from the fireplace, Elrond was struck by the regal bearing of this young man, 
whom he had reared as his own since a child, ever mindful of the destiny which lay 
before him. And now it seemed, that destiny was upon him. 
Upon them all. 
Aragorn's steel-blue eyes met the grey gaze of his foster-father. Elrond noticed, 
fleetingly, that there were heavy shadows beneath Estel's eyes - he thought little of it. It 
had been a trying day for everyone. 
"I have been waiting for you, Estel" he said, with hint of dry humour in his voice. He 
knew his foster-son was too old to chide over his tardiness. And he imagined well that he 
knew where the man had been. "Time presses on. It is nearly sunrise" 
Aragorn glanced away. 
"I am sorry father" he replied, using the age-old familiar name which he loved to call the 
Lord by. "There was someone I had to see. To . . say goodbye to. Before . . They, I mean 
we, leave". 
Elrond made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You will not be leaving immediately" 
he said, glancing at his son as if to gauge his reaction to this news. "There is much to 
arrange before the quest can start. I think that you and our Lady Evenstar will have 
several more evenings in which to enjoy each other's company before you are separated." 
Aragorn had fallen into a kind of reverie, hypnotised by the dancing flames of the fire, 
which seemed the only things in this dark and slightly claustrophobic room that held any 
life in them. At the mention of Lady Arwen's name, however, he started and looked back 
to Elrond, who was regarding him with a slight smile. There was paternal warmth in his 
deep dark eyes. 
Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again abruptly. He had not 
said his goodbye to Arwen yet. There was still time for that. 
"No, I . ." He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, pushing it back from his 
chiselled face. The golden firelight reflected on his strong features, and made his tanned 
skin gleam like finest bronze. He smiled sheepishly. "Actually it was a dear friend. 
Someone I have not seen in three years and who will no doubt be returning home as soon 
as the sun rises, now that his business at the Council is at an end" 
Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well I must therefore excuse your lateness. To be 
departed from such a friend so abruptly could only be a cause of great sorrow. However . 
. . " he paused, his hand tracing idly the rim of a glass goblet which stood on the table 
before him, a small, secretive smile playing around his lips. ". . . Your goodbyes may 
well have been premature, Estel. The Prince of Mirkwood will be accompanying you on 
your quest. He is to represent his race in the calling of the Fellowship." 
Aragorn's heart lurched in a sickening way, and for a moment he did not know how to 
react. 
To have Legolas beside him - to be with him throughout all that was to come, part of his 
soul soared for joy. The other part was thrown into mortal dread, lest in the harsh and 
bitter journey that they would surely endure, his sweet one should fall victim to an evil 
fate. Then Aragorn himself would have to face the eternal misery of knowing that he had 
not, or could not have saved him. 
He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. "What . . how?" 
Elrond smiled. "He pledged his bow to the service of the Halfling, Frodo. Legolas is a 
good and worthy Prince of his people, brave and true, and his skill with a bow is 
unrivalled. I also know that he has been a dear friend to you, Estel, and friendship will be 
most valuable in all that you will surely have to face on your quest," 
Aragorn felt sick. 
"I . . " He struggled to find the words. "I do not think . . ." 
Elrond frowned, obviously surprised at this reaction. "You are unhappy with my choice?" 
Aragorn looked at Elrond for a long time, and slowly shook his head. He took a deep 
breath. 
"Legolas is the finest archer I have ever known" he said at last. "He is fleet of foot, 
valiant, kind-hearted and faithful and will make the finest of companions and the truest of 
warriors. It is not for that reason that I would wish him not to accompany us." 
Aragorn paused, meeting Elrond's intense gaze only briefly. He licked his lips.
"Legolas is my dearest friend." he said, and dug his nails into the palm of his hand, 
hoping that the pain would give him the strength to carry on speaking. "In fact . . He is 
much, much more." 
"I have never told you this father, because the events surrounding the revelation of the 
Prophecy made it impossible to . . . but I have loved Legolas, and he me. The last time he 
was here with us in Imladris . . . three years ago . . . we . . . made a pledge of our love. I 
intended to speak with you about the possibility of our formal betrothal, but then I was 
recalled to your side, and the future of myself and the Lady Evenstar revealed so quickly, 
that I could not do it." 
All this time Elrond had watched his foster son, his expression betraying nothing of his 
inner feelings. When Aragorn finally finished speaking, his voice dying away almost to a 
whisper, Elrond finally spoke. 
Dragging a hand wearily over his forehead, the Lord of Imladris faced his son. 
"If what you say is true." He said gravely, with, as Aragorn thought he detected, a hint of 
sadness. "Then this indeed makes your position difficult. I had no idea that this had 
transpired, even though I was well aware of the close friendship between you and the 
Sylvan Prince. It is a grievous thing among our people for a betrothal bond to be taken 
out without the consent or approval of the families involved, much worse it is that it 
should be broken. I think we can content ourselves with the knowledge that your bond to 
Prince Legolas extended not beyond the exchange of promises. It has happened before 
and it will happen again, no doubt. However, I feel that he should still accompany you on 
your quest. I can think of no finer warrior to fight at your side, or make sure that you curb 
your impetuous nature and keep yourself safe." 
Elrond came forward and laid a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "I love you dearly" he 
said, and there was great tenderness in his voice. "I want the future to be full of hope for 
you. The Valar themselves have chosen our Evenstar to shine at your side, and I for one 
am delighted. Your love for the Prince was the product of your free existence here, before 
the heavy burden of your birthright and responsibilities fell upon your shoulders. In time 
you will forget about it. But he will remain a valuable friend to you and one whom I do 
not wish you to put aside." 
Aragorn looked into the eyes of his foster father. In them he could see nothing but trust 
and truth reflected. 
He shook his head vehemently. "I will never forget" he said, his voice beginning to break. 
"And neither will he. We were not foolish children father, but we knew that what we felt 
was right. Our bond has already been laid down because Legolas loved me . . . and 
trusted me . . . to the extent that . . . he gave me . . ." 
Aragorn was sobbing. 
"He gave me his everything. His innocence." He gasped. "I made him mine, father . . .and 
we were bonded. And no matter how hard I try to fulfil my duty I cannot break the bond 
that both my heart and body have made. . I cannot allow him to accompany me for fear of 
losing to an unspeakable fate one whom I still love so dearly! I love him father, no matter 
how hard I try not to - I still love him. . !" 
With this last anguished exclamation, Aragorn broke down, and was swiftly drawn into 
the comforting arms of his father, who held him while he cried, and made soothing noises 
of consolation. 
For he could think of nothing to say. 
 
******** 
End part 4 


Title: Destiny part 5 - “Losing it.”
Author: Lady Osolone  (khmfreeman@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: NC17 for this episode- whole story will veer between PG13 and 
NC17
Disclaimer: Legolas is mine, Aragorn belongs to Elfie and Boromir is 
betrothed to the Lady of the Silver Cobwebs. Oh, all right then, they all 
belong to the Tolkien Estate and I’m not making any money from this. I’m 
just playing with ‘em and I promise to put them back when I’ve finished.
Distribution: Melethryn Elfslash Archive, Library of Moria, Legolas 
Greenleaf Love. Or just let me know where its going.
Summary: Aragorn muses
Warning: Graphic M/M sex in this chapter and chapters to come! You 
have been warned! No like - no read!
Genre: Slashy Romance/Angst
Author’s Notes: Dedicated to Rune, Kirsty and Elfie for encouraging me 
to write again!!!
 
The next morning Aragorn woke early. As he opened his eyes, still 
smarting painfully from the tears he had shed the next before, he saw the 
room flooded with the golden light of early morning, the sun making her 
first tentative appearance over the horizon.

He rose and dressed quickly. Something inside him longed to be away. To 
leave behind Rivendell and all its confusing memories, to strike out into 
the wilds again, where life was much less complicated, and he could, for a 
short time, forget the daggers that pierced his heart. Even on their 
forthcoming quest, he would not be free of his pain, for Legolas would be 
beside him, beautiful and shining brightly into every glance, every gaze. A 
constant reminder of the hand that fate had decided to deal him.

The morning air was chill and tart in his lungs. Aragorn took great gulping 
breaths of it, hoping to clear out everything that was stale and old and 
hurtful within his breast. 

Ahead of him, the ground sloped gently upwards, cresting in a thicket of 
tress. To the right lay the lake, its frigid waters glassy and still in the chill 
dawn air. He made his way up the incline, into the shelters of the first trees 
- magnificent oaks, which had been old evven when the ancient foundations 
of Rivendell had been laid. Aragorn wondered what stories they could tell, 
and how many broken hearts they had witnessed in their long existence. 
He was just one more pawn in destiny’s game. These trees would stand 
here, magnificent, inspiring awe into the hearts of those that were 
confronted with them long after he was dead and dust in his grave - 
forgotten by all.

Except for one who was eternal. He wondered if his memory would live 
on at least in that most precious of hearts.

The trees eventually began to thin out and the sound of running water 
filled the air. In front of him lay a small lake, mounted by a high sandstone 
cliff, down which the falls of Rivendell tumbled. This was a little 
waterfall; insignificant compared to such great rapids of the Falls of 
Roaros, which men had long told tales of. The lake was bordered by 
smooth rocks and a strip of fine sand, whilst the trees formed a circle 
around it, providing enough cover for one to bathe there if they should so 
wish, with privacy.

Aragorn stopped silently behind one large oak, and pressed himself 
against its vast truck, feeling the coarse bark under his hands. Cautiously 
he peered around the trees’ girth and into the lake clearing, for he had 
sensed the presence of another.

A flash of golden hair in the dawn sunlight caught Aragorn’s attention, 
and his heart leapt within his breast.

Before him stood his beloved, naked to the waist as he knelt beside the 
lake, bathing his face in its crystal-clear waters. Aragorn watched, 
entranced, as slender hands cupped the sparkling, pure liquid and Legolas 
threw back his head, splashing his face and upper body with shimmering 
droplets that trickled over his shapely neck and shoulders. The elf’s cheeks 
were flushed pink from the cold, which served to enhance his delicate 
beauty. It was a sight that moved Aragorn so much that he trembled at the 
core of his very being.

Time stopped, seconds stretched into hours as he beheld the exquisite 
scene before him. Then silently as his Elvish training has taught him, he 
stepped into the clearing.

* * * 

Legolas was unaware of being watched as he bathed in the cold glory of 
the morning, seeking to wash away all vestiges of the previous night’s 
pain. So absorbed was he in his task that he jumped in surprise when a pair 
of strong, well muscled arms surrounded his waist from behind.
His head jerked up, his throat becoming strangely dry.

“Estel!” he gasped.

Warm lips touched the back of his neck making him shudder. He 
swallowed, feeling suddenly apprehensive.

“We should not . . .” he began, helplessly.

The strong hands which held him about the waist tightened and gently 
turned him, until he came face to face with a pair of greyish blue eyes, 
which seemed to bore into the depths of his very soul. Legolas’ words died 
on his lips, so intense was his Estel’s gaze. Those eyes held so much 
anguish, wonder, and so very much love that the Elf’s heart quickened its 
rhythm and his breath caught in his throat. Unable to stop himself, he 
reached up and cupped in one hand the chiselled, roughly stubbled jaw of 
his beloved. 

Aragorn leaned in to the touch.

“We should not.” Legolas repeated, although the threat of tears roughened 
his melodious Elvish voice, so hard was it to force away the urge to draw 
the beautiful man into his arms, and never let him go.

Aragorn said nothing, but tightened his hold on the slender waist.
“Last night” he murmured, his lips only inches away from the full moist 
ones of the Sylvan prince, “last night the Lord Elrond called me to his 
chambers. He told me . . .”

He glanced up. Legolas’ deep blue eyes were moist with unshed tears, and 
heavy with concern.

“He told me that you had offered yourself to the service of our quest” 
Aragorn finished, and reached up to stroke a fine strand of golden hair that 
was stirring in the breeze. “I did not want to believe it. I did not want to 
think of you placing yourself in the way of such danger, and I wondered 
why you had pledged to do so.”

Legolas drew himself up to his full height, which was an inch or so shorter 
than the man’s. His eyes blazed with fierce pride.

“I offered my services as a prince of my people, and as one who wishes to 
see the evil that has befallen this land vanquished once and for all!” he 
said, the imperious tone in his voice leaving Aragorn in no doubt of the 
elf’s noble disposition. “I fail to see why you should wonder at this!”
Aragorn sighed.

“I do not question your valour” he said, “for I have long known of it. But I 
find myself wishing that you had not agreed to place yourself in such 
danger. I find it hard to bear the thought of your succumbing to grievous 
hurt, or even death. You are my heart, and I could not go on living without 
you ."

Legolas turned away. “You must not say such things” he murmured.
“Why not?” Aragorn replied. “They are true.”

Legolas turned to the man and for a moment a flash of what seemed like 
utter desolation appeared in his azure eyes, quickly replaced by the 
familiar Elvish coolness and reserve.

“What use is there” he cried “in telling the truths of our hearts when they 
can never be?!” Every word you speak serves only to hurt me more, to 
drive daggers of despair deeper into my heart! No matter how often you 
utter your pretty words of love the result shall be the same in the end. You 
shall wed the Lady Undomiel and I shall go to Mandos’ Halls with 
nothing but the knowledge that I loved you and fought alongside you for 
the good. My love for you and my honour is all I have left in the world. 
But I know that what I long for shall never come to fruition. Destiny has 
not decreed it . .”

“Do not speak to me of destiny!” Aragorn shouted, angered by Legolas’ 
words, and grasped the arm of the fair elf fiercely in a grip that made 
Legolas flinch. “For I am sick at my very heart of its whims. I love you, 
Legolas! My melda, my own, my only! As I told the Lord Elrond last 
night . . .!”

Legolas’ eyes grew round with horror and he pulled away from Aragorn’s 
grasp.

“We are all undone!” he cried in anguish, and began to wring his pale 
hands together, a gesture which alarmed Aragorn, as he had never seen the 
one he loved behave in this way before.

“I shall be denounced as a traitor to my people and the hope of all 
Elvenkind shall be extinguished. O Estel! Better that you had run me 
through with Anduril’s blade than condemned us both to such a shameful 
fate!”

He stood there pale and trembling, his eyes brimming with tears which he 
still struggled not to shed, his pale hands clasped in a grip which whitened 
the skin. Aragorn’s heart finally seemed to burst at the sight.

A feral snarl rose from his throat. He stepped forward and with one strong 
gesture, pulled the shivering form into his arms, crushing it against his 
muscular chest.

“I will never *never*” he growled, with a ferocity which made the elf 
tremble even more. “Allow anyone to hurt you or to denounce you. Better 
that I throw away my worthless claim to Gondor and all that goes with it, 
to live the life of a simple ranger in the wilds with my true love by my 
side, and leave the salvation of this world to another. You *are* my only 
love, Legolas. You always have been, and I hate myself for causing you 
this pain. But I cannot lie any longer. And neither can I live without you!”
He pulled away slightly, to look at the beautiful face he cradled against his 
shoulder. Legolas’ eyes were closed, but a single tear had escaped from 
beneath one closed lid and began to trickle down the alabaster cheek. 
Aragorn caught it on one brown, callused finger and brought it to his lips.
“You shall never shed another tear as long as I have breath in my body” he 
whispered.

Neither knew who moved first, but within moments they were caught up 
in a kiss, so fervent and desperate that they both trembled with the 
passionate intensity it invoked.

Legolas’ head whirled and he moaned helplessly against his lover’s 
mouth, for so long had he dreamed of this kiss. When Aragorn pulled 
away and began to leave a trail of soft kisses against the pale skin of his 
neck, Legolas cried out and clasped the dark head tightly, weaving his 
fingers into unruly ebony waves.

“Estel!” he cried. “My love!”

A power greater than any other seemed to have overtaken them both, here 
in the full cognisance of what their quest would mean, the threat of 
darkness which hung over them both, and the knowledge, heavy in both of 
their minds, that they might not both return from it. At this moment in 
time there was only the two of them, together, locked in an embrace with 
all the ferocity and fervour of their love, their need for each other. Three 
long years they had been apart, each longing for the other with a 
desperation which burned inside each of them every night, causing their 
sleep to be broken and their dreams to be torturous.

Legolas was in a state of near catatonic joy at this, the longed for contact 
which had haunted every private moment since he was last in his Estel’s 
strong arms. All thought of propriety and caution left him as the man he 
loved lowered him to the soft sand and covered his body with his own, 
heavier one. He gasped at the first touch of rough fingers, fumbling 
urgently with the ties to his clothes, and assisted in untying them, so 
desperate was he for the contact of skin on skin. He reached out for the 
leather jerkin that his lover wore and worked the buckles free with nimble 
fingers, turning his attention then to the laces of the leathers that covered 
Aragorn’s muscular thighs.

A cry of exhilaration burst from both their throats as their clothing was 
finally cast aside, and they came together in their nakedness. Aragorn 
trembled with his passion at the sight of the beautiful Elven form beneath 
him. Legolas was pale and perfect, writhing in anxious anticipation 
beneath the shaking hands which stroked every inch of his marblesque 
skin, and the rough lips, which pressed ardent kisses in their wake, greedy 
for the musical sounds of pleasure which each elicited.

Legolas was his and would always be. Aragorn felt the urgency in his 
belly to lay claim once more to this fair being, his heart’s only love - to 
reassert his ownership of Legolas’ body and soul, just as his own were in 
the possession of his Elven lover.

Legolas moaned piteously as he felt Aragorn’s fingers begin to work their 
way inside his body. There was no thought of proper preparation for this 
act, their need being all too urgent, too demanding. It seemed only 
moment before his lover moved over him and he felt the insistent press of 
Aragorn’s desire, hard, swollen and slick, begging entrance to his body. 
He spread his legs in supplication, raising his knees and wrapping his 
slender calves around the waist of his lover.

Aragorn raised his head and, for one brief moment, met the gaze of the 
one he held beneath him, whose blue eyes were glazed with desire.
“My beloved” he whispered, and with a forceful push, entered his lover’s 
body, eliciting a cry of mixed agony and exhilaration from Legolas’ 
throat.

Their coupling was fast and furious as they strove together in their need. 
Kisses were possessive, caresses ferocious. Very quickly, Legolas reached 
his peak. He screamed out Estel’s name, writhing in his lover’s embrace. 
Aragorn followed him, flooding the body of his love with his seed, as he 
clung on for dear life, sobbing Legolas’ name.

They lay together in the afterglow, holding each other tightly. Legolas 
buried his face in his Estel’s strong chest, as if to hide from the world and 
everything that was to come.

********