Title: How Soon Is Now? (1/?) Author: Aithne Aduial aithne_aduialATyahooDOTcoDOTuk URL: http://melindo.fateback.com Rating: NC17 (This chapter R) Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn Archive: Library of Moria, tolkein_slash, LBES, Lirimaer - yes please! Others please ask. Summary: Growing up can be confusing - even without the added complication of unrequited love. This fic tells the story of a young man gradually coming to terms with who he is, and with his attraction to a beautiful elf. Can he dare imagine that the feeling may be mutual? Warnings: This chapter involves a teenage Aragorn 'discovering his sexuality'. I've made him sixteen when he first pulls, so please don't flame me ^_^ Note: Well, I finally made a start on this. Bits of it have been inhabiting my mind for some time and it's great to get it written down at long last. Please let me know what you think! The title of this fic is taken from a Smiths song - look the lyrics up on Google if you don't know it, and marvel at Morrissey's genius. (n.b. another of my fics, 'Discipline' is taken from the same universe as this opus, taking place after 'How Soon Is Now?" ends). Date: 05-06/04 ____________________________________________________________ ________ When you say it's gonna happen 'now' well, when exactly do you mean? See I've already waited to long and all my hope is gone ________ He found the books quite by accident. He wouldn't even have been in his father's library if it hadn't been raining so heavily. Estel became bored easily, and three days of being confined to the house by violent storms was more than the boy could take. He'd already been unceremoniously booted out of the kitchens, the stables and the smithy after his attempts to amuse himself there had led to numerous breakages, and had driven Lord Elrond to complete exasperation. Finally, he had decided to explore those parts of the house with which he was less familiar. As he slammed the door behind him, relieved to find the room empty, he scowled in disgust. Elbereth! What was there for a hyperactive fifteen-year-old to do in this place? The rich smell of musty paper and ancient leather hung heavy in the air. Estel cast his eyes dispassionately along the oak shelves. He decided to search for the ancient legends he always loved to hear. He meandered half-heartedly through the aisles, stopping occasionally at a volume that looked particularly interesting or old, only to discover that they invariably contained poetry or maps, or something equally as dull to his adolescent mind. Then he saw the cupboard. He turned the silver key which stood ready in the keyhole and opened the polished door. More books. "Well, what else did you expect?" he asked himself. Then came a realisation: these books must be special, to be kept apart behind closed doors. He selected a slim volume bound in fine red leather and opened it. A sketch of two naked elves, a male and a female, locked in a passionate embrace, greeted him. He nearly dropped the book in surprise. Flicking through the pages, he found that the rest of the book contained a series of similar works - nude elven women draped seductively over couches, elven women wearing little but floating strips of gauze, elven couples pleasuring one another in various ways - many of them improbably acrobatic - and so on. He replaced the book and began to look through the others. He discovered that they were all in the same vein, though some were more explicit than others. He'd known such works existed, of course, but to find such a collection of them freely available was a surprise. His heart thudded. Maybe... He began to investigate the collection rapidly and systematically. He soon found it. It was covered in blue silk, the covers tied loosely with ribbon. The elf who stared back at him from the title page was beautiful, his wavy black hair tumbling over a smooth, muscular chest. One hand rested on his hip, caressing the material of his leggings. The fabric was pulled tight across the unmistakable bulge of his crotch. Estel's eyes widened in excitement; he tried to swallow but found his mouth was dry. Slowly, as though he were afraid the book might disappear, he turned the pages. A blond elf sprawled over an unmade four-poster bed on his hands and knees. His head was turned to gaze back at the viewer, a teasing smile on his face. Estel felt himself grow hard as he took in every detail of the elf's lean body. When he found the picture of two elves wrapped lazily around one another, their lips brushing and their handsome erections pressed close together, he couldn't resist sliding one hand underneath the waistband of his breeches to hold his own stiffening sex. It was as if someone knew exactly what he longed to see, knew what he had dreamed of ever since that day when Glorfindel had corrected his stance with the bow and the brief contact with the man had made every nerve in his body tingle. He realised that such relationships were not uncommon among elves, but all the same he had felt horribly confused. Were such feelings acceptable for a mortal? At this moment in time, he no longer cared. Tucking the book under his arm, he crept silently to his room. * * * * * It was summer, and Rivendell was bathed in a fine, dry heat. Estel's sixteenth birthday had been and gone. The day after his birthday feast, his foster-father had taken him aside and, as he had long planned, told him of his true identity. Destiny meant little to the teenaged Estel. He had taken in all Elrond had had to say and left the room with the vague notion that one day he might have to leave the calm valley where he had lived for as long as he could remember, but the thought that a drastic change in his life would, sooner or later, become inevitable never occurred to him. In early July, a trader caravan arrived in Rivendell. This particular clan of travellers were well known to the household, being regular visitors to the area. As usual, they were made welcome and invited to make themselves at home for the duration of their stay. Estel had always enjoyed the traders' visits - it was the only chance he got to befriend other mortal youngsters, and their tales of adventures in the exotic countries they visited enthralled him. He soon fell in with the group of boys he had known on and off for most of his life. One of the boys, Ithan, particularly interested him. He couldn't help noticing how grown-up the lad had become in the two years since his last visit. Then, he had been lanky and awkward, as though he was ill at ease in his own body. Now, he was tall, muscular and self-assured. At first, Aragorn thought he admired the other boy. It gradually dawned on him, however, that what he felt was undoubtedly sexual. Ithan's presence made him act strangely; he became hyper-aware, and he was desperate to impress his friend. He tried to fight these feelings, but to no avail. The hair on the back of his neck stood up whenever he came within ten feet of him. He endured his crush in secret, terrified that if Ithan ever found out about his friend's desire for him, he would be disgusted. A fortnight later, he found himself prowling through the forest with Ithan. They had decided to practice their archery skills by hunting for small game in the woods that surrounded the Last Homely House. Two pheasants and a hare later, they stopped to rest under a large walnut tree. Estel dug out the bread and fruit they'd taken with them, and they ate hungrily. Suddenly, Ithan winked and produced something from his pocket. "My father's pipe," he grinned. "Want to try?" Before Aragorn had time to answer the boy had lit the pipe and taken a drag from the long stem. He handed the stolen pipe to Estel, who put it to his lips and inhaled sharply. A split second later, he realised his mistake as he found himself coughing and spluttering uncontrollably. Ithan laughed as he thumped his friend's back in an effort to help him recover. Once Estel had regained his ability to breathe, the other boy instructed him on the proper way to smoke pipeweed. He took another drag, successfully this time. The taste was quite foul, but the pleasant sensation in his head more than made up for that. They shared the pipe until the weed ran out, talking idly about nothing in particular. The two boys fell silent as a plump roe deer wandered across the clearing in front of them. They watched the animal pick idly at the leaf litter until it moved out of sight. Still neither of them spoke, and Estel began to feel an odd air of suspense. Then, Ithan was leaning towards him. He clumsily brushed his lips against Estel's own, and the contact was enough to make the younger boy shiver with excitement. He returned the kiss, pressing his mouth closely against Ithan's. Ithan had been ready to pull away, but when he felt Estel respond to his gesture, he relaxed. He parted his lips, and Estel felt the tip of the trader's tongue dart into his mouth. It was a strange feeling as he wrestled Ithan's tongue with his own; the warm, silvery sensation stirred his blood and he felt as giddy as if he were clinging to a sheer cliff edge. He shifted his position, pressing his body close to Ithan, heard the boy moan softly, felt the hands clutching at his arm tremble. He tentatively slid one hand down Ithan's chest, felt the taut muscles underneath the rough shirt. Slowly, he moved his hand until it lay on the older boy's leg. Ithan's arm crept around the small of his back, pulling the pair tightly together. He felt the boy's other hand mirror the movements of his own, coming to rest just inches from his crotch. Estel grew bolder, cupping Ithan's crotch with one hand. He was overjoyed to find that the boy was as hard as he was. Then Ithan began gradually to undo the fastenings of Estel's leggings. His hand slipped under the fabric. He could not keep from crying out as the boy gripped his cock tightly. By now he had freed Ithan's own organ from the boy's loincloth. It felt beautifully hard in his hand, hot and smooth to the touch. Their kisses grew more intense as they began to caress and pull one another. Estel thought he would explode with sensation as the rough skin of Ithan's fingers brushed the tip of his organ. When the boy came in his hand he felt as though all eternity was compressed into this one moment, his ears ringing with the rush of his own blood and Ithan's loud gasps. A moment later he reached his own climax, thrusting involuntarily into Ithan's tight fist. At length, they pulled apart and looked at one another. Then, before Estel had fully returned to reality, the trader boy leaped up from the ground and ran full tilt away from his confused partner. In an instant, all the elation Estel had felt evaporated, replaced by a weighty despair at being so deserted. * * * * * **Eighteen months later** The eldar who remained in Middle Earth maintained close ties with one another, the elves of Rivendell, Lothlorien and Mirkwood being linked by both kinship and bonds of friendship. Regular travel between the three settlements ensured that everyone kept abreast of each other's news. Thus it was not surprising when, at the invitation of Lord Elrond, a small group of elves from Mirkwood, led by King Thranduil's younger son, came to visit Rivendell. As a period of almost two decades was but a brief interlude in the mind of an immortal elf, this was the first such visit Estel had had witnessed, and he was intrigued to find out what kind of elves these distant relatives were. He had vague memories of a visit to Mirkwood when he was but an infant, but he could not remember any details of its people. As it happened, the party reached the valley in the small hours of the morning, and breakfasted alone. So the young man had to wait until almost noon of the day following their arrival before he could satisfy his curiosity. He was introduced to King Thranduil's deputation by his foster father, and found them relaxed and cordial. They, in their turn, were greatly interested in the human youth about whom they had heard so much. Estel was not yet confident when faced with such formal gatherings, but his foster brothers made sure that he was not left out. Presently, Elrohir turned from Estel to answer a friendly greeting from the golden-haired Prince of Mirkwood. They embraced heartily, and immediately began to catch up with one another's news. Estel was just beginning to feel rather out of place when his brother remembered his manners and introduced him to his companion. "Estel, this is Legolas. We were partners in crime when we were elflings." "If he tells you about my misspent youth, don't believe a word of it," Legolas retorted as he took Estel's hand and bowed politely. Estel grinned as he returned the bow. "I'm sure it can't have been any worse than his own," he replied. "Indeed, I was led astray," Legolas said with a mischievous glance at his friend. "It certainly wasn't me who suggested mixing all the liquor in your father's store, or trying on my sister's make-up, or -" "Ah, but you did it all, all the same, mellon-nin!" Elrohir interrupted him, wagging a finger in mock exasperation. Legolas pulled an exaggerated face. "Go kiss an orc." "Usquener!" At that point, Elladan joined them and three elves started to tell Estel about the increasingly dumb pranks they had played together. The young human hadn't laughed so much in months, and he began to properly enjoy the party at long last. In truth, he would have enjoyed any conversation as long as he could gaze at the beautiful prince. His keen eyes were of the deepest blue, set beneath finely-arched brows in a face that was lively yet determined. He was more or less the same height as Estel, but his slender build made him appear taller. Despite his slimness, Estel could see that the elf's limbs and chest were muscular. Legolas moved with almost feline grace, bone and muscle sliding into place with fluid ease. Estel got the distinct feeling that while the prince could be warm and light-hearted, he was also a born warrior. One who was so in control of his physical being could take a weapon and make it an extension of himself - a deadly skill. The man found this blend of beauty and power intensely erotic, and he was to be seduced by it every minute he spent in the elf's company. Although the Mirkwood elves stayed in Rivendell for just over a month, Estel found that there was precious little chance of spending much time with Legolas. He also realised that the prince must see him as a mere youth, though he was never anything but friendly when the two met. It was sweet torture for the young man to spend an evening in Legolas's company; he was torn between delight at being in the elf's presence and the hot, awkward feelings that overwhelmed him whenever his crush addressed him. All too soon the Mirkwood elves departed, and it was with heavy heart that Estel watched them ride into the distance. That night, he sent a silent apology to Legolas as he imagined all the things he would have the elf do to him if such a sinful chance ever arose. * * * * * Lord Elrond put down his empty glass and sighed contentedly. "An excellent vintage." Glorfindel nodded his agreement and finished his own wine. "This year's harvest should give as good a barrel. Pity we'll have to wait ten years before we can sample it." They sat awhile in comfortable silence before Elrond spoke again. "It has been an excellent year in all respects, mellonamin. I have seen my son grow into a fine young man." "It is strange to watch a child grow so quickly... at times it is hard to remember that he is not of our race, but now I look at him and realise just how little time has passed since he first came to us," his friend replied. "I think Estel himself has difficulty remembering his race. Still, that will come in time. Once he goes out into the world he will truly become the man he was born to be." The dark elf turned to gaze distractedly out of the window. "His destiny worries you, heruamin." "When first I told him, he did not seem to take it all in. Perhaps he was too young, but I felt it best to give him time to get used to the idea. Now, however, I see that he has begun to understand what lies ahead." "He is perceptive, and he knows of the shadow that forms in Mordor. When he is called upon to fulfil his duty, he will do it with all his heart." Elrond relaxed and reached out to grip his comrade's hand. "I know," he said simply. They went their separate ways as dusk began to fall. As he made his way to his own chambers, Glorfindel mused on Estel's future. "He will make a fine leader of men one day," he thought to himself. "But I do wish he'd stop staring at my arse." * * * * * ________ ...And the road becomes my bride ________ The ranger urged his horse forward with a few softly-spoken words, making for the heavy town gates which were just visible in the twilight. The sun was already low, the surrounding sky stained blood red with its last rays. He wanted to reach Bree and the inn before nightfall. Aragorn - for he was now fully-grown - had only decided to make for the town a few days ago. No real news had been heard from there for several months, and he thought it best to find out what had been happening within its walls. He might also find news of Mithrandir, and that was always welcome. The boy who had lived peacefully within the confines of Rivendell had grown into a serious man: brave and astute, he now realised the full weight of his destiny. The fear of his own innate weakness, transmitted like a sickness through Isildur's blood, lay curled deep inside him, ready to break out and envelop him when he least expected it, but Aragorn had long resolved to steel himself against this malaise. He would do what was required of him, and more, when the time came. In the end, he reached the Prancing Pony just as the night watchmen slowly heaved the iron bolts of the gates into place behind him. Once Karnil had been securely stabled and rubbed down, he entered the tavern. He was looking forward to a proper, cooked meal. After exchanging a few words with innkeeper Butterburr, he secured a room for himself and sat down to an enormous plate of food which seemed to include every type of meat he had ever seen. "Perhaps I look like I need feeding up, " he wondered to himself. As he ate, he looked around at the other patrons of the Prancing Pony. Besides the locals, there was a party of foreign travellers. These he observed with some interest. Their dark skin and hair, and their dress, showed that they were natives of Andavan. This was one of the lands which lay far to the east of Rhun, and although there was regular trade between the two ends of the continent, he knew little of their ways. Indeed, this was only the second time he had set eyes on a native of Andavan. He had learned something of their history, and he knew that they held the honour of being the oldest mortal civilisation in the whole of Middle Earth. As he tried to remember more about the region, one of their number stood and made his way to the bar. Aragorn's breath caught in his throat. He was instantly attracted to the man. Dark eyes looked out from under curved lashes; his thick wavy hair brushed smooth, coffee-coloured skin. He was clad all in black; from the fitted satin shirt to his soft leather breeches. He spoke to the barmaid awhile as she pulled his ale from the tap; long slender fingers pushing the heavy curtain of hair from his eyes. When he smiled, the watching ranger thought him achingly beautiful. As if in a trance, Aragorn walked towards the bar. As he set his empty plate down on the counter, the easterner nodded politely. After a moment he spoke. "Please excuse me, my friend, but the innkeeper tells me you are a ranger?" He spoke the common tongue fluently, but with an intonation that left no doubt as to his birthplace. "Yes, I am a ranger. Is there some way I can help you?" He was polite, but guarded. You had to be, in this line of work. "I hope so. My name is Satya. My companions and I have travelled from Andavan to renew our allegiances with the cities of the west." He took a draught of ale before he continued. "We are making for Minas Tirith - our last port of call before we begin the journey home. Perhaps you would be able to advise us of the best route to take?" "I would be glad to help," Aragorn returned. He grew bolder. "My name is Strider. If you would like to join me, we could discuss your route over a drink." He indicated his table. "Thankyou, Strider. I'm most grateful." Satya gave him one of those heart-melting smiles. It did not take long for Aragorn to outline the quickest and safest road to Minas Tirith, marking the route on a parchment map which Satya produced from his belt. Once the business was over, they readily struck up a friendly conversation; Aragorn wanted to know more about Andavan, and Satya was interested to learn something of elvish ways. He listened keenly as Aragorn told him of the Last Homely House, of the calm magic of Lothlorien and the soft green caverns of Mirkwood. "The elves left the east long ago," the stranger mused, his head tilted slightly to the side. "But we still tell stories of them. In Andavan, the elves are thought to hold the purest beauty known in any race." For a brief moment, the memory of Legolas Greenleaf stirred in Aragorn's mind. "An elf is beautiful in the way a mithril dagger is beautiful." Aragorn shifted in his seat. He felt the chemistry developing between himself and Satya, and he had no idea what to do about it. "Its shimmer and grace are seductive, but its edge is deadly. The elves are not simply beautiful beings; they hold a power as old as the Earth itself, and their skill could easily be used to destroy our kind." "And yet it has not been used thus." "No. Useless violence has no place in the elven mind. An elf is content simply to be, to exist peacefully as part of a living Earth. But when an elf is called to fight for what is right, you will see that the blade is sharp." "I see." He hesitated before continuing, never once breaking eye contact. "And I also see that there is beauty in the West that is not of elvish making." Aragorn was silent. His mind whirled. Had he imagined Satya saying that? Had he truly understood its meaning, or was he just hearing what he wanted to hear? The man moved in closer. His fingers brushed Aragorn's hand. "Perhaps the beauty of a man may sometimes rival that of an elf?" He paused, seeing the consternation in Aragorn's expression. "I travel, Strider, because I want to understand other cultures. I want to understand the people I meet, to know them. Some I want to know more thoroughly than others." Aragorn thought he could feel the heat of Satya's body striking him in waves. Was the man sincere in his flirtation? What if he aimed simply to rob the ranger, or worse? He remained silent. The man leaned closer and met his eyes. "Don't worry. I am serious. I'm not planning on robbing you." As he spoke, Aragorn felt a hand slide over his knee, coming to rest on his thigh. Two fingers pointed upwards, towards his groin. It was a sign; the desire and the honesty he read in the man's expression were genuine. Slowly, he placed his own hand over the one resting on his leg. He came to a decision. "I will go to my room. Follow me? It's number seven." His face relaxed and he smiled warmly at the beautiful stranger as he rose from the table. The man nodded, his face lighting up to return the smile. A few minutes later, Aragorn found himself opening his door to Satya. Suddenly, he realised that he didn't actually know what to do. He hadn't been with another since he had met the trader boy in Rivendell. Should he say something? Should he, perhaps, move to embrace the other man? Before he had had time to think further, Satya had taken hold of his hands and claimed his lips in a soft kiss. The ranger's unease melted away as he felt the man's warm tongue dart into his mouth. They kissed lazily for several moments, their hands beginning to explore one another's bodies. Aragorn felt the other man begin to tug at his shirt, carefully unfastening the buttons one by one before breaking the kiss to peel the garment from Aragorn's body. As warm hands roamed over his naked torso, the ranger slid his own hands under Satya's clothing, feeling the silky skin of his back. This felt so... so _right_. He grinned as he stood back and removed the man's own shirt, never taking his eyes from his lover's face. He knew he would never see the man again after tonight, and he wanted to remember every detail of his beauty. Then they had collapsed onto the bed. Satya buried his face in Aragorn's neck, his deft tongue and sharp teeth drawing short gasps of pleasure from his quarry. Aragorn couldn't remember an erection ever feeling this good; he ground his crotch against the man's hipbone as he closed his lips around a pointed nipple, one hand creeping around Satya's waist to cup his buttocks. As they drew apart once more to remove their breeches, he caressed the man's hardness, delirious with pleasure and nervous expectancy. Satya's hand closed tightly around the ranger's throbbing member and the two men sighed with fulfilment as they sank back against the soft pillows. The next morning, they kissed tenderly. Then the easterner was gone. Aragorn lay in bed awhile, a contented smile playing about his lips. He had lain with a man. For the first time in his life, he was at ease with his nature. * * * * Aragorn had watched autumn slowly creeping across Middle Earth, from the first, almost imperceptible shortening of the days to the wave of intense colour that swept across the forests. He loved to watch the landscape change around him, to feel the air turn crisp and see the leaves turn fiery orange and blood red. He was a born ranger, happiest when he had the open road before him. He had been wandering slowly across country after a spell in Esgaroth, with the vague intention of heading for Isengard. From there, he would gradually make his way back towards Rivendell to spend the midwinter festival in his father's house. It had been a quiet few months on the whole, although he had had to deal with an orc attack on a remote village not three weeks past. It was only the second time he had had to deal with the foul creatures in the flesh, and their presence worried him deeply. If some of them had got this far already, who knows how many might even now be creeping towards the western kingdoms? As it was, there was little he or anyone could do save repel any raiding parties as and when they arrived. Mithrandir had bade him wait. There was no point attempting to deal with the source of the problem until sufficient people had woken up to the danger to mount a forceful attack. The ranger frowned. He sensed the vague shadow which formed in the dusty wasteland of Mordor, its massless being twisting and spreading as it seeped out of the air, and it unnerved him. He shook his head in an attempt to banish the thought from his mind. The time would come, no doubt about that. Until he was called, he must concentrate on other matters. He was sitting on the ground in a small clearing near the western edge of Mirkwood, close to the Old Forest Road, mesmerised by the flames of the fire before him. This he had lit with the aid of loud and varied curses, since the wood was damp and green. Still, it had provided him with warmth and a means to prepare his meal, and now he sat watching it contentedly. Suddenly, he became aware of another presence in the wood. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, the blade sliding noiselessly from the sheath. "Who goes there?" "A fine greeting for a friendly visitor, Estel." The voice came from behind him. He spun around to see a green-clad elf grinning at him. He blinked. Was he imagining things? "Legolas!" The elf slung his bow across his shoulder and came to greet the man. "So how goes life as a ranger?" he asked. Aragorn grinned. "Not as exciting as I had feared - although I expect that will change. But it's been wonderful to see so much of Middle Earth. And what brings you here? " "I am returning from Lorien. I rode over with my sister some time ago, but she decided to stay longer so I came home alone." The elf sat down on a boulder near Aragorn's campfire and wriggled until he found a comfortable position. The ranger returned to his own seat. "I would love to see Lorien again... my father took me once, but that was over ten years ago. I can remember every moment of my time there." "Such is the magic of the golden wood, my friend. The Lady enquired of you, you know." "Really?" Aragorn was surprised. "Why?" Legolas chuckled. "Surely you've realised that your destiny is known to her?" Aragorn made a vaguely intelligible grunt by way of answer, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture which unmistakably said "don't talk to me about destiny." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose I knew I should speak with her sooner or later." He offered Legolas what remained of the meat he had roasted over the fire, and the elf accepted it gladly. As they shared the wine Legolas brought from his saddlebags, they exchanged news. Legolas listened gravely to Aragorn's tales of orcs. When the wine had sufficiently mellowed their senses, however, their talk turned to more personal matters. It seemed a perfect opportunity to get to know one another better, and as they talked Aragorn found himself falling more and more deeply under the elf's spell. He found that they had much in common - they shared similar views, were possessed of the same dark sense of humour, and each understood the burden of responsibility the other carried. As the sky darkened, the firelight lent a warm glow to the elf's face, his skin seeming to radiate a rich light of its own. Aragorn could not break the gaze from those deep blue eyes, could not stop the stirrings of desire he felt in his heart. Finally, they sat for a few moments in companionable silence, the man beginning to feel pleasantly drowsy. "Where do you head tomorrow?" the elf asked. "I'm due back at my father's house for the midwinter festival, but I planned to go via Isengard. I've heard some odd tales recently, and I'd like to seek counsel from the White Wizard." Legolas nodded. "Yes, a wise move. If anyone knows anything about what's coming our way, it's Saruman the White." He paused. "But you have two months before midwinter. It won't take you more than a month to get to Isengard and then to Rivendell. Why not come and spend some time in my home first? It's only a day's ride from here." Aragorn mumbled something else unintelligible, then shrugged his shoulders with a smile. "Why not? I'd love to." "Excellent!" Legolas returned. Now I suggest we get some rest before the sun rises." * * * * King Thranduil's home was built around a series of mossy caverns in the red sandstone of Mirkwood, the ancient oaken beams blending seamlessly with the warm stone. The house was built on two sides of a fast-flowing waterfall, the north and south wings being linked by a graceful bridge. The house seemed to be part of the earth itself, as organic as the forest which surrounded it. Although it was a contrast with the airy pavilions of his father's house, Aragorn soon felt at home. Legolas took him to explore the settlement a little, before he decided that he should introduce his guest to his father. He found Thranduil gruff but amiable. The king reminded Aragorn of his last visit to Mirkwood, when the human had been just a toddler. "Though I daresay you hardly remember," he added with a smile. "Twenty years is fleeting to me, yet you have changed much in that time." Aragorn assured him that his memories of Mirkwood were good ones, and, having accepted Thranduil's invitation to dine with him that evening, he and Legolas left the king to what seemed like a mountain of correspondence. He also met Legolas's brother, Astald. The Crown Prince of Mirkwood was very different in appearance from his younger brother, being dark- haired and green-eyed. Aragorn later realised that he was the image of the portrait of his mother which hung in the great hall. However, in speech and manner he was unmistakably Legolas's kin. He joined the pair later that afternoon as they lounged on the balcony of Legolas's chambers, watching the elves in the village below as they celebrated someone or other's betrothal on the wide green. After they had spoken for a few minutes, Aragorn found that Astald had a serious air, being more interested in books and lore than the activity-loving Legolas. On finding that they were both healers, they discussed herbs and potions until Legolas's dramatic groans informed them of his boredom. Astald ducked as his brother lobbed a well-aimed cushion at his head. He returned it, striking Legolas neatly. "My apologies for disarranging your hair, brother. I fear I have caused you at least half an hour's work," he drawled. Legolas rolled his eyes as he fiddled with his braids, trying to get them back to their usual impeccable neatness. "He's so vain," Astald explained to Aragorn with a shake of his head. "He takes longer than our sister, Tindomerel, does to get ready for important occasions." "Can I help it if my public expect perfection?" Legolas asked with mock surprise. "Anyway, I know next to nothing about plants and lotions, so as long as you two talk about the best remedy for pox all I _can_ do is sit here and look pretty." "Point taken," his brother conceded. "So, Estel - tell us more about your travels in the Shire. I've never been that far north." They discussed the ways of of the Shire-folk, and the quality of their pipe weed, for some time. Thereafter the conversation moved onto other parts of the great continent. Astald told of a journey he had once made to the Roof of the World, as the freezing mountains of Hitha Eglir were called. Legolas's eyes glowed as they always did when he heard of this adventure. He had travelled much to the East of his homeland, and was well-acquainted with the Iron Hills and the Sea of Rhun, but he longed to see the shimmering snow-capped peaks of the Western horizon. * * * * The days in Mirkwood passed happily. Aragorn found that he and Legolas fast became firm friends, and he also found that he was hopelessly attracted to the elf. He continued to take guilty pleasure from Legolas's form. The day which caused him most excitement came two weeks after he had arrived in Legolas's home. Another elf, Leuthil, had asked Legolas to help him fell a tree. Aragorn followed the pair out, intending to sit in the fresh air and mend the various part of his travelling gear which had begun to fall apart. The eldar were always careful to choose a tree which they could use in its entirety - they used only as much wood as was absolutely necessary, and to waste a tree was unthinkable. Once they had made their selection, the pair began to make the first cuts into the smooth trunk. Turn about, they swung long-handled axes until a clean chunk of sapwood had been removed. Then they took a two-man saw and moved to the opposite side of the trunk. Aragorn watched as they worked, the two elves keeping such perfect rhythm that they and the saw seemed to be one being. After a while, Leuthil called to his friend and they ceased their labour, laying the saw on the ground. The dark elf wiped the sweat from his eyes while Legolas removed his tunic and used it to scrub his face. After this brief pause, they resumed their efforts. The sight of a topless and sweaty Legolas was more than Aragorn had bargained for. The elf's body glistened in the morning light, his shoulder muscles rippling as he moved the great saw back and forth. He had tied his hair back from his face, and the long tail fell almost to his waist. Aragorn longed to stroke the elf's hair, to caress his skin and hold him close. A keening desire to feel those soft lips pressed against his own overwhelmed the watching man. The joy he usually felt when in Legolas's presence was slowly being invaded by a miserable realisation that his love for his friend would never be reciprocated. There would always be a part of Legolas he could not know, always an invisible barrier holding him at a distance. The splintering groan of the mallorn falling to earth broke his reverie. It suddenly dawned on him that he had stitched the same part of Karnil's bridle seven times over. Untangling the resulting mess was difficult when all he could think of was Legolas's naked torso. * * * * A week or so later found Aragorn lounging in Legolas's chambers, chatting easily with the elf about nothing in particular as they both recovered from the effects of excess wine. It was a reassuringly normal start to an eventful day. They were interrupted by the sound of running feet, followed by someone pounding on the door. Astald burst into the room, his face grave. Legolas looked at him questioningly. "Orcs." Astald only had to utter a single word before Legolas was on his feet. "We will fetch our weapons. See you at the stables in a moment." He turned to Aragorn and the man nodded briefly. "I will saddle Karnil. My sword is in his stall." On the word, he ran after Astald towards the stables. His hands flew over the buckles of the tack, and of his sword-belt. In less than a minute he mounted up and rode the horse out into the stable yard. About thirty elves were gathered, armed with bows and heavy knives. Legolas motioned him to come over. "You do not know the signals we use. Stay with me." The man nodded his assent and Astald called the party to order. "We have reports of a dozen orcs at the foundry under the forest mountains. We ride together to the burned oak three miles from here. There we separate. Everyone on my left, you will come with me to attack from the east side. The rest of you, follow Legolas and he will lead you from the west. None shall escape!" He turned his horse and the group moved instantly to follow him. They rode in swift silence through the green tunnel of trees until they reached a fork in the path, watched over by an enormous blackened oak. Here Legolas gave the word and the company split neatly without so much as a second's pause. Following Legolas down the right-hand fork, Aragorn found time to be greatly impressed by the businesslike way in which the elves had organised their strike. After a few minutes, Legolas turned to his company. "Some of you have not met these beasts before. Aim for the eyes and neck, finish them with blades. Longbow arrows will not pierce orc armour from more than thirty paces. Leuthil, Galadin - " he named two elves who shouldered wicked- looking iron crossbows - "You are snipers as usual. No chance of _your_ bolts bouncing off them!" They heard the sounds of the battle several minutes before they reached the foundry. Legolas signalled them to halt among the tree a hundred yards from the site. The smell of burning reached their nostrils, and Aragorn saw that the few elves in the besieged place were completely surrounded, reduced to a desperate defensive position amidst the burning remains of their wooden cabins. His eyes caught a slight movement in the trees on the other side of the clearing. Legolas raised a hand in answer. "One... two... THREE!" On his count they charged as one; at the same instant Astald's company erupted from the trees opposite. The orcs heard nothing until they were well and truly caught in the elves' pincer movement. The hideous creatures turned and fought with clubs, slings and armoured fists. However, while their bulk and strength outweighed those of the rescue party, the speed of the elvish attack left them at a severe disadvantage. They struck out blindly and at random, aiming for the horses' legs in an attempt to cut down their riders, and sending sharp stones at the heads of the mounted elves. Skilled horsemen as they were, the wood elves dodged and parried every blow, and their arrows rained down on the orcs with scarcely a pause for breath. Aragorn rode straight at an orc with his sling raised ready to launch a new volley of stones. His foe saw him at the last moment, and Aragorn's shoulder exploded in pain as the missile struck him. But it was too late; he had already hefted his sword and now swung it with all his force at the orc. There was a wet thumping noise as it ploughed into the beast's flesh, another as its head hit the ground, sliced cleanly from its neck. The man turned Karnil swiftly about only to find a second orc facing him, its face twisted into a sickening leer and its upraised club about to smash down on him. He raised his sword, bringing it down in a clean arc across the orc's upper body, but even as the blade touched the blistered skin the creature fell backwards, half an inch of metal crossbow bolt protruding from the centre ridge of its breastplate. Aragorn's eyes widened. Those elves were deadly snipers. The force of the shot was more than matched by the skill required to hit the weakest part of the orc's armour from such a distance. These thoughts struck him in less than it took to draw breath. Before the heavy body touched the bloodstained ground he had already turned to face his next foe. The thing had just raised its iron-spiked club to swipe at a fallen elf, and had its back to the man. He drove his sword firmly into the gap between shoulder-guard and helmet and was rewarded by a howl of pain. The elf on the floor scrambled out of the way as his assailant keeled over. Aragorn was astonished to see Legolas on the other side of the creature's enormous bulk, the knife in his hand slick with orc-blood. The creature gave a last anguished moan, blood spilling from both the severed artery of its neck and the deep gash Legolas had opened in its opposite flank. The companions grinned at one another over the prone body before they separated to deal with the remaining marauders. Thanks to the swift attack on two fronts, the orcs never stood a chance. Slowly, the noise and movement dwindled until twelve ugly bodies lay prone on the ground. "Make sure they're all finished." Astald spoke quietly but his order was clear. One by one they examined the fallen orcs, slitting the throats of those who had not bled dry. An ugly business, but horribly necessary. Everyone knew that the presence of orcs foretold dark times ahead. They must do their job as thoroughly as possible, as they could ill afford to leave one surviving creature who might report back to its master. Legolas shuddered inwardly as he contemplated the being who must be behind the orcs' presence. They piled the bodies onto one of the burning cabins, feeding the flames with broken branches until they enveloped the lumpy masses of orc. The band of elves from the forge huddled together, exhausted after several hours of holding out against the orcs with limited resources. All were badly injured, and one of their number had perished, his body thrown into the flames by his killer. They found him once they had put the remaining fires out with handfuls of damp earth. Aragorn turned to see Astald, his face streaked with soot, carry him out of the smouldering remains of one of the cabins. He was short and slight. Just an elfling. Anger crackled in the air. The smell of the orcs' funeral pyre was unimaginable, and all were thankful when the leaping flames began to wane though lack of fuel. A number of the elves took shovels from the ruined buildings and smothered the heap with earth, burying those awful remains from sight. Another, smaller mound marked the resting place of one of the elvish horses. Its rider drew in the soft earth the symbol used to mark a passing, and turned sorrowfully away. The elves from the forge were helped into the saddles of their rescuers - the attackers had slaughtered their own animals. Their dead mate they laid carefully on a rough litter of branches, pulled by the last horse in the slowly-moving column. Heads bowed, they set out for home. * * * * The days after the raid on the forge passed far too quickly, and as the last leaves fell from the trees Aragorn realised that he must leave Mirkwood if he was to return to Rivendell in time to celebrate the winter solstice. As for his visit to Isengard - well, it would have to be a fleeting one. It would be a wrench to leave a place where he had been so happy, and the realisation that he might not see Legolas for many long months weighed heavy on his heart. His mood alternated between a resigned belief that Legolas must never know the nature of his feelings, and an insane desire to confess everything to his friend. However, the fear of rejection, of losing Legolas's comradeship, dominated his mind and checked his impulse during those moments of elation when he felt on the verge of pledging his heart and soul to the elf. He prepared to head south with much left unsaid. He was touched to find that the whole royal family had risen early to breakfast with him. He thanked Thranduil warmly for his hospitality, and promised to deliver a number of messages from the king to his father. Then Legolas paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, caught Aragorn's eye and asked his friend which route he intended to take to Isengard. Then he declared that he would ride to the edge of Mirkwood with the ranger. "Ithildin could do with the exercise, and I'd like to see you off properly," he added. Aragorn could not disguise his happiness at this decision, a broad smile lighting his face. "I'll be glad of your company, mellon-nin." The morning air was cold, and the ground crisp underfoot as they set out. They talked little, both enjoying the quiet ride through the wintry forest. Towards late afternoon the trees began to thin a little, and every now and then they caught a glimpse of open plains through the frosted branches. When they reached the forest edge, they stopped and alighted near a spring. They were both thirsty after the brisk ride, and were glad of the refreshment. "Thank you for coming, Estel. I regretted that we did not have more time to get to know one another when I visited Rivendell." "It was a pleasure to stay with you, Legolas. We must make sure our paths cross again soon." They parted then, for the days were short and the sun was already sinking towards the horizon. "Vanya sulie, mellonamin." Aragorn clasped Legolas's arm in a brief farewell, then swung easily up onto Karnil's back. Legolas ruffled the horse's mane. "Tenna' ento lye omenta, Estel." If the ranger had looked back as he rode away from the setting sun, he would have seen the elf still staring after him, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes clouded with grey. TO BE CONTINUED... ____________ Elvish Translations (thanks to tel'Mithrim for their ace dictionary) Karnil - a star Mellonamin/Mellon-nin - My friend Heruamin - My Lord Ithildin - Star-moon Tenna' ento lye omenta - Until next we meet Usquener - Smelly one Vanya sulie - Fair winds ____________ ~~~~~~<><><><><>~~~~~~ Oh, I'm such a tease. Rampant elf-shagging in Chapter 2, I promise... If you'd like further chapters emailed to you as and when they're done, please ask and I'll be only too happy to oblige! ~*Aithne*~ ~~~~~~<><><><><>~~~~~~