Title: Internal Battle at Helm's Deep
Author (including email): Qale pixie@pixiesticks.org
Pairing(s): Aragorn/Legolas 
Rating: R 
Summary: A little quarrel erupts between the tracker and the elf in front of 
everyone. How the pair of close companions resolve it is for your eyes 
only. 
Disclaimer: The following is a scene of fan fiction. It includes not only 
spoilers from Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, but also male/male 
sexuality that is NOT inherent in the original work.  The original rights to 
the original work are not being trampled on here.  Those under the age of 
responsibility should not read this work.   
Warning (only if necessary): Two Towers spoiler. 
Authors Note (if needed/desired): This is my first fan fiction of any kind.
 
Internal Battle at Helm’s Deep
 
 
Deep within the rock, where the fortress of Mankind still stands awaiting 
the armies of Isengard, every able-bodied man and strong lad are gathered.  
Aragorn walks amongst them, his steady eyes casting doubtful glances at 
those that are to be their saviors in the impending battle.
 
Legolas notes the odds are way too great but unlike his human companion, 
vocalizes his insecurities in a light-pitched elvish whine, “They are 
frightened. And they should be! Three-hundred… against ten thousand?”
 
After glancing at the dwarf, Gimli, Aragorn again surveys the men and 
boys gathered.  Despite their slackness at holding their weapons and 
despite the knowledge that they are unskilled at such a battle, he responds 
fiercely in the elf’s tongue. “They will fight bravely and defend Helm’s 
Deep!”
 
“They are all going to die!” Legolas shouts, only this time in the language 
of those he is amongst.
 
The tracker takes the quick steps necessary to come face to face with his 
fair-haired companion. The sudden action brings a slight ruffle to his 
knotted and weathered tendrils of long black hair. He stares deeply into his 
companion’s crystalline eyes, wondering what in all of Middle Earth has 
caused it to come to this. “Then I will die fighting beside them.”  Aragorn 
then turns and stalks away, ignoring the gasps of the men around them.
 
Legolas, already realizing the injury he had caused in doubting his dear 
mortal friend, starts after him.  However, Gimli holds him back. “Let him 
go laddie. Let him go.”
 
***
 
Night is nearing.  The bleakness of the situation is coupled by the 
approaching darkness and the battle of Helm’s Deep approaches.  
Aragorn, taking a moment of solitude, allows himself to wince as he pulls 
the chain mail over his injured shoulder.  He’s traveled so far, and only 
once when he first guessed Pippin and Merry were dead had he let his 
emotions get the best of him.  Only once until of course the scene with 
Legolas just hours ago.
 
The elfling’s words still wounded him as they replayed in his mind.  
Words filled with question and despair.  They reminded him of his own 
words when he first entertained the idea of taking Legolas as a lover.  He 
had already been burned by an elf once.  Slowly, his hand reached up and 
adjusted the fairy charm he still wore around his neck.  Then, as he 
adjusted other armaments, he thought about the fact that the charm was the 
first thing Legolas returned to him when he entered Helm’s Deep earlier in 
the morning.
 
Just as Aragorn was about to collect his blade, that very same beautiful 
man offered it to him.  Legolas, with his head bowed just a little, looked to 
Aragorn sheepishly and with great admiration. “You have led us… I 
mean, me, so far. I should not have despaired.”
 
Warmly, the tracker provided the elfing with a reassuring nod and slow 
smile. “If we are to die tonight, I am comforted to know I will die fighting 
beside you, Legolas.”
 
“Except, I don’t intend on letting you die, friend Aragorn.”
 
Aragorn clasped Legolas’s hand in friendship momentarily. And often 
times that would be all the kinship shared between the pair.  However, 
now, before a seemingly hopeless battle, the human stared into the elf’s 
endless eyes. So close they were to a definite death, Aragorn couldn’t 
possibly approach it without acting on the feelings he contained during the 
entirety of the Fellowship.
 
“It is nearly sunset, Lord Aragorn, battle awaits us.” Barely above a 
whisper, Legolas’s voice seemed hollow and unsure as to what was to 
happen next.
 
“I know. But…” Their hands were still clasped, fingers intertwined all the 
while they spoke. “How can we focus on the hardships ahead when there 
is this between us?” 
 
“I’ve admitted my sorrow, I sought your forgiveness. Don’t you offer it?” 
The elvish language spilled from Legolas’s lips just moments before they 
were being pressed against by Aragorn’s.  The tracker had kissed him, and 
then just before Legolas could manage to say anything further, he kissed 
him again.
 
So long they had traveled in companionship with the free loving hobbits.  
Legolas had envied their ability to spontaneously act on their physical 
needs and desires.  He, himself, hadn’t even anyone to come back to once 
their task had been completed.  And he always got a confused feeling 
when studying Aragorn.  Now that the human was kissing him, only half a 
moment passed before the slender mystical creature started to return such 
affection.
 
Aragorn reached up and slid his fingers along Legolas’s pointed ears, 
remembering how much Arwen used to love it.  But suddenly, their 
passionate kissing came to an abrupt halt when the elfling squirmed and 
scolded, “Don’t you dare! Would you paw Gimli’s beard?”
 
The human acted as if he was considering the question. “Actually, he’s not 
my type.”
 
Legolas went on regardless, “You don’t touch an elf’s ears!”
 
“Well then, how about an elf’s ass?” Aragorn, with gleeful mischief in his 
eyes, slapped his palm against Legolas’s bottom, fingers curling along the 
surface roughly. 
 
Legolas jerked and yelped. For the briefest of moments, he appeared as if 
he would reach back for an arrow from his quiver.  But instead, his hand 
took another route and managed to grab Aragorn’s prick despite the 
protective armor. He gave the man a little tender squeeze.  “Do we have 
time?” 
 
“I’m sure ten-thousand orcs can wait.” Aragorn suggested.
 
Legolas made a face as if suddenly remembering their unsavory fate. But 
when the tracker casually lifted the bow from his shoulder and kissed him 
once more, the elf smiled and quickly removed the armor Aragorn had 
been putting on.
 
 
The rock floor of the room was cold and it sent a chill down Legolas’s 
spine as he was laid upon it. He was naked, and he allowed his legs to 
overlap as he lay slightly on his side. 
 
Aragorn, who had taken a moment to latch the door, had returned. He 
knelt beside the elf and looked him over.  Despite all of their battles, 
unlike his own body, Legolas’s flesh was clear from bruises and gleamed 
in the torchlight. As he touched the elfling’s chest and then his torso, he 
noticed the grime under his fingernails and gently laughed.
 
“I’m surprised you’d want me like this. I haven’t seen a washbasin in 
more than a fortnight.” 
 
Legolas looked over the naked crouched body of Aragorn and arched his 
body in a wordless response to the tracker’s comment. When the human’s 
hands brushed past his navel, past the soft hair of his groin, and gathered 
his penis into a loving caress, Legolas sighed.
 
Still stroking the elf, Aragorn lay down.  His positioning wasn’t 
haphazard.  Deeply he knew that Legolas would be his lover and it would 
happen this way.  From behind him, his hand continued to caress and 
manipulate the hardening sex of the elf. 
 
Legolas moved slightly, effectively bringing their bodies together in more 
fitting fashion. His hand reached behind himself and his fingertips 
scratched across Aragorn’s hip and thigh.  While elves were certainly used 
to a lot more foreplay, he’d excuse his companion’s eagerness this time.
 
With careful and deliberate hesitance, Aragorn brought his penis tip 
against Legolas’s rear entrance.  He held the elf comfortingly as he pushed 
himself in.  Their bond, steeped in magic, started to occur as their bodies 
pressed together.  The woodland creature felt a painful cry welling up 
within his chest, but when Aragorn’s prick retreated it subsided.  
 
But only to return, stronger and with more fire!
 
Curled fingers held his hips, and Aragorn’s breath was on his neck.  
Legolas shut his eyes and entrusted himself to the heir of Gondor.  He 
found himself wanting to push back when Aragorn’s strides brought them 
fully together as one.  With nimble hands, he braced his palms against the 
chilly floor and soon was on hands and knees with Aragorn behind him.
 
Aragorn resisted the temptation to again molest the pointed ears and 
instead wrapped his fingers once more around Legolas’s sex. The elfling 
was warm, lithe, and delicious to have and the human thrust harder into 
him.
 
Now pleasured from two places, Legolas started panting and then 
whimpering in elvish. He warned of his impending orgasm but Aragorn 
hissed for him to wait!  He didn’t know how much harder or longer he 
could stand being so strongfully fucked. And yet, Aragorn repositioned his 
hands, one on the elf’s lower back, the other at his neck, to force the light 
frame harder upon his impaling cock.  
 
Legolas started manipulating his own flesh and with a completely satisfied 
cry, began coming thick ropes of semen onto the floor of Helm’s Deep.  
This powerful eruption was undoubtedly due in part to a similar climax 
that was pumped unforgivingly into the elfling by the capable Aragorn. He 
held Legolas down as he slowly pushed unimaginably further within the 
dark hole until the elf’s bottom clinching muscles had squeezed out the 
last of his orgasm.
 
Then, pulling Legolas up from all fours and into a seated position on his 
lap, he laughed. It was all simply incredible, he thought. The two of them 
were indulging in physical demands while whole battalions of orcs were 
marching towards them. 
 
Legolas laughed too, but only after he persuaded Aragorn to remove his 
prick from his ass. He craned his head around and looked at the dirty face 
of the tracker. Naturally, despite the rigorous fucking, the elfling’s 
physique was perfect and not even his braids were out of place. 
“Aragorn.”
 
“Yes, Legolas?” He responded in elvish.
 
“Don’t tell the dwarf.”
 
 The End