Title: Legolas’ Gift
Authors: Estel Baggins and Elfbean
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net and elfbean@aol.com
Main Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas, Elladan/Glorfindel
Secondary Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel, Elrohir/Glorfindel, 
Aragorn/Glorfindel (implied), Denethor/Legolas
Summary: As Aragorn’s slave from a young age, Legolas changes many 
lives, among them Aragorn’s and his own.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, rape, slavery, underage sexual situations
Author’s Note: Thank you to Esteldil for all her help with beta reading. 
Any mistakes remaining are my own.

Legolas’ Gift

Chapter One

      Aaron caught his breath and grabbed Malacai’s arm. “Look!” the 
younger Dunadan almost whispered, pointing towards a group of beds.
      Each contained a naked child of somewhere between the ages of 
two and seven. The girls lay on one side of a wide aisle and the boys on 
the other. But Aaron didn’t see the two dozen or so other children; all he 
saw was the blond beauty who sat on his bed, his large green eyes dancing 
slightly. Unlike most of the other children, he seemed unafraid. He sat, 
cross-legged and straight-backed, gazing curiously at the buyers who 
wandered past.
            “Aye, he is beautiful,” Malacai murmured, “but if I know our 
Strider, he’ll want an older boy, and one with dark hair, to boot.” He 
turned his gaze towards the other side of the corridor, where boys and girls 
aged ten to eighteen sat, openly flaunting their sexuality. 
       “Someone like him,” he continued, pointing at a lanky, black-
haired, brown-eyed boy who was currently staring at them and licking his 
lips suggestively. “Strider wouldn’t have to teach him how to do his job. 
He obviously knows and enjoys his work.”
            “He’s probably crawling with disease,” Aaron muttered. “What 
think you, Halbarad?”
            The youngest of the three shook his head. “I don’t know. Ar-”
            Malacai gave him a quelling look.
            “Er…Strider and I don’t know each other well… I can’t know 
what he’d want.”
            “You mean you don’t know him well,” Malacai corrected. “He 
knows all of us, and quite well, I should add.”
            Halbarad scoffed. “You give him too much credit. Just because he 
was raised among elves-”
            Malacai waved his hand dismissively. “Come, I didn’t journey all 
this way to debate our chief’s knowledge of his people. We’re here to find 
him the perfect present for his birthday next week.” He turned back to 
look over the older children, but Aaron turned his eyes back to the blond.
            “I like him, Malacai; he’s not afraid. Strider doesn’t want a 
submissive one.”
            Malacai nodded. “True.” He gave the dark-eyed boy one more long 
look, then turned away. “I still don’t know if he’ll want a blond. He’s 
particular.”
            Aaron was about to answer but, suddenly, the tiny, blond boy 
turned his head, and they were all favored with a glimpse of a delicately 
pointed ear.
            “That settles it,” Malacai muttered, “he’s an elf; Strider won’t take 
an elf unless we can prove he’s not from Rivendell.”
            “He has the look of Glorfindel, Lord Elrond’s whore,” Aaron 
muttered.
            “Nay… Glorfindel is shorter of limb and has a different shape to 
his eyes and nose. This one, I’d say, comes from Mirkwood.”
            “Well, Mirkwood’s all right.” Aaron took a step, but Malacai 
touched his arm. Aaron looked back, his face working between conviction 
and nervousness. “Malacai-”
            “We can buy him,” Malacai answered, smiling a little at his friend, 
“but we need to make sure we don’t seem too eager. A beauty like that is 
probably worth a lot.”
            Aaron grinned happily. “I’ll do the haggling then, shall I?” He 
rubbed his hands together.
            Malacai chuckled affectionately. Aaron loved to debate prices, and 
he was quite good at it, as long as he kept his head. “Promise me you 
won’t show how much we want him.”
            Aaron nodded, then pointed in the general direction of the dark-
eyed boy. “I’ll bring up several slaves I’m looking at.”
            “Go then. And be sure of your words.”
            As Aaron strode off, Halbarad asked, “Why can’t we go with 
him?”
            “The less pressure the market-owner feels, the better price he’ll 
give. Come on, let’s go wander around a bit.”
            Halbarad shook his head. “You go on. I want to see about one of 
these over here.” He was staring hungrily at the dark-eyed boy.
            Malacai shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He wandered around for a bit, 
looking at slave after slave dispassionately. Truth be told, his mind was 
back in the Dunedain camp six days’ march north of the slave market. He 
thought longingly of his wife and his young son, Kehydi. He missed them 
terribly and wished only to return to them. Though he was the one who 
suggested finding a living gift for Aragorn, he couldn’t help but wish that 
he’d sent Halbarad and Aaron alone on this mission. ‘Nay,’ he thought, 
‘that wouldn’t have done, and I know it. Halbarad’s a sly one and Aaron’s 
a hot-head. They’d have started a brawl or some other disturbance if I 
hadn’t come along.’
            By this time, he had made his way back to the tiny cribs where 
babies sat four together. Most were sleeping; some were being fed. Others 
were crying, and the sound made Malacai’s head ache. But just as he was 
about to turn and leave, he heard a man groan, “I’ll take you, little whore, 
and I’ll fill you with my seed ‘til you bust.”
            Malacai turned back, thinking, 'We've got a sick one here. Only a 
total pervert would rape a boy who's little more than a newborn.' Then he 
froze, staring at the beautiful, long, red hair of the child the man was 
bending over. The boy looked up fearfully and his huge brown eyes, no 
doubt made to seem bigger by the thinness of his face, were swimming 
with tears. The boy looked to be about three years old or so. Surely he 
couldn't understand what was being said to him, but, he seemed old 
enough to sense the general emotions around him. ‘What is he doing in a 
crib? Did someone just dump him there?’ Even as Malacai watched, the 
stranger, a burly, Southern-looking man past his mid-life, reached down 
between the boy's legs and stroked him.
            Bile rose in Malacai's throat, though he couldn’t decide if he 
should do something: "Cause no trouble unless you're looking for it," was 
one of Aragorn's favorite warnings. Before he could decide, a short man, 
undoubtedly the owner of the boy (for he wore thick, rich, jeweled robes 
and a circlet which looked like- but probably wasn't- woven silver) 
appeared and growled, "Leave him alone, Banshi. There are other uses for 
one such as he, and I don't want the customers getting the wrong idea."
            The man Banshi backed up a step, and the red-haired child looked 
to his owner, smiling.
            In that instant, as he gazed at the trusting, timid child, Malacai 
knew what he must do. He drew out his small money-purse and 
approached the owner. "He's an interesting specimen. Where does he 
come from?"
            The owner smiled and gestured grandly. "He is Saru, son of a 
prince who calls the kingdom of Lebanon his realm. He's quiet, obedient 
and beautiful."
            'Beautiful,' Malacai thought, 'is an exaggeration.' The boy's face 
was too broad for his liking and too homely by far. But he allowed none of 
this to show in his expression. "And what might a common man” he 
smiled mockingly “such as myself expect to pay for a rare beauty such as 
he?"
            "Ten gold pieces."
            "Ten!" roared Malacai. He saw the boy flinch, and regretted his 
raised voice. "He can't be worth more than five!"
       Twenty minutes or so later, Malacai left, having paid six and half 
gold pieces along with two silver ones. He carried the child in his arms, 
having dressed him in a short white tunic and brown pants provided by the 
owner, murmuring softly to him. The boy perhaps couldn't speak yet, or 
maybe he was only shy. Whichever it was, Malacai didn’t hold the boy's 
silence against him; he simply continued to talk to him, using both the 
Common Speech and the language of Harad. He was thinking the boy 
might come from even further south of Gondor than his previous owner 
had hinted. Soon, Saru relaxed enough to fall asleep.
            Malacai came upon Halbarad and Aaron ten minutes later. Aaron 
was holding the hand of the blond elf, and the child, for he looked to be 
about four years of age, was gazing around curiously. He had been dressed 
in a long grey tunic but he wore no pants. Malacai thought it was normally 
an ugly color, but the elf somehow made it seem less so. When he saw 
Malacai, he smiled and waved. The Ranger nodded curtly, thinking, 'He's 
going to have to be taught about equals and slaves. But that lesson will not 
be taught by any of us. Let Aragorn teach him in whatever way he thinks 
is best.'
            "Who's your whore?" Halbarad asked, indicating the sleeping Saru.
            Malacai scowled. "My new slave is called Saru." He turned and led 
the others towards the exit. They fell into step on either side of him. The 
blonde had to hurry a little to keep up but, he didn’t seem to mind.
            "That's a strange name."
            Malacai shrugged, glancing at Halbarad. "He comes from the far 
south."
            "Near Gondor?" Aaron asked, interested. He loved any news of the 
city of their fathers which, of the three, only Malacai had actually seen.
            "Yes, but south of there, perhaps in Lebanon or even further south, 
in Harad."
            "Will you keep his name?" Halbarad asked, his lip curling with 
distaste.
            "Probably," Malacai answered, refusing to rise to the bait. "I like 
it."
            "It means 'weak' in our language," Halbarad muttered, as if 
Malacai didn't already know this.
            "Aye, and sunset-hair in the language of Harad. I will keep it. Both 
meanings suit him." 
      They passed out into the sunlight, and the tiny elf gasped. "Big," 
he whispered in Elvish.
            Aaron glanced down at him and smiled. "Yes, the world is a big 
place, Legolas," he returned in the same tongue.
            "Legolas?" Halbarad asked.
            "'Tis his name," Aaron responded, switching back to the Common 
Speech. "He answers to it, at any rate."
            "Does he understand the Common Speech?" Malacai asked as they 
made their way towards the northern gate of the small town, which lay 
south of Bree.
            "Not a whit." Aaron grinned. "It will give Strider something to 
teach him… and you know how much our Strider loves to teach."
            "Dwarvish, the language of Rohan, Harad's native tongue, 
Elvish…" Malacai shook his head. "I've never met one man who spoke so 
many languages so fluently."
            Legolas tugged on Aaron's hand and pointed. "Yrch!" he cried, 
seeming both delighted and nervous.
            All three Rangers turned in that direction, hands dropping to their 
concealed weapons, but they all relaxed as they saw the actors walking 
about in orc-like masks.
            "Those are men dressed like orcs," Malacai told the child.
            Legolas stared at them curiously, then nodded, accepting this as 
fact. He then turned his eyes in another direction, pointing at the food-
sellers. "Hungry."
            "Aye, I know," Aaron murmured. He dug a pouch out of one of his 
deep pockets and offered Legolas a bit of bread and some dried fruit along 
with some water. It was only travellers' fare; the water was lukewarm and 
the bread was a little tough, but Legolas devoured it as if it were a feast.
            "A piece of gold for your whore, Master?"
            Malacai stared at the man. He was dressed to the hilt, as Aragorn 
would say. His greasy hair was swept back from his face in a style he 
obviously thought of as attractive. The stranger was pointing at Saru, who 
was snoring lightly, his face against Malacai’s shoulder.
            Malacai shook his head. "He's not for sale."
            "But, Master, he's quite thin. Surely he won't survive such a 
journey as a man of your obvious nature might take."
            "He'll survive just fine, thank you," Malacai responded curtly, 
trying to sidestep the annoying ankle-biter.
            "But come now, my friend…"
      "I'm no friend of yours," Malacai returned coolly, thinking, 'This 
man wants something… and it's more than this child I hold.'
            Aaron stepped up close to Malacai. "You will pardon us now, for 
we have a long way to travel."
            The stranger's eyes flicked to Legolas, who was currently staring 
up at a soaring bird, and then came back to Malacai. "I would pay dearly 
for one such as he," he whispered, still staring at Saru. "I have many 
friends who crave a red-haired beauty."
            "He's no beauty," Malacai answered, his tone accusing the man of 
flattery. "Now, if you don't step aside, I am afraid I will have to make you 
do so." He sensed rather then saw Halbarad move to stand on his other 
side. 'It's about time, too. What were you doing, staring around with your 
thumb up your ass?'
            The stranger took a step back. "Please, don't let me keep you. Only 
consider this, if you will: a thin child is bad luck. A broken child is even 
worse."
            Malacai put Saru in Halbarad's arms and strode forward, grasping 
the other man's arm. "What do you know about him?" he demanded.
            The man stared up at him, obviously a little nervous, but, cocky as 
a rooster, trying to hide it. "I saw when they brought him in. He's tainted. 
He's already been violated. By a large man out of the south. The urchin is 
broken and will never be healed completely. And I'm sure you want a 
perfect child, do you not? I, on the other hand, deal well with broken 
whores, for they are more likely to please my clients. And with his red 
hair, none will care how comely his face is."
            "I purchased him. And I will not give him up so easily," Malacai 
answered tersely. He released the man's arm, took Saru back from 
Halbarad, and led the way out of the village. When they were well away 
from the assertive stranger, he muttered to the other two, "Now I know 
why this little one was so cheap.” He added, talking to himself, “And so 
afraid of being touched."
            "What will you do with him?" Aaron asked.
            "If he's as demure as he seems, he'll make a good companion for 
my son. And when he's old enough, I'll give him to Kehydi for his first 
sexual experimentation."
            "What if he has a disease?"
            "I'll let my wife look at him first or perhaps I'll even ask Strider. 
One of them will know if he's too diseased for use."
***
            Halbarad took the first watch that night. He stood a little outside 
the ring of the fire, watching the other two lay down with the children. 
Aaron had wrapped Legolas in a smaller blanket and then wrapped them 
both in his cloak. Both were asleep. Malacai had likewise arranged Saru in 
a blanket of his own, and the young boy was asleep on the Ranger's broad 
chest. He had woken up in the late afternoon, been fed by Malacai, then he 
had fallen back to sleep. "He's been starving for so long that he barely has 
any energy," Malacai had told the other two as he rocked the child.
            Now Halbarad closed his eyes, thinking of Saru and Legolas. They 
were both to his taste, Legolas because of his golden hair and beautiful, 
lightly-tanned skin and Saru because of his submissive, rabbit-like 
behavior. 'I couldn't have Legolas; he's Aragorn's gift. But, maybe, I can 
talk Malacai into letting me borrow the red-head for a little rough and 
tumble. I'm sure he'd be no trouble to manage and, if he really has been 
taken before, it won't be as though I'm taking his virginity.'  
      The Dunedain and the elves, as a rule, held different beliefs to the 
other people of Middle-Earth. All the races of Middle-Earth, except the 
Ents, owned slaves and whores but the Dunedain treated their slaves more 
humanely than most, making them almost a part of the family. And no 
child was made a whore until he turned sixteen or so. Oh, they were 
touched, but weren’t made to have intercourse until they were much older. 
This was a fact Halbarad had always hated, preferring the Southern man’s 
way of doing things: raising the child to submit in bed as soon as the child 
was big enough to take him. Grinning, he pictured Saru naked and 
moaning beneath him. And it didn’t matter to Halbarad if the child was 
moaning in pleasure or pain. He fantasized about spanking the boy or even 
beating him. Groaning, he reached between his legs, thinking to relieve the 
tightness in his pants. But then he remembered that he was supposed to be 
standing watch, and though Aaron was surely asleep, Malacai might not 
be. The man, as Aragorn's second-in-command, showed a great deal of 
shrewdness. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him.
Chapter Two
            Aragorn stood, gazing east, watching the sunrise. His eyes shone 
with the morning light but his features were tense. Even the youngest of 
his Rangers knew to keep away from him when he was in such a mood.
            'They've been gone for too long,' he thought. 'Far too long.’ 
Malacai had told him that he, Aaron and Halbarad would be back inside of 
two weeks. "There are a few things I'd like to get from the village on the 
other side of Bree," Malacai had said. "May we go?"
            Aragorn had given his permission, though he hadn’t wanted to lose 
his second-in-command (well, nearly his second-in-command, and surely 
his closest friend) on a simple errand. He'd suggested Malacai send 
someone else but the Ranger had shaken his head, saying, "I must go 
myself; it's important. Not to the Dunedain, but to me."
            The chief of the Dunedain came back to himself when he thought 
he saw movement in the forest to his right. He turned his head quickly, 
hand dropping to Anduril’s hilt. But then, Malacai stepped out from 
between the trees, and Aragorn relaxed, his face crinkling slightly into a 
smile. He gazed at the child who was toddling along beside Malacai and 
glanced at his second with his eyebrows raised. He strode forward and 
asked softly, "This was the errand you had to complete?"
            Malacai nodded. "Aye. I've needed a playmate for Kehydi for a 
while now; this boy is perfectly trainable as such."
            Aragorn nodded and knelt down in front of the boy; studying his 
face, his build and the thinness of his limbs. 
      "What's his name?"
            "Saru."
            "From Harad?" Aragorn asked tensely.
            "His owner told me he was from south of Gondor, but I don’t 
know if I would trust the rest of his information. Doubtless he was just 
trying to make the child seem more appealing."
            "He's thin," Aragorn noted, frowning at the boy’s half-emaciated 
form. Saru, in turn, was staring at the ground, his hair falling like feathers 
around his face.
            "Not so thin as when I bought him. He's actually fattened up a 
great deal. At least he doesn't look to be on the edge of death," Malacai 
confided as he touched Saru’s hair lightly, reassuringly. The boy had 
backed up against his trouser-leg.
            "Why did you buy such an unhealthy child?"
            "I was compelled to," Malacai confessed. "I saw him and wanted 
him. And nothing I told myself could convince my heart otherwise."
            Aragorn nodded, accepting this. "Your instincts have never failed 
me.” He paused. “Or our people.” He enjoyed seeing the way Malacai 
tried to avoid the praise. He became suddenly fascinated with his shoes. 
Deciding, after a few moments of watching, to save his friend from his 
embarrassment, Aragorn continued, “Surely then, this boy will be of good 
use to you." He reached out slowly and touched Saru's tiny shoulder. The 
boy looked up timidly and Aragorn smiled encouragingly. "That's right, 
Saru; I won't hurt you."
            The boy glanced at Malacai, as if for reassurance, and then offered 
Aragorn a shy smile that made his eyes sparkle slightly.
            "What language does he speak?"
            "None, yet."
            "Ma-cai." Saru bowed his head as if trying to hide that he'd spoken, 
but the rest of his body language, his shoulders and the way he held his 
hands, showed that he'd wanted to be heard.
            Aragorn blinked. "Malacai?" he prompted gently.
            Saru looked up, encouraged. "Ma-cai," he answered, and his smile 
peeked out.
            "Master Malacai," Aragorn corrected.
            Saru frowned, confused.
            "Master Malacai," Aragorn said again, slowly and deliberately.
            Saru looked again to Malacai, who squatted in front of him and 
urged, “Say “Master Malacai”, Saru.”
            The child glanced from one man to the other, hesitated, then 
whispered, a little fearfully, “Mas’er Ma’cai.” He peeked at Malacai and 
when the Ranger offered him a beaming smile, he stood straight and 
repeated, with a bit more confidence, “Mas’er Ma’cai.”
            Aragorn grinned. “Doesn’t speak, does he?” he taunted, amused. 
“Well, I think all you had to do was win his trust.” He stood. Saru backed 
away a step. Aragorn frowned slightly, and whispered sotto voce, “Was he 
beaten? He’s afraid of many things.”
            Malacai repeated what the stranger had told him, adding that he 
wanted Aragorn to look the boy over for illness.
            “I’ll do that,” Aragorn answered. He turned to face the child and 
asked softly, “Saru?”
            The boy looked up at the sound of his name.
            “You’re going with Master Malacai now.”
            Malacai held out his hand and Saru grasped it gratefully.
            Aragorn nodded, satisfied, and started to turn away.
            “Aragorn…” Malacai’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.
            The chief looked back in time to see Saru executing a perfect, 
Harad-style bow. Aragorn felt his stomach turn. ‘No wonder Saru’s so 
afraid. If he’s been a whore in Harad…’ His stomach did another 
unpleasant flip. “May the Valar help him recover.’ “Now we know where 
he’s from,” he mouthed to Malacai, who nodded, his expression 
darkening.
      Aragorn shrugged as if to say, “We’ll deal with whatever comes.” 
Then he smiled at the child and left, heading towards his tent. He hadn’t 
slept much the night before, or for the few nights prior to that and, 
suddenly, he felt weary. He hadn’t bothered to ask where Halbarad and 
Aaron were; probably they had gone straight to their tents, leaving the 
report to Malacai, since such a matter was his responsibility.
            He pulled back the flap of his tent, crouched to enter… and 
stopped dead, his head inside but the rest of him jutting out. On his 
sleeping pallet sat a little elf-child who was innocently swinging his legs. 
Aragorn entered slowly, letting the tent flap drop behind him. Riveted, he 
stood, unable to think, let alone speak.
      The child smiled at him, and his smile was unashamed and not at 
all afraid. “Happy birthday,” the little elfling chirped in Elvish. “I’m 
Legolas, from Mirkwood, and I belong to you.” His voice had something 
of the tone one uses when reciting a carefully-memorised speech, but, 
when it was said, he jumped up, ran to Aragorn and threw his arms 
enthusiastically around the Dunadan’s knees.
      Still, Aragorn was unable to react. His mind was slowly coming up 
to speed, but it still lagged behind his manhood, which twitched slightly. 
He absorbed the idea of the elfling before him in single words and little 
stuttering phrases.
      …elfling…
      …from Mirkwood…
      …blonde gorgeous smiling….
      …mine? 
      Yes. That was what he’d said.
      Now: what was his name?
      Legolas. Out of Mirkwood.
      At last, his mind, and the rest of his body, could keep pace with his 
groin, and he carefully peeled the child’s arms off him. He squatted so that 
he could gaze into the beautiful, lambent green eyes before him. His voice 
sounded rusty when he tried to use it. “Where did you come from?”
      “From Nennid.” Legolas grinned at him. He looked like a 
particularly eager Ranger-child who wanted to prove himself 
knowledgeable. 
      ‘The slave-market is there. That’s where Saru came from, 
doubtless.’ He frowned, wondering how Saru had come so far north if 
he’d been in Harad. The Haradrim traveled far, but would they come such 
a distance with a slave? ‘Maybe he was only bought there and the 
merchant traveled far.’ His eyes refocused on the golden-haired elfling 
before him. Legolas was still smiling at him, but his eyes were darting 
everywhere, trying to see everything. ‘He’s very curious by nature. Good. 
I like a slave with a little intelligence.’
      He asked, to test his theory, “Did you come with Malacai and 
Aaron?”
      Legolas nodded. “And Saru,” he added.
      “And Halbarad?” Aragorn murmured distractedly as he wondered 
if the child knew he was a slave. Even though he’d recited as much, it 
didn’t follow that he had actually understood what he’d been taught to say. 
And he certainly didn’t sound as if he understood his position.
      Again, Legolas nodded. “There were five of us.”
      That surprised Aragorn, since the child didn't look old enough to 
count. He asked, “How old are you?”
      Legolas tilted his chin up slightly and beamed. “I’m five and a 
half.”
      “How do you know you’re from Mirkwood?”
      “My mummy and daddy were there; I was born there.” He puffed 
out his chest. “I know what orcs are; I’ve seen them!”
      ‘Then you probably are from Mirkwood,’ Aragorn thought, feeling 
reassured.  “Do you know Lord Elrond?” he asked, just to make sure.
      Legolas shook his head. “Who is he?”
      “Never mind; I’ll tell you later.” He considered the child for a 
moment, thinking, ‘They went to buy me a present for my birthday, and 
this elf…. Legolas… is that gift.’ He smiled inwardly. ‘I have to hand it to 
Malacai: he knew exactly what I would like.’
      ‘As to the name Legolas…’ He studied the elfling’s entrancing 
green eyes and decided the name was a fair one. It wasn’t unusual for 
slavers to name their goods for distinctive traits. ‘ “Sunset-hair” or “weak” 
and “green-leaf.” Aye. They’re fitting names.’ He laughed quietly. ‘And 
those in Bree call me Strider, so even I am named for what I appear to be.’
      Legolas reached out and his fingers brushed, feather-light, against 
Aragorn’s knee. He seemed to know he had been forgotten for a moment.
      Aragorn blinked at him, briefly startled, but then he smiled, took 
Legolas by the hand and led him to the pallet. “Are you tired?”
      Legolas shook his head. “I’m hungry.”
      ‘When was the last time he ate?’ Aragorn wondered. ‘And what 
did he eat? Malacai and the others were gone almost long enough to 
require some hunting to fill out the provisions they took.’
      Aragorn guided him out of the tent and to the central fire, where 
Annaleh, wife of Malacai, was, even at this early hour, preparing food for 
lunch. Saru was beside her, already at work cutting vegetables. She 
glanced up when they arrived and smiled. “Do you like him?” she asked 
Aragorn.
      “Yes, he pleases me very much." Aragorn watched as Saru spotted 
Legolas and waved. Legolas grinned and pulled out of Aragorn’s loose 
grasp so he could go to Saru. He made the bow Saru had taught him.
      Saru laughed like the tinkling of bells before remembering that he 
was supposed to be quiet. He clapped his hand over his mouth and glanced 
nervously at the two freeborns that were standing close by. But neither of 
them seemed to take any notice of him, so he relaxed again. 
      "Please thank your husband for me if you see him before I do.” His 
eyes danced and, as always when he showed his more relaxed side, it 
changed his appearance entirely. Now he looked less like winter’s most 
savage storm. Whenever he smiled or abandoned his “chief’s air”, his face 
recalled some of the joy he’d brought with him from Rivendell seventeen 
years ago. “Malacai will never let me live this down, of course. He’ll 
never let me forget that he picked out the perfect slave.” He added, out of 
the side of his mouth, “Especially since this one’s so much different from 
the others I’ve used.”
      When Annaleh looked at him, one delicate, heather-colored 
eyebrow raised, Aragorn mouthed, “He’s intelligent.”
      Thinking of Aragorn’s past slaves, and remembering how 
sexually-willing and empty-headed they’d been, Annaleh filed away that 
tidbit. Later, perhaps, she would find out the extent of the elf’s 
intelligence. Maybe he would prove to be a help to Aragorn instead of, as 
the others had often been, a frustration and a hindrance. 
      Aragorn, suddenly remembering Legolas’s request, asked her, “Do 
you have any breakfast for Legolas?”
      “Yes, and for you.” She dished up two bowls of what was left of 
the porridge - not much, since the Dunedain tended to finish all that she 
prepared- and handed it to Aragorn with two spoons.
      Aragorn sat down and Legolas joined him on the log. When 
Aragorn passed him his portion, Legolas began to eat happily. But he 
stopped long before his bowl was empty and stood up, walking to where 
Saru was slicing wild carrots into a battered, but serviceable, pot. “Saru?” 
Legolas asked, holding out the bowl.
      “Legolas, that’s yours,” said Aragorn, more sternly than he’d 
intended.
      The elfling glanced at him, and his eyes were suddenly pleading, 
“Master Aaron says he needs to eat a lot or he could die.”
      The open, unfeigned concern in his voice warmed Aragorn’s heart 
and he said more gently, “There is porridge left for him, Legolas; please 
eat yours.”
      “He’s already eaten, Legolas,” Annaleh reassured.
      Legolas looked again to Saru, who smiled at him, took the bowl 
then stood and walked to Aragorn. His meaning was clear: you decide.
      “Are you hungry?” Aragorn asked in the Common Speech, 
wanting both slaves to get used to the new language. He held it out to 
Saru, but the boy took a step back, shaking his head. Aragorn turned to 
Legolas and handed him the bowl. “I don’t think he’s hungry, Legolas,” 
he said in the Common Speech, then he repeated the same words in 
Elvish.
      Legolas took the bowl, picked up the spoon, and finished the 
porridge in less time than it takes to tell.  “He’s very charitable,” Annaleh 
whispered to Aragorn as Legolas, after finishing his breakfast, sat down 
beside Saru and began to cut vegetables.
      Aragorn nodded, smiling, pleased with the gift he’d been given. 
“Yes, I think they’re both going to work out just fine.” As he watched 
Legolas in particular, he muttered, musingly, “Something tells me this one 
is going to be special.” 
Chapter Three 
            Malacai opened his eyes and sat up, shivering as the first, cold air 
of autumn assaulted him. It was nearly six months since he had returned 
with the other two Rangers from Nennid. He started to reach out blindly 
for his shirt, knowing he'd left it beside the bed and his fingers touched the 
shirt before they had moved more than a few inches. As he took it, he 
glanced to his left and saw Saru smiling at him. The slave was standing by 
the Ranger's pallet, dressed in the warm pants and tunic Annaleh had 
given him. These had once been Kehydi's but her son had outgrown them 
long ago. He was big for his age and so even though he was Saru's age, 
many of his clothes from his second year fit the slave.
            Malacai glanced down at Saru's feet, and saw that they were bare. 
"Go put some shoes on," he commanded. "It's too cold to go without 
them."
            Saru bowed his peculiar bow and went to his corner of the tent. He 
quickly found his shoes, slipped them on, then returned. He bore with him 
a pitcher filled with water. Malacai took it and set it next to the pallet. "I'll 
wash in a minute. Where is my Lady?”
            "She's out at the fire, Master."
            Malacai marveled at how quickly the boy had picked up the 
Common Speech. Legolas, too, he thought, had learned the new language 
rapidly, though he still occasionally slipped into Elvish. "Where's 
Kehydi?"
            "Master Aaron is teaching him how to make rope."
            Malacai nodded. "Does his mother know that?"
            "Yes, sir."
            'Not that I doubted it… but I must check, always.' Children among 
the Dunedain were considered to be everyone's children, but still their 
biological parents double and triple-checked on them. Life in the wild, 
even in the Dunedain camp, wasn't completely without risk. 
      Malacai splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, then stood, 
stretching. "You should probably learn that skill soon. But for now, you're 
needed in the garden. Run over to Strider's tent and see if Legolas is free 
to help you."
            Saru bowed and, as ordered, ran from the tent. He was sprinting, 
excited to have a chance to work with Legolas, and thus he didn't notice 
the man in his path until it was too late. He crashed into a pair of long legs 
and the two of them fell. Saru stood shakily then looked up. His bit his lip 
apprehensively, knowing he’d made a mistake. How would he be 
punished? He shook his lengthening hair out of his eyes and cowered 
when he saw Halbarad glaring down at him. "I'm-I'm sorry, Master 
Halbarad."
            Halbarad's hand flew up and he slapped the boy stunningly hard. 
"Watch where you're going, whore," he snarled. As he stepped closer, 
Saru tried to scramble away. Halbarad grabbed his arm above the elbow, 
squeezing painfully, and he drew his foot back to give the child a solid 
kick.
            Saru cringed and put his hand over his mouth to stifle any noise an 
instant before the boot connected with his side.
            "Will you watch next time?" Halbarad demanded.
            Saru nodded, trying to hide his tears. "Yes, Master Halbarad, I 
will."
            Halbarad released him. "Good." He stalked away.
            Saru got up, wincing when his ribs protested, and limped towards 
Aragorn's tent. At the flap, he paused, and then called, "Master Aragorn?"
            Legolas poked his head out. "He's here." His intelligent eyes took 
in Saru's shaking hands and how Saru was clutching his right side, and he 
called, "Master, Saru's hurt!"
            "Bring him in," Aragorn answered at once, and the note of concern 
in his voice was heard by both slaves.
            Saru followed Legolas. "Master Malacai wants me to work in the 
garden, and he asked if Legolas could help me." Saru studied the pounded 
earth between his feet at first, then realised how disrespectful this might 
seem, and raised his eyes.
            Aragorn was seated on his pallet, reading a letter. Reluctantly, he 
laid the letter from Imladris aside, and stood up. When he met Saru's gaze 
and saw the pain the child was in, all thoughts of Imladris disappeared 
temporarily. "Come here, Saru." The boy obeyed; Aragorn touched his 
face lightly, and then his side.
      Saru winced, unable to stop himself, and whimpered.
      "Shh," Aragorn soothed. "Legolas, get my herb-pouch, please." He 
felt gently of Saru's ribs and murmured, "They're not broken. That's good. 
There will be some bruising, though." He caught Saru's chin gently in his 
hand. "What happened?"
            Saru tried to look away.
            "Answer me," Aragorn commanded.
            Saru flinched. "I ran into Master Halbarad by accident when I was 
coming here, and he di-disciplined me.” He added, his voice barely 
audible, “It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I should 
have been more careful. It-it was my fault.” In that childish, frightened, 
high voice, the words seemed almost surreal, and Aragorn hated hearing 
the terror they barely concealed, especially from one so young. 'No child 
of three should be able to speak so fluently after just a few months. Maybe 
this boy is older than we think. Or perhaps he is simply very intelligent, as 
Legolas is.'
            Legolas brought the pouch, and Aragorn instructed, "Help Saru off 
with his shirt while I mix a salve to help him." As Aragorn fetched a 
pitcher of water, Legolas helped Saru, and then the two of them waited. 
Legolas took Saru's hand, squeezing gently. "It's okay now," he 
whispered. "My master will help you."
            Aragorn turned back towards them, having put a few herbs into a 
little water. The mixture he had created was thick and pungent. He 
approached Saru and murmured, "Everything's going to be fine. Hold still, 
please." Aragorn covered the tips of his first and second fingers with the 
salve and brought it to Saru's side. The sticky stuff was cold, and Saru 
shivered slightly.
            "I'm-I'm sorry," he whispered.
            "It's all right," Aragorn muttered, distracted. His mind wasn’t on 
his words, his automatic responses as a master having kicked in. He 
rubbed the salve in gently.
      Gradually, Saru relaxed and the look of pain melted from his 
features. He was still holding Legolas’  hand, and he squeezed the elf's 
hand and smiled.
      Aragorn took a step back. "You can put your shirt on." As Saru 
obeyed, Aragorn put the salve into another container; a smaller, 
transportable bowl. Saru looked at him and Aragorn held out the bowl. 
"Put this on again whenever you get sore." He started to turn away, then 
he looked over his shoulder. "And you shouldn't be working in a garden 
today. Legolas was going to have the chore of cutting up and sorting some 
herbs I gathered yesterday. You may do his job, and he will do yours."
      "I can-" Saru began, but then he fell silent. "I'm sorry," he 
repeated.
      Aragorn nodded, glad that the boy had caught himself. He had 
never taken enjoyment from punishing slaves for their occasionally 
unbridled tongues. "When you're completely healed, you can help Legolas 
with the garden in back of my tent. Go now, both of you. Gather the herbs. 
Legolas, show him what to do."
      Legolas nodded, and the two left.
      When they were outside, Legolas whispered, "Saru?"
      "Yes?"
      "You should tell them."
      "I can't."
      "This is the fourth time-" Legolas began.
      "I know," Saru interrupted. "It's okay; I don't mind."
      "Don't you think they'll start to notice?"
      "No one but you knows that he’s hurt me before."
      Legolas shook his head. Before he could say anything though, a 
voice called, 
      "Saru! Saru!"
      The red-head looked up, and waved. "Hi, Master Kehydi."
      The other boy shook his head. "Just Kehydi," he said. "I sound so 
old when you say it the other way." He glanced at Legolas. "Hi."
      "Hi."
      "What are you doing?"
      "Weeding," Legolas answered.
      "Sorting plants," Saru added.
      "I'll help," Kehydi decided. "Show me."
***
            That night, Legolas came into Aragorn's tent. He was a little sore 
and very tired. He hadn't even eaten dinner, but that didn't bother him. All 
he could think about was sleep. He undressed, putting everything neatly to 
one side so Aragorn wouldn't trip over it, and crawled between his 
blankets in the corner. He closed his eyes.
            As he was drifting near sleep, he heard his master come in. 
Aragorn moved quietly for a man, but the elf could easily hear him. He 
turned over, thinking that he might be needed, though he hoped that he 
wouldn't have to move.
            Aragorn sat on the edge of his pallet and removed his boots. This 
done, he glanced up and smiled at Legolas. "You have had a long day, 
young one," he murmured. "Come, and I will sing you to sleep."
            Legolas got up at once. He crawled onto Aragorn's pallet and laid 
down while the Ranger took off all his clothes except his britches. 
Aragorn climbed in behind him, holding Legolas against his chest. This 
was a familiar position to them both and, as such, was comforting to both.
            Softly, Aragorn began to sing, and Legolas almost immediately 
slipped into reverie.
***
            In the middle of the night, he awoke. Aragorn was tossing about in 
his sleep, and muttering. Legolas caught two names that he'd heard his 
master say often, those which he knew to be his master’s brothers: Elladan 
and Elrohir. Aragorn was now muttering, agitation and a little fear plain in 
his voice, "Safe now… safe Elladan…"
            Legolas rolled over and snuggled against Aragorn, thinking to help 
him.
            The Ranger moaned and shuddered. "I'm here, Elladan… Don't 
pull away…" He reached out and Legolas slipped into his arms. Aragorn 
held him very close, whispering, "Love you."
            As Aragorn settled back, his tossing having passed, Legolas started 
to drift off again. But before he could sink back into his dreams, Aragorn 
cried out suddenly, his whole body abruptly tensing as taut as a bowstring. 
"Elladan!" he screamed.
            Legolas hugged Aragorn as best he could to him, rubbing his tiny 
hands over Aragorn's bare chest, trying to soothe him.
            There was a sound at the tent-flap, and Legolas looked up to see 
Malacai stumble in, followed by Mordecai, his younger brother. Both 
stopped when they saw that Aragorn was asleep. They looked to Legolas 
questioningly, but the elfling didn't know what to say.
            Aragorn was weeping silently now and Legolas turned from the 
other two men to brush his master's tears away.
            "Legolas," whispered Malacai, "try to wake him. We'll leave. Call 
if you need us."
            Legolas glanced at him and nodded. His heart felt tight, and tears 
were gathering at the corners of his own eyes. He turned back to Aragorn 
and bent close to his ear. "Wake up, Master. Wake up. Everything's okay. 
Wake up." He shook Aragorn lightly.
            Abruptly, Aragorn sat up, his eyes flying open. Legolas whimpered 
in surprise and huddled into the pillow, watching Aragorn. The man 
turned his head from side to side, muttering, "A dream," and then looked 
down at Legolas. 
      "Legolas? What are you doing here?" He stopped, and answered 
his own question. "I sang you to sleep." He gathered Legolas into his arms 
and laid down again, kissing Legolas's forehead. "I scared you. I'm sorry." 
He spoke in Elvish, hoping to soothe the child.
            "Why were you crying?" Legolas asked.
            Aragorn hesitated. He’d never trusted his most secret thoughts (and 
when those thoughts concerned his brothers, he kept them very secret 
indeed) before to a slave. And he’d known many. But Legolas was… 
different, though a better word might be “special”. "Well… I received a 
letter from my brother, Elrohir. Elladan was attacked by men while he was 
journeying to Lothlorien to visit his grandmother." He sighed. "I'm going 
to go to Imladris in the morning; I think I'm needed there."
            Legolas stared. "But- but… it's so far!"
            Aragorn smiled kindly. "You don't have to go, Legolas. I'll be back 
in a few weeks."
            Legolas clung to Aragorn. "Please don't go."
            "I have to. I can't abandon my brothers when they need me." He 
spoke gently but firmly, knowing he would have to put his foot down this 
first time or suffer for his weakness a thousand times afterwards.
            "Can I go?" Legolas whispered.
            Aragorn opened his mouth to say no, but then he thought of how 
cheerful Legolas was, and how he could bring a smile to any face. 
"Perhaps," he said. "Let me think on it. But Legolas, you must accept 
whatever my decision is. Do you understand?"
            Legolas nodded, his face comically serious. "I understand, Master 
Aragorn."
            The Ranger tousled his hair. "Good. Now let's go back to sleep." 
He gathered Legolas into his arms, and the two of them fell back to sleep.
***
            When Malacai and Mordecai withdrew from their chief’s tent, they 
were surprised and a little angry to see that Saru had followed them. His 
eyes were large with fear, and he was shivering in the cold because he was 
without shoes or shirt.
            “Saru!” Malacai exclaimed, and he marched forward, grasping the 
boy’s arm above the elbow. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, his 
face lined with worry. He released the boy and removed his cloak, putting 
it around the child’s shoulders.
            “I thought Master Aragorn was hurt,” Saru answered, lowering his 
eyes. Then he looked up again. The Southern men had always yelled at 
him (and beaten him) for looking them in the eye, but the Dunedain said 
they always wanted to see the eyes of their slaves to know if they were 
telling the truth.
            Malacai bent and lifted the boy into his arms to protect his feet 
from the chilling dew. He began to walk towards his tent, calling, 
“Mordecai, will you check on them in half an hour?”
            “Of course.”
            When they were just outside the tent, Malacai hugged Saru against 
him. “You frightened me, Saru. I didn’t think you’d wake up. And how 
did you know it was Aragorn that yelled?”
            Saru shook his head. “I don’t know. I heard him in my sleep, and 
the next thing I knew, I was outside and running towards his tent.”
            Malacai gazed into the candid brown eyes, and he was suddenly 
moved, as he had been when he first saw the boy. As in most life-changing 
things, what happened next came to Malacai as an urge, an instinct. He 
tilted Saru’s chin up a little, moved his head closer, and kissed the boy 
gently on his lips.
            For an instant, Saru stiffened, but then he wrapped his arms around 
his master’s neck and kissed him back. He was afraid, at first, that Malacai 
would do as his first master had, and bite him, but Malacai only held him 
closer and rubbed his back.
            When Malacai pulled back, he was slightly breathless. “You’ve 
done this before.”
            “Yes, Master.” Saru blushed a little in the starlight. “But you’re a 
better kisser than my old master.” He offered Malacai a shy, sweet smile.
            Malacai raised an eyebrow. “Am I now? Well, I’ll consider that a 
compliment.” He hugged Saru close, then said, “Let’s go back to bed.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
Chapter Four

            When Aragorn awoke the next morning, he was surprised to find
that Legolas was not beside him. He turned his head and saw the elfling
adding a few things to the Ranger’s bag. "Legolas, what are you doing?"

            Legolas didn't jump. He'd obviously heard Aragorn's slight
movements. "You didn't pack the herbs Saru sorted yesterday. You might
need them." He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "I promised Master
Malacai once that I would take care of you."

            Aragorn chuckled as he sat up. "Did you indeed?? When was
this?"

            "When we were coming back from Nennid. He told me all about
you, and that he needed me to watch over you for him."

            "Don't you think that I, an ancient Dunadan, can take care of
myself?" Aragorn challenged, amused. He grabbed the rest of his clothes
and began to dress.

            "I know you know what to do, Master," Legolas answered as he
tied Aragorn's herb-pouch closed, "but Master Malacai said sometimes
you don't do everything you should because you're so worried about your
people. He said that just because you're thirty-seven doesn't mean you can
remember everything when you have so many things to worry about."

            Aragorn shook his head and grunted. "That sounds just like
Malacai." He slipped on his boots and stood. "Well, Legolas, you're doing
a very good job at following his orders. Now, since you've finished with
my packing, why don't you get your clothes together? We'll leave after
breakfast."

            Legolas's jade eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet. "Yes, 
sir!" he
cried, excitedly, and ran over to his corner.

            Aragorn chuckled softly. "I'll be back soon. See that you're 
packed
and you've eaten when I get back." He left the tent and walked towards the
central fire. Annaleh and Saru were cleaning vegetables and packing them
in clay. These would become part of the Dunedain's food during the
winter.

Annaleh looked up as he approached. "There's porridge in the pot," she
said.

Aragorn nodded. "Please save some for Legolas; he'll be out soon."

"Is he going with you, then?"

Aragorn nodded. "We'll leave after I talk to Malacai."

"Aragorn, it isn't as if you haven't gone away before. He already knows
what he must do: set the watches, oversee the preparations for winter,
including mending the tents, packing the food, curing the meat, tending
the horses' hooves so they don't have any problems when the ice and snow
comes, sewing-"

Aragorn held up his hands and cried, "If he knows all that, why am I
here?"

She smiled complacently "Because you need us."

"Nay 'tis you who need me, dear lady." He bowed mockingly then said,
"Even if your husband does know all, I must again speak it to him. For
that is my duty as it is his duty to listen to my ramblings."

He leaned down and touched Saru's shoulder. "How are your ribs? Have
you been using the salve as I ordered?"

Saru nodded, and whispered, "Yes, Master."

"What salve?" Annaleh asked at almost the same time.

Aragorn glanced at her in surprise, then commanded, "Saru, look at me."

The red-head turned and met Aragorn's gaze. His eyes were already filling
with frightened tears.

Seeing the terror his tone yielding made Aragorn want to forget the whole
thing; he hated frightening anyone. Still, he had to speak. "Saru, you 
didn't
tell your mistress about your punishment, did you?"

Saru worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. "No, Master Aragorn."

"Tell her now."

Saru looked at Annaleh, who was frowning at him.

He swallowed. "Yesterday, I ran into Master Halbarad, and we both fell.”
He was licking his lips now, and his hands were pulling at the hem of his
tunic. “He, um, slapped me and kicked me so that I would remember to be
more careful."

Annaleh shot a glance at Aragorn before standing. "Continue with your
work, Saru."

Saru lowered his eyes and picked up some wild carrots to wash in the
bucket in front of him.

Annaleh ignored Saru. She grasped Aragorn's arm, and the two of them
moved a little distance away. "Aragorn, I know you believe in patience,
but I am starting to lose mine with that man!"

"Halbarad?" Aragorn asked.

She threw up her hands, exasperated. "Yes, Halbarad! He is mean-spirited
and his eyes are always on our Saru. He wants him, Aragorn; you can see
it." She folded her arms and glared at him as if to ask, "What are you
going to do about it?"

"I'll talk to Halbarad," Aragorn answered after a moment’s thought. Her
outburst had showed him that this interest wasn’t something she had
recently noticed. He realized that Halbarad might have been harassing the
boy for some time. "I'll remind him that he is to take slaves to their
masters or mistresses for punishment."

Annaleh sighed. "Mind that you watch him, Aragorn; this isn’t my
imagination. His next target could very well be Legolas, or even a
Dunadan child."

"I doubt he is so perverted as to attack one of his own people," Aragorn
answered. "And as for Legolas, Halbarad will never even get close to
him." He shook his head. "I'll watch him more carefully, and ask Malacai
and his brother to do the same, but don't tell anyone else what you
suspect."

            She nodded. It was better than she had hoped for, knowing that
Aragorn was reluctant to take action against one of his Dunedain unless
there was evidence behind the suspicion. “Thank you.”

            Aragorn smiled understandingly and said gently, "I'll agree that 
he
still needs some tempering. Until this is resolved, keep Saru with you or
with Kehydi or your husband. That way, he'll be safer."

He turned and walked towards the place where the horses were kept. On
the way, he passed Legolas, who was eating by the fire and talking to
Saru. Aragorn glanced at the red-head's back, wondering why Halbarad
would have an interest in the child. That long, glowing, red hair was Saru's
only attractive physical feature. Maybe someday he would grow into a
handsome young man, but that time was still far off.

            Roheryn was pawing the ground and tossing his shaggy yet noble
head. Aragorn grinned, forgetting about Saru for the moment. "It'll be
more than just you and me on this journey, old friend," he murmured in
Elvish as he stroked the horse's nose.


Roheryn whickered.

"Aye, he's an elf- an elfling, in fact; a creature you've never met," 
Aragorn
answered, as though the horse had asked a question. He set about saddling
his mount, saying as he tightened the girth, "Legolas will ride in front of
me. Go slowly at first, old friend, until he gets used to riding."

With the saddling done, Aragorn took Roheryn's reins in his hand and led
him across the camp. As he neared his tent, he saw that Legolas had
brought all the baggage outside and he was standing beside it, his face
beaming.

"You're a wonder, Legolas." He dropped Roheryn's reins and caught
Legolas up in a twirling hug. Legolas squealed happily. Aragorn lifted him
a little higher and put him on Roheryn's saddle. The horse held completely
still, only flicking his ears a little.


"Hello, I'm Legolas," the elfling whispered to the horse.

Aragorn put the two bags- Legolas's was quite small- behind the saddle,
tied the herb-pouch at his belt and then swung into the saddle behind
Legolas, having drawn the reins over Roheryn's head. He clucked
sidemouth to Roheryn and they started off on a walk.

"Aragorn!"

The Dunadan didn't even have to pull back on the reins, Roheryn stopped
on his own, and the chief looked over his shoulder. "Yes, Aaron?"

The young Ranger held up a wrapped packet. "From Annaleh; a little food
to see you through."

Aragorn shook his head. "I've already packed plenty, as she well knows.”
He added, “Is there anything else?" for he could see the way Aaron’s eyes
were twinkling.

Aaron smiled. "Saru asked me to say good-bye to Legolas for him."

"Please tell him good-bye from me, Master Aaron," the elfling returned.

Aaron nodded and turned away, and called over his shoulder, teasing his
chief, "Be careful, Strider. We would hate to have to come and rescue you
from Rivendell."

***

Three days later, Aragorn drew Roheryn to a halt and pointed. "Do you
see the valley?" Then he shook his head and muttered, "Of course you see
it." He laughed at himself. "Anyway, that's where the House of Lord
Elonrd, Imladris, lies."

Legolas yawned and stretched. He'd been asleep against Aragorn for the
last few hours, elves requiring sleep in childhood instead of simple
reveries, but now he was fully awake, looking forward to a new adventure.
Traveling with Aragorn had been wonderful; when Aragorn didn't have a
thousand duties to perform, he had time to tell Legolas stories about men,
dwarves, elves and the more evil things that dwelt in Middle-Earth.
Legolas loved the stories and committed them to memory as best he could.
He also learned many songs during their journey- seven in Elvish, two in
Dwarvish, five in the Common Speech and even one in the language of
Rohan. He loved to sing and he was able to imitate whatever Aragorn
sang, as well as remember it instantly. Such was one of his gifts as an elf.

They clattered down the road and over the ford. As they climbed the hill
towards the house, a voice called out, "Estel!"

Aragorn looked up, and saw Elrohir in the trees above. The second son of
Elrond dropped from his high branch and landed gracefully and silently in
front of them. "Mae govannen!" Elrohir cried joyously. But though he
smiled, Aragorn could feel the great agitation in his foster brother. The
Ranger swung down from the saddle, then lifted Legolas down.

Elrohir eyed the elf. "Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Legolas, my slave."

Legolas bowed. "My lord," he said.

Elrohir nodded. "You may call me Lord Elrohir." He turned back to
Aragorn. "You haven't come too soon. Already the darkness threatens to
steal over him." He began to walk at a brisk pace towards the central
house.

Aragorn followed and called over his shoulder, "Take Roheryn to the
stables. The stableboys will help you take care of his tack and brush him
down. Make sure he gets plenty to eat."

Legolas watched them go for a moment, feeling a little nervous. Now that
he was away from the safety of the Dunedain camp, he felt lost and lonely.
He took up Roheryn's reins and started to walk.

But he had only taken a few steps before a voice asked, "Can I help you?"

He looked up, since he'd been walking with his head down, lost in his fear.
"I-I am Master Aragorn's slave," he said to the unknown blond elf who
stood before him.

The elf nodded. "Come; I will show you where the stables are." He walked
beside Legolas, and Legolas had his first chance to study another elf. He
noticed that the blond walked lightly, like he did, and that he wore no
shoes. "May I ask who you are, my lord?"

The elf shook his head. "I am no lord. I am Glorfindel, slave of Elrond
Half-elven. We are equals, Legolas."

'Like Saru and I,' Legolas thought. "I'm glad to meet you." And because he
needed the contact so badly, he reached out.

Glorfindel took his hand, and they started off towards the stables. "How
old are you, Legolas?"

"I'm six."

"And where do you come from?"

"From Mirkwood."

"I'm from Gondolin originally but when it was destroyed, I came to live
here." The ancient elf didn't feel like explaining his reincarnation to the
elfling. Perhaps the child wouldn't even understand.

"You were killed by a Balrog, and you killed him," Legolas answered.
"Master Aragorn told me."

Glorfindel smiled. "Then you know a lot more about me than I know
about you." They had reached the stables and Glorfindel began removing
Roheryn's tack. He pointed to a covered pail where feed was stored and
Legolas went to it, finding a scoop easily enough. As Glorfindel put the
tack up, Legolas put the food in Roheryn's trough.

When the horse was done eating, Glorfindel groomed him, then turned to
Legolas. "Where are you supposed to go now?"

"I don't know; my master didn't say."

Glorfindel nodded. "That means you're to come with me; I'll feed you and
help you find a place to sleep."

As they started to walk towards the main house, Legolas asked, "When
will I see Master Aragorn?"

"When he sends for you." Glorfindel gave him an understanding smile.
"Don't be afraid, Legolas; no one will hurt you here."

"I miss him," Legolas whispered, and his hand found Glorfindel's again.

"Aye, I know; I miss my Lord Elrond when he goes away." He was silent
for a few minutes as they came into the house and went to the back, where
the slave quarters were. Glorfindel showed Legolas an empty room, and
the two of them sat down on the low bed.


"Lord Estel- Aragorn to you- is a good man. He'll never betray you or hurt
you. He was always kind to me, and to the others.”

Legolas nodded. “I know… but I wish he hadn’t just left me.”

“You haven’t been his slave for very long, have you?”

Legolas shook his head. “Only six months.”

“Hasn’t he left you alone at night so he could stand watch?”

“Yes, but we’re in the Dunedain camp then, and I know I can find him if I
really need him. Here, I wouldn’t know where to look.”

“He’s with Lord Elladan now, surely,” Glorfindel answered.

Legolas blinked, and thought of a question. “When I said I was Master
Aragorn’s slave, you said you’d help me with Roheryn. How did you
know that’s what I was supposed to do?”

“I had been ordered to attend Lord Elrohir,” Glorfindel answered, “and
thus I was in the same tree with him.”

“I didn’t see you.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That’s how it’s supposed to be. Slaves must be
invisible unless they’re needed.”

“That’s not how it is among the Dunedain,” Legolas murmured. “We are
smiled at, helped with our work, and even played with.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. “What do you mean by ‘played with’?”

Not understanding Glorfindel’s sudden concern, Legolas answered
blithely, “Master Aaron plays hide and seek with Saru and me sometimes.
He says it improves our tracking skills.” Grinning, he added, “And our
hiding skills.”

Glorfindel relaxed. ‘All right, well enough; I should have known Estel and
his people better than that.’

“Well, I’m glad it’s different for you among the Rangers. By and large,
they are a great-hearted people and, if I could not serve in this house, I
would serve with them.” He stood. "I have to go and tend my Lord. If you
like, go out into the gardens. Just stay in the trees so you won't be 
tripped
over and be back here by sunset. Your master might want you to help
serve dinner."

Legolas bit his lip. He wanted Glorfindel to stay… but he'd learned very
quickly among the Rangers that hesitation in regards to duty was always a
fault. "Thank you for helping me," he answered instead.

"Of course." Glorfindel left, closing the door silently behind him.

Legolas couldn't hold still, so he left the room only a minute or so after
Glorfindel; he headed towards the outside, hoping to find the gardens. He
found them easily enough- they were deserted- and scaled a tree. He
moved high into the branches and settled himself among the rustling
leaves. Closing his eyes, he could imagine being back at the Dunedain
camp.

"Strip."

Legolas's eyes flew open and he stared down through the branches. A
dark-haired elf, who bore a slight resemblance to Lord Elrohir, was
standing a little distance from his tree. With him was Glorfindel. As
Legolas watched, morbidly fascinated, Glorfindel pulled his tunic up over
his head and let it drop to the grass.

The dark-haired elf ran his hands over the porcelain skin, eliciting moans
from Glorfindel as his nails dug into the sensitive flesh. Legolas gasped
and covered his mouth with his hands when he saw the blood that the
dark-haired elf's aggressive caresses had brought.

"More," Elrond commanded in a throaty whisper.

Glorfindel started to take his leggings off, but Elrond pushed him to the
ground and ripped the constraining cloth off. "Say what I want to hear."

"Take me," Glorfindel whispered. "Take me hard. Hurt me."

Elrond growled, "Spread your legs."

Glorfindel, lying flat on his back, complied, his chest rising and falling
quickly.

The elven lord shoved Glorfindel's thighs even further apart (Legolas saw
the blond wince) and positioned himself between them, taking his elfhood
in his hand. "Say it again, Whore."

"Hurt me. Rape me. Please, my Lord, rip me apart."

Elrond snarled, placed his elfhood at Glorfindel's entrance, and pushed in.
Glorfindel sobbed and his hands tightened into fists at his sides.

"Harder? Do you want it harder, Whore?"

"Yes… Harder, please, my Lord…" Glorfindel was crying now, tears
trickling down his cheeks, soaking the golden hair that framed his pale
face.

Elrond thrust repeatedly, howling like a randy beast.

In the tree, Legolas drew his knees to his chest, burying his head between
them, squeezed his eyes shut and covered his sensitive ears. Time passed
far too slowly, but Legolas didn't dare look up. He didn't want to see the
elf-lord’s face again. A part of him thought that if he did, he would find
the face changed into that of an orc. He curled into himself as much as he
could and waited, trembling.

At last, he could stand it no longer. He raised his head, opening his eyes
reluctantly. He uncovered his ears and heard a soft mewling sound.
Looking towards where Glorfindel and Elrond now lay, he saw that the
dark-haired lord was holding Glorfindel against his chest. His hand was
between Glorfindel's legs, where blood was pooling. But even as Legolas
watched, horrified, the blood stopped and Elrond withdrew his hand. He
wiped his fingers on his tunic, which he was still wearing, and then placed
a tender kiss on Glorfindel's forehead. It was a kiss not so different from
those that Aragorn gave to Legolas.

"You'll need to rest now," Elrond said softly. "Do you need help getting
back to your room?"

Legolas gaped at the gentle tone.

"No, my Lord; I will be all right. You have healed me well."

"Get some rest and I'll see you at dinner tonight." Elrond tipped
Glorfindel's head up and kissed his lips. "Will you rest, Glorfindel?"

"Yes, my Lord, I will rest."

"Good." Elrond rose, and helped Glorfindel to his feet. He picked up
Glorfindel's tunic. "This will be long enough to cover you," he said. "The
leggings will have to be sewn."

"I will see to it, my lord."

Elrond shook his head and his voice grew firm, though no louder. "You
will not see to anything until you've rested. Do you understand me?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, Lord."

Elrond touched Glorfindel's face. "You do so much for me, Golden One;
please do something for yourself." He left the garden, walking slowly.

Glorfindel watched him until he was out of sight, then the blond put the
tunic on and picked up the ripped leggings. He, too, made his way out of
the gardens but, unlike Elrond, he limped.

Legolas felt drawn to follow, so he dropped noiselessly from the tree and
crept after Glorfindel, being careful that he wasn't seen. He trailed
Glorfindel to the blonde’s room but stood out in the hall when Glorfindel
went inside. He was unable to gather his courage enough to approach the
other slave.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of soft singing from inside the
room; this roused him and gave him a little more bravery. He crept to the
door, which Glorfindel had neglected to close, and peeked in.

Glorfindel stood near the window, his back to Legolas. He was leaning
against the sill and Legolas could read the tension in his shoulders. The
older slave paused in his song and sighed.

"Ai, Elrond," he whispered in Elvish, "when will you desire gentleness
again? Your anger is making my life very hard." He turned from the
window and went into the next room, closing the door behind him.

Impulsively, Legolas slipped into the outer room. He glanced at the door
Glorfindel had gone through, but did not move towards it. What he
wanted, he knew, was Aragorn, but he couldn't have his master. Instead,
he crept to the bed, picked up Glorfindel's pillow and buried his nose in 
it.
A smell of linden trees and faded roses touched his nose and he sighed,
slightly comforted.

"Glorfindel!"

Legolas dropped the pillow and ran to a nearby closet, closing its door
behind him tightly just as Glorfindel emerged from the other room. "I am
here, Lord Elrohir."

Legolas sank down on the floor of the closet and hugged his knees. He
prayed the two elves would go away soon.

"I need you, Glorfindel." Elrohir sounded as though he were in the room.
"Elladan's healing goes very badly; Estel is with him, but I want to forget
for a little while."

"Of course, my Lord.”

"Undress."

Legolas buried his head in his hands. Would this be the same as before?

It was, and when Elrohir left, Glorfindel was bleeding on the sheets
beneath him. When Glorfindel lay still, collapsed in a faint, Legolas crept
out of the closet, slipped from the room, and ran from the house. He fled
to the gardens, crawled under a bush and huddled there, shaking and
crying and wanting desperately to go home.

‘What makes Glorfindel a whore? What is a whore, anyway? What am I?
I’m Master Aragorn’s slave… I think. Maybe a whore’s only another way
to say a slave.’ He shuddered harder. ‘Will Master Aragorn hurt me like
that?’

The shadows of evening closed around him and Legolas squeezed his eyes
shut; his tears slowed and at last stopped, but Legolas didn’t uncurl.

He heard footsteps approaching and hoped desperately that he wouldn’t be
found.

“Legolas?” called out Aragorn’s clear voice. “Little One, where are you?”
He walked a little nearer, then turned in another direction, still calling.
Now he sounded worried. “Legolas! Little one, please answer me.” He
was walking away from Legolas’s hiding place now. “Legolas? Legolas,
Little One, Legolas! Where are you?”

The elfling hesitated, then called, “I’m here.”

Aragorn’s heavy boots came running toward him, and he dropped to his
knees, peering under the bush. “Legolas!” He reached out and Legoals
took his hand.

When he was out in the open, Aragorn drew Legolas against him, rocking
him and kissing his forehead and his hair. “Aii, my little one, why were
you out here alone? Surely you were tended to?”

Legolas snuggled into Aragorn’s chest, feeling the tears come again. He
couldn’t answer.

Aragorn murmured, “Legolas, Legolas, I thought you were gone. I thought
you ran away. I thought I’d never see you again.”

The child looked up into Aragorn’s sad, grey eyes and he asked, “Am I
your whore?”

The Ranger’s breath caught in his throat. “Why- why do you ask that?”

Legolas’s eyes brimmed over with fresh tears. “Please… I want to know,”
he mourned. “Am I your whore?”

Helplessly, the Dunadan whispered, “Legolas, you are not my whore. You
are…” He paused. The word ‘slave’ sounded too harsh at the moment.
“My servant,” he finished. “You are my little elf that I will always guard
and tend and treasure.” He paused, then asked, “Do you even know what a
whore is?”

Legolas shook his head and sniffled.

“It’s someone who serves a man sexually.” He sighed. “Legolas, I know
you don’t know what sex is; just please know that I will never hurt you.”

“But your brother and your father hurt Glorfindel,” Legolas cried out,
letting his terror out at last.

Aragorn gaped. “How do you know that/”

“Well… I was in a tree, and I saw an elf who looked sort of like Lord
Elrohir make Glorfindel bleed…” He gestured between his legs “… down
there.”

Then Aragorn understood. When he was younger, he had witnessed
Glorfindel’s suffering, worrying about the slave who had always been so
kind and gentle with him. When he’d left to become a Ranger, he’d asked
Elrohir to please be careful with the faithful slave and Elrohir had
answered simply, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” It had never occurred to
Aragorn that his ada, too, was abusive. “I’m sorry they hurt him, Legolas;
I’ll talk to them about it.”

Legolas moaned, “Please don’t tell them I saw…”

Aragorn stroked Legolas’s hair and promised, “I won’t tell them. I’ll just
ask them if they’re still hurting him. They won’t lie to me.” He squeezed
Legolas’ hand. “But for now, will you join me for dinner?”

Legolas nodded.

Aragorn lifted the child into his arms, hugging him close. He started
walking towards the main house. “I swear to you, Legolas; I’ll never hurt
you.”

***

That night, Aragorn climbed into bed and drew Legolas against his side.
“You were very good at dinner. I have not seen my father smile in a long
time.” He kissed the top of Legolas’s head. “I’m proud of you.”

Legolas snuggled against him. “Thank you, Master.” He yawned and
closed his eyes, feeling Aragorn wrap an arm around him.

There was a sharp knock at the door and Aragorn sat up, releasing
Legolas. “Come in.”

Elrohir burst into the room. “Elladan’s gone!” He was pulling at his hair.
“He was there before dinner; I sent Glorfindel to wait on him, and
Glorfindel left him resting. That was an hour ago. But I went to see him
before bed and he’s gone!” He was pacing now, still tugging at his hair.
“Estel, we have to find him. There’s no telling where he’s gone, or what
he’s thinking.”

Aragorn was out of bed and had put his shirt on. He didn’t bother with his
shoes or his cloak. “He hasn’t been thinking about suicide, as far as I can
tell. How was he before I got here?” He was striding towards the door, and
Elrohir was following him.

“He’s been moody, depressed, afraid; the same as you’ve seen him. I don’t
think he’d try suicide, though. Elladan is too reasonable.”

The door closed behind them.

Legolas sat in the bed, and he shivered. The fear came rolling back. He’d
thought that being alone in the daytime was bad; being without his master
in the dark was much worse. He laid down and pulled the blankets over
his head.

The door opened a minute or so later, and Legolas held his breath, hoping
he wouldn’t be seen or heard. He listened hard, but couldn’t hear any
footsteps. The door closed and Legolas heard a sob. This broken sound
reminded him strongly of Saru and, strangely, he was comforted. He sat
up, pushed the blankets back and saw a tall elf standing near the window,
gazing out. His body was as tense as Glorfindel’s had been, and there was
the smell of fear on him. His dark hair glistened slightly in the moonlight.
Legolas knew immediately who he was. “Elladan?” he whispered.

The elf’s hands tightened on the sill in front of him, then he turned his
head very slowly. His eyes shone in the dark, and the hunted and trapped
look in his eye, too, reminded Legolas of Saru. “Who are you?” he
husked.

“I’m Legolas. I’m Master Aragorn’s slave.”

The dark eyes blinked at him, then Elladan released his death-grip on the
window sill. “I’m looking for Aragorn. Where is he?”

“He and Lord Elrohir went out looking for you.”

Elladan shook his head. “I don’t want to see Elrohir right now.” He took a
step towards the bed. “Will you find Aragorn for me?” Then he shook his
head and muttered, “This is insane. Must I ask a child to do my hunting
for me?” He sighed. “Never mind.” He came closer, then sat on the edge
of the bed, watching Legolas.

“Where are you from?”

“Mirkwood.”

“How old are you?”

“Six.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

Legolas answered honestly, “Only when my master’s not here.”

Elladan smiled. “He fills everyone with hope; such is his nature.” He
shook his head. “And to think, at one time, Elrohir and I were chasing
away his nightmares.”

“What did he have nightmares about?”

Elladan shrugged. “The usual child-things, I suppose: darkness,
bogeymen, spiders, orcs… No. He was never afraid of orcs.”

“I’m not either,” Legolas said proudly. He liked Elladan and felt safe
around him; it was almost like having a quieter, more fragile Aragorn. Or
a taller Saru.

Elladan muttered in a dry voice, “Really.” He chuckled. “Good for you,
Legolas.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” Legolas asked, reaching out to brush
Elladan’s hand lightly with his fingertips.

The son of Elrond hesitated. “No. I couldn’t get to sleep.”

“What are you afraid of?” Legolas asked.

“Aii, how do you know I’m afraid, little elf?” His voice sounded more sad
than angry to Legolas.

“You sound like my friend, Saru. He’s afraid a lot, too. He was hurt when
he was little and now he’s afraid of almost everybody.”

Elladan considered that, thinking, ‘This child has seen much more than he
should have, and knows far too much about the world. What sort of life
did he lead before Estel found him?’

“I was raped, Legolas. I know you don’t know what that means, but-”

“It’s what Lord Elrohir did to Glorfindel,” Legolas answered before he
remembered that he was supposed to keep his knowledge a secret. He tried
to pull his hand away from Elladan but the older elf caught him about the
wrist, gently.

“Legolas… no, I won’t ask. It’s different between my brother and
Glorfindel, but I can’t explain why.” He shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
“Maybe I’ll go look for Aragorn myself and chance meeting Elrohir.”

“Glorfindel said being raped hurts but he doesn’t let it stop him from
loving Lord Elrond. He’s still nice, and he isn’t afraid of El- Lord
Elrohir.”

To himself, Elladan murmured, “No, Glorfindel was never afraid.” He
stood. ‘If this child can be so sure of everything, then, by Elbereth, so 
can
I!’

“Legolas, go back to sleep.”

Legolas nodded. “Okay.”

Elladan left hurriedly, closing the door silently behind him.

Legolas lay awake for another hour or so, but, eventually, his child-body
forced him to sleep.

***

Aragorn groaned wearily as he entered his room. It was nearly dawn.
Elrond hadn’t wanted all of Rivendell to know that his eldest child was
missing, so the search-party had consisted of only the Lord of Rivendell,
Elrohir, Glorfindel and himself. They hadn’t thought to look in Elladan’s
room, but when they had returned there an hour ago, desperately praying
to Elbereth but without hope, there they had found Elladan sitting in a dark
corner. He’d spoken to them quite sanely, apologizing for his
disappearance, and none of them had known quite how to respond. The
only thing Aragorn was sure of was that, of the four of them, only
Glorfindel could be trusted to keep calm and treat Elladan with gentleness.
So after a few minutes, Elrond, Elrohir and Aragorn had left Glorfindel to
do what he did best: console and talk.

For another twenty minutes or so, the two elves and the man had talked in
Elrond’s study; complaining, venting and worrying. In the end, Aragorn
left Elrond and Elrohir to rehash the old arguments and suffer the old pain.

‘Personally, I don’t think anything either of them says to Elladan will help
him. I don’t know what he needs, but it’s not lectures, like Ada will give
him, or anger and fear, like Elrohir would give.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know
what they thought I could do; I’m just as helpless as they are, maybe even
more so because the only memories I have of Elladan are the memories of
a naïve teenager.’ As he moved towards his bed, he pulled his shirt off
over his head and dropped his pants down. He stepped out of them, lifted
the sheet and crawled into the bed. Legolas was curled up, fast asleep
beside him. Aragorn gathered the child into his arm and inhaled the scent
of his slave’s hair. This did more to relax and calm him than three nights
of passionate sex would have. Aragorn thought briefly of the compliant,
sexually-minded man he’d slept with for six years. His musings didn’t last
long. The slave (whore, in his case) hadn’t left any lasting impression on
his mind.



Chapter Five



"I hate Elrohir sometimes," Elladan muttered. In his room, he was pacing
endlessly.



Glorfindel sat on the bed; he hadn't asked if he could. Just as Legolas had
known instinctively, Glorfindel knew Elladan was different from his
brother and his father. There were elves that were meant to own slaves and
there were those who could do nothing less than treat all elves as equals.
Elladan was one such elf, just as his grandmother, Galadriel, was.
Glorfindel didn't hold Elrond's and Elrohir's thoughts against them; he
truly loved to serve them.



And yet, his love for Elrond and Elrohir was different than his love for
Elladan. That was only to be expected. Elladan treated him better than the
others did.



He truly loved Elrond and Elrohir, like they were his children, two elves
that he would give his soul for, if that was what they required of him.



‘But I’d rather be able to put my whole trust in Elladan than in one of
them.’



"Why?" the blond elf asked simply. He would also do anything Elladan
needed of him and, right now, Elladan needed him to be a sounding-board.



"He thinks he knows what I lived through! He thinks he can heal it by
telling me it's all over! He thinks he knows what's best for me. At least
when Ada thinks that, he has a good reason: he's older. Elrohir is five
minutes younger than me; what gives him the right to tell me what to think
and how to react?"



"Elrohir wants desperately for you to be healed," Glorfindel answered
quietly. "He craves that so fiercely that he's trying to fix your heart
himself. He wants your happiness so much that he forgets he isn't Eru."



Elladan stopped midstep and turned towards Glorfindel. "Do you really
believe that?" he asked in blank astonishment.



Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, I do. I've known you both from the cradle, and
I've come to know how you think."



Elladan's mouth tightened down at the corners. "How do I think, then?"



Glorfindel sighed. "I know how you thought before you were attacked, I
can speak to that. But since I can never know what you went through, I
don't know what changes they made in you."



That relaxed Elladan. He took a step nearer to Glorfindel, asking more
gently, "What was I like before?"



"You have always been studious and quiet. Your movements were
pondered, weighed, then executed with precision and swiftness; in games
like chess as well as in life. You were an expert hunter, due to both skill
and that waiting patience which has always been one of your most
beautiful gifts." Glorfindel allowed himself a wry smile. He loved the
freedom that he had with Elladan to show his expressions. "Physically,
you have always been a head-turner and in a different way to Elrohir. He
attracted she-elves with his passion and animal magnetism; you attracted
them with the mystery that lives in your eyes, your voice and in every
movement of your figure." His smile broadened into a full one. "I could go
on for some time. Shall I?"



Elladan smiled to himself and came to sit beside Glorfindel. "Nay, I think
my head's swollen enough." He put his arms around Glorfindel and leaned
against him. "Aii, Glorfindel, why are you so perfect?"



‘So warm,’ Glorfindel thought, and he almost sighed in happiness. ‘But
that would be giving away too much,’ he decided.



Instead, the elf-slave raised an eyebrow. "I? Nay; there's no perfection
here." He reached up and stroked Elladan's hair. "You three are everything
to me; I couldn't survive without you."



Elladan kissed Glorfindel's cheek. "Will you sing me to sleep, Glorfy?"



The Elda nodded. "All you need to do is ask." As Elladan slipped under
the covers, Glorfindel murmureded, "What song would you like to hear?"



"Will you sing part of the Lay of Luthien?"



"Aye. Close your eyes." Glorfindel rubbed Elladan's head, resuming the
stroking of the younger elf's hair. He sang, rumbly and sweetly, until the
sun rose. Elladan had drifted off almost at once, but Glorfindel had sought
to soothe the younger elf's dreams and so he sang until he was sure
Elladan would wake to the glowing sun. He kissed Elladan's forehead and
slipped from the room, heading for his own rooms.



***



Elladan rose at about noon and bathed. He was feeling very depressed. He
knew that he must make a formal apology to his brother, and he always
dreaded these times. Elrohir would be angry with him. Elladan never
wanted to face his twin when he was the cause of the younger twin's
anger. 'But if I don't do this now, it will be stabbing at me all day.'



With this thought urging him on, Elladan left his rooms and walked
towards Elrohir's. He stopped at his twin's door, raising his hand to knock
but, suddenly, a sound from inside made him pause. It sounded like a low,
suppressed sob... much like the ones he himself had made often enough
lately. Without thinking, Elladan pushed the door open. He froze in the
doorway. Elrohir was kneeling over Glorfindel, his hair hanging in his
face. He was driving into the blond with savage ferocity and Glorfindel
was indeed sobbing beneath him. The Elda was clutching the sheets in
front of him, and his knuckles were white.



This was an all too familiar scene, as far as Elladan was concerned. As he
watched the suffering before him, he felt a stab, as of hot metal, in his
stomach.



But, as always, he was unable to say what he thought of his brother's
practices. 'If I can distract him, maybe he'll forget about Glorfindel for a
while. If I can protect him, I will,' he vowed silently.



"Elrohir," he called, his voice barely above a whisper.



Elrohir thrust in again and, this time, Glorfindel cried out.



Elrohir punched him, and drove in again.



"Elrohir," Elladan tried again, a little louder. He came into the room and
shut the door. He didn't want all of Imladris knowing what his brother was
doing at this moment. (Though, of course, most of the elves already knew
how Elrohir treated Glorfindel.)




This time, Elrohir seemed to have heard him. His twin froze for an instant,
mid-thrust. Then he yanked himself out of Glorfindel, reached to his side,
grabbed his trousers and worked them on; all with his back still turned.
When he was covered, he looked over his shoulder at Elladan, and his
brother could read the surprise and anger in his eyes, as well as the
anguish. That last emotion stabbed Elladan's heart and he  suddenly
regretted coming in. He took a step back, groping blindly for the
doorknob.



Elrohir jumped off the bed and moved towards him, his anger and surprise
veiled. He held out his hands, palms up. "Elladan..." he murmured, as
though soothing a frightened animal. "Elladan, it's all right. Did you need
to see me?"



Elladan glanced over Elrohir's shoulder and saw Glorfindel curl into
himself. He looked back to his brother quickly. "I'm sorry I ran off last
night. I wanted to speak to Estel... but I should have left a note or
something..." He looked down, ashamed.



"Elladan, since when aren't you allowed to leave your room whenever you
feel like it? I shouldn't have panicked."



This wasn't the reaction Elladan had expected; usually Elrohir accused
him of being selfish, of not thinking. Instead, his brother was indulgent,
even apologetic. 'Hurting, no, fucking Glorfindel has always calmed him.'



"I still should have left a note. I don't want to worry you. I'm sorry."



Elrohir smiled kindly and touched his shoulder. "Don't worry about it
anymore. I’m fine now. I'm just glad you're all right."



Elladan's eyes flicked to Glorfindel again. He saw the blood on the sheets.



Elrohir glanced over his shoulder. "Aii, Elladan, I know what you want."
He smiled, caught Elladan's hand in his and pulled him over to the bed.
"Do it, please, Elladan. It will make you feel better."



For an instant, Elladan hesitated. But then he saw the tears streaming
down Glorfindel's cheeks. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed and put
his hand between Glorfindel's legs, healing him. He slipped a finger inside
the slave and mended his entrance. As he worked, he sang softly; his other
hand was smoothing Glorfindel's hair away from his face. Gradually,
Glorfindel eased under his touch, as he always did.



Elladan smiled slightly, sadly. "All's well now, Glorfindel."



Glorfindel turned towards him and Elladan took the slave in his arms,
rocking him.



Elrohir watched this, hiding a sardonic smile. He knew how all this would
play out: Elladan would rock Glorfindel to sleep, then fall asleep himself.



But either Elladan didn’t realize he’d done this all before, or he didn’t
care. His mind and heart were focused on the injured elf before him.
'Sometimes I wonder how Glorfindel can be so strong, and yet so weak.'
Elladan sighed. 'I'll probably never know,' he decided, and he let the
question go. After all, when he was comforting Glorfindel, he felt better,
too.



"Master Elladan," Glorfindel murmured, snuggling close.



Elrohir watched the familiar script run its course. Soon, Glorfindel was
asleep in Elladan's arms and the dark-haired elf had closed his own eyes.
After a little while, he, too, slept. 'They'll continue this play forever,'
Elrohir thought. 'It helps Elladan to feel strong. Someday, maybe I'll
encourage him to go to the next step, and take Glorfindel to be his
personal comfort in bed. Eventually, if we take it slow, that will happen.
Maybe then, with someone to take care of, like he used to take care of
Estel and Arwen, Elladan will be healed.'



Suddenly, an idea struck him. 'Yes, they'd continue this... unless I step 
in.
If I could make Elladan have to heal Glorfindel for more than a few
hours... for weeks...' Forgetting for the moment that Glorfindel hadn't
satisfied his sexual needs, Elrohir left the two asleep in his bed, and went
to the healers, in search of certain drugs.



***



Aragorn counted slowly to ten; first in Elvish, then Dwarvish, then the
Common Speech. When he was done, he opened his eyes and turned away
from the tree he'd been facing. It was mid-afternoon and the sun slanted
down through the branches, lighting up his usually grim face. Now,
though, all his everyday cares were gone; he was playing one of his
favorite games, in the gardens of his elven home, just like when he was a
child. The difference was that now he was the adult, and the child was
Legolas.



"Ready or not, here I come!" Aragorn called, not too loudly, knowing that
Legolas would be able to hear him. He set off through the garden,
listening intently. Legolas was quite good at this game but, every once in a
while, he would give something away. The Ranger moved stealthily,
staying in the shadows.



He heard the snap of a stick and looked up quickly. Legolas was crouched
behind a bush, and he giggled when he realised Aragorn had found him.
Then he dashed off, back towards the tree Aragorn had started from. The
only way he could still win was if he reached the tree before the Ranger
caught him.



Aragorn sped after him. He had to run all-out; the elfling was small, but he
was fast. He dove, trying to catch Legolas with a flying tackle, but the elf
zigzagged and fled to the tree, touching the trunk and yelling, "Safe! I'm
safe!" He turned his head, looking back at his master. He was panting, and
his eyes were dancing. "You missed me!"



Aragorn grinned. "Aye, I know it. I'm getting old." He got to his feet and
walked slowly towards the tree.



"You're not so old, Estel; compared to the rest of us, you're barely a 
child."



The Ranger turned, smiling with new happiness. "Elladan!" He crossed to
his brother's side. "Are you well?" he asked quietly.



"I'm getting better. Don't worry about me. I swear I won't fall into
darkness." Elladan's eyes were serious and resolute. "Please, Estel, don't
fear for me. Go back and tend your people." He smiled impishly, and the
expression made him look much younger. "Unless, of course, you've fallen
in love with some pretty elven lass."



"Nay; my eye is still on men." Aragorn became serious again. "Elladan,
are you sure you're all right? I won't leave until I'm sure of you."



"Aye; I'm well, I promise."