Chapter Seventeen
      “We’ll be caught. Someday, Kehydi, we’ll be caught.”
      How right Saru had been.
      They were caught- discovered- in the winter, which was usually their 
safest season, for they could go hunting for two days and be alone during that 
whole time.
      ‘We were too careless,’ Kehydi would think afterwards as he sat in his 
father’s tent, waiting for judgment to come down. Then he shook his head. ‘No, 
not we. I was too careless. I’ve always been careless. If Saru is hurt, punished- as 
he must be- it will be my fault. It will be as if I am lifting and lowering the whip 
against his skin.’
      He shuddered. ‘His beautiful, tan skin…’
      “Saru,” he whimpered, “I’m sorry.”
      He was twenty years old, and wasn’t used to whimpering. He’d reached 
his manhood the year before, as brought about by his father. His father had 
followed all the same rituals Aragorn had before him. In fact, both he and Saru 
were men now.
      It didn’t matter. They would  be punished as surely as if they were small 
children playing too close to one of the cooking-fires. The only difference was 
that this punishment would be much harsher.
      ‘If we had only been seen in the midst of sex,’ Kehydi thought morosely, 
‘with me on top, it would have been different. It would- probably- have been 
chalked up to an over-eager young man, joyous with his coming of age, taking his 
first slave.’
      But all the ifs in the world wouldn’t change what Halbarad had seen.
      Bowing his head, Kehydi waited for the world to come crashing down 
around his ears.
***
      Saru, too, was waiting, but he wasn’t sitting in his master’s tent. He was 
bound securely to a tree just inside the Dunedain camp. He was facing out 
towards the dangerous world, a silent reminder that he could be cast forth into it, 
and that he would never be missed.
      ‘Except by Kehydi, who might try to find me… but they’ll all be watching 
him now. He’d never be able to escape.’
      Saru didn’t cry. Not only would the tears have done him no good, but they 
would have frozen on his cheeks.
       ‘And if I start crying, I’ll probably never stop.’ He closed his eyes and 
tried not to think about the council that was being held somewhere behind him. 
He tried to keep from thinking about Kehydi; where they might have left him… 
though, undoubtedly, he was warmer than Saru.
      He succeeded with the first two. Then a third thing wormed its way into 
his mind’s eye, and he wasn’t able to avoid it. He found himself thinking of how 
Halbarad had licked his lips and leered at him when Kehydi wasn’t looking.
      ‘I hope you rot, Halbarad,’ Saru thought with unaccustomed venom.
      Then guilt swamped him at having thought something like that of one of 
his betters, and he repented silently, ‘I didn’t mean it.’
      A small corner of his mind insisted, ‘Oh, you meant every word.’
      To which another part of his mind answered, ‘Yes, and if you did, then 
you’re a terrible slave. You don’t deserve the clothes your kind master put on 
your back. How could you betray your merciful, gentle master this way?’
      Saru bowed his head. He was unable to stop that morning’s events from 
rushing towards him, swirling around him and finally dragging him down into 
darkness.
***
      They were in a tree, on a platform Kehydi had built himself ‘for hunting’ 
he had told his father; ‘for our privacy’ he had breathed to Saru when they were 
up among the branches. They were laying side-by-side under the cold, clear eye 
of the winter sun. Kehydi had wrapped them in one of his blankets, and they lay 
on another. They were both naked.
      “My Saru?” Kehydi asked softly as he kissed his lover’s neck.
      “Mmmm?” Saru inhaled Kehydi’s good, earth smell and moved even 
closer.
      “Do you know I love you?”
      Saru blushed and giggled a little. “Aye, I know it.”
      Kehydi ran his fingers through Saru’s hair. “You are so beautiful, my 
Sunset,” he murmured.
      Saru laughed quietly as Kehydi’s member fervently agreed with this 
statement. “It seems your body thinks so, too.”
      Kehydi didn’t blush. He knew what he did. “Will you simply allow me to 
lay here, embarrassing myself, or will you help me do something to release this 
shameful, disgracing bulge?”
      Saru laughed again. It never ceased to amaze him how grown-up and 
knowledgeable Kehydi sounded when they were alone together. When they were 
among the Rangers, Kehydi didn’t wax half so confident.
      ‘But he has no one to impress here,’ Saru thought. ‘He knows he can be 
himself with me.’
      And with that thought, Saru’s body relaxed enough for his own hardness 
to come, and he moved against Kehydi, murmuring, “I’d hate for you to be 
uncomfortable, my love. I’ll ease you if I can.”
      “Aye, you can,” Kehydi moaned. He rolled on his back and drew Saru on 
top of him. He spread his legs and bent his knees, raising up his entrance a little. 
“Come to me, Sunset. Come in me. I need you.” He kissed Saru then, long and 
deeply, and Saru gasped.
      “You’ll make me come too early!” he cried.
      Kehydi laughed and nipped teasingly at Saru’s lower lip with his teeth 
before releasing his mouth. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He took Saru’s 
face in his hands and gazed up at him, admiring him. “Come in me, Saru. Please.”
      With oil, Saru prepared his lover. The two joined then, and Saru’s eyes 
slitted almost entirely shut as they always did when he was surrounded by 
Kehydi’s slick, hot silk.
      “You both make me sick.”
      They hadn’t heard the approaching steps, and now they froze, their blood 
stopping. Saru clutched, terrified, at Kehydi even as he pulled out and rolled to 
one side.
      Kehydi stared up at Halbarad, and his lip curled. He hated Halbarad, 
though he scarcely showed it these days; he could never forgive the man for what 
he had done to Saru, though it had been years and years ago. The young Ranger 
drew Saru close to him and sat up so that his lover was protected beside and 
behind him.
      “Your father will likewise be sickened,” Halbarad continued.
      “What are you doing up here?” Kehydi asked, but the nervousness was 
back in his voice, and Saru saw the tension in the muscles of his lover’s back.
      “I was sent to look for you.”
      ‘That’s a lie,’ Saru thought, and he knew it to be true. But it didn’t matter, 
did it? No. All that mattered was that they had been caught. They would be 
punished.
      ‘No, not we,’ Saru realised with a sinking heart, ‘I. I will be punished. 
Kehydi may be disciplined, but I will be beaten, burned, maybe even-’
      He tried to stop the thought; it was too horrible to contemplate.
      His mind betrayed him. ‘I might even be sold.’
      His whole body tensed, and he clung desperately to Kehydi, even as he 
knew his lover could not protect him.
      For the first time in weeks, he thought of Legolas. He thought of his 
friend’s strength and courage. ‘I’ll never see Legolas again. I will be dead before 
they can come back from Rohan or Gondor or wherever they are.’
      Still, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking, as if he were speaking to 
Legolas, ‘I wish you were here.’
      “Put your clothes on, Kehydi,” Halbarad said. “Then both of you will 
come with me.”
      Kehydi handed Saru his clothes.
      “No,” snapped Halbarad. “He goes naked. He must be punished, after all.”
      “We’ll be punished, but only by the decree of the council, and the decision 
of my father,” Kehydi challenged. The strength was back in his voice, at least for 
the moment. “I will obey him, not you.”
      Halbarad sneered, but he could do little else. Kehydi was right, of course. 
As son of the second, he knew the Dunedain law very well.
***
      He heard soft footfalls, and snapped back to the present. ‘Now,’ he 
thought. ‘Now is my doom decided.’
      The steps came ever nearer¡ but they paused about five feet or so behind 
him.
      Saru stiffened. Was he just to be shot by an arrow, then? A quick death, 
nearly painless-
      ‘And more than I deserve.’
      But then logic reasserted itself. ‘The tree is between us. Whoever it is 
could not get a clear shot from that angle. Besides, the Dunedain never shoot 
someone in the back unless there is no other choice. They have too much dignity 
and honor for that.’
      ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘I am but a slave. They don’t have to show honor 
with me.’
      The footsteps came closer again, and Saru held himself perfectly still. He 
dreaded the thought of dishonoring himself any more than he had already.
      ‘Dishonor! There was no dishonor!’ he heard in Legolas’ voice. ‘You love 
him. He loves you. How can there be dishonor in love?’
      ‘Kehydi is freeborn. I’m a slave.’
      ‘Horseshit,’ Legolas snapped in his mind.
      Before Saru could think of anything to say- assuming he could have found 
a way to counter that one, vehement word- a figure rounded the tree and stood 
before him.
      Saru looked up, meeting the eyes of the Ranger above him. It was not his 
master, which was what he had feared. He hadn’t yet seen his master’s 
expression, hadn’t been present when the matter of his mistake- his treachery- 
was discussed. He wasn’t sure, even now, if he was ready to look into his master’s 
eyes.
      He had also feared it would be Halbarad, and that had terrified him beyond 
measure or sense. He’d longed to scream when he first thought of that.
      ‘I am less frightened by Aaron than by either of them,’ he decided, 
looking at the face above him ‘but have I any right to be?’
      Aaron crouched down in front of him. His eyes were solemn, and his face 
was stern. But he didn’t look as if he wanted to kill or injure Saru, and the slave 
relaxed minutely. Perhaps he wouldn’t be sold, after all.
      “I’m to take you to Malacai. You will give him your report of the events 
that transpired between you and his son.”
      ‘He wants to hear my side of things?’ Saru was too shocked to feel 
anything else, including fear or relief.
      Aaron untied Saru’s hands and the slave felt his blood flowing a little 
easier. He rubbed his wrists as he stood up.
      Aaron grasped Saru’s upper arm- not harshly- and led him towards the 
central fire-ring, where the council had been convened. Saru walked like a 
stricken calf at his side, his head lowered and his top teeth worrying his bottom 
lip.
      When they were at the ring, Aaron announced, “Here is Saru, your 
property, Malacai. He is of sound mind and body.”
      Malacai gestured without speaking and Aaron guided Saru to a place in 
the center of the circle. The fire had been put out and the wood removed. Saru 
knelt there, on the charred stones, and waited. His head was still lowered. When 
Aaron let go of his arm, Saru whimpered. He didn’t want to be left alone.
      Aaron returned to his place beside Annaleh and sat down. His face was 
hidden behind a show of calmness and control. But Annaleh felt him shaking, and 
put a hand on his arm to steady him. She wondered for a moment if he was 
shaking with anger or sorrow. But as her husband began to speak, she turned her 
eyes and thoughts to him.
      ‘Please, Malacai,’ she thought, ‘be patient. Be fair.’
      “Meet my gaze, Saru, or I will not hear your words.”
      Saru raised his head and looked directly at his master. He ignored the 
other Dunedain that completed the circle, fearing whom he might see.
      His master’s face was unreadable. He sat with his hands in his lap and his 
eyes focused on his slave. “Good. Will you answer my questions?”
      Saru had to swallow three times before he was able to speak. “Yes, 
Master.” His answer came out very small, and he felt his throat tighten. Would he 
be able to answer again?
      “Do you understand that any attempt on your part to lie will be punished 
with a severe beating?”
      “Ye-” His voice failed him. Saru swallowed again, then clenched his 
hands at his sides. “Yes, Master,” he managed at last.
      “How long have you been having intercourse with my son?”
      “I-” Saru bit his lip. “Master, it will be six years, this spring, since we 
began to-” His voice failed again. “Since we began to- to have intercourse.”
      “Who is usually dominant in these situations?”
      Saru hesitated. “I do n-not understand, Master,” he whispered and cringed. 
      “Who is in control at those times?” Malacai’s voice grew no louder.
      “We are equals when we are alone together,” Saru admitted, and knew he 
had probably just knotted his own hang-rope around his neck.
      ‘But I will not betray Kehydi. I will not let his father think that I was just 
following orders.’
      There was a murmur among the assembled Dunedain.
      “Silence,” Mordecai barked, and Saru realised that the man was sitting 
very close to his brother.
      “Are you saying that you spend equal time under and on top of my son?”
      Saru blanched as he finally understood what Malacai was asking. “No, 
Master.”
      “Then what do you mean?”
      “I mean… I-I mean that we love each other and… we can talk and move 
as equals.” He added meekly, “I thought that’s what you were asking.”
      “Are you usually inside my son, or is he inside you?”
      Saru could almost feel the noose tighten about his neck. “I am usually in 
him.”
      Another murmur from the Dunedain.
      “Silence, or you will be dismissed,” Mordecai barked once again.
      “Why are you inside my son? Do you wish to be dominant over him?”
      Saru’s fear vanished for one instant, and he blurted, “Nay, Master!” His 
eyes flashed with his sudden, desperate need to explain. “It is only that Kehydi 
wants to make me comfortable, and he knows I fear the pain of intercourse. He 
gives himself freely.” He added in a softer voice, though it carried to all who 
listened, “We are ever gentle with each other.”
      “You called him Kehydi, not Master Kehydi. Explain that.”
      Saru swallowed. His courage had fled. “I-he-we-” He took a deep breath 
and started again. “He does not wish me to call him Master. And because we are 
e-equals when we are alone together, there are no titles between us.”
      “Permission to speak in Saru’s defense,” Aaron said suddenly, and all 
(except Saru) turned towards him.
      “Permission granted,” Malacai answered.
      “All here know that Kehydi doesn’t wish to be called Master. Also, all 
here know that Saru has ever treated him with the same respect he shows the rest 
of us.” Aaron’s face, animated and passionate when he spoke, reverted to that 
calm, controlled cast.
      “Is there anyone here who will speak for or against those words?” Malacai 
asked.
      Jamien, Aaron’s second cousin, raised his hand.
      Malacai nodded to him.
      “He speaks the truth, Malacai.”
      Annaleh raised her hand. When her husband nodded to her, she answered 
softly, looking meaningfully into her husband’s eyes, “He speaks the truth very 
well.”
      Malacai turned back to Saru, his face not showing what he thought of 
these words. “Do you know that what you and my son have been doing is 
wrong?”
      Saru fidgeted. “I…”
      ‘Is it wrong?’ he wondered.
      ‘Yes!’ cried that hysterical part of his mind that had berated him before.
      ‘But I love Kehydi!’
      ‘Slaves don’t know how to love.’
      ‘But...’ he moaned.
      “Can you answer?” Malacai asked. His tone was hard, unyielding.
      “I-I do not know what to say, Master,” Saru whispered.
      “I want the truth. Tell me what you believe.”
      Saru swallowed and committed himself. “Yes and no.”
      The gasp that rippled amongst the Dunedain was blessedly short, for many 
of them were wary of Mordecai. 
      Malacai still refused to show any reaction. He demanded tonelessly, 
“Explain.”
      ‘I’m going to die. They’re going to kill me for this.’
      ‘I’ll not betray Kehydi. He took a chance when he fell in love with me.’
      “I know that the Dunedain say that love between a slave and a freeborn is 
wrong,” Saru answered in a voice almost too quiet to hear. “But I also know that I 
love Kehydi, and I don’t believe love is ever wrong.”
      “Is it possible you simply lust him?” Malacai whipped back.
      Saru blanched. “Nay, Master!” he cried , shocked and hurt. “I love him! 
He has been so kind to me, so gentle, so… so loving… I do not lust him, Master. 
It is love. I swear it.”
      “And what’s that worth, the vow of a slave?” Halbarad spat.
      “Be still!” Mordecai snapped, and now he sounded as if he was having 
trouble speaking at all.
      Saru heard this, but didn’t realise he’d heard it. All he could think about 
were Halbarad’s words. He bowed his head and whimpered.
      “Permission to speak in Saru’s defense,” Aaron trumpeted.
      “Denied,” Malacai answered shortly.
      “But, Malacai-”
      “Denied!” the older man clipped.
      There was a breath of silence.
      “I will speak for Saru,” Malacai said then, and his voice was calmer. “I 
will speak for him at least in this: he has never lied to me, nor withheld anything.”
      Annaleh thought briefly of the time Saru hadn’t told her that Halbarad had 
bruised his ribs. She decided not to bring this up. She was very proud of her 
husband.
      “Halbarad,” Malacai said then, “if you speak again without permission, 
you must leave this council.” He saw the shock in Halbarad’s eyes and he nodded. 
“Aye, even though you’re the one with the first-hand testimony.”
      Saru dared to look up, and he saw that his master’s face was grey with 
fatigue.
      “Saru, answer me this,” commanded Malacai in a tired voice. It seemed 
that his words in Saru’s defense had exhausted him. “If you were left alone, if you 
weren’t punished, would you return to my son’s bed?”
      “Only if Kehydi wouldn’t be punished either, Master.” He was able to 
speak a little more calmly, encouraged by his master’s words. (He, too, 
remembered lying to Mistress Annaleh, and was extremely grateful to her for not 
mentioning it.)
      “Would you return as his slave if I commanded it? Would you both agree 
never to speak of love again within the hearing of the camp? Would you agree to 
let him take you so that he would not be dishonored?”
      Saru felt his dim hope flicker a little stronger, like a candle in a breeze. “I 
would do anything to be with Kehydi again,” he answered with some strength in 
his voice.
      “Malacai, you can’t let this go!” Halbarad cried.
      “Aye, Malacai,” said Jamien. “Other slaves will want to challenge the 
system as well if you let this stand.”
      Malacai didn’t answer them directly. “You all heard Kehydi speak of his 
love for Saru. You all heard him ask to be released from the Dunedain, that he 
might take Saru with him and live in peace. You all heard Saru’s promise to do 
anything to be with my son again. What would you have me do? They will try to 
be together again no matter what punishment they receive. The only thing that 
could keep them apart is if I killed Saru.”
      Saru’s stomach tightened.
      Malacai paused, took a breath, and spoke. “I will not do that. He has been 
ever loyal to me and to the Dunedain.”
      “What will you do if this poison spreads?” Verea asked. She sat beside her 
husband, Jamien. They had three slaves of their own, and seven children that 
needed looking after.
      Malacai answered, “I will listen to all your suggestions, and then I will 
send a letter to Aragorn for his consideration.” He gave them a smile with no 
humor in it. “I am too close to this matter to decide fairly, I think.”
      He turned towards his right, to where Mordecai sat. “Give me your 
opinion, and we will go around to everyone.”
***
      Later, after the council was over, Saru only remembered a handful of 
things that were said. He was a little surprised he could remember that much. 
When he had the time to think about the council, it seemed as if the whole thing 
had happened to someone else, or to him, but in his sleep.
      And compared to the nightmare he was suffering when he remembered the 
council, that time in front of the twenty-odd Dunedain seemed like a pretty dream.
            Be that as it may, here was all he could remember after Malacai asked for 
suggestions.
***
      Mordecai: “You can’t stop them from loving each other, but you can re-
establish the bonds between master and slave. Make Saru call Kehydi ‘Master’ 
and make Kehydi take it. Let them lie together, as they surely will, but ensure that 
Saru is always being taken, not the other way around.”
      This was better than Saru could have hoped, and his heart swelled with 
gratitude.
      Olorin, Malacai’s second cousin by marriage: “You’re only inviting 
trouble by letting them stay together. I say, sell the boy. Let him learn what his 
wandering eyes and needy cock got him. He should be grateful for the pokes he 
gets from his master. His real master, I mean, not his master’s son.”
      Saru’s heart sank.
      Verea: “Yes! If you need another slave, you can borrow our Nightley. 
He’ll keep you good company in the night. And he’d give himself well to your 
son, too. None of this dominant-slave business.”
      Uproarious laughter from some of the Dunedain. Mordecai didn’t even 
bother to snap at them this time. It was free-counsel now. That meant they could 
make more noise.
      Saru cringed.
      Jamien: “…I can’t say what is right or wrong for punishment or handling 
of this. I know only this: Kehydi loves his slave. Haven’t we always strove to 
treat them as well as we can? And haven’t some of us here been born from a man 
on a slave-woman? We allowed that to go on, so what’s wrong with this? Because 
of our blood-gift, Kehydi might even bring a child into the world.”
      Others spoke then, but Saru recalled them not until it came to Annaleh’s 
turn.
      “Saru has served us faithfully for well over a dozen years. I won’t turn 
him away because he and my son fell in love. Let Saru become Kehydi’s 
property. We were considering giving him as such when Kehydi turned twenty-
five. Let Kehydi wrestle and grow with this new responsibility.” Her eyes flashed. 
“I know this only: if you kill him, or sell him, as some of you seem bent on doing, 
the Dunedain will lose a skilled cook, tracker, archer and swordsman. With our 
numbers so few in these last days, can we afford that?”
      There were murmurs of agreement at this.
      Aaron didn’t speak right away. He sat at Malacai’s left, and so was 
considered the one of least rank there. He would be the second-to-last to speak, 
since Malacai could have final word. Although he knew his low station, he was 
determined to do all he could.
      “Are we men of Harad?” he asked quietly, and all hushed. Some of them 
had never heard Aaron speak in less than full voice. His eyes swept the circle, and 
last settled on Saru, who gazed raptly back at him, unable to look away. “Are we 
thieves? Are we orcs?”
      His eyes were on Saru as he said fiercely, though still quietly, “No. We are 
men descended from Gondor and from Numenor before that. We are the Grey 
Company, the wanders who protect the border-lands. We are noble men and 
women, with two ages’ worth of history on our shoulders.”
      He sighed, as though he were exhausted. “If we are all that, how can we 
act like animals? I heard some of you say ‘Sell him. He’s trying to get above his 
station.’”
      “I-” Olorin began.
      “Leave now or hold your peace,” Mordecai barked. “This is your final 
warning.”
      “I was only defend-” 
      Mordecai rose and drew his sword. “Leave the circle. You are unworthy of 
this council.”
      Olorin looked to Malacai, disbelieving.
      “You heard him,” Malacai answered calmly.
      Sulking, Olorin slunk away.
      “Continue,” Malacai said to Aaron.
      “If we sell Saru,” Aaron resumed as if he’d never been interrupted, “we 
are saying that the Shadow is right, that the Shadow in the East has power. We 
say that the world will pass in to darkness. Do you know why that is so?”
      Again, he looked around at all the Dunedain. “It is because we would 
punish and stop love. The love between a master and his slave. Kehydi is young. 
Saru is younger. Both may be swayed this way or that by passions. But neither 
has wavered in this: they love each other. I would rejoice to have a slave that 
loved me so unflinchingly, so strongly, so boldly. Kehydi will never have to look 
for escape attempts or murder attempts from Saru. Saru will be his shadow until 
the day one of them dies. To have such a slave and throw him away for a little 
strength of feeling is not only wasteful and foolish. It’s madness.”
      There was a pause. Malacai asked with his eyes if Aaron was finished.
      “I have still this to say!” Aaron cried, and now his voice was strong. 
“Would any of you think of selling this slave if Aragorn was here? Answer in 
your own hearts. And if you come up with the answer ‘yes’ then maybe you need 
to re-examine your souls. They may have turned-”
      “You are finished,” Malacai said then in no uncertain terms, and Aaron 
subsided.
      “Annaleh, please fetch our son. I have made my decision.” He looked 
around at his people, and added, “And this decision will abide until Aragorn 
returns to change it.”
      All waited. Saru, still kneeling, worried his bottom lip with his teeth.
      Annaleh returned, and Kehydi walked at her side. His face was 
unreadable, but his hands trembled. He was brought into the circle, and made to 
stand beside Saru. He put his hand on Saru’s shoulder, but didn’t look at him. To 
do that would have been disrespectful.
      Saru drew immense comfort from the simple touch, but he, too, kept his 
eyes on Malacai.
      “Saru will still be my slave. He will serve me in all ways as he has done 
for several years. If he and Kehydi can keep their passions under control until 
Kehydi turns twenty-five, I will give Saru to him, and let Kehydi decide what is to 
be done with him. He can free Saru if he wishes, or keep him as a slave or 
whatever else he chooses to do.”
      Malacai rose and all the Dunedain watched him. He stepped to the center 
of the circle and said to Kehydi, “Vow here and now that you will not touch Saru- 
in any way- until you are twenty-five. Know that if you do, he will never be 
yours. When I die, he will go to Halbarad or Jamien or another of my choosing. 
Do you understand?”
      Saru flinched at the mention of Halbarad.
      “Yes, Father.”
      “Do you swear?”
      “I vow not to touch him until I am twenty-five.” Kehydi removed his hand 
from Saru’s shoulder.
      “It is well, then. Saru, rise.”
      Saru stood and met Malacai’s eyes.
      “Do you swear not to touch my son or speak of love to him until you 
become his property?”
      “I swear, Master Malacai.”
      Malacai nodded. He turned to the circle. “I will bring this up to Aragorn 
when he returns, but that may be long removed. Dismissed.”
      The Dunedain went silently, both the ones rejoicing in their hearts and 
those that hated Malacai’s decision (and perhaps Malacai, at least for that 
moment).
      Malacai turned back to Saru. “Go to the tent and help my lady prepare 
dinner.”
      “Yes, Master.”
***
      After dinner, Saru was sent out to extinguish the cooking-fire. He went 
out, doused it with water and covered it with earth. He was crouched there, his 
mind filled with hope of the future he could have with Kehydi, when something 
very hard and heavy slammed into the back of his head. He collapsed.
      In the darkness of the moonless night, Saru was carried out of the 
Dunedain camp and into his nightmare. 
Chapter Eighteen
      Whether he was plotting a new way to claim Legolas for himself or if he 
was simply too angry to be sexually stimulated, Denethor avoided both Aragorn 
and Legolas for five years. He didn’t see Aragorn outside of the occasional 
banquet, where the man sat at a spot three or four tables down from the high table. 
Aragorn was a lower officer, though his rank increased each year, and yet 
Denethor noted that he was far too often speaking to Ecthelion.
      There was a third possibility of course: perhaps Denethor was afraid of 
Aragorn.
      The Ranger didn’t believe that for a second, and it showed in the new way 
he moved around the White City. Legolas was never far from his side. He’d asked 
for and been given Ecthelion’s permission to keep his slave at his side at all times. 
And he never went out at night unless he was well-armed, and never into the 
places in the city that were uninhabited.
      ‘Sometimes, I feel like a coward for avoiding the empty streets. After all, 
it’s in the quiet that I find the most peace.’
      But he also didn’t want to be the victim of some hitman’s arrow or 
poisoned dart, and so it behooved him to be cautious.
      ‘Besides,’ he soothed his hurt pride, ‘if I died, what would become of 
Legolas? I must take care of him at all costs.’
      Once, such words had been reserved for his Dunedain only, but Aragorn 
felt no hesitation or awkwardness in applying them to his Legolas.
***
      Early one morning in the winter of the seventh year since they’d left the 
Dunedain, Aragorn rose and stretched. It was dark outside and there were no 
candles lit in the room, but Aragorn didn’t need the light. None of his skills had 
suffered for being so long confined within a city’s walls.
      Legolas, he sensed, was already awake, though he had stayed in the bed. 
Their room was bigger, more comfortable. It reflected Aragorn’s elevated rank. 
He was now a captain, and Legolas was his lieutenant.
      Aragorn laughed softly to himself as he gathered his clothes for the day.
      “What is it?” Legolas asked. Aragorn heard him shifting about on the bed, 
and then heard him rise. A moment later, soft, warm arms wrapped themselves 
around Aragorn’s waist.
      Aragorn turned and buried his nose in Legolas’ unbound hair. The elf was 
as tall as he was, now. He was twenty-one. “I was just thinking that you might be 
too sore this morning to go riding.”
      Legolas laughed. “Nay, my lord, I’m no man who needs to heal after being 
taken hard and long by-’ He bit his lip, grateful Aragorn couldn’t see it. He’d 
been about to say either ‘by his partner’, which was bad, or ‘by his lover’, which 
was infinitely worse. True, Aragorn had been talking about staying with only 
Legolas, and having children by him, but that didn’t mean that would happen, nor 
that Aragorn wanted to love him as one equal loved another.
      Legolas swallowed. “By his master,” he finished.
      Aragorn seemed either unaware of Legolas’ brief silence, or else he didn’t 
want to acknowledge it.
      Legolas rather believed the latter, since hardly anything escaped his 
master’s attention. And that disturbed him. He hated to think that Aragorn could 
read his confused thoughts. ‘What would he do if he knew I think of him as 
Aragorn instead of Master Aragorn?’
      Aii, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment.
      Legolas smoothed over any discomfort there might have been by kissing 
his master’s cheek. Then he spun playfully away. “Find me,” he called, and then 
melted into the darkness.
      Aragorn groaned. Legolas was a perfect elf now; he could vanish into the 
night as easily, or maybe easier, than a doe or hare.
      ‘And he’ll quite easily hear every move I make,’ the Dunadan thought. 
But he was resigned, and he stood stock-still, ready to listen. Though Legolas 
made no sound unintentionally, he would occasionally make one to try and draw 
his master out.
      Aragorn crept to the door, determined that Legolas wouldn’t escape that 
way. He heard no sound in his movements, but wondered if Legolas heard 
anything. ‘Probably did,’ Aragorn groused, though he wasn’t put out of temper. In 
truth, he enjoyed these tests. They reminded him of playing hide-and-seek with 
his Rangers, and, of course, of the time he’d played the same with Legolas in the 
gardens of Imladris.
      ‘The only advantage I have is that soon the morning light will pour 
through the window,’ Aragorn thought. ‘I have the advantage of patience.’
      It was amazing to him how much Legolas reminded him of his Dunedain, 
even as the elf could only possibly be himself completely, without anyone to 
inspire or direct his movements.
      It was mostly Aaron that Legolas reminded him of. Both of them liked to 
laugh, and both lacked patience. ‘Though,’ Aragorn mused as he strained to hear, 
‘I think Legolas may have passed Aaron on that score. He is still far from the 
immovable rock that is Malacai, but he may have left Aaron behind him.’
      A board creaked, but Aragorn didn’t move in that direction. It was too far 
away from him to be able to move with any assurance of success. ‘More likely, 
I’ll leave the door unguarded and Legolas will escape.’
      The waiting resumed.
      Another creak came, a little closer. Still, Aragorn waited.
      ‘I can wait out a ravenous, yet crafty spider of Mirkwood, Legolas. The 
only man who can challenge me in waiting is Malacai, and the only elf that can do 
so is Glorfindel. You’re running out of time. Find a way to escape, or prepare to 
be taken again this morning as you were last night.’ He grinned wolfishly, then 
shut his mouth, knowing Legolas might be able to see his gleaming teeth, light or 
no light. Such was another gift of the elves.
      A third creak came, and it was so close Aragorn could have reached out 
and maybe caught Legolas. But instead, the Ranger turned away from it, making 
sure the boards creaked to show his movements.
      The creak wasn’t repeated, but Aragorn sensed Legolas behind him. 
Without turning, his arm snaked back and seized at the elf he found there. He 
dragged Legolas towards him, turning so that they met, chest-to-chest. He hugged 
Legolas against him, growling mock-threatening, “I have you now, elf. You’ll 
never get away. One word of protest, and say good-bye to your precious Strider.”
      Legolas cried theatrically, “Aii! I’m caught! I’m caught! Master 
Thorongil, save me! Save me!”
      Aragorn made Mmmmpphh! Mmmmpphh! sounds, and then switched 
back to that other voice. “He’s a little busy right now. What will you do, fair elf?”
      Legolas sagged forward, and his hardening, uncovered member rubbed 
against Aragorn’s bare thigh. “What can I give you for his safe release?” he 
purred.
      Before Aragorn could answer, Legolas suddenly twisted away and shoved 
Aragorn backwards so that his bare ass thudded against the door.
      Aragorn gasped, but didn’t move as he felt the cold press of metal against 
his throat. ‘Where did Legolas get that knife?’
      ‘I’ll ask in a moment. But first…’
      “I surrender! Don’t kill me! I’m but a yellow-bellied skunk! Please, 
warrior, do me no harm!”
      “You’re a sore upon an orc’s ass,” Legolas answered solemnly. Then the 
knife was withdrawn and he laughed. “I bested you! I bested you!”
      Aragorn, too, was chuckling. “Aye, you did.” He glanced towards the 
window, and saw that the first grey tendrils of dawn were creeping into the sky. 
“I’m proud of you. I thought that little bit about ‘your Strider’ would throw you. 
Why didn’t you give in?”
      “If I’d surrendered,” Legolas answered simply, “and if this was real, we’d 
most likely both have been lost.”
      Aragorn grinned appreciatively. “Aye. You speak well.” He held out his 
arms, and Legolas, after tossing the knife- it was one of his own, the Ranger saw- 
onto the bed, ran to him. Aragorn hugged him close, and kissed him passionately.
      “Aii, Legolas,” he groaned against the elf’s throat, “some day, you’ll be 
my undoing.”
      “I thought I’d already undone you in bed,” Legolas teased while his 
fingers worked subtle witchcraft at the base of Aragorn’s neck.
      “Aye,” Aragorn answered ruefully, “that is true. What I meant is that 
someday you will undo me in front of my people.”
      Legolas snickered. “Is that a challenge?”
***
      They had this mock-chase and capture on the same day Saru and Kehydi 
were discovered on Kehydi’s wooden platform.
      Legolas shivered suddenly as he held to Aragorn.
      “Legolas?”
      Darkness seemed to surround him, and Legolas groaned. He could hear his 
master calling him, but it was as if an impossibly wide chasm separated them.
      An image floated out of the darkness: Halbarad’s sneering face. Legolas 
wanted to cling to Aragorn, but felt himself being drawn away. He heard Aragorn 
whisper, “Legolas, Legolas… What are you doing here?”
      Legolas tried to ask, “What are you talking about?” but he couldn’t even 
open his mouth. Another groan escaped his lips.
      The darkness was swirling closer and closer.
      “I wish you were here.” The thought was formed in his mind, and Legolas 
knew it wasn’t his own thought. It seemed to come from outside himself. He 
couldn’t respond to it: he was too confused and frightened.
      But slowly, his fear faded. He had ceased to sense the place in which he 
stood and gave himself wholly up to chasing that thought. He played the thought 
over and over again in his mind, and suddenly an image rose to accompany it. 
Horror filled his throat.
      ‘Saru.’
      He didn’t know where his friend was, or what was happening, but Saru 
was hurt and frightened.
      Another voice touched his mind, but this wasn’t a thought. It was as if 
Legolas were two people at once, hearing with two sets of ears. His ears, ‘my elf 
ears¡’ he thought them, weren’t working right now. Instead, he was hearing 
with… whose ears?
      Saru’s seemed the most likely.
      “We’ll be punished, but only by the decree of the council, and the decision 
of my father,” Kehydi growled, and Legolas felt a rush of love that he was sure 
hadn’t come from his body.
      ‘Saru loves him,’ he realised.
      After a moment, he thought: ‘How can I be feeling what he’s feeling? This 
is impossible!’
      And on the heels of that thought came this: ‘I know this is Saru’s mind 
I’m feeling. I don’t know how, but it doesn’t matter. I’m needed, I think.’ He 
stilled his questioning mind and did his best to ‘listen’ and to give himself up to 
feeling what his friend was feeling, with his senses and not just his emotions.
      He heard soft footfalls crunching over snow, and realized, ‘Saru’s 
outside.’
      He felt the pain in ‘his’ arms, and knew that he/Saru was tied with his 
arms behind him.
       ‘Now,’ Saru thought. ‘Now is my doom decided.’
      The steps came ever nearer¡ but they paused about five feet or so behind 
him.
      Saru stiffened. Was he just to be shot by an arrow, then? A quick death, 
nearly painless-
      ‘And more than I deserve.’
      Legolas hated hearing the self-loathing in Saru’s voice, and forced 
common sense into his friend’s mind even as he screened his own anger.
      ‘The tree is between us. Whoever it is could not get a clear shot from that 
angle. Besides, the Dunedain never shoot someone in the back unless there is no 
other choice. They have too much dignity and honor for that.’
      ‘Of course,’ Saru countered (without realising he was doing so), ‘I’m but a 
slave. They don’t have to show honor with me.’
            Legolas wanted to strangle his friend, but held himself in check- just 
barely.
      The footsteps came closer again, and Saru held himself perfectly still, and 
knew he was hoping not to dishonor himself any more.
      Legolas’ anger boiled over.
      ‘Dishonor! There was no dishonor!’ he roared, not caring that he’d been 
unable to disguise his outburst by making Saru think it was his own mind. ‘You 
love him. He loves you. How can there be dishonor in love?’
      ‘He’s a freeborn. I’m a slave.’
      ‘Horseshit!’ Legolas nearly screamed.
      He wanted to say other things¡ but the connection between them- if it was 
a connection, and not just imagination- broke. It didn’t fade out, like the sounds of 
a horse’s hooves did as the animal galloped away from you. Instead, it cut out 
completely.
      Legolas was thrown back into his body with a jerk.
      He became aware of five things at once, and the sudden overload from his 
own senses nearly slammed him into unconsciousness.
      He heard Aragorn calling him.
      He felt Aragorn shaking him slightly.
      He could smell Aragorn’s fear- a distinct scent that he’d only smelled 
three or four times in his life. He was very glad he hadn’t smelled it more often. 
When he smelled his master’s fear, he could smell his master’s mortality, and that 
frightened him.
      He saw Aragorn’s image wavering in front of him, slipping into focus and 
out again with a speed and unpredictability that was sickening.
      He tasted his own tears in his mouth. Had he been crying? He must have 
been.
      The thing that steadied him was that his master’s fear dissipated, and the 
smell went with it. “Legolas?” he called again, but now his voice was relieved.
      Legolas closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them the world 
would have decided where it belonged. “I’m all right...”
      Aragorn laughed in his relief. “Aii, Legolas, I thought I was going to lose 
you. I’m glad you’re all right.” He bent forward, and as he had done five years 
ago, when he’d seen Legolas’ dying eyes, he kissed the elf’s brow.
      Then he trailed kisses down Legolas’ cheek, ending at his mouth. “I’m so 
glad you’re all right,” he murmured against Legolas’ lips.
      Legolas smiled against him. He opened his eyes and let out a relieved 
sigh. The world was back to its normal place. He saw that he was lying on the 
bed, and Aragorn was sitting on its edge, bent over him. “I’m fine now.”
      He remembered why he’d been ‘gone’ from Gondor, and told Aragorn all 
he’d heard, felt and seen. He offered his speculations as well.
      Aragorn sat up, his back straight, his eyes closed, while he listened. When 
Legolas was finished, Aragorn was silent for a full five minutes. Legolas only 
watched him, relishing the feeling of safety his master always projected.
      At last, Aragorn began to speak, slowly at first, as he still puzzled it out, 
but more quickly as he realised he could peg a name on what Legolas had 
described.
      “What you’ve described can rightly only happen between elven brothers 
or elven lovers.” Aragorn paused, and it was the stories, the hidden stories, about 
Gil-galad and Elendil that he was thinking of. “Or it could happen between an elf 
and a mortal lover.”
      He frowned. ‘Where am I going with this?’
      He sifted through his thoughts again, then asked, “Could you see all that 
he saw?”
      Legolas shook his head.
      Now more confused than ever, Aragorn muttered, “Elven brothers can see 
everything the other sees, feel everything the other feels. Why couldn’t you?”
      Then he understood, in a flash, and almost laughed at himself. “A very 
strange bond, indeed,” he muttered, “between best friends; one an elf, the other a 
man.”
      There a little tickle in his mind, an almost-voice that whispered something 
similar was happening between he and Legolas.... but the voice was too distant, 
and Aragorn was too distracted.
      ‘It’s a strange bond, but…’
      But bond it was. Now Aragorn understood and he even thought he could 
explain it. “Legolas, what you and Saru share is a form of the bond that has been 
shared by elven brothers or lovers for time out of mind. It’s a form of the bond my 
brothers share.”
      He considered his next words carefully. “You were too young, I think, to 
have fallen in love with Saru.” Now he turned and studied Legolas’ face. “Is that 
true?”
      Legolas nodded. “I love Saru like a brother,” he added helpfully.
      “Aye, I know. It is a very strong feeling that you have for him.” He 
smiled. “And he for you, or the bond wouldn’t work at all.”
      Aragorn took Legolas’ hand. “What you felt, saw and heard was 
happening back North, right when you perceived it.”
      “It was real, then?” Legolas asked, not sure if he was relieved or more 
frightened by this idea.
      “Yes. It was real.”
      Fear won out for the moment. “Then Saru needs me! He’s in trouble for 
loving Kehydi and he needs me to save him! What if they decide to kill him?”
      Aragorn shook his head. “It won’t happen. Not only is that not a 
punishment as laid down in our laws, but Malacai cares for Saru too much.”
      “What if he’s overruled?” Legolas cried. “He’s not you. He can be 
challenged.”
      “He is Chief while I’m gone,” Aragorn answered. “All must obey him as 
they would obey me.” 
      He squeezed Legolas’ hand so that the elf met his gaze. Aragorn said 
reassuringly, “I know what Malacai will do. He will call a council. He and several 
Rangers will discuss what to do. But in the end it will be Malacai who decides 
how to punish Saru.”
      “Why should he be punished?” Legolas demanded, and he pulled his hand 
out of Aragorn’s grasp.
      Aragorn stared at him in surprise. “Legolas-” He stared to reach out, then 
stopped himself. He took a deep breath and explained as calmly as he could, 
“Saru is a slave. Kehydi is freeborn. There cannot be a union between them.” He 
wanted to add, “And you know that,” but he resisted.
      “There is a union between Elladan and Glorfindel,” Legolas countered.
      Aragorn blinked, a mild enough change in his expression, but he was 
suddenly ashamed. How could he answer such a candid voice? With a lie? 
      ‘Never.’
      “Legolas, Glorfindel and Elladan will never formalize their union. 
Glorfindel is his slave, and so he will remain. But Elladan will love him and take 
care of him as he would a… a good horse.”
      It wasn’t what he had wanted to say, but that was what came out.
      And his shame deepened.
      ‘I should have told him this long ago,’ Aragorn berated himself as he 
watched Legolas’ closed expression.
      ‘Amazing how well he’s learned to mimic that mask I use…’
      ‘Stop it! He isn’t going to want to mimic anything from you now. Why 
weren’t you just honest with him in the first place, from day one?’
      ‘But I thought he understood about Elladan and Glorfindel… I explained, 
when we left Rivendell… Didn’t I? Or did I just assume he would understand?’
      ‘Probably that. Yes. Mostly definitely that.’
      ‘And why didn’t I tell him from day one?’
      But he knew the answer to that. ‘Because I didn’t want him to be like 
other slaves… he wasn’t like other slaves, even before I started treating him 
differently. I wanted him to think for himself-’
      ‘-and look where it got me. Where it got us. He’ll never trust me now.’
      “Do you really believe that?”
      Legolas’ soft voice made him flinch, and for a moment all Aragorn could 
do was gape at the elf before him. He still couldn’t read Legolas’ expression, and 
there had been no emotion in that question.
      After a moment of silence, Aragorn realised Legolas expected an answer. 
He gave it, honest still, though he didn’t think it would do him much good. “Yes, 
Legolas, I do.”
      “Why?” Legolas was looking down at the floor. 
      Aragorn hesitated. “Because it’s the way I was taught.” But that felt like 
an empty, flimsy excuse.
      Legolas didn’t give him time to ponder his answer, or try to remake it. 
“What makes a slave a slave?”
      ‘Aii! I cannot answer that!’ Aragorn protested silently.
      He did not believe, as Malacai did, that the Valar made slaves. He wasn’t 
sure what made slaves, only that they existed, and that they must obey. “I don’t 
know, Legolas. Luck, maybe. Or fate. Or just hatred and fear.”
      Where had that last come from?
      “I wasn’t always a slave,” Legolas confided, and now Aragorn heard 
nervousness in his voice.
      When he fell silent, Aragorn asked, surprised that he could still speak, 
“What were you, then?”
      Legolas shook his head without looking up. “I don’t know. I remember 
living with my parents¡ but I can’t really even remember what they looked like. I 
had a brother… a younger brother.” He swallowed, and Aragorn realised that 
Legolas was crying.
      Helpless to do anything else, Aragorn took Legolas by the hand and drew 
him close. At first, no words would come, and he simply listened to Legolas sob 
against his shoulder.
      A part of him- and he hated this part- was glad Legolas had forgotten his 
questions about Elladan and Glorfindel. He knew they would come again, but he 
hoped that they wouldn’t come for a long time.
      Legolas was shuddering hard. “I’m so lost,” that shudder seemed to 
scream, and Aragorn realised that Legolas had dragged up a net of fear, anger and 
confusion.
      ‘And I’m going to have to help him through all of it.’
      He fervently hoped no one would seek either of them out until this was 
done.
      ‘If it can ever be done.’
      He cast that thought aside and began to rock Legolas. And he stopped 
thinking, deciding to work purely on instinct. This, he knew, was the best way to 
function when he was unsure which way to go. Elendil had given his sons a great 
gift: foresight. But another gift he’d given them, not so well-sung, but more 
useful, maybe, was the gift of intuition, and the ability to set everything else aside 
and follow where it led.
      “Legolas, if you want to find where you came from, I will get you there,” 
he promised. “There are only four elven havens in Middle-Earth. If your parents 
or brother are still here, we’ll find them.”
      Legolas clung to him even more desperately. He didn’t answer.
      “And when we find them, you will be free. You can be free now, if you 
want.”
      Legolas sobbed, “No!” He knew that if he wasn’t under Aragorn’s 
protection, he’d be lost. He wasn’t quite ready to raise his head, but he added 
quietly, his voice rough, “I don’t want to be away from you. Please don’t send me 
away.”
      Aragorn shook his head and began to stroke Legolas’ hair. “I’ll not leave 
you, Legolas. I’ll take care of you whether you’re my slave or free.”
      He touched Legolas under his chin and lifted his head.
      When Legolas was meeting his gaze, Aragorn whispered, “If I release you 
from my service, you can become one of my Dunedain until we find your family.”
      Legolas’ breath hitched. “Really?”
      Aragorn nodded. “Yes, really.”
      He waited for Legolas to cry or laugh or jump up and dance.
      Instead, Legolas drew back from him, and Aragorn read fear in his eyes. “I 
don’t want to be free here,” he murmured. “Not in Gondor. When we’re back in 
the North, I’ll be free, but not here.” He gazed at Aragorn pleadingly. “Can we 
wait?”
      Aragorn smiled. “Yes, Legolas, yes, we can wait.”
      Legolas came back into the circle of his arms, and rubbed his face against 
the rough weave of Aragorn’s shirt.
      Aragorn’s hand went back to Legolas’ hair, and the two sat like that for a 
time.
***
      Denethor was in a foul mood, but when the servant he’d hired three 
months ago came to his chambers and knocked three times, his eyes lit with 
interest. 
      “Enter.”
      The servant opened the door, bowed, then closed it behind him. He bowed 
again.
      “Report,” Denethor snapped. He had been pouring over a boring bit of 
tomfoolery from Rohan, and welcomed the distraction. Perhaps it was even good 
news.
      “I was standing outside Thoronigl’s door-”
      “As you are ordered to do every morning,” Denethor interrupted 
impatiently. “Get on with it.”
      “I heard him say the word Dunedain, Lord.”
      Denethor’s teeth came together with an audible snap, and he stood so 
suddenly that the table overturned with a crash, spilling the papers onto the floor.
      The servant fell back two steps. “My Lord-”
      Denethor rounded the overturned desk more swiftly than a weasel that’s 
scented fresh blood. “What exactly did he say?”
      The man had a perfect memory, which was one of the main reasons 
Denethor had employed him. He recited, slowly and plainly, “If I release you 
from my service, you can become one of my Dunedain until we find your family.”
      Denethor gnashed his teeth. “He was talking to the elf?”
      “Yes, my Lord.”
      “He’s going to set the elf free?”
      “Yes, Lord. The elf seemed to be crying, and…”
      Quickly, he told all he’d heard. When he was done, Denethor sat thinking.
      At last, he said clearly, “I know what to do. You will go back and follow 
them as before. Let me know all that transpires. If they show any intention of 
leaving the city, or if anything else out of the ordinary happens, inform me at 
once.”
      The servant bowed. “Yes, Lord.” He bowed himself out and shut the door.
      But Denethor had dismissed the man from his mind as soon as he’d 
finished giving his instructions. His knuckles were white, and his whole body had 
gone stiff. There would be no pacing this night.
      He knew what he must do, but by the White City, it was hard to think past 
the rage that threatened to distract him!
      ‘First, I must’
      ‘Dunedain… filth from the North…’
      ‘separate them. I must catch him alone. As for the elf’
      ‘in my city. MY CITY! Talking with my father…’
      ‘once Thoronigl, not that that’s his real name, but once he’s gone the elf’
      ‘Plotting with him to take the throne. I won’t have it’
      ‘will be mine.’
Chapter Nineteen 
      Legolas sighed and bolstered up his courage. “Master Aragorn?”
      Aragorn shook his head. “You don’t have to call me that when we’re alone 
together. Aragorn is fine.” He grinned. “Or Thorongil, actually, since we’re still 
in Gondor.”
      But his smile faded as he realised what lay ahead: more questions, and 
surely ones that were more challenging than simply declaring that he would free 
Legolas. 
      “Why should Saru be punished?” Legolas had asked, and Aragorn knew 
he couldn’t give the answer Legolas really needed to hear. If Legolas was 
uneducated- ‘again, it’s my fault that he was schooled as a Ranger is schooled’- or 
slow, this would all be made much easier.
      ‘No use wishing for what cannot be,’ Aragorn decided.
      He looked at Legolas soberly and invited, “Legolas, ask anything you 
like.”
      “I know you can’t answer my questions,” Legolas said simply.
      Aragorn gaped at him. No master had ever been so addressed by a slave.
      ‘He knows I’m imperfect. Does that mean he thinks I’m weak?’
      That angered Aragorn, and he snapped, “How did you come to that 
conclusion?”
      Legolas flinched, but Aragorn was too angry to feel guilty.
      When Legolas spoke, his voice was scarcely above a whisper. “It’s just 
that… Well, you couldn’t answer my questions before about what makes a slave a 
slave or why you believe in slavery.”
      Aragorn stood. He didn’t want to make the mistake of yelling at Legolas. 
He was embarrassed to realise that he was allowing Legolas to anger him. How 
long had it been since he’d fallen into that trap?
      ‘I’m better than this!’ he wanted to shout. ‘Can we start over?’
      There was no starting over in life. Aragorn forced himself to stand still, 
cast his anger to one side, and follow his instincts once more. When he did this, a 
kind of release flooded through him, and he relaxed.
      “You’re right,” he said softly. “I don’t have the answers. I accept slavery, 
but I also accept that some slaves can become free.”
      “Even if they aren’t freeborn?” Legolas had regained his composure once 
Aragorn calmed down.
      “Yes, even then. A slave isn’t made, Legolas; they’re simply born into that 
existence. It’s the same fate or luck that determined I would be born Isil-” He 
stopped. “I would be born in the north instead of the south, or that elves are born 
elves instead of dwarves.”
      Legolas hesitated for a moment.
      Aragorn knew the look Legolas wore: he was unsure if he should ask 
something. “Please ask.”
      Legolas took a deep breath. “So is it just luck that I’m the slave and you’re 
my master?”
      Aragorn laughed, but not because he was amused by Legolas’ question.
      Legolas lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have 
asked.”
      Aragorn came to the bed and sat down. He took Legolas’ hands. “What 
you said reminded me of a question I asked my ada a long time ago. That’s why I 
laughed, Legolas. I’m not laughing at you.”
      Legolas met his gaze, and though his face was solemn, his eyes were 
smiling just a little.
      “It’s only luck, Legolas. I could be an orc, or a slave, and you could be 
king of Rohan or an Ent. It’s all luck.”
      Legolas smiled, and suddenly his unease had passed. “You make a good 
orc when you’re giving the tests back home. Maybe you’re part orc.”
      Aragorn grinned ruefully, then snarled playfully, “Maybe I am.” He 
showed his teeth a little more. “And maybe you’re my lunch, little hobbit.”
      Legolas laughed, and Aragorn’s heart was lightened.
      ‘I love you, Legolas.’
      Perhaps it was the fault of his instincts. ‘I let them get control of me,’ 
Aragorn thought, his heart tightening as he fought for logic once more. ‘I didn’t 
mean that. Thank the Valar I didn’t say it. I’ve caused enough damage already.’
      Legolas touched his arm and Aragorn jumped a little. “What is it?” 
Legolas asked soflty.
      ‘I’m lost in thought,’ Aragorn answered, or thought he did, but his voice 
must not have reached Legolas, because the elf was starting to look worried.
      Aragorn gathered his mind back to himself, and tried to smile at Legolas. 
“My mind was drifting, that’s all.”
      Legolas was still touching his arm, and that place was starting to feel 
warm. “Are you sure you’re all right? You went a little gray.” There was just a 
sliver of fear in Legolas’ voice.
      Aragorn responded to that tone. He moved forward slightly and kissed 
Legolas’ cheek. “I’m all right. I promise.”
      He feared he would have to cast about for something to say, but luckily 
there was still one problem that needed to be resolved.
      “I want to check on Saru. I don’t like that he could be hurt or afraid.”
      Legolas blinked at him in surprise, and opened his mouth to speak.
      Aragorn held up his hand. “I also want to let the rest of our people know 
what has transpired here. I may need them. The shadow is stronger than I 
thought.”
      ‘I’ve been considering sending him with a detailed message. I didn’t send 
him before this for two reasons: he wasn’t ready for such a trip as that and I was 
afraid of being lonely.’ He smiled sardonically at this last, but didn’t hesitate to 
admit it. ‘Now, I think, is the right time, and my own feelings be damned.’
      “I want you to take my letter to Malacai. You’ll wait there two weeks- to 
rest and gather provisions, then return here.” He added with a kind smile, “I 
would have ordered you to do this, but in the light of your coming freedom, I ask 
it of you. Will you go for me, Legolas?”
***
      ‘Do I dare?’ Legolas asked himself. His mind was roiling with fear, 
excitement, pride and a need he couldn’t quite define.
      He waded through his feelings for a long moment. Aragorn sat, still and 
silent before him, waiting for him to make his decision. Legolas was grateful for 
his master’s- ‘for Aragorn’s’- patience.
      The first emotion he was able to untangle from the mass was fear, and so 
he addressed it. “What will happen to you if I leave? What if your life is 
threatened again?” Whether five years had passed or not, Legolas would never 
forget (or forgive) what Denethor had done. ‘What he did to Aragorn. And what 
he did to me.’
      Aragorn didn’t smile. He understood Legolas’ concern. “I will be very 
careful, Legolas. I’ll not change the careful habits I’ve established when you 
leave. And,” he added, seeing that Legolas was still worried, “if it becomes 
obvious that there’s a concerted effort to end my life, I’ll leave Gondor. I’ll get 
word to you- through the elves of Lothlorien, most likely- if I am forced to leave.” 
He waited to see if this was acceptable.
      Legolas considered these promises, and then nodded. ‘I can’t protect him 
any better, really, than he protects himself. And if I bring the Dunedain here, he 
will be much safer.’
      “I’ll go.” He met Aragorn’s eyes as he spoke, and that confusing need 
swept through him again. He pushed it aside. “When should I leave?”
      “Tonight,” Aragorn said without hesitation. “I’ll write the letter now. Then 
we both have duties to complete. I’ll seek an audience with Ecthelion late this 
morning or early this afternoon, to gain permission for you to go.”
      Legolas wanted to nod and get up. He wanted to back away and figure out 
what the strange need in him was. He knew instinctively that he didn’t need sex, 
or maybe a simple kiss, as he sometimes craved. This was a deeper, fiercer need, 
and yet it was connected to sex in a way he couldn’t explain.
      He sat, frozen by the very confusion that urged him to be up and gone. No 
matter how he struggled to understand this new feeling, or at least to move, he 
couldn’t manage either. He bit his lip, and felt the tears coming again, though he 
didn’t know why they came. He sniffled and lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes.
      ‘Can’t I be done with crying?’ he thought angrily.
      That unknown feeling deepened, and now it actually seemed to hurt.
      Warm arms surrounded him, and Legolas leaned blindly forward, giving 
himself up to that unfailing support. He laid his cheek against Aragorn’s chest, 
and listened to the man’s heart beat.
      “Legolas,” Aragorn whispered, and his voice rumbled in his chest.
      Legolas snuggled closer, closing his eyes to better concentrate on what he 
was hearing. Aragorn’s voice sounded to him like he imagined the sun on the 
beaches of the Undying Lands must feel.
      “You’re going to be homesick,” Aragorn said then, and he was rubbing 
Legolas’ back. “You’ll miss me, and I’ll miss you. But you will come back.” He 
rubbed little circles on Legolas’ back for a minute or two, then added, “This is 
what it means to be free, Legolas, or part of it, at least. It means being lonely 
when duty calls.”
      The deep sorrow in Aragorn’s voice made Legolas’ tears come harder. He 
whimpered, “Slaves can be lonely, too.”
      “Aye,” the man answered, and his voice was choked. “But…” He took a 
deep breath and tried again. “But this is what it means to be alive, Legolas. You 
will come back. Everything will be fine. Trust me.”
      “I do trust you,” Legolas cried fiercely. That feeling was so strong Legolas 
thought he was going to explode from its pressure.
      Aragorn kissed the top of Legolas’ head. “Aye, I know. And I-”
      He stopped, and Legolas felt the tension in his arms.
      “Everything will be fine,” Aragorn resumed after an interminable silence. 
He held Legolas at arms’ length and smiled at him.
      It looked like an embarrassed smile to Legolas and he felt a little hurt 
without knowing why.
      “I must write this letter now. Please go start your chores. I’ll be out soon. 
If I don’t see you before, I’ll surely see you at the evening meal.” Aragorn stood, 
rather hastily, and turned towards his pack, where he kept a little paper and a few 
quill pens.
      Legolas watched his master’s back for a long moment, then he rose 
silently and left the room, closing the door behind him.
***
      When the door was closed, Aragorn let out the breath he’d been holding. 
‘It will be good for him to leave,’ he decided. ‘I cannot allow my ridiculous 
thoughts to ruin our friendship. When he comes back, I’ll free him and then we’ll 
find his parents. Or, if we can’t, I’ll find him someplace where elves live, and he 
can abide there.’
      His chest tightened at this idea, ‘but it’s the only thing I can do,’ he 
thought stubbornly. ‘He’ll no longer be a slave, and I don’t think he’ll want to 
stay among the Dunedain as just another one of my people. It’s hard for elves to 
live among men, because men die so often and so easily.’
      ‘But you love him,’ insisted a tiny voice.
      ‘I won’t hurt him like that,’ Aragorn resolved. ‘I won’t doom him to a 
slow, cold death here in Middle-Earth. He doesn’t deserve that.’ 
Chapter Twenty
      Legolas galloped Kendell over the small rise, and heard the horses of 
Gondor following him. Beside him, Roheryn, saddle-less, his mane blowing back 
from his dark eyes, whinnied joyfully to the sky.
      ‘I love exercising them,’ Legolas thought. ‘They never leave my side out 
here, though they run away from the other grooms. And being out here is like 
being home.’
      That unknowable emotion assailed him once more, and Legolas gave in to 
the memory it brought to him. He still rode over the fields, but his mind had 
drifted back.
///Flashback///
      Legolas was sitting, naked, on the edge of the bed. His legs were pressed 
tightly together and he watched his master turn towards him. Aragorn was naked 
also, and he was holding a vial of oil in one hand.
      ‘Can I do this?’ Legolas’ mind was reeling. He’d told Aragorn he was 
ready to be taken, to be ‘claimed’ by his master. Now he was terrified. He knew 
how big his master’s penis was; he knew that there was no way this could end 
without at least some pain.
      ‘Maybe I’ll learn to enjoy sex in time… but for now, I can only be 
frightened.’
      Aragorn came to him and sat beside him. “Legolas, I promise I won’t hurt 
you. I’ve done this many a time though, I’ll admit, not with a virgin. I’ll be very 
gentle with you. I promise you will enjoy this.”
      Legolas stared down at his hands, which he’d clenched over his member, 
as if to hide it. He wasn’t aroused at all. “I know, Master.”
      Aragorn put his arm around Legolas’ shoulders and drew him close.
      Legolas stared steadfastly down.
      Aragorn touched his fingers under Legolas’ chin, and murmured, 
“Legolas, please,” when the young elf refused to look up.
      Legolas raised his head, but reluctantly, because he could feel the tears 
starting.
      “Aii, my Legolas,” Aragorn breathed. He kissed Legolas’ cheek gently, 
then stood and drew Legolas to his feet.
      Legolas could read in his master’s eyes that the time for talk was done, 
and he felt a lick of fear and excitement slip up his back.
      Aragorn drew Legolas towards him, and captured his lips in a fervent, 
needful kiss. His fingers came up and dove beneath the cave of Legolas’ unbound 
hair. His strong, calloused fingers massaged, tickled and caressed there.
      Legolas moaned against Aragorn’s mouth. Despite his fear, he couldn’t 
help that moan. ‘He knows just where to touch me,’ he sighed to himself.
      Aragorn pulled back a little. His hands were still plunged under Legolas’ 
hair, but now he began to kiss away the few tears that had trickled down Legolas’ 
cheeks. He had drawn Legolas very close with the strength and relaxing power in 
his hands, and now he brushed against Legolas.
      Legolas gasped, and his body responded at once. Without thinking, he 
thrust against Aragorn, his member hardening almost instantly.
      Aragorn smiled. His eyes said plainly that he was quite pleased. He 
returned his lips to Legolas’ mouth, and now he sucked at the elf’s lips and tongue 
with a quiet, encompassing need.
      Legolas was lost in the sensation of Aragorn’s mouth on his. Yes, they 
kissed; they kissed often. But whenever they had more that a moment together, 
Aragorn’s taste and heat could drag Legolas into a world where everything he 
was, everything he ever would be, was bound up with the man before him. He lost 
all sense of time and space and just let himself float.
      At first, when Aragorn’s hands moved, Legolas didn’t notice. Then one of 
the man’s thumbs teased his right ear, and Legolas cried out softly. The questing 
digit slipped over his ‘lobe and up to the delicate point at the ear’s tip. There it 
lingered, making circles scarcely wide enough to be felt.
      He wasn’t aware that Aragorn’s other hand had left his neck, or that his 
master had paused in kissing him, but then his left ear was touched with the other 
thumb, which was slightly wet and slick. This finger slipped into the whorl of 
Legolas’ ear, and played there for a moment before finding its way back out to 
trace the shape of the whole ear.
      Legolas shivered, and he brought his hands up to claw at Aragorn’s 
shoulders, to beg him to stop or he would drown in feeling. A soft moan escaped 
his lips- but it was more felt than heard as Aragorn reclaimed his lips once more. 
Helpless to do anything else, Legolas let his hands drop back to his sides.
      Aragorn’s fire began to burn, and he conveyed the increasing warmth to 
Legolas. His tongue slipped deeper into Legolas’ mouth, and his fingers move 
faster on his ears, so that soon Legolas decided, ‘I’m a burning torch… but what a 
happy bit of wood I am!’
      He giggled. ‘So childish! Aii!’
      Aragorn moved even closer, his member pressing urgently against 
Legolas’ own, and licked the delicate ear before him.
      That put an end to Legolas’ thoughts, and to his giggling as well. He 
gasped and panted and moaned, pushing against Aragorn.
      “What do you need, Legolas?” Aragorn whispered, his breath filling 
Legolas with a delicious longing.
      Legolas’ answer was barely audible: “You. You. Please, always you.”
      Wordlessly, Aragorn lifted Legolas into his arms and carried him 
effortlessly to the bed. There he deposited him facedown and straddled him. As 
Legolas shifted beneath him, whimpering (not from fear now but because his 
member was pressed against the maddening rumple of the sheets), Aragorn placed 
kisses down his back from his shoulder blades. He ended on Legolas’ tailbone, 
and there he suckled and swirled his tongue and murmured soft, needy words. 
Even as he did this, one hand moved up to disappear once again beneath Legolas’ 
hair, and he cupped Legolas’ neck, moving his fingers in sure, downward strokes. 
His other hand, not to be undone, began trailing its way up and down Legolas’ 
thighs, never quite touching his buttocks, but stopping teasingly closer to his 
target each time.
      Legolas tossed his head, and Aragorn chuckled.
      “My stallion,” he murmured huskily. “My fiery, wild stallion.”
      Legolas tossed his head again and thrust his butt up, encouraging Aragorn 
to touch it already. “Please,” that movement screamed. “Please caress me.”
      Aragorn complied, his rough hand drifting up the smooth, tanned curve of 
Legolas’ backside. Both of them moaned when he trailed his finger, feather-light, 
up Legolas’ cleft. Legolas thrust up again, and Aragorn placed steadying hands on 
his hips even as he lowered his face to taste the perfect flesh before him. He 
kissed Legolas from tailbone to the top of the cleft, then drifted, first right and 
then left, leaving cloud-light, coal-hot kisses on each cheek.
      Slowly, he moved closer and closer to Legolas’ entrance. When he 
reached it, he rested first his chin there, then his lips. Legolas gasped and 
squirmed and mewled beneath him, and Aragorn responded by dipping his tongue 
in a little.
      “BythemercyofElendil’ssword!” Legolas cried in one drawn-in breath.
      Aragorn moved his tongue a little to one side, then to the other. He kept 
his hands on Legolas’ hips, holding him still, as he penetrated Legolas at his own 
pace and in his own fashion. He murmured something against Legolas’ entrance 
when his tongue was temporarily outside.
      “What?” Legolas’ question was more breath than word, but Aragorn 
understood.
      “You taste like leather.”
      Legolas could have been offended- surely any common whore (or lover) 
would have been. At the very least, he should have been confused. But Legolas 
knew his Aragorn, and he knew that Aragorn wasn’t speaking of the simple 
meaning of that word. Aragorn often refered to his Rangers as ‘the leather-folk’ or 
to his home in the North as ‘leather-hearth’ or ‘leather-heath.’ He loved anything 
and everything that reminded him of his home or his people.
      ‘I remind him of the North,’ Legolas thought happily, and he tried to push 
his butt back against Aragorn’s lips so he could take him deeper.
      Aragorn was allowing none of this, however. He kissed Legolas once, 
playfully, on his entrance, then slid up his body so that he covered Legolas like a 
blanket. He kissed Legolas’ hair, then his neck. He lay, licking and suckling there 
for quite some time, and Legolas had almost drifted into beautiful reverie when 
Aragorn whispered, “Being in you like that is like being surrounded by joy. 
Thank you, Legolas.”
      To his surprise and slight concern, Legolas heard tears in his master’s 
voice. He glanced up and back. Aragorn was indeed weeping. Even as he 
watched, a crystalline tear dropped onto his shoulder and coursed down his lighter 
skin.
      Aragorn wiped at his face. “I’m sorry, Legolas. I’m being very selfish.”
      Legolas twisted around so that they were chest to chest. Their members 
were touching but, for the moment, neither of them noticed. “Don’t apologize. 
I’m here to help you.” Legolas kissed the corner of Aragorn’s mouth. “I can take 
care of you, too. It doesn’t always have to be you.”
      Aragorn smiled self-mockingly. “Legolas, I must be the stronger. I-”
      Legolas put his finger against Aragorn’s lips. “Not this time. Let me be the 
strong one for right now. Let me be your guard, your shield and your resolve. I 
can be that for a little while. Rest in me. Let me be everything you have to be 
during the day. This is our time, away from all eyes. Let me be the strength in 
your arm, the watchful eye. I’ll not let you down or lead you into danger.”
      Fresh tears appeared in Aragorn’s eyes, but he caught these before they 
fell. “Would you really do that for me, Legolas? And ask nothing in return?”
      “You already give me everything I could ever ask for. Let me give you 
something in return. Let me take care of you. Let me distract you from your 
thoughts and take the worry upon myself. Let me do that for you, Aragorn. Please. 
I want to do it. I want to shield you. Please let me.”
      Neither of them noticed that he hadn’t said ‘Master Aragorn’ and perhaps, 
if they had noticed, they wouldn’t have cared.
      Aragorn nodded, and kissed Legolas. The full giving in that kiss told 
Legolas all he needed to know. He twined his arms around Aragorn’s back and let 
himself be kissed, caressed and enjoyed.
      Aragorn kissed down to Legolas’ navel, not neglecting an inch of his neck 
or leaving his nipples un-worshiped. He moved down to Legolas’ member, which 
was now straining upward, and he kissed its tip chastely. Legolas gave a cry, and 
his hands dove into Aragorn’s hair, dragging at him, begging him to kiss him, to 
lavish attention there. But Aragorn had other plans. He kissed Legolas’ sacks 
lightly, then lifted Legolas’ hips up slightly and delved his tongue into his 
entrance again.
      Legolas uttered a keening cry.
      Aragorn reached out blindly (or so it seemed to Legolas) and yet his hand 
came back with the vial of oil. He put a generous bit on his fingers, then inserted 
his first.
      Legolas’ first instinct was to tense, but when Aragorn began blowing soft, 
cool air over his member, the elf thrust down upon the seeking finger. In this way, 
he learned the true joy that Aragorn had been feeling because of him for the last 
five years. He keened softly far back in his throat, and pushed down repeatedly.
      Aragorn removed his finger (Legolas whimpered loudly in protest) and 
inserted three. Legolas clapped a hand over his mouth so no one would hear the 
words he longed to scream. Thus, “Aragorn, Aragorn, that’s so good, keep going, 
deeper, deeper, please, Aragorn!” emerged as “Mmmmph Mmmmph!”
      When Aragorn withdrew his fingers, Legolas didn’t have time to cry out 
in need.. Aragorn slipped quickly, slickly, inside him, and Legolas was robbed of 
breath. All he could do was thrust down and stare up and past Aragorn, his eyes 
unfocused.
      Aragorn moved slowly at first, making sure Legolas was indeed ready. He 
increased his speed, and used one hand to cover his own mouth. Legolas’ hand 
was still clamped over his own, which was well for if they had both been un-
muffled they would have alerted all of Gondor to their passion.
      So they were joined, and as Legolas came towards his climax, this 
certainty flitted across his mind, to be forgotten later: ‘I love you, Aragorn.’
///End Flashback///
      Even now, as he rode Kendell, Legolas couldn’t remember what that 
thought had been. All he knew was that he didn’t want to leave Aragorn here in 
Gondor.
      A part of Legolas that he barely knew admitted that he was afraid that if 
he left he would come back and Aragorn would be dead. Or, he might never come 
back. There were dangers between Gondor and the North, in the empty places, 
and Legolas was not so arrogant to think that he was impervious to attack or 
injury.
      Sighing, knowing he had no answers, but that he must now do what he’d 
promised, Legolas turned Kendell back towards the city, and the other horses 
followed. All had slowed to a walk and moved reluctantly back towards the walls. 
Legolas longed to just ride away, to get this journey started so it could be sooner 
over, but he needed the letter Aragorn would write and so he, too, dragged his 
heels back into the White City. ‘I want to get started. The sooner I leave, the 
sooner I can get back. And maybe I’ll stop in Lothlorien and beg help and 
protection for Aragorn while I’m gone.’ His heart slightly cheered, Legolas 
murmured to Kendall, “We’ll be headed North soon, my friend.”
Chapter Twenty-One
      The sound of melting snow dripping on wood was maddening in its 
ceaseless, monotone torture. It set the slave’s teeth on edge. But the madness was 
nowhere near as bad as the cold that sank ragged teeth into his naked flesh. He 
lay, face-down and spread-eagled, on the platform Kehydi had built.
      But Kehydi wasn’t here now.
      Saru’s arms and legs were bound by rough, biting ropes and he didn’t 
struggle. He knew that the ropes were too strong to break.
      ‘Besides, if I escaped now, he would come for me again and be twice as 
angry. Bad enough that I escaped the council unpunished; if I escaped from here, 
I’d be as good as dead.’
      He entertained the idea that he could slip away and never come near the 
camp again, but only for a moment. ‘I’m naked and weaponless. Where would I 
go? All I’ve ever known is slavery. I could only ever be a slave and I know there 
are much worse places than here, much worse masters than Master Malacai.’
      ‘But Malacai’s not here and only Halbarad knows where you are.’
      ‘Kehydi might come here…’
      ‘Kehydi will stay where he is, safe in his parents’ tent. He won’t dare to 
fart sideways until he’s old enough to take you for his own. Assuming you’re 
alive three years from now.’
      Saru sobbed; he couldn’t help it.
      His mind drifted to escape again, but for a different reason this time. ‘If I 
could get loose, I could take one of these ropes, tie it around my neck and jump.’ 
He didn’t shiver at the cold calculation in his own thoughts. Desperation was in 
his heart. Now that he’d known love, he was terrified to be thrown back into the 
cold darkness of whoring. He struggled with the ropes, concentrating on his right 
wrist, because that was the one that was a tiny bit looser. ‘Almost there,’ he 
thought as the rope creaked. He wouldn’t let himself think past his escape. He 
refused to think about what would happen next, if he would really have the 
sorrow necessary to commit suicide. He only struggled with the rope and grimly 
ignored the way the rope was rubbing his wrist raw. ‘Almost there. I’m almost th-
’
      A heavy boot crunched down on his wriggling hand and Saru screamed.
      The boot was lifted- only to connect with his shoulder painfully.
      “Shut up!” Halbarad dropped to his haunches at Saru’s side and caught the 
slave’s chin roughly in his hand. “If you scream like that again I’ll cut your balls 
off.”
      Saru tried to turn his head away and close his eyes.
      Halbarad yanked his head around again with almost enough force to break 
his neck. “Do you understand?”
      Saru’s answer came out in a whistling gasp. “Yessss…”
      “Yes what?”
      “Yes, Master.”
      Halbarad didn’t release him but instead tightened his hold on Saru’s jaw. 
“What were you doing? Trying to escape?”
      Saru saw that if he lied, he would be punished. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, 
Master.”
      Halbarad laughed dryly. “Why were you trying to escape? Do you miss 
Kehydi’s little bitty penis?”
      Saru flinched to hear his lover talked about in that way. “I-I was trying to 
die,” he whispered.
      Halbarad’s eyes widened and his voice took on a poisonous-sweet quality. 
“You want to die? You were found out and you want to die, coward?” He made 
Saru nod his head. “Well, I have news for you, little whore. You’re not going to 
die. You’re going to live for a very long time. You’re going to live and serve me.”
      He released Saru and stood up.
      Saru flinched again, expecting another kick.
      Halbarad stared down at him from his great height, his shadow falling 
over Saru’s face, blotting out the strong moonlight that made the night almost as 
bright as day. “Whose slave are you?”
      “Yours, Master.”
      “Why are you mine?”
      Saru couldn’t answer this so easily. He stared helplessly up at Halbarad.
      Halbarad kicked him in his unprotected ribs.
      Saru bit down on a cry, not wanting to be hurt again. “Because the Valar 
made me this way?” he ventured, his voice rasping.
      “A good guess,” Halbarad answered and his voice was decidedly cheerful. 
“A very good answer, but wrong.” He knelt again, and grabbed a handful of 
Saru’s long hair. He yanked Saru’s head back. “You’re my slave because I say 
you are.” He released Saru’s hair and the slave’s head hit the platform making a 
hollow sound.
      Halbarad grinned ghoulishly. “What are you?”
      “Your slave, Master Halbarad,” Saru whispered between bleeding lips.
      Halbarad made a great show of controlling himself. He sighed. “What else 
are you, fool?”
      “A fool?” Saru asked. His mind reeled. What did Halbarad want him to 
say?
      Halbarad slapped him. That grin hadn’t left his face. “I’ll give you a hint. 
It has something to do with this little hole right here.” He pushed two fingers of 
his right hand knuckle-deep into Saru’s entrance.
      “I’m your whore!” Saru sobbed, arching up in an attempt to get away from 
the pain. He twisted back and forth, his breath coming in stabbing gasps now, but 
Halbarad only dug into him deeper.
      “That’s right.” He clenched Saru’s writhing hip hard enough to leave 
bruises. “Lay still before I fuck you with my boot.” Saru settled at once. “That’s 
much better.” Halbarad removed his hand, grimaced at it, and wiped the shit he’d 
found inside on Saru’s face. “You’re a disgusting animal!” he snarled.
      Saru wept but didn’t turn his eyes from Halbarad. “I’m sorry, Master. I’m 
sorry I’m dirty.”
      Halbarad smiled forgivingly, an expression as shocking as an orc holding 
up its hands in surrender, and answered, “You’ll learn, little whore.” He took a 
cloth and a flask of water from his belt. He cleaned his hand, then Saru’s face. 
Setting the rag and water aside, he untied Saru’s right hand. “Reach back and 
tease your hole.”
      Saru, broken and helpless, didn’t hesitate. He trailed his fingers over his 
ass, caressing, teasing, awakening. He flicked a finger down his crack and then 
rested it on his entrance. Lightly, he ran his finger around the tight ring, but didn’t 
enter. He moved his hips, brushing his flaccid member against the wood beneath 
him and moaned. His finger moved faster and soon he was gasping as his member 
hardened and made him uncomfortable.
      Halbarad caught Saru’s hand and drew it away from its task. “Very good.” 
He brought the hand to Saru’s mouth. Saru parted his lips and let Halbarad slip his 
fingers in. “Lick,” Halbarad ordered and Saru complied, sucking his fingers 
desperately.
      When they were wet, Halbarad returned Saru’s hand to his ass, and pushed 
one finger inside. “I know you can’t touch off your own pleasure,” Halbarad 
murmured sorrowfully, “since your arm’s not long enough, but moan for me and 
I’ll make you feel good.” As Saru obeyed, keeping his whimpers of need soft lest 
Halbarad hurt him again, Halbarad inserted a finger of his own and stroked Saru 
inside.
       The hot passage was not well stretched but slick with Saru’s spit and 
Halbarad’s probing finger touched off a spark of pleasure.
      Saru writhed and moaned a little louder.
      “Shh,” Halbarad ordered and Saru quieted at once. His tears were drying 
on his cheeks unnoticed.
      Halbarad removed Saru’s finger, but didn’t bother to retie the hand. He 
moved his own fingers faster, scraping at Saru’s secret place, eliciting moans that 
were more and more sincere. And while he stroked, his other hand crept up Saru’s 
right thigh, trailing his fingers lightly along the sensitive skin.
      Saru felt this touch as a caress and relished the gentleness. He was gasping 
now, his whole body arching towards climax. He keened far back in his throat.
      Halbarad purred, “You like this?”
      “Yes, oh yes…”
      Halbarad’s hand slipped dancingly up Saru’s leg and closed vise-tight on 
the slave’s balls.
      Saru opened his mouth to scream.
      Halbarad slapped him. “Scream and I’ll rip them off and shove them down 
your throat,” he hissed.
      Saru bit down hard on his tongue. Blood dripped on to the platform.
      Incredibly, Halbarad’s hand had returned to stroking the slave’s thigh and 
the other now snaked down to enter him again. Halbarad began to caress once 
more. He couldn’t bring Saru to his erection again. The pain had been too great. 
But Halbarad enjoyed watching Saru’s struggle for silence.
      At last, he drew back to unfasten his trousers. He still watched Saru’s 
suffering as the bulge at his own crotch rubbed maddeningly against the tight 
material of his trousers. With his trousers down, yet not off, he moved forward 
and untied Saru’s other hand and his feet. He stood leaning against the trunk of 
the tree and beckoned. “Come to me,” he whispered.
      Saru crawled to him, his face ashen, his sweaty hair hanging in his eyes. 
When he was before Halbarad he sat back on his heels (ignoring the pain this 
movement cost him) and looked up into his master’s face. “I am here, Master 
Halbarad.”
      Halbarad nodded. He was wearing his ghoulish smile again. “Make me 
come, little whore, and drink down every drop.”
      “Yes, Master.” Saru took Halbarad deep into his mouth, licking and 
sucking.
      A deadly thought crossed his mind as he knelt there in the cold, ‘I could 
bite him and while he’s rolling around screaming I could run.’
      But that was suicide and he knew it.
      The thought did one good thing for him, however: ‘If I can think like that,’ 
he realised, ‘maybe I’ll survive this. Maybe I won’t break all the way.’
      Halbarad came then, and he gripped Saru’s head as he did it, slamming his 
penis deeper and deeper into Saru’s heat. He ignored the choking sobs Saru 
emitted. When he was spent, he drew up his trousers and stepped away shakily. 
He moved towards the edge of the platform. “Your clothes are over there.” He 
gestured without looking. “Dress and get back to camp. If anyone sees you, say 
you had to go make water.”
      Saru nodded, then, realising that Halbarad wasn’t looking at him, 
answered, “Yes, Master Halbarad.”
      “Good. I’ll come for you another night. But I don’t relish carrying you. Be 
ready when I come.”
      “I will, Master Halbarad.”
      The Ranger slipped easily down the tree.
      When he was alone, Saru sat for a time gazing at the rope that was coiled 
near the platform’s edge. The winter wind whistled in his ears, chilling him but 
also calling him.
      ‘Jump,’ it seemed to entice. ‘Jump. Leave the pain.’
      ‘I’m not broken,’ Saru countered even as he crawled forward and took the 
length of rope in his hand. It was a good, solid strength in his hand.
      ‘It wouldn’t break if you jumped. You would die quickly and never have 
to suffer this humiliation again.’
      ‘I don’t care about humiliation,’ Saru shot back, and even as he thought 
this, he realised it was true. ‘I just want to be with Kehydi.’
      ‘Kehydi won’t take you once he knows you’ve touched yourself- and liked 
it.’
      Saru’s fingers worked over the rope. Without realising it, he’d tied a slip 
knot and loop in one end of the rope. Now he held it up and gazed at it. “If I 
jumped, Kehydi would never know that,’ he agreed and put the noose in his lap. 
He reached for the other end of the rope, which was secured to one of the 
branches that supported the platform. He pulled on it, testing its strength. It didn’t 
creak or groan or feel loose. This was good Ranger-rope. Saru picked up the 
noose again and stood.
      But when he was standing at the edge of the platform, he asked himself, 
‘Do I really want to die naked?’ He turned back and slipped quickly into his 
clothes. Then he moved back to the platform’s edge.
      He hesitated. ‘Do I want to die with Halbarad’s taste in my mouth?’ He 
glanced around quickly, but saw no way to remedy this problem.
      ‘It will only be for an instant- I’ll die soon enough- and none will know 
whose taste is inside me. Only Halbarad will know and he won’t tell anyone 
because he doesn’t want to be punished.’
      Saru flinched as he thought of Halbarad’s hand closing over his balls. 
‘That is the last time I will allow him to carry me away in pleasure,’ he vowed. 
He slipped the noose over his head and made sure the knot was under his left ear. 
He took a deep breath.
      He let it out in a bitter, lost laugh. ‘I’m going to hurt Kehydi if I do this. 
He loves me.’
      ‘Can he love a disgusting, dirty whore?’
      Saru closed his eyes. He wanted, more than anything, to do the right thing 
for Kehydi. He needed to protect his lover. A whisper rose to his lips. “He loved 
me before, even though Halbarad had raped me and Master Malacai had taken me 
many times.”
      He took another deep breath and finished, “If he could love me after all 
that, couldn’t he love me now, in spite of the mistake I made?” He thought so. He 
hoped so.
      His hands shaking, Saru took the rope off over his head. He untied the 
knot and dropped the useless rope. Steeling himself, he looked down at the frozen 
ground bellow him. He judged the distance, checked his stance and jumped.