Chapter Six
      
      Glorfindel turned his head to the left and gazed out the window at 
the predawn sky. He didn't move any more than that, preferring to feel 
Elladan pressed against him. The younger elf was still fast asleep, but even 
in his sleep he murmured snatches of song and gentle words to the Elda.
      
      The slave felt an urge to shudder and resisted it. He didn’t want to 
wake Elladan. But his mind had returned to yesterday, when Elrohir had 
come to him in the afternoon with a syringe and a deceitfully friendly 
smile.

***
      
      "I've found a way to cure Elladan," he announced upon marching 
into Glorfindel's small room.
      
      The Elda knew there was no way to "cure" Elladan until he was 
ready to be cured, but he said nothing. He had no freedom of speech with 
the second son of Elrond. All he could do was hope that whatever Elrohir's 
plan was, he, Glorfindel, wouldn't be hurt too badly as the younger elf 
struggled to achieve his ends.
      
      His hope had been in vain.
      
      "I'm going to drug you," Elrohir declared. "This potion will make 
you appear to be in danger of fading. Elladan will seek to keep you in this 
world, and he will give his soul completely over to that task. He'll be 
saved by 'saving' you."
      
      The terror that shot through Glorfindel at that moment made it 
almost impossible for him to stand still and he couldn't even ball his hands 
into fists or bite his lip because he didn't dare show fear. But he'd died 
once before and he remembered how painful that had been. And he'd seen 
other elves fade and knew how much they suffered before they were 
finally allowed to pass into Mandos' halls.
      
      Elrohir had advanced on him, and Glorfindel had to resist the 
savagely-stabbing urge to run. The dark-haired elf reached out and 
grasped Glorfindel's upper arm. "Come lay on the bed," he said, almost 
gently.
      
      Glorfindel was not fooled by that show of tenderness. Elrohir was 
going to get what he wanted; why was he bothering to feign kindness?
      
      He complied, laying down and staring up at Elrohir.
      
      "If this works," Elrohir said as he studied Glorfindel's arm, "Ada 
and I won't touch you again. Elladan will want you all to himself." He 
smiled sardonically. "You'll never bleed again, probably. That should 
please you." He found the spot he wanted, and positioned the needle. 
"Take a deep breath," he ordered.
      
      Glorfindel obeyed, and felt the sting of the needle. He waited, 
fearing what he might feel. The dizziness came almost at once and 
Glorfindel gasped as the room spun around him. A soft whimper escaped 
his lips as Elrohir withdrew the syringe.
      
      Elrohir patted his shoulder. "You're all right, Glorfindel; this will 
pass by morning." He bent over Glorfindel and met his eyes. "Listen to 
me. You will start hallucinating, and you'll see and hear terrible things. 
Don't restrain yourself; if something frightens you, feel free to scream."
      
      Darkness was gathering at the edges of Glorfindel's vision even as 
Elrohir spoke and, below Elrohir's voice, the slave heard strange scuffling 
noises, and then a muted roar. 'Balrog,' his mind identified at once, and he 
shivered.
      
      'There are no balrogs in Imladris...'
      
      The roar came again, closer this time, and Glorfindel groaned. His 
limbs felt heavy, and he realised, 'It's coming for me... I can't fight, can't 
run, can't move...' His chest constricted and he gulped the air around him. 
As he did, he smelled the sweet-rotten stench of decomposing flesh. And 
the roar was closer now. 'Please don't let him find me.' Glorfindel sobbed; 
he couldn't help it, even though he knew he might attract the thing's 
attention. His terror was all-consuming. 

***
      
      'It's too soon to know if Elrohir got what he wanted,' Glorfindel 
thought, 'but, for now, at least, Elladan has forgotten his own problems.'
      
      Not all of the effects of the drug had left him; he was still weak, 
and the dizziness hadn't completely dissipated. But at least he was no 
longer hearing the approach of death. 'I'll be weak for days, possibly 
longer; that's certainly enough time for Elladan's 'healing' to take place, if 
it can be achieved this way.' He very much doubted this, and he dreaded 
what Elrohir would come up with next if it didn't. 
      
      'I want it to work,' he decided. 'And not just so I’ll be safe. I hate 
seeing Elladan broken, and I'll do anything to save him.'
      
      A part of himself that he could not show to anyone, not even to 
Elladan, admitted that he wanted Elladan to live for at least one selfish 
purpose among all the other responsibility and service-driven reasons: 'I'm 
starting to fall in love with him.'

***
      
      “Come in, please,” Glorfindel called. He stood to meet whoever 
was entering his room. It was probably another slave, since most of the 
freeborns didn’t bother with such a nicety as knocking, but it was better to 
be safe than sorry.
      
      Absently, Glorfindel rubbed the side of his face where Elrond had 
broken his jaw the night before. It was almost healed now, of course, but it 
still ached. And the memory of Elrond’s face twisted with anger hurt even 
more.
      
      The door opened a little, and a dark-haired elfling slipped into the 
room. He kept his face hidden behind his long hair as he shut the door 
behind him.
      
      Glorfindel knew by the young elf’s steps who he was. “Master 
Elladan, are you all right?” he asked softly.
      
      The boy raised his head and brushed his hair out of his face. 
“Glorfy, I…” He shuddered strongly, and Glorfindel was grieved to see 
tears in Elladan’s beautiful, dark eyes.
      
      The blond opened his arms in invitation.
      
      Elladan ran to him, and clung there, his whole body shivering.
      
      Glorfindel, without thinking, picked Elladan up and took him to 
the bed in the corner. Even though Elladan was nearly sixteen, he was 
incredibly light, even for an elf.
      
      Glorfindel rocked Elladan and murmured soothing talk into his 
pointed ear. He mused, ‘I still think of this little one as a child, but he’s 
almost reached his majority. When that happens, there will be a new, 
handsome elf up for grabs by Erestor or Lindir or Galdor.’ He hugged 
Elladan more firmly to him. ‘I hope they’re gentle with you, Fair Elladan. 
You aren’t ready for the heartaches that await you.’
      
      As Elladan calmed, Glorfindel focused on him, casting his morose 
thoughts to the side. “Elladan?” he murmured. “Will you tell me what’s 
wrong?”
      
      Elladan sniffled. “Ada’s angry with me,” he whispered.
      
      “Aii, Master Elladan, I’m sure it’s not you-” Glorfindel tried to 
console.
      
      “Yes it is!” Elladan shouted, and he pulled away from Glorfindel a 
little, though he was still on the Elda’s lap. “I told him he should let you 
go! I told him you were bleeding last night and I didn’t want to see it 
anymore! I told him you should be free!” He stopped, and his breathing 
came in ragged gusts. “I…I want you to be one of us,” he admitted, his 
eyes cast down. “You’re too good to be a slave.” 
      
      ‘Not any more, I’m not,’ Glorfindel thought bitterly. ‘I’ve let 
myself sink to this level, and I’ll probably not rise again.’ And yet 
sometimes he felt that this was where he was supposed to be. He felt he 
had a purpose that went beyond being Elrond’s slave, and yet that purpose 
was tied up in his servitude.
      
      ‘At times like this, when his children come to me for help, or when 
Elrond needs my guidance, I can think that I’m doing the right thing by 
abiding here.’
      
      To Elladan, he said, “You have different views than your father, 
Elladan, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re only feeling your 
differences more strongly now because you’re very close to becoming an 
adult. You will learn a new level of respect for your father, and he will 
learn the same for you.” He smiled understandingly. “But these things will 
take time. Please be the patient, steadfast elf you’ve always been and all 
will be well.” 
      
      Elladan put his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder and hugged him. 
“Will he ever let you go, Glorfy?”
      
      “Maybe,” said Glorfindel, though he greatly doubted it. “But my 
freedom won’t be won by you. Do not fight with your father. Tell him that 
you disagree with him, but that you will do nothing against his wishes. 
That will calm him.”
      
      Elladan hugged him close. “Well…” he blushed. “You don’t ever 
have to worry about me using you like Ada does.”
      
      Glorfindel tried not to shudder at the surety he heard in the young 
voice. He knew, sure as the world was full of dark places, that someday 
Elladan would desire him, or want to experiment with him, and then all 
these tender times would be over. Glorfindel mourned that time, and 
prayed that it would be yet a few years before it arrived.
      
      He knew it wouldn’t be that long.

***
      
      ‘After their majority feast, they both came to find me… Elladan 
early in the evening, and his brother well after midnight.’ Glorfindel 
chuckled to himself. It was a bitter, lost sound. ‘I wish Elrohir could have 
found amusement somewhere else that night…’ He acknowledged the 
guilty feeling that came with this thought, knowing that he was somehow 
betraying Master Elrohir by thinking such a thing. But he didn’t recant it. 
The thought, after all, was honest.

***
      
      Glorfindel had retired early from the feast. Elrond had sent him 
away from his usual spot at his Lord’s side with these words: “Go and 
make yourself ready, Glorfindel. And do not fail me.”
      
      Now, Glorfindel sat in a simple pair of leggings (simple, yes, but 
tight-fitting and provocative) and a short, nearly-transparent, tunic. ‘I’m a 
whore. Well, now I look like one.’
      
      There came a tentative knock on his door. Glorfindel stood up, 
pulled down his tunic (it was uncomfortably short, to his way of thinking) 
and called, “Please come in.”
      
      The door creaked open, and Glorfindel was relieved to see Elladan 
enter. He was dressed in a midnight-blue robe which was open at the 
throat. Beneath it Glorfindel saw a white gold tunic. Elladan wore a silver 
circlet, a present from his father, on his fair brow. His eyes were dark 
pools of need, but tempering that need was the shadow of nervousness.
      
      Elladan cleared his throat. “Glorfindel,” he began formally, “my 
father said that I might gain my…” he blushed slightly “my experience 
with you.”
      
      “Aye,” Glorfindel returned, trying to hide his disappointment. 
Even though he’d known this day would come, he’d still prayed that 
Elladan wouldn’t come to him. He’d hoped to serve only Elrohir. He’d 
hoped, in short, to continue the trusting relationship he’d had with the 
older twin in the past.
      
      ‘I’ll never have that again,’ he mourned. ‘I’ll be his whore now.’ 
He swallowed an urge to cry, and let one thought stand for all the things 
that would be lost to him from now on: ‘He’ll never call me Glorfy again.’
      
      A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and Glorfindel jumped.
      
      Elladan’s eyes were worried now. “Glorfy? What’s wrong?” His 
blush reappeared, and it was deeper this time. “If you don’t want to be 
with me, I’ll understand.” He took a step back, letting his hand fall from 
Glorfindel’s shoulder.
      
      “Nay… no…. I didn’t mean…” Glorfindel reached out to comfort 
the elf he used to sing to sleep. His hand slid down Elladan’s arm and 
ended up grasping his long fingers. “Please, Elladan…”
      
      He shook his head. ‘This isn’t working. How do I explain-’
      
      “Glorfy, I promise I won’t hurt you,” Elladan said then, his face 
earnest, his eyes sincere, and yet a little unsure. But he squeezed 
Glorfindel’s hand and the Elda smiled at him.
      
      “I know you won’t, Elladan. I’m not afraid of that. You’re far too 
gentle to ever hurt me.”
      
      Elladan’s smile grew shy. “Will you teach me about making love, 
Glorfy? I promise I’ll be a good student.”
      
      ‘Should I tell him that this is far from ‘making love’? It’s closer to 
rape than anything else.’
      
      A thought whispered through his mind. ‘Elladan is so gentle… 
Might this not be pleasurable for both of us?’ 
      
      But he pushed the thought aside. Even if this time *was* 
pleasurable, the next probably wouldn’t be. ‘I must not hope for what I 
cannot have.’
      
      To Elladan, he said, “I’ll show you, Elladan, if that’s what you 
really want.”
      
      Part of him wondered, ‘Where’s Elrohir? When will he show up to 
lose his virginity?’
      
      Elladan reached up and touched his cheek. “Something’s bothering 
you, Glorfy. I can see it. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
      
      Glorfindel sighed. “It’s nothing important. I’m just…” He couldn’t 
think of an excuse that wouldn’t offend Elladan, so he fell silent and tried 
to smile reassuringly.
      
      “I’m a little scared,” Elladan confessed as he returned the half-
smile Glorfindel had achieved. “We could wait and do this another night, 
if you’d like.”
      
      “Nay, it is well. I want to lay with you.”
      
      Glorfindel froze. ‘How could I admit that? I’m just a vessel for his 
lust! I shouldn’t have said I wanted to be with him!’
      
      He added, after a moment, ‘Besides, I don’t want him. It was a lie.
      
      ‘Right?’
      
      Glorfindel shook himself. ‘Enough of this! Play the whore for him 
already! There’s nothing else you can do.’
      
      With this in mind, Glorfindel reached back and unfastened the clip 
that kept his hair away from his face.
      
      As his golden locks cascaded down, flowing around his shoulders, 
Elladan gasped. “Aii,” he breathed, “so beautiful.” He reached out 
tentatively and caressed the hair that had fallen over Glorfindel’s left ear. 
He brushed his fingers through it, savoring the warmth and thickness of it, 
and then nudged it aside. Now he could cup Glorfindel’s cheek in his 
hand. When he felt the smooth, glowing skin under his palm, he was 
undone. No more worries clouded his mind. All he knew was that he had 
to have this beauty. He had to make Glorfindel a part of him, at least for a 
little while.
      
      Glorfindel reached up and undid the lacing at his tunic’s throat. He 
pushed it open, exposing most of his chest to Elladan’s heated gaze.
      
      Elladan’s fingers roamed and he murmured to himself as he 
explored. “Soft!... Aii… gold… warm… so ready!” (He had come to 
Glorfindel’s nipples when he said this last.) He stroked them with his 
thumbs, and Glorfindel wondered how Elladan knew so much about 
foreplay.
      
      Then, as Elladan stepped close and tried, clumsily, to kiss him, 
Glorfindel realised that the younger elf didn’t know anything at all.
      
      Glorfindel brought up his hand behind Elladan’s neck, cupping it. 
He positioned them both carefully, and opened his mouth against 
Elladan’s.
      
      Elladan stopped for an instant, then thrust his tongue forward.
      
      Glorfindel tried to allow this, but Elladan’s sudden force was 
hurting him. “Master…” he croaked.
      
      Elladan drew back, and some of the burning coals in his eyes were 
put out. “Glorfy, please don’t call me that.” Then he tilted his head and 
asked, “What is it? What did I do wrong?”
      
      “It’s… foreplay’s not… forced. It’s slow, like a dance,” Glorfindel 
answered breathlessly.
      
      Elladan’s eyes widened, but then he chuckled. “If it’s a dance, I 
just stepped all over your toes, didn’t I?” He grinned.
      
      Glorfindel smiled back, relieved that Elladan wasn’t angry. “A 
little.”
      
      Elladan smiled more gently. “Then why don’t you lead, Glorfy?”
      
      Glorfindel’s elfhood throbbed at the suggestion, and the Elda 
blinked at this. ‘How long has it been since I’ve been willingly aroused?’
      
      At that moment, Glorfindel thought that maybe he could love 
Elladan, and he didn’t question the amazing idea. It simply felt true.
      
      Glorfindel took Elladan’s face in his hands and kissed him, first 
tenderly, then more heatedly as Elladan grew comfortable.
      
      Elladan was pressed against Glorfindel, and he started to rub his 
elfhood against the Elda’s thigh.
      
      Glorfindel smiled even as they continued to kiss, and one of his 
hands drifted down Elladan’s neck, stroking down his chest and belly. He 
left his hand resting just above Elladan’s straining member.
      
      Elladan moaned into his mouth. “Please, Glorfy… Please…. 
Lower…”
      
      “You need to get undressed first,” Glorfindel whispered. “I’ll help 
you.” Still kissing Elladan, Glorfindel used both hands to unfasten the 
clasp at the top of Elladan’s cloak. He pushed the material off Elladan’s 
shoulders, and it pooled behind his bare feet. 
      
      Pressing forward gently but firmly, Glorfindel brought their 
covered members into contact. They both moaned at the touch.
      
      “I’d remove your leggings and tunic if you’d let me,” Elladan 
murmured demurely.
      
      For no reason that he could understand, Glorfindel blushed. 
“Please.”
      
      Elladan led Glorfindel to the bed, and divested the elf before him 
with quick, fluid movements. Glorfindel allowed himself to be undressed, 
and he luxuriated in the soft caress of Elladan’s fingers against his skin. 
      
      Glorfindel thought dazedly, ‘I could love him for many reasons. 
And his dark beauty is only the least of these.’
      
      Soon, Glorfindel stood naked in front of Elladan, and the dark-
haired elf uttered a sigh of contentment. “Let me only take off my own 
clothes…” he murmured, as if to himself. “Then we’ll learn the next step.”
      
      With a glimmer of amusement in his eye, Glorfindel thought, ‘It 
almost sounds as though he’s talking to his elfhood.’ He repressed a laugh 
that came bubbling up out of his throat only just in time.
      
      But Elladan must have felt some change in his “partner’s” mood, 
for he looked up from his struggle with his leggings, and his eyes 
questioned him even as they sparkled with ready mirth. At last, Elladan 
was relaxed enough to be himself, and that self was made up of at least 
two parts laughter.
      
      Again, Glorfindel blushed.
      
      Elladan brought his fingers up and traced the blush from 
Glorfindel’s forehead to his cheek, then down past his chin to his neck. 
“You’re even more beautiful when you blush, Glorfy,” he confided, his 
eyes dipping downward shyly.
      
      Then, with a slight shake of his head, Elladan turned his attention 
back to his clothing.
      
      Glorfindel watched hungrily as more and more porcelain skin was 
revealed. He bit his lip to keep from crying out when he at last saw 
Elladan’s member. Shorter and more slender than his own, it reminded 
Glorfindel of a finely-fashioned sword of delicate mithril.
      
      Elladan raised his eyes when he was naked, and he grinned at the 
look on Glorfindel’s face. “Have you never seen a penis before?” he 
teased lightly.
      
      The Elda laughed breathlessly. “Aye… but none so…” He shook 
his head, lost for words.
      
      Elladan stepped forward and captured Glorfindel’s lips.
      
      ‘He learns quickly,’ Glorfindel thought distractedly as he fought 
not to thrust himself against the warm, silky creation that was Elladan’s 
thigh.
      
      Elladan folded his arms around Glorfindel and drew him close. 
“Will you show me what to do, Glorfy? I’ve lost the steps again.”
      
      Dragging himself away from the transfixing lure of that voice, 
Glorfindel gasped, “Aye.” He took Elladan by the hand and guided him to 
the bed. “There’s… there’s two ways to do this,” Glorfindel whispered 
when they were sitting side by side. “You can be in me, or I can be in 
you.” He hated the crudeness of his speech. He knew it wasn’t as simple 
as that. He longed to have Elladan inside him, completing him. Being 
inside the younger elf wouldn’t give him the same sense of unbounded 
joy.
      
      Elladan bit his lip. “Umm… I don’t know how to be in you, 
Glorfy…” He looked away. “But I’m afraid. I’m afraid that you might hurt 
me.”
      
      Shock threatened to close Glorfindel’s throat. “I’d… I’d never hurt 
you, Elladan. I swear it.” He reached out and turned Elladan’s chin 
towards him with the tips of his fingers. “Please, Elladan, understand that I 
would never hurt you.” He added, thinking that he might get his way after 
all, “Please go into me. Then you won’t be scared, and you’ll… feel so 
good.”
      
      “Really?” Elladan asked, his eyes wide and innocent.
      
      “Aye.”
      
      “What if I hurt you?”
      
      “You won’t,” Glorfindel responded, his confidence regained. He 
moved over on the bed and laid down, his legs spread. “Come to me, 
Elladan. I promise all will be well.”
      
      Elladan turned towards him, but for a moment longer he gazed at 
him, his brow furrowed, his eyes worried.
      
      Then, decisively, he turned and crawled to Glorfindel’s side. With 
Glorfindel guiding his movements with gentle hands, Elladan positioned 
himself between the blond’s long, beautiful thighs.
      
      “Show me what I must do, Glorfy.”
      
      Glorfindel reached out to his side and took the vial of oil from a 
tiny night table. He opened the vial and poured a little oil into his hand. 
Recorking the bottle, he set it aside, then rubbed his hands together until 
the oil warmed.
      
      As always happened when he was about to whore for someone, a 
hard shield of ice had descended around him. It protected him, kept him 
from being attached to the one who raped/made love to? him. And the 
shield also protected the rapist/lover? from having to hear his pledges of 
eternal love. 
      
      ‘Should I keep my shield up this time?’ Glorfindel was frightened 
by the thought that he might want to feel closer to Elladan than to others. 
‘I won’t lower it,’ he decided. ‘Too much could happen.’
      
      Coldly, then, Glorfindel rubbed Elladan’s penis with the slippery, 
scented oil. “You can go into me now.”
      
      Elladan stared at him for a moment, then positioned his penis at 
Glorfindel’s entrance. Then he pushed inside.
      
      Glorfindel spread his legs as far as they would go as Elladan’s 
hardness filled him. He concentrated, as he always did, on breathing 
slowly and deeply.
      
      But unlike those times with Elrond, when he could watch the elf 
above him calmly, he was unable to watch Elladan. His heart tightened 
when he saw Elladan plowing into him just like his father before him. And 
so, with Elladan, for the first time in all his years of whoring, Glorfindel 
closed his eyes. ‘The shield isn’t keeping out as much as it should,’ he 
thought dismally.
      
      Suddenly, pleasure blossomed, first in his penis, then his lower 
belly. Glorfindel couldn’t help himself; he thrust upwards. And that 
movement brought more pleasure. Glorfindel moaned.
      
      Elladan, too, had moaned, but then he asked, somewhat 
breathlessly, “Did that hurt, Glorfy?” He stopped thrusting and held 
himself above Glorfindel.
      
      At first, the Elda didn’t answer. Then he realised that Elladan had 
asked him a question. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. “What… what did 
you say?”
      
      “I asked if I hurt you,” Elladan answered, and now the worry was 
even more pronounced in his eyes. “Please, Glorfy, if I hurt you in any 
way-”
      
      ‘I could tell him that yes, he hurt me, and he’d stop,’ Glorfindel 
thought, stunned. ‘What power I have!’
      
      But it hadn’t hurt.
      
      It had felt wonderful.
      
      Maybe better, even, than when Elrond had been gentle with him.
      
      Glorfindel smiled weakly. “It felt so good,” he whispered.
      
      Elladan blushed, then began thrusting once more.
      
      Glorfindel was unable to think. The waves of pleasure tumbled his 
notions and worries about like dropped firewood. He gave himself over to 
the pleasure, thrusting, moaning… and keeping his eyes open. Not 
because he was supposed to, but because he wanted to watch the beautiful, 
kind elf above him come to his climax.
      
      Their rhythm intensified until they were both panting.
      
      Elladan came first, his back arching and a gasped cry escaping his 
lips.
      
      Glorfindel came an instant later, releasing all over his belly and 
Elladan’s as well.
      
      It had been Elladan’s cry as well as his movements that had taken 
Glorfindel over the edge.
      
      When he’d climaxed, Elladan had gasped, “Glorfindel.”

***
      
      Even as he thought on these things, Glorfindel knew it was 
impossible, but a part of him wanted to dream. 'I might never be his equal, 
but he's loving and gentle. He’d treat me well in bed, at least. I might even 
be spared the whip’s lash. And since he believes in only being with one 
partner for the rest of his life...' He uttered a sigh that was half full of 
wistful happiness and half full of melancholy. ‘Maybe he would choose to 
keep me, and just be with me.’
      
      He couldn’t lie to himself. ‘It would never happen.’
      
      ‘Of course, if Elladan fell in love with someone, he would stop 
touching me because of that very fact. He’d want to dedicate his whole 
being to his lover. I’d become an attendant instead of a whore,’ Glorfindel 
reflected, and he wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited by this possibility.
      
      ‘If nothing else, being unable to touch him would stab very 
deeply.’ He thought clinically, trying to protect himself by restraining his 
emotions: ‘And all of my dreams would go up in smoke.’ The Elda felt the 
tears starting, despite his attempts to keep himself under control. He tried 
to stop them. 'Serves me right for dwelling on a hopeless situation. Didn't I 
learn how foolhardy that was centuries ago?'
      
      Elladan stirred in his sleep and his eyes focused. "Glorfy?"
      
      The blonde smiled weakly, mindful of his part in Elrohir's plan. 'I 
have to act afraid and weak... which isn't much of an act.’ 
      
      "Master..."
      
      Elladan's eyes lit up. "Aii, Glorfindel, I was so worried." He kissed 
Glorfindel's forehead and drew him closer. "Everything's all right now; it's 
morning, and you're not going to fade. Do you understand?"
      
      Glorfindel nodded slightly, making his expression unsure. "Yes, 
Master."
      
      Elladan sighed. "Please don't call me that."
      
      Glorfindel couldn't hide the genuine smile this drew from him. 
"Yes, Elladan."
      
      There was a soft sound from the other side of the room and, with 
difficulty, Glorfindel turned his head in that direction.
      
      Elladan spoke. "Good morning, Legolas."
      
      The elfling sat up and stretched. He smiled at them (his fear had 
retreated since the sun had risen) and stood up. "Good morning, Master 
Elladan."
      
      "Aiya, please just call me Elladan. I don't like the 'master' part." He 
indicated that Legolas should come sit on the bed, and the elf obeyed, 
snuggling into the warmth on Glorfindel’s other side. "Legolas stayed here 
last night," Elladan said to Glorfindel. "Do you remember him singing to 
you?"
      
      Glorfindel blushed slightly. "Aye, I remember. His sweet voice 
came to me in a dream, and chased some of the shadows away." He turned 
his deep blue eyes on Legolas. "Thank you, young one; I'm in your debt."
      
      There was a soft knock at the door then, and Elladan called, "Come 
in."
      
      Aragorn walked in, mindful of his usually-loud (at least for elves) 
steps. But when he saw that all seemed well, his face lost its concentrated, 
tentative look and he smiled. "Glorfindel. You're better."
      
      "I'm getting there, Master Estel."
      
      The Man turned his eyes on Legolas, who was bouncing excitedly 
on the bed. He knelt and opened his arms. Legolas leapt towards him and 
Aragorn swept the child into the air, twirling him around. "I missed you," 
he murmured into the golden hair.
      
      "I missed you, too," Legolas answered, hugging him.
      
      Aragorn kissed his forehead. "Were you fine here last night?
      
      Legolas hesitated. Should he tell his master how frightened he'd 
been?
      
      Before he could decide, Aragorn answered his own question, "It 
was a hard night for you; I can see that. You're not quite ready to be on 
your own outside the camp." He hugged Legolas closer for a moment, 
then set him down. "I'll not make that mistake again." He turned towards 
the bed, looking at Elladan questioningly.
      
      Elladan smiled. "Legolas was very brave last night.”
      
      When Aragorn nodded towards Glorfindel, who was still snuggled 
against Elladan, the son of Elrond added, “Glorfindel will heal now; the 
danger has passed. I'll tend him, don't worry." He stroked Glorfindel's hair 
as he spoke. "You can go back to your Rangers without fear."
      
      Aragorn nodded. "Aye," he said softly as he studied the two of 
them. He took in Glorfindel's contented expression and Elladan's gently-
moving hand, and wondered at the tenderness he saw between them. But 
he let it go. There were other things on his mind. "We'll be riding back 
after I say good-bye to Ada and Elrohir." He came to the bed and knelt, 
taking Elladan's hand. "Take care, Brother; I love you."
      
      "I love you, too," Elladan answered, but as he spoke his eyes didn’t 
leave the elf in his arms.
      
      Aragorn rose, again choosing not to ask or even dwell on what he 
saw. "Be well, Glorfindel; Rivendell would lose a great treasure if you left 
us."
      
      This penetrated Glorfindel's delightful fog, and he gaped at 
Aragorn for an instant before getting control of himself. "Th-thank you," 
he whispered.
      
      Aragorn turned to go, but then glanced down at Legolas. "Do you 
have something to say to them, Legolas?"
      
      The elfling asked shyly, "Can I ask you a question, M- Elladan?"
      
      Aragorn was well aware of Elladan's aversion to being called 
master, so he barely noticed Legolas's words; his mind was on the next 
task: making up with Elrohir before he left. There was no telling when he 
would return to Imladris.
      
      "Of course, Legolas."
      
      'I'll have to swallow my pride and hide my anger,' the Ranger 
thought. 'Only then will we-'
      
      "Are you going to marry Glorfindel?"
      
      Aragorn stared at Legolas in shock. "Legolas-" he began to 
admonish.
      
      Elladan cut him off. "It's all right, Estel; I said he could ask." 
      
      Despite the calmness of his tone, Aragorn saw the deep shock in 
his brother's eyes, and for a long time, Elladan didn't continue. 
      
      At last, he answered, his voice quiet, "I cannot marry him, Legolas; 
he's... well, we're not equal." He hated himself the instant the words were 
out of his mouth, 'but,' he reminded himself, 'this elfling needs to learn.' 
He didn't dare look at Glorfindel in his shame.
      
      Legolas looked down at the floor. "Oh," he whispered, 
disappointed.
      
      Elladan wanted to take the child in his arms and whisper, "But 
maybe I'll marry him anyway," but he couldn't. Instead, he murmured, "I'll 
see you soon, Estel; safe travel."
      
      Aragorn nodded, glad for the excuse to leave. He picked up 
Legolas and carried him from the room, wanting to get away as quickly as 
possible. But he'd already decided not to be mad at Legolas; the young elf 
had suffered enough embarrassment already.
      
      In Glorfindel's room, Elladan worried at his lower lip with his 
teeth; he still couldn't look at Glorfindel.
      
      "It was an innocent question," Glorfindel attempted meekly, even 
as he grieved. ‘Elladan doesn’t think of us as equals… even if he doesn’t 
want to be called ‘master’ he still thinks we’re different.’ Again, the tears 
threatened to overwhelm him. He was less successful in repressing them 
this time. A single, crystalline tear trickled down his cheek.
      
      But beyond and below his own needs and his pain was the longing 
to help Elladan. Desperately, he wanted Elladan to lose that slightly-
frightened look. He added, quaveringly, "He's too young to understand-"
      
      "He understood that I love you," Elladan breathed. "He's not too 
young."
      
      Glorfindel felt his dizziness increase and he closed his eyes, 
hoping it would fade. "Please, Elladan, don't play with me like that..." he 
moaned as his heart threatened to break. 
      
      Elladan touched Glorfindel's cheek and turned the Elda's face 
towards him. "Open your eyes, Glorfy; please." Glorfindel didn't obey, 
and tears were now streaming down his cheeks, wetting Elladan's fingers. 
"Please, Glorfy; for me?"
      
      Glorfindel took in a shaky breath, and forced his eyes open. 
Elladan's dark eyes were darker still with love and passion.
      
      "Glorfindel, I love you."
      
      His breath hitched in his throat, but he swallowed past it. "Elladan, 
we can't!" he croaked. "We're-I'm-You're-" His tears were coming faster 
now, almost a torrent.
      
      Elladan put his finger on Glorfindel's lips. "We can. You do love 
me; I can see it in your eyes, and I love you." He removed his finger and 
replaced it with his lips. Pulling back half an inch, he entreated, "Tell me 
the truth, Glorfindel; I need to hear it."
      
      The Elda had frozen when Elladan kissed him, but as the elf had 
drawn back to speak, he recovered his wits enough to answer, "I love you, 
Elladan.”

Chapter Seven
      
      Aragorn sheltered Legolas from the steady, soaking rain with his 
cloak. True, the rain posed no danger to the elf- in fact, Aragorn was in 
more danger because he might get sick- but the Ranger didn't see it that 
way. He saw Legolas as a child to be protected, and nothing would 
convince him otherwise.
      
      Hearing Legolas speak of the potential love between a freeborn 
and a slave had made Aragorn feel slightly unsettled and tense. But these 
uncomfortable feelings had dissipated quickly. Aragorn had been grateful 
to let them go. When he relaxed, and now that they were on their way 
back home, Legolas chattered and sang constantly. He told Aragorn all 
about the night before, even singing the song back to the astonished 
Ranger, who hadn't thought Legolas was listening to the words, just the 
soothing tone.
      
      "Elladan took good care of Glorfindel," Legolas finished. He didn't 
ask again about marriage between the two, but instead asked Aragorn 
when he would be going back to Rivendell.
      
      "Not for a while," Aragorn answered. "It may be years before I 
stop in my elven home again. Why do you ask? Did you like it there?"
      
      Legolas hesitated.
      
      "Please be honest," Aragorn invited, reading Legolas's reluctance 
for what it was.
      
      "The night felt... scary," Legolas said at last. "It wasn't like at 
home."
      
      Aragorn nodded. "True enough. I want you to know something 
though, Legolas. At least part of what you were sensing was Glorfindel's 
spirit trying to leave Middle-Earth." He tightened his arms around the 
child as Legolas shivered slightly. "The rest of what you felt were the 
different emotions in the House of Elrond, as well as the silence that 
dwells there, just under the music and the dancing. There's silence behind 
everything in this world, but it's easier to hear in some places. You've 
never heard it in the Ranger camp, which is probably why it frightened 
you. Maybe you've never heard it in your life." He kissed the top of 
Legolas' head. "This silence is the silence of time, Legolas; time moves on 
whether we fill it with joy, sadness or anger. When you hear the silence, 
you're hearing time with nothing tangible to fill it."
      
      "I don't like the silence," Legolas whispered, and he shivered 
again.
      
      Aragorn chastised himself for scaring Legolas. "It's something 
you'll get used to. It's not a bad thing; only different."
      
      "Why isn't there silence with the Dunedain?"
      
      Aragorn chuckled. "That's simple: there's no silence because must 
of us in the camp are noisy, boisterous men." He laughed harder. "We 
even breathe loudly much of the time. Lord Elrond's house is more prone 
to silence because it's filled with elves."
      
      'Aye, that's all true, but that's not the real reason,' Aragorn admitted 
to himself. 'Any folk that come to stay in the Last Homely House soon 
pale and sicken, in mind and spirit if not in body. It's almost as if their 
essential elven souls departed, and the land cannot give them back that 
part of themselves.' He shook his head. 'Maybe that's why Elladan was 
broken so completely by the men who raped him. In his soul, he knew 
nothing could ever heal him.'
      
      Legolas considered his master's words for a while, unaware that 
Aragorn's thoughts had turned dark. But he was silent for so long that 
Aragorn thought he might have slipped into reverie or even fallen asleep. 
Suddenly, though, Legolas announced, "I like living with men better." 
And he snuggled back against Aragorn.
      
      The man's heart glowed, and as his depressing thoughts fled, he 
murmured into Legolas's hair, "I like living with you, too, my little one."

***
      
      All in all, Aragorn was glad he'd put Legolas to bed and had come 
to talk to Malacai, Mordecai and Halbarad alone. Not that he would have 
brought Legolas with him to this meeting in any case, but he would have 
let Legolas spend time with Saru. As it turned out, Saru was being 
guarded- very possessively, in fact- by Kehydi.
      
      The four men met in Halbarad's tent. Aragorn sat cross-legged on 
the bed. The sheets had been washed; Halbarad had been made to do this 
by Annaleh, who couldn't stand the thought of the man lying on them and 
perhaps fantasizing about the child he'd raped. The other three sat in a 
semicircle in front of him, with Halbarad caught between the brothers.
      
      The brothers didn't speak much, knowing that their reason for 
being there was to bear witness to Aragorn's words so that he could not be 
accused of being unduly easy or harsh towards Halbarad.
      
      "I know what you did, and why," Aragorn stated after Halbarad 
and Malacai had each given him their version of the story. Normally, 
Aragorn would also have asked Saru for his point of view, but he knew the 
boy was far too shaken to speak of the attack. "Now what I want to know 
is how you will make amends for this transgression."
      
      Halbarad answered at once, having had time to think about this all 
day, "I offer to make a formal apology to Malacai, and to his wife, and 
buy them another slave, or, if they don't wish that, I will do whatever is 
required of me."
      
      'I should have never raped him in the daytime; his presence was 
missed too soon... or at least I should have gagged him.'
      
      Aragorn nodded. "Malacai, as you do not want to replace Saru, 
what do you require?"
      
      Malacai spoke up at once. "I want your word, Halbarad, sworn in 
front of Aragorn, that you will leave Saru alone. You will swear to stop 
bullying him, and you will further swear to keep your distance from him 
unless you have a specific order from either myself, my wife, or Aragorn."
      
      Halbarad felt his stomach twist with fury. How dare this man tell 
him where he could go or what he could do? But he concealed his 
feelings, knowing he wouldn't get out of here until he swore. Then he 
remembered something. He was going to have to look Aragorn in the eye 
when he swore. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He resisted the 
urge to brush it away, not wanting to give any visible signs of his stress. 'I 
can do this,' he coached himself. 'I can do this. I must do this.' He steeled 
himself and stared right into Aragorn's eyes, pledging that he would do all 
that Malacai had asked.
      
      Aragorn nodded, satisfied.
      
      Malacai nodded, accepting the pledge.
      
      The four of them stood, and the chief led the brothers out of the 
tent.
      
      When they were gone, Halbarad closed his eyes, picturing Saru's 
naked bottom and his tight hole. He sucked in his breath, then let it out 
slowly. Tonight, he would have to find release. For now, though, he had 
chores to do. It was almost sunset and he was expected to help some of the 
others hunt. This calmed his hardness a little, and he fetched his weapons 
and left the tent.
      
      'Someday, Saru, I'll have you again... but not this day.'

***
      
      "Elrohir, please understand..." Elladan began.
      
      "You're freeborn, and he's a slave! What am I supposed to 
understand?"
      
      "Glorfindel was born free in his first life," Elladan objected 
quietly. He resisted his usual urge to just bow to Elrohir's will. This was 
too important; he couldn't back down. "And I love him, Elrohir. Slave or 
free, I love him. I can't change that."
      
      Elladan took a steadying breath, and released it. It had taken more 
strength than he'd thought to speak to his brother, and Elladan felt a 
sudden pang as he remembered how he and Elrohir had been able to talk 
about anything.
      
      Elrohir shrugged. "If you think you love him, Ada and I will give 
you sole claim to him.”
      
      Elladan gazed sadly at his brother. 'Yes we could talk, but that was 
before Nana left... and before I was attacked. I feel like a little child now.' 
He sighed. 'I hate the feeling but what else can I do? I've lost the will to 
challenge him.'
      
      Elrohir went on, gaining steam, “He can be your personal-"
      
      "This is different," Elladan interrupted, not wanting to hear Elrohir 
say the word 'whore'.
      
      'I just argued with him,’ Elladan thought with more than a little 
amazement. He blinked, and asked himself, ‘Didn't I?’
      
      ‘Yes,’ he decided. ‘I definitely did.’ He felt an urge to apologize 
and yet his heart swelled with pride. ‘I am strong enough to heal, even in 
Ada’s house.’
      
      After a moment, he mused, somewhat sarcastically, ‘And Imladris 
didn't fall down around our ears. Maybe... maybe I could urge Ada to free 
Glorfy.'
      
      He took another deep breath. ‘But let me try to convince Elrohir 
first. If he’s on my side, it will be easier to talk to Ada.’
      
      "I want to be bound to Glorfindel, the way Ada and Nana were. I 
want him to be protected from being sold; I want him to be safe with me."
      
      His brother was silent for a long moment. Elladan didn't know it, 
but Elrohir was struggling not to laugh and cheer. His plan had worked! A 
little too well, yes, but the point was that it had worked. Elladan had 
forgotten about his own pain. His ability to argue with Elrohir proved that 
he was already stronger. Still, there were limits, and Elrohir knew it, just 
as Elladan did. 'It's my job to show that those rules still apply,' the twin 
thought. He knew Elladan had come to him because he was afraid to go to 
their father with his confessions of love. 'Love! For a slave!' Elrohir fought 
down a fresh urge to laugh. 
      
      "Elladan, I'll tell you what. We can talk to Ada and see if he'll sign 
over Glorfindel to you alone. Then he'd never be sold, would he? You 
couldn't free him, because of the uproar and turmoil that would cause, but 
he would be completely under your protection. What do you say?"
      
      Elladan stared at his brother for a long time. He was crushed by his 
brother's words, even though he had half-expected them. He whispered, 
defeated, "That's not enough, but it will have to do for now. Maybe in 
time...." He looked at Elrohir hopefully.
      
      Elrohir nodded indulgently. "Yes," he agreed, hiding his smile, 
"maybe someday Rivendell will be ready for Glorfindel's freedom. When 
that day comes, you can free him and marry him." He added 
magnanimously, "I'll be your best man, and I'll treat Glorfindel like an 
equal."
      
      Elladan nodded, surprised by Elrohir's generosity. "Thank you," he 
murmured before leaving his brother's room.
      
      Part of him was hopeful. After all, if Elrohir could really talk about 
marriage without becoming enraged, there had to be hope, right?
      
      Again, he sighed. ‘It's only wishful thinking.’ He went back to his 
room, where his light waited. Where Glorfindel waited.
      
      Elrohir waited until Elladan was out of earshot, then he collapsed 
on his bed, laughing hysterically. "Glorfindel...f-f-free...." He snorted. 
"The day that happens, I'll kiss an orc."


Title: Legolas' Gift
 
Authors: Estel Baggins (macfal1219@comcast.net) and Elfbean 
(elfbean@aol.com)
Authors' note: This is being posted in multi-chapter parts, so even though 
this is part eight, it is the third posting. Sorry about the confusion!


Chapter Eight

      Kehydi leapt from the high branch, landing a little clumsily in front 
of his father.
      
      Malacai praised, "A good take-off; well balanced and sure." Then 
he turned to Legolas, Saru and the rest of the class of eight-to-ten year old 
Rangers and slaves. Among the Dunedain, all, be they slave or free, 
learned the same skills, because in battle every hand was needed. 
"Critique, please."
      
      Neshta shook his head. "You landed funny."
      
      "Define ‘funny,’" Malacai commanded.
      
      "Um... uh..."
      
      "Someone help him, please."
      
      Legolas's hand shot into the air. The slaves had to raise their hands 
and wait to be called on instead of calling out answers, but Malacai (and 
the other teachers as well) valued their answers just as much as those 
made by others.
      
      "Legolas," Malacai invited.
      
      "Master Kehydi's landing wasn't as balanced as his start. If he’d 
kept his legs together when he jumped, with his knees bent a little, he'd be 
able to end as he started."
      
      Malacai nodded, pleased. "Excellent, Legolas. Would you like to 
demonstrate?"
      
      Legolas bounded forward, leapt up to catch the lowest branch, and 
scaled the tree in record time. He balanced for an instant on the branch, 
leapt, and landed lightly and perfectly in front of Malacai.
      
      There was a stunned silence, then Saru cheered. "Legolas, that was 
great!"
      
      The rest of the class stared at the red-headed slave, some 
malevolently. It was not his place to call out, even to his friend. In his 
excitement, Saru had temporarily conquered his fear of people. But now, 
as they glared at him, he bowed his head and bit his lip, fearing 
punishment.
      
      Kehydi took a step towards Stenva, his fist raised. Stenva was 
nearly snarling at Saru, and Kehydi felt the need to wipe that look of smug 
distain off the other freeborn’s face. In the years since Saru had been 
attacked, Kehydi's need to protect Saru had grown by leaps and bounds.
      
      Malacai smoothed the tension away, his voice startling Kehydi into 
backing down. "Excellent job, Legolas. Saru, you're up."
      
      As the two friends passed, Legolas squeezed Saru's shoulder and 
offered him a grateful, happy smile. Saru went to the tree with an easier 
heart. He climbed, not so smoothly or quickly as Legolas had, but 
efficiently enough, and stood on the branch. He paused an instant, 
picturing Legolas's perfect posture and stance, then leapt. He came down 
on both feet steadily, though he had to hop a little to release the extra 
energy from the jump.
      
      Legolas grinned. Of all the men, Saru's jump was the best so far.
      
      Malacai nodded. "Well thought out, well executed, good 
compensation for the left over momentum. How could he have avoided 
having to hop?"
      
      Legolas raised his hand at once, but Malacai, wanting to be fair to 
his students, called on Cein.
      
      "He could keep his head from swelling so big, then he wouldn't be 
thrown off balance," Cein replied mock-seriously.
      
      The Ranger children roared with laughter. Even some of the slaves 
laughed- though softly. Again, Kehydi raised his fist, and this time his 
knuckles were white.
      
      Legolas balled his own hands into fists but reminded himself, 'I 
don't need a punishment right now. They're only words.'
      
      Malacai barked, "Cein, that's enough. Answer correctly or go back 
to your father's tent."
      
      Cein hid his smile. "He should have bent his knees more."
      
      Malacai grunted his acceptance of this answer, and Saru was 
allowed to take his spot beside Legolas. The class continued.
      
      At the end of class, Malacai said, "Cein, Kehydi, Saru, I wish to 
speak with you." He took Saru aside first, out of the hearing of the other 
two. "Saru, what did you do wrong today?" he asked calmly.
      
      "I was loud without permission," Saru whispered.
      
      Malacai nodded. "I know Legolas did an excellent job, but please 
restrain yourself in the future. Do you understand?"
      
      "Yes, Master."
      
      Malacai put his hand on Saru's shoulder and squeezed gently. 
"Saru, we all make mistakes." He smiled kindly. "You'll learn; I promise."
      
      Saru relaxed- a tiny bit.
      
      "Now go and help my lady with dinner."
      
      "Yes, Master." Saru jogged away.
      
      "Cein!" Malacai called.
      
      The boy swaggered towards him. "I'm not in trouble for picking on 
a slave, am I?” He sneered. “He's hardly my equal."
      
      "No,” Malacai snapped, “you're in trouble for disrupting my class. 
If you disrupt it again, I'll be forced to discipline you. Do you 
understand?"
      
      Cein schooled his features into a serious look and answered tightly, 
"Yes, sir."
      
      Malacai didn't care for the boy's cocky air, but let it go. "Go 
home." He turned his attention to Kehydi, who had been shuffling his feet 
nervously. Malacai walked to his side and asked quietly, "And what did 
you do?"
      
      "I let my temper run away again," Kehydi whispered in shame.
      
      Malacai nodded. "If I hadn't been there to distract you, what would 
have happened?"
      
      "I would have hurt one of my brothers."
      
      "Exactly." Malacai began to walk towards home and Kehydi fell 
into step beside him. "Kehydi, please understand. Legolas and Saru are 
property, and even though they are your friends as well, they are still 
slaves. Let their masters deal with laughter about them." He squatted down 
suddenly and his son looked at him. "Some day, you'll be Saru's master. 
Then you can protect and shelter him as much as you think necessary. For 
now, though, let me take care of him. All right?"
      
      Kehydi nodded. "Yes, Father."

***
      
      Aragorn felt Legolas's tension when the boy came into the tent, 
and he at once left off the bow he was stringing. "Come sit by me, 
Legolas," he invited.
      
      The ten-year old elfling sat down and stared at his hands.
      
      "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
      
      "I don't like it when the others pick on Saru," Legolas responded at 
once. "He made a mistake- told me I did a good job with my jump- and 
they all looked at him like he was an orc or something."
      
      The bitterness in his voice, stronger each time he spoke of some 
injustice, troubled Aragorn. He said carefully, "Their actions aren't right, 
Legolas, but please remember this: you and Saru are slaves, and different 
rules apply to you."
      
      "But we're not dirt!" Legolas exclaimed. Then he added, "Master 
Aragorn, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to yell."
      
      "I know," Aragorn answered, anxious to find out what was on 
Legolas's mind. "Please explain your words."
      
      Legolas met his gaze unflinchingly. "We're property, yes, but like a 
horse is property. You protect Roheryn from abuse, don't you?"
      
      Aragorn nodded.
      
      "Well, this is abuse, too, even though it's only with words. It hurts 
just as much, and destroys the progress Saru has made." He shook his 
head. "He begins to believe in himself as a competent slave. I want him to 
keep thinking like that." He sighed, and finished softly, "I like it when he's 
happy."
      
      Aragorn filed away that bit of information. Legolas' friendship 
with Saru was growing by leaps and bounds, and the Ranger was more 
than willing to encourage it. After all, he'd worried that Legolas might be 
ignored or shunned by the other slaves because he was an elf. To some 
extent, that was true, but Legolas didn't seem to seek any other friends 
besides Saru.
      
      'And me? Does he think of me as a friend even as he calls me 
master?' Aragorn pushed this uncomfortable thought away.
      
      "Is he still hurt do you think?" Aragorn asked. "Do you want to go 
see him?"
      
      Legolas shook his head. "Master Malacai and Master Kehydi are 
helping him," he said with certainty.
      
      Aragorn nodded and returned to his bow. "What are you going to 
do now?" he asked, his attention back with the string.
      
      "May I continue my sewing?" Legolas asked, and suddenly his 
voice was quite shy. His 'sewing' was a project he'd started last summer (it 
now being early spring) and he sought every opportunity to work on it.
      
      Aragorn smiled and looked up at him. "Of course. Would you like 
me to leave so you can work in secrecy?"
      
      Legolas blushed a little, but answered boldly, "If you don't mind."
      
      Aragorn's smile broadened. "Nay, I don't mind." He grabbed up his 
tools, the string and bow, and left quickly, grinning to himself. Whatever 
Legolas was making, the elf kept it hidden from everyone- Aragorn, Saru 
and all others. The Ranger couldn't decide who the present was for- 
perhaps it was for him- but it made him smile when he thought of Legolas’ 
secret. He liked the fact that Legolas asked permission to keep harmless, 
tiny things to himself. ‘He trusts me not to pry,’ Aragorn thought 
comfortably. He allowed Legolas a little privacy with a free heart. 
      
      Legolas took out the carefully-folded cloak and held it up, 
admiring it. The leaves made of green thread intertwined with the signs of 
Aragorn's coming kingship: seven stones and seven stars and one white 
tree. He'd learned about Aragorn's proclaimed road from Annaleh, who 
told stories about the Dunedain to the children on cold winter nights.
      
      He laid the cloak across his knees and began to fill in the last star, 
which he had outlined already in the silver-colored thread he'd learned to 
make. One reason this cloak had taken so long was because Legolas 
wanted to know how to do every step. He learned how to make thread, 
how to dye it, then how to make and dye the cloth he would need. He even 
learned how to make needles out of small animal bones.
      
      He worked steadily for an hour, filling in the star. At last, knowing 
it was done, he took gold-colored thread (made of the petals of the 
goldenrod that grew all around the camp) and began to stitch Aragorn's 
three names along the bottom edge of the cloak:
      
      Aragorn son of Arathorn	Estel foster son of Elrond	Strider 
Dunadan
      
      'He'll be called other names throughout his life, ' Legolas thought 
as he finished the last few letters. He didn’t know that this was the gift of 
elven foresight, but accepted his knowing as fact without question. 
'There's room on the bottom for all his names.'
      
      He folded the cloak away again as he heard footsteps outside the 
tent.
      
      "Legolas?" called Saru.
      
      The elf answered, "Come in."
      
      Saru slipped inside, and his eyes were twinkling. "Come and see 
Master Aragorn!" he cried excitedly.
      
      Legolas followed him outside, and stopped only a few paces 
outside the tent, laughter bubbling up inside him.

      Aragorn, dressed like an orc, was practicing maneuvers with some 
of the oldest Ranger children- the ones who were almost men and women. 
He menaced each of them in turn. Each young Ranger had to defend him 
or herself. Some of them were quite good, but others, Legolas could see, 
were going to need more practice. He felt a little bad for these few, 
because Aragorn wouldn't be running this test again for two years, so these 
few would have to wait to be called men and women of the Dunedain. 
And not all those that failed the test were girls, nor were all those that 
passed boys.
      
      This was the second to last in a series of tests Aragorn had been 
conducting for three weeks. Everything else until now had involved 
knowledge, strategy, basic living skills (all had to know how to cook, 
clean, sew and hunt) and diplomacy. Now they had to fight Aragorn in the 
guise of an orc, then as a man. They didn't necessarily have to win, but 
they did have to trick him, slow him down or escape so that they could 
fight another day.
      
      As the last "child" stepped back- she was a girl with long, blonde-
brown hair tied back out of her way- Aragorn removed his mask and the 
gloves that served him as thick-fingered orc hands. "Well done, Saran," he 
said to her. He turned his gaze on the rest of the waiting students. 
"Tomorrow will be your final test. I'll see you at dawn by the river." He 
bowed to them- formality was a big part of these tests- and walked 
towards his tent, where Legolas and Saru still stood. They made as if to 
step aside, but Aragorn asked, "What do you think of them, Saru? Are 
they ready?"
      
      Taken off guard at being so addressed, Saru swallowed, shifted a 
little from foot to foot, then answered, "I think some of them are ready to 
become adults, Master, but not all."
      
      "What about Saran?" Aragorn asked.
      
      Saru nodded. "Yes. She's both quick enough and intelligent in the 
ways of battle."
      
      "Aye, I agree." He looked at the two boys thoughtfully. "Malacai 
tells me you both are excelling in his basic balance class. Are you ready to 
start actually training with a weapon now?"
      
      Legolas exclaimed at once, "Yes! Yes!" He was delighted. Most 
children didn't get to start with a weapon until they were eleven. He 
danced from one foot to the other. His joy was doubled by the secret 
knowledge that Aragorn had asked him once before to take up weapons 
study, but Legolas had wanted to stay back with Saru to protect and 
support him. Now they could move forward as one.
      
      "Saru, Malacai wishes me to see you jump, just to make sure I'm 
satisfied, but if that goes well, you and Legolas can both start tomorrow."
      
      Saru's eyes shone, but he restrained himself from showing too 
much of his joy, remembering what had happened earlier that day. "Yes, 
Master."
      
      Aragorn nodded. "Let us go now, then; I'd see you jump before it 
gets too dark to see." He led them to a tree, not the one they'd jumped 
from that morning, but one nearer the camp. The lowest branch was a little 
higher off the ground than that of the tree they'd practiced on, but Saru 
didn't seem daunted. He climbed carefully but quickly, balanced on the 
branch, remembered all that happened that morning, and jumped.
      
      He landed lightly, perfectly, in front of Aragorn.
      
      The chief nodded. "Aye, you're ready. I'll see you both tomorrow 
an hour before down. You'll start training with Aaron tomorrow." He 
walked towards the fire, but Legolas held back to whisper, "We're going to 
learn to fight!"
      
      Saru grinned, and breathed, "What if we pass through the fighting 
so quickly that we're adults by the time we're twelve?"
      
      Legolas laughed. "Never happen."
      
      "I can dream, though," Saru murmured.
      
      "Aye, you can," answered a deeper voice.
      
      Both slaves looked up, slightly startled. But it was only Malacai, 
striding towards them, his face lit with pride. He swept Saru into his arms- 
a habit he hadn't quite been able to drop, and one he could continue with 
ease because Saru was so light- and kissed his mouth. Saru responded, 
putting his arms around his master's neck and turning his head to deepen 
the kiss.
      
      Legolas gaped for an instant, but then shut his mouth with an 
audible snap. 
      
      The two were completely oblivious to him. Malacai turned in a 
circle, swaying and still kissing the boy in that deep and searching way. 
"Oh, Saru," Malacai muttered when he'd at last drawn a little away, "I'm 
so very proud." And still carrying the boy, he walked towards his tent, 
leaving Legolas to stare in shock after them.
      
      When they'd passed out of his sight, Legolas made his way in a 
daze towards the fire, subconsciously seeking Aragorn. He found his 
master listening to a small group, under the direction of Sarahe, Malacai's 
mother-in-law, singing a short song in Elvish. The music brought Legolas 
out of himself a little, and he stood still for a moment, listening, letting the 
music come inside him.
      
      When the song ended, Aragorn smiled and praised, "Your singing 
is improving every day. Thank you for that beautiful melody."
      
      The young ones- about six, Legolas thought- glowed, and then 
drifted away. Aragorn caught Sarahe's eye, and the two of them stood 
talking in low voices.
      
      Legolas felt his discomfort coming back as he watched them. He 
closed his eyes, but an image of Saru and Malacai filled his mind, and he 
quickly opened his eyes again.
      
      Aragorn broke away from Sarahe; he'd spotted Legolas and the 
distressed look on the young elf's face. He came to Legolas and hunkered 
down in front of him. "Legolas?" he asked gently. "What's wrong?"
      
      Legolas glanced around. He didn't want to talk about Malacai here 
where everyone could hear him. "Um... can we talk alone for a minute?"
      
      "Of course." Aragorn stood and led the way back to the tent. When 
they were inside, Aragorn gestured for Legolas to come sit on the bed with 
him. He waited patiently, his hands lying non-threateningly on his knees.
      
      For a frightening moment, Legolas thought he would lose his 
nerve. But he knew Aragorn very well by now, knew that his master 
wouldn't yell at him or hurt him. He ventured, "I saw Saru and Master 
Malacai kissing."
      
      Aragorn's eyes widened slightly. He knew of Malacai's growing 
desire for the slave (he knew also of Malacai's failed attempt several years 
ago), so kissing was only natural. Saru was almost nine years old- it was 
past the time when most masters started touching and kissing their slaves. 
'Then again, I haven't done anything with Legolas,' he thought wryly. 
      
      "Does this bother you?" he asked Legolas.
      
      The elf hesitated. "Yes," he said at last after he'd sorted out his 
feelings. "Isn't Saru too young to be kissed like adults kiss?"
      
      'Here comes another lesson,' Aragorn thought. 
      
      "Legolas, slaves live by a different set of rules than freeborns do. 
Many rules are the same, like passing fighting tests to reach adulthood. 
But slaves are slaves, and because of that, they must follow a separate set 
of rules."
      
      "Like what?" Legolas asked.
      
      "You already know some of them. One is having to raise your hand 
in a class and waiting to be called on."
      
      Legolas nodded. "Are there a lot of others?"
      
      Aragorn smiled sadly. "There are many. Most haven't affected you 
yet. For example, when you're grown, and if you wanted to marry, you 
couldn't marry a freeborn." He thought of the rest of the rules- how he, 
Aragorn, could prevent Legolas from marrying anyone, and how he could 
make Legolas marry someone he thought was best. But Aragorn didn't tell 
the elfling about that. "Another rule that's different is when a slave is 
ready to be touched and kissed in a sexual way. Among most of the people 
of Middle-Earth, it's all right to lie with a slave- in intercourse- when that 
slave is three or four years old. The Dunedain believe that slaves can be 
touched as early as seven years old, but that they shouldn't be lain with 
until they are sixteen. That way, the slave is grown up enough to 
understand what's happening to them and, because they're grown, they can 
enjoy the experience." He was starting to feel very uncomfortable, but he 
hid it as well as he could.
      
      "So it's okay for Master Malacai to kiss Saru because he's a slave?" 
Legolas asked.
      
      Aragorn nodded. "Exactly."
      
      "Will you start kissing me soon?" Legolas asked.
      
      Aragorn's breath caught in his throat. He coughed. "Well... you 
see... Legolas...." He swallowed and started again. "I haven't decided if I 
will ever touch you like that, or kiss you, or have intercourse with you."
      
      "Why wouldn't you?" Legolas asked. Then he looked down at his 
hands. "Is it because I'm an elf?"
      
      "No!" Aragorn exclaimed, and he lifted Legolas's chin so that their 
eyes met. "I've been with Glorfindel; it has nothing to do with what you 
are. It's just... well, I once had a slave that I had intercourse with- several, 
actually- but I'm in no hurry to replace them." He swallowed, trying to get 
rid of the tightness in his throat. "Legolas... Many slaves serve their 
masters sexually, but I don't know if you will or not." And because he was 
prompted to be honest, he added, "You mean too much to me for me to 
treat you lightly, to have intercourse with you unless you're ready and 
willing and..." He stumbled to a halt, not knowing what else to say.
      
      Legolas distracted him for a moment. "Does Saru like being 
kissed?"
      
      His master considered that. 'If I was a good master, I would tell 
him that the feelings of a slave don't matter. Except Legolas's feelings 
matter- to me, at least.' 
      
      "When you saw him, did he seem to be enjoying himself? You and 
I both know Saru can't hide what he feels: if he's afraid, you know it, and 
if he's enjoying something, you know it. So answer that question for 
yourself." His tone was crisper, flatter than he liked, but Aragorn allowed 
his reply to stand as it was.
      
      Legolas thought for a long time. "I think he liked it," he said softly. 
"He put his arms around Master Malacai's neck and..." He wasn't sure how 
to say it "moved into the kiss."
      
      Aragorn relaxed. He'd been slightly afraid that Saru might show a 
tiny sliver of fear, and Legolas would pick up on it. "Well then, Saru was 
definitely enjoying himself."
      
      "Does kissing feel good?"
      
      Aragorn suppressed a groan. 'There's no way I'm going to get out 
of this easily, is there?' And because he'd always answered Legolas' 
questions before, he could hardly discipline the elf for asking too many 
now. 'Besides, I don't think I could ever severely discipline him. I could 
never raise a hand to him, let alone a belt or worse.' 
      
      "Usually, yes. If it didn't, would Malacai be doing it?"
      
      "Can we try it?" Legolas asked, blushing slightly.
      
      "I-I..." Aragorn stilled his restless tongue. An idea had just come to 
him. ‘If I introduce him to some of it now, maybe he could be ready when 
he’s sixteen.’
      
      But another part of him, the part that wanted, more than anything, 
to protect Legolas, objected, ‘No! This isn’t the time!’ And, after a pause, 
‘It will never be the right time. He’s more than a slave.’
      
      Yet, when Aragorn looked at Legolas, he needed to kiss him. And 
he prayed that it wasn’t only lust that drove him.
      
      ‘Can I introduce it? Can I kiss him?’
      
      ‘I have thought of kissing him before… but never seriously.’
      
      ‘What if I hurt him?’
      
      ‘I want to be the one to introduce him to kissing. And maybe, if we 
kiss, he’ll understand things a little better. It’s worth a try.’
      
      That second voice, the one that insisted on protecting Legolas from 
everything sexual, tried to yell in protest, but Aragorn ignored it.
      
      He took Legolas' hand in his and drew the elf closer. He tilted 
Legolas' chin up as he had a moment ago, and lowered his lips to capture 
the rosy ones before him. He almost gasped at their softness, and at the 
faint sweetness of their taste, but he held himself in check, not wanting to 
frighten Legolas.
      
      Legolas moved a little closer, and turned his head as he'd seen Saru 
do. Their lips fit more firmly together, and Aragorn couldn't stop what he 
did next. His tongue slipped out and stroked Legolas's lower lip. The elf 
froze for an instant, then put out his tiny tongue to touch Aragorn's larger 
one.
      
      For uncounted minutes, they sat just that way, exploring carefully, 
learning. At last, Aragorn drew back. "Do you like it?" he asked somewhat 
breathlessly.
      
      Legolas's eyes were closed, and he was licking his lips. "Yes," he 
said at last. "It felt a little strange at first, but..." His green eyes opened and 
flashed with a child's innocence. "I do like it."
      
      Aragorn smiled, relieved and happy. "I'm glad," he whispered, 
drawing Legolas close again.
      
      Legolas sought his mouth, but Aragorn said, laughingly, "We don't 
have to kiss all the time, you know."
      
      "But... I want to try again."
      
      The Ranger's heart swelled with some strong emotion- 
protectiveness, he tried to tell himself- for the elfling before him, but all he 
said was, "It's late; we should go to bed." But he couldn't resist smiling 
and adding, "We can do a little more exploring before we sleep."
Chapter Nine
      Legolas came out of his reverie and snuggled closer to Aragorn. 
The Man murmured in his sleep and drew Legolas against him, kissing the 
elf’s forehead. Legolas smiled against Aragorn’s shoulder. He cast his 
senses outside their tent, hearing the savage wind that roared about 
outside. He didn’t feel the cold, but knew it was probably frigid outside. ‘I 
should get up and get the fire started,’ he thought. He slipped out from 
between Aragorn’s arm and his side, leaving the Man asleep in the bed. 
He knelt by the rock-ring, brushed away the ashes from last night’s fire 
and blew on the embers to start the fire. When it was going nicely, he 
added kindling to give it strength, then sat back on his heels to regard his 
handiwork. Yes, this would warm the tent in no time. Keeping an eye on 
the cheery flames, he went to the side of the bed, found his clothes, and 
dressed swiftly. Then he stretched his thirteen-year old body, imitating 
what Aragorn did almost every morning. Though he himself felt no 
stiffness in his muscles, Legolas enjoyed parroting his master’s 
movements.
      Aragorn stirred and rolled over in his sleep, his hand reaching out 
for Legolas automatically. The elf tiptoed close and took the hand, 
murmuring in Elvish, “Sleep, Master. It is but barely dawn.”
      But Aragorn’s eyes opened, and he was instantly and completely 
awake. “Good morning,” he said clearly, sitting up and drawing Legolas 
towards him. As they had been doing every morning for years, the two 
kissed lightly, then Legolas drew back. “You should get dressed first. It’s 
cold out here.” He brought Aragorn his clothes, and the Ranger dressed 
swiftly. As he was lacing up his shirt, Aragorn asked, “Will you slip out 
and find Malacai for me? He was keeping watch last night, so he should 
be on the southern border of the camp.”
      Aragorn still sat for a moment after Legolas had gone out, 
contemplating what he now must do. Sighing, resigned, he rose and set 
about the task of packing. ‘If I’m ready to go, he won’t have to watch me 
preparing. That will hurt him more.’ Into his bag went leggings, tunics, his 
herb-bag (filled in the fall, but containing enough medicines to last him for 
a good long while, he hoped, since athelas did not grow as readily in the 
South) and two extra knives. His other weapons he would carry with him, 
as well as a bedroll and a warm cloak. 
      ‘I don’t dare take Legolas with me; it’s too dangerous in Rohan for 
a beauty such as he, to say nothing of the predators he would face in 
Gondor.’ People from both these kingdoms were likely to try and claim 
Legolas for their own, wanting to use his beauty and body for their 
pleasure. Aragorn would not allow that. Legolas, was, after all, still a 
virgin, ‘but even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t let anyone else touch him.’
      ‘But,’ he had to admit, ‘I wish I could take him with me. Twenty 
years is too long to be gone without any connection to my people… 
without any chance to hold Legolas.’
      Angry with himself for the tears that were gathering at the corners 
of his eyes, Aragorn shoved his last clothes into his bag and stood. ‘I will 
not cry for the loneliness I am about to endure. I knew this would come 
some day… I will be strong, like my father… even though he never left 
the Dunedain. I see my road plainly: it will end in Gondor, on the throne; I 
must learn about these people if I am ever to befriend and lead them.’ But 
the tears were trickling down his cheeks now, and Aragorn scrubbed at 
them, not wanting Legolas to catch him this way.
      There was a sound at the tent flap, and Aragorn looked up to see 
Malacai slip inside.
      His second-in-command took one look at his chief and stepped 
closer, opening his arms. Aragorn hesitated, but Malacai muttered, 
sounding both frustrated and tolerant, “Strider, please,” and Aragorn gave 
in, letting his friend hold him.
      “We’re going to miss you, Aragorn,” Malacai whispered.
      “Aye,” Aragorn said around a tightness in his throat, “and I’m 
going to miss you, too. This is like when I left Rivendell, except then I had 
the urge to leave and discover my lineage and what it meant out in the 
wide world. Now I only long to stay with my family.” He laughed, a 
sound with no humor or warmth in it. “I’ve turned selfish in my old age.”
      “You’re only forty-five, my friend; you’re far from old. And if 
there’s a selfish bone in your body, I’m a servant of the Dark Lord. You’re 
only thinking that you’ll miss us as much as we’ll miss you.” He gave 
Aragorn an extra-hard squeeze. “There’s no selfishness in human feelings, 
Aragorn; please believe that.”
      Aragorn smiled sadly. “Thank you, Malacai; I needed your 
reassurance.” He pulled away a little, but his second kept his hand on the 
younger man’s shoulder.
      The man spoke flatly, directly, as was his style. “Aragorn, are you 
sure you can leave Legolas here? He’s going to miss you terribly. And if 
you take him, you’ll find yourself comforted more than you can imagine.”
      Aragorn shook his head. “I’m sure. I won’t let him get hurt. 
Besides, he would miss Saru if I took him with me.”
      “If you’re worried about Saru, don’t be. He and Kehydi are 
becoming quite close; he’d survive without Legolas for a while. And as 
for Legolas, he needs you more than he needs Saru.”
      The Ranger sighed. “In any case, I wish him to be safe.”
      “Couldn’t you protect him?”
      “I can’t be with him always. Besides, the Rohirrim and Gondorians 
would not understand why I am so protective of a slave.” He smiled 
wryly. “You must admit that some of the Dunedain don’t even understand 
that.”
      “Legolas can protect himself; tell all that ask that he is your son- 
then they’d leave him be.”
      “He looks nothing like me!” Aragorn cried, laughing at Malacai’s 
determination.
      “They’d still believe it because of the way Legolas treats you.”
      “And what would you have him call me? Father? Nay, Malacai, it 
will not work.”
      Malacai sighed. “Aragorn, he will pine for you. You are his 
strength. And even young elves can die from grief; it does not only happen 
to elves that fall in love. It happens also to children. Do you think Legolas 
could live for twenty years without you?”
      The Ranger hesitated, finally made to see what could befall 
Legolas. “I had not considered that,” he conceded. “Perhaps I should take 
him… but there is still the fact that he would be in danger.”
      “Call him your slave and leave it at that. Tell them that Legolas has 
your permission to defend himself- and you know he can do as much.”
      “Maybe…” Aragorn nodded. “I’ll think on it one more day, and 
then decide. Thank you for your counsel.” He chuckled. “And to think I 
was only calling you in here to ask you to watch out for him while I’m 
gone.”
      “It’s my job to give you the advice you don’t want or expect,” 
Malacai answered. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be your second.”
      Aragorn nodded. “Aye, ‘tis true.” He grasped Malacai’s upper 
arms, silently thanking him. “Let’s go outside and see if there is any hope 
of breakfast beyond dried bread and melted snow.”
***
      The day passed too quickly for Aragorn’s liking, and before he 
knew it, the sun was setting. Sighing, the Ranger walked into his tent and 
stared at his packed bag. He’d managed to keep Legolas out of the tent all 
day, and thus ignorant of the fact that he, Aragorn, might be leaving alone.
      ‘Have I really any choice?’ he thought at last. ‘If I leave him here, 
he may die; if I take him with me, I can protect him from that fate, though 
another, more sinister one, may befall him. No, I really have no choice.’ 
His mind made up, Aragorn set about packing Legolas’s bag, and in ten 
minutes he was ready to go. ‘We’ll leave in the morning.’ With everything 
decided, Aragorn left his tent to find Legolas.
      He found Legolas by the fire, talking to Saru while the two of them 
mended clothes- their own and their masters’ as well. The two of them 
could have sought the comparative warmth of a tent, but since the wind 
had died, the air wasn’t very chill, and they seemed to prefer to be alone 
together.
      Aragorn saw them sitting close together, and wanted to rethink his 
decision. But now he knew that Legolas needed him, and he sighed. This 
would be a growing experience for his little elf.
      Legolas heard him long before he’d reached the fireside, and 
looked up, smiling.
      Aragorn sat down beside his slave and returned the smile, but his 
eyes were sad. “Legolas, I’m going away tomorrow. I’m going to Rohan. I 
may be gone for twenty years.... and if you'd like to, I want you to come 
with me." As soon as the words were out, he groaned inwardly; his mouth 
had betrayed him again! He had just offered Legolas, a slave, the choice of 
staying.
      Saru gasped and looked from Aragorn to Legolas. He didn’t want 
Legolas to leave him… but he also felt very guilty for his selfishness.
      Legolas squeezed Saru’s had distractedly, but his eyes were fixed 
on his master. “Can I stay if I want to?” he asked at once, as if the idea of 
going somewhere far away frightened him.
      Aragorn felt his heart sink. “Aye, Legolas,” he said, trying to hide 
his disappointment. “It’s your choice.” The man rose, thinking to return to 
his tent and unpack Legolas’s bag, but Legolas’s voice stopped him, and 
he glanced around.
      “Master?”
      Legolas wasn’t looking at him, not at first. He was looking at Saru, 
and silent message passed between them.
      Saru shivered and dropped his eyes, but his expression was 
resigned.
      At last, Legolas looked at Aragorn. “I want to go with you, 
Master.”
      Aragorn’s eyes burned with grateful tears- he hid these expertly- 
and he squatted in front of Legolas. “Are you sure, Legolas?”
      “I-I don’t want to be without you,” Legolas whispered, moving 
towards Aragorn.
      The Ranger lifted the elfling into his arms and held him close. He 
started to walk towards his tent once again, but Legolas suddenly 
struggled and Aragorn looked at him in surprise. “Legolas? What is it?”
      “Are we leaving now?”
      “No; we’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
      “Can I stay out here with Saru for a little while?” Legolas asked 
shyly.
      Aragorn set him down. “Of course.” He watched Legolas walk 
back to the fire, and the two slaves reached for each other, holding hands 
under the frigid stars. He left them there and went into his tent.
***
      Saru did his best to swallow his fear. “Legolas, I’ll miss you,” he 
whispered.
      Legolas didn’t answer, but squeezed Saru’s hands tighter, staring 
into his friend’s large, brown eyes.
      The silence stretched between them, but wasn’t uncomfortable for 
all its length. They knew each other perfectly by now; there was barely 
need for words.
      They sat like that until the moon set, and the fire had almost 
burned out.
      “You should get some sleep,” Saru said with difficulty.
      Legolas leaned closer and kissed Saru’s forehead in blessing, as 
the Dunedain did. “You’ll be all right,” he murmured. “Just stay close to 
Kehydi.”
      “I know.” Saru was glad that it was too dark for Legolas to see his 
tears.
      But Legolas reached up and touched Saru’s face; if he hadn’t seen 
the tears, he’d sensed them. “Saru…”
      The younger child shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Legolas; stay near 
Master Aragorn. I’ve heard Rohan is dangerous.”
      “I will.” Legolas moved still closer, and the two of them embraced. 
“I’ll be back, Saru,” the elf whispered. “Be here when I do.”
      “I will,” Saru promised. He paused, then added, “Legolas… I love 
you, Brother.”
      Legolas felt his own tears starting and was unable to stop them. “I 
love you, too.”
Chapter Ten
      Legolas’s first conscious thought when he and Aragorn rode 
through the Gap of Rohan two and a half months later was: ‘I’ve never 
seen so many beautiful horses!’ His elven heart danced with joy, and his 
own young stallion, Northern Light (or Kendell, in Elvish), whickered a 
greeting to the strange horses who ran in a herd across their path, kicking 
up their heels at the joy of spring, which seemed to have already taken up 
residence in the wide, lush, green plains.
      Aragorn smiled at his young elf, and stroked Roheryn’s mane as 
the stallion scented the air, watching the horses, but too conditioned by 
long years with his rider in the North to call to them as the younger 
stallion did. “Welcome to Rohan, land of the horse-lords,” the Ranger said 
to Legolas. “These are a people proud of their long history and deep 
traditions.”
      Legolas tore his eyes away from the horses for a moment to ask, 
“Have you been here before?”
      “Aye, but only once, and twas very briefly.”
      “Will we meet Gandalf here?”
      Aragorn smiled at Legolas’s hopeful expression, but shook his 
head. “I doubt it. The Grey Pilgrim only stopped by long enough to drop 
me a message that it was time to pursue this next part of my education; 
he’s probably still in the North, spending time with the hobbits he loves so 
much.” He pressed his spurless heels into Roheryn’s side, and urged, 
“Let’s go. If we keep this pace, we’ll make it before sunset.”
      The two galloped across the plains, with the sinking sun on their 
right hand side, casting beautiful, golden rays across the grass, turning it 
into emerald fire.
      “There it is!” Aragorn called an hour later. “The Golden Hall- 
Meduseld, home of Thengel King.”
      Legolas looked south and little west, and saw the golden thatch of 
Thengel King’s roof, but instead of feeling Aragorn’s overflowing joy, he 
felt a tiny sliver of apprehension creep into his heart. He’d enjoyed riding 
across Middle-Earth with Aragorn, and now that the journey was almost 
over, Legolas missed the long days of riding, side by side; and the nights, 
before they slept, when the two of them would kiss and touch under a 
million stars. Legolas had started to feel the first stirrings in his body as 
Aragorn touched his back through his tunic and rubbed his shoulders, and 
he longed to feel them again, wondering where they would lead.
      Then, with a smile, he remembered a night almost two months 
past, when he’d finally gotten up the courage to present Aragorn with his 
gift.
      “Aii, Legolas, it’s beautiful,” Aragorn had whispered, holding the 
finished cloak up to the light of the setting sun. He ran his fingers over 
every inch of it, tracing the names with his fingertips, wondering at the 
skill that had gone into this. “It’s so beautiful,” he repeated, his voice a 
mere whisper. “How did you do this?” He shook his head. “How long 
have you been working on this?” he amended.
      Legolas told him everything, his eyes focused on Aragorn’s 
smiling face as the man continued to rejoice in the elegant gift. As 
Aragorn gazed at it, Legolas requested, “Please put it on. I want to see 
what it looks like on you.”
      His master donned the cloak and turned so Legolas could see how 
it flowed and billowed. The elf cried happily, “It fits!”
      Aragorn turned to him, bent and kissed him. “Thank you, 
Legolas,” he whispered, his eyes full of joy. “No man has ever received so 
precious a gift.”
            Legolas had blushed, not trusting himself to speak.
      Back in Rohan, Aragorn slowed Roheryn to a walk so that they 
approached the Golden Hall slowly, looking less threatening. But when 
they were just outside the gates, a man rode towards them, his blond hair 
streaming out behind him. He held a spear at his side, and his sword was 
sheathed at his waist, but he didn’t seem to be tense or worried about 
them. He hailed, “Welcome to Rohan, strangers! Who might you be?”
      Aragorn drew Roheryn to a stop before the man and made a half-
bow from his seated position. “I am from the North, and I seek a place 
among the soldiers of Rohan. I have a wish to learn of the noble Rohirrim, 
and to serve your king, of whom I have heard amazing things.”
      
       “You speak well, man of the North. To your request it is not 
within my power to consent, but perhaps I will put in a good word with 
Thengel King. I am Eomund, Third Marshall of the Mark, and if you will 
come with me, your horses will be tended and you may speak with the 
king yourself.”
      
***
      That night, Legolas stretched out on his bed, staring up at the 
wooden roof above him. These were the soldier barracks, where he and 
Aragorn had been given quarters, but the beds weren’t big enough for both 
of them to share one. Thengel King had accepted them both into his 
service after seeing their skill on horseback and with swords (though 
Legolas was better at knives and bow, since these were the weapons he’d 
chosen three years ago). Aragorn was granted a place in one of the patrols, 
but Legolas’s job was slightly different. When Thengel King witnessed 
the uncanny way Legolas was able to ride any steed he was put on, the elf 
was asked to train horses to carry other men. Legolas was a little worried 
about being away from Aragorn, but since he would be mostly with horses 
instead of surrounded by men who, though seemingly nice, just weren’t 
the Dunedain, he decided not to worry overly much.
      There was a sound of soft footfalls (the Rohirrim seemed loud to 
his ears, after the crafty movements of many of the Rangers) and Legolas 
turned his head, his sharp eyes piercing the dark. Aragorn was making his 
way towards his own bed, which was next to Legolas’. The man ignored 
his bed for the moment, however, and came to kneel beside Legolas. “Are 
you well?” he whispered in Elvish.
      “Yes, Master.”
      Aragorn kissed his forehead. “I’ll be going out first thing in the 
morning. Do you know where you’re to report to?”
      “I must go to the stables on the eastern side of the Golden Hall. 
There I will find horses that need to be taught.”
      Aragorn chuckled softly. “You don’t sound afraid,” he noted.
      “I’m not,” Legolas answered. “I have never seen so many beautiful 
horses.” Then he blushed. “Not that your horses aren’t beautiful, but-”
      “They aren’t the most stunning of creatures,” Aragorn answered. 
“They’re hardy, strong and sure-footed, but lack the sleek coats you’ve 
been seeing all day.”
      Legolas nodded, relieved that Aragorn wasn’t offended. “Do you 
think Roheryn and Kendell will be embarrassed?” he asked half-seriously.
      “Nay; Roheryn is already turning the heads of quite a few mares. 
And as for Kendell, well, he’s a young stallion full of strength and-” he 
laughed again, “substance. He’ll find plenty to do here.” Aragorn bent 
over Legolas and kissed him, this time on the mouth. “You’d better sleep, 
Little One; it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
      Legolas asked before he could stop himself, “Can I have another 
kiss?”
      Aragorn put his arms around Legolas and drew him close, kissing 
him softly at first, then more heatedly as the kiss grew longer. “All you 
need to do is ask,” he murmured as he rose to his feet. He tousled 
Legolas’s hair. “Sleep well, Legolas; I’ll see you at the evening meal. Do 
you remember what I told you?”
      “Yes, Master. I must be polite, and yet, if someone threatens me, 
not be afraid to defend myself.”
      “You’re a good elf, Legolas.” Aragorn kissed his forehead, then 
went to his bed and seemed to fall asleep at once.
      But Legolas lay awake for a little while longer, thinking again of 
the cloak he’d given Aragorn. His master had explained that he couldn’t 
wear the cloak while they were in Rohan or Gondor, since none must 
know who he really was, and Legolas had readily agreed, though he’d 
been disappointed.
      Legolas wondered, ‘What will they call him here? Surely he won’t 
be ‘man of the North’ for long! And when they give him his new name, 
I’ll need to put Master Aragorn’s new name on the hem of the cloak.’ 
Smiling, he decided, ‘I’ll look for some more gold thread. That way, when 
they give him his new name, I’ll be ready.’ Legolas slipped happily into 
his reverie.
***
      Saru curled into Malacai’s embrace. The two of them were alone 
today. Malacai had taken him on a three-day hunting trip. Or that was 
what he’d said, but they hadn’t done any hunting yet. Instead, Malacai had 
started introducing Saru slowly to the touches of a man’s gentle hands. 
This time, he moved in steps, never pushing Saru beyond where he was 
confident to go. Somehow, Saru’s trust in him was even stronger now than 
it had been when he was very young, maybe because Malacai had rescued 
him from Halbarad, or maybe because he was alone now, and if he didn’t 
trust Malacai, he would be truly lost. Legolas was gone, and how could he 
trust Kehydi if he didn’t trust his father?
      Malacai kissed Saru’s cheek, his jaw and his neck. Saru arched, 
exposing more of his skin to his master’s questing lips.  “Do you like 
this?” Malacai whispered, his breath ghosting over skin that was still wet 
from his tongue.
      “Yes, Master,” Saru answered slightly breathlessly.
      Malacai thought as his mouth continued its journey downward, 
‘There are some that are meant to be slaves, and some that are meant to be 
free, but I’m still amazed that Iluvatar is able to know the difference. He 
gives the soul of a servant into a slave-child, and the soul of a warrior into 
the heart of a freeborn. Thank you, Iluvatar, for sending me this gentle 
soul. I promise I’ll treat him with all the tenderness I know.’
      Saru moaned suddenly, and pushed his hardening penis against 
Malacai’s thigh.
      The Ranger’s pious thoughts flew away like clouds driven by a 
strong wind. “Saru,” he husked, and he reached down, stroking the slave’s 
leg, and then his erection.
      Saru moved against him, gasping. ‘It always hurt before, when 
they touched me. This is… different.’ He snuggled closer, truly happy for 
the first time since Legolas had left four months ago. ‘Will he want to be 
in me?’ That still frightened him a little, ‘but,’ he told himself firmly, ‘I’m 
twelve now. I’m lucky he hasn’t been in me before. And maybe it won’t 
hurt… Maybe he’ll continue to be this gentle.’ 
      “Master…”
      “Can I touch you a little more?” Malacai asked softly, his breath 
coming more quickly.
      Saru nodded against his chest, and Malacai began to stroke him 
faster and more firmly. “Let me know if anything feels wrong,” the 
Ranger reminded him.
      “Yes, Master.”
***
      “Does it hurt?” Elrond taunted. He shoved his way into the Elda’s 
tight entrance again.
      “Yes, my Lord,” Glorfindel gasped, his eyes filling with tears.
      “Are you going to tell Elladan?”
      “No, my Lord.”
      “Good. And why not?”
      “Because he wants to know that I’m safe, that he’s protecting me.” 
      Glorfindel was starting to feel faint. ‘I think I might pass out soon. 
Good. I don’t want to feel this anymore…’ He thought of Elladan’s 
loving, wonderful eyes, and his tears came a little faster. ‘If only we were 
really married. If only what Elladan promised could really happen.’ He 
shivered as Elrond drove into him again. ‘Elladan, if only I could tell you.’
      No. He never could. Elladan was healed, back to his strong self. If 
he discovered that elves, as well as some men, were willing to rape the one 
he loved- which was the same as raping him, all knew that was how 
Elladan thought- he would surely snap again, and maybe this time no one 
would be able to bring him back.
      ‘I’ll protect you until I die, my Elladan,’ Glorfindel vowed, and 
this knowledge gave him the strength to endure Elrond’s frequent visits, 
and Elrohir’s occasional ones… and even Arwen’s rare needs.
      At last, Elrond finished, and he drew away from Glorfindel. “Dress 
and take yourself off to the baths,” he said, after checking to make sure 
that the slave wasn’t bleeding. “Be here tomorrow night.”
      “Please, my Lord…”
      “What?” Elrond demanded.
      “Elladan and I were going to go riding tomorrow evening.”
      Elrond grunted. “Fine. When you get back, and Elladan is done 
with you, come to me.”
      “Yes, my Lord,” Glorfindel whimpered. When Elrond was gone, 
he allowed himself to weep for a few minutes. He hated it when Elrond 
talked like that, as though he was still Elladan’s whore.
      Shaking off his grief, Glorfindel dressed and went to the baths, not 
wanting Elladan to see how sweaty and hurt he was.
      In the bathhouse, he came upon the twins, who had returned from 
their morning ride early. Glorfindel had asked Elladan if he could stay and 
work in their garden, and Elladan, smiling kindly, had answered, “You 
never need to ask, my love. I’ll be back by late afternoon, and then we can 
walk by the river.” He knew this was one of Glorfindel’s favorite places to 
walk, and never missed the opportunity to bring him there so they could 
share the cool water together.
      Glorfindel considered leaving, but then Elladan caught sight of 
him. His eyes widened when he saw Glorfindel’s expression. He jumped 
out of the water, not caring that he was naked, and rushed to his lover. 
“Melamin, what’s wrong?”
      Glorfindel fell back on a lie he’d used maybe eight months ago. “I 
had a nightmare.” He smiled weakly at Elladan. “I went out running to 
forget about it, but it has stuck with me a little.”
      Elladan enfolded Glorfindel into his arms. “Aii, my dear 
Glorfindel, I should have stayed here with you.”
      “Nay, my love; I was well when you left. It was only a fleeting 
dream. I’ll be all right.”
      Elladan turned to guide him to the baths. “Come, I’ll help you 
wash up.” Then he looked towards the water, and saw Elrohir dressing at 
its edge. “Elrohir, you don’t have to go,” he began.
      Elrohir shook his head. “I’m clean. Besides, I want you and 
Glorfindel to have time together.” He nodded to Glorfindel, smiled at his 
brother, and was gone.
      ‘Sometimes, Master Elrohir, I hate you,’ Glorfindel thought. The 
second son of Elrond was entirely too crafty and too smug for Glorfindel’s 
taste.
      He could never allow any of this to show on his face. It would hurt 
Elladan.
      Elladan helped Glorfindel undress, and eased the older elf into the 
water. Without asking if he should, Elladan took a sponge, put soap on it, 
and began to massage his lover’s back, scrubbing away the sweat, and 
hopefully, the fear. He murmured soft words of encouragement and love 
as he worked, but at first, they did no good.
      Glorfindel’s mind had gone back to Elrond’s words from that 
morning. “Come to me when your master is gone, whore. I am in need of 
you.” Though he’d said something similar many times, it still hurt 
Glorfindel. As he thought of those words, and others, angry tears trickled 
down his cheeks.
      ‘Yes, command me, Lord Elrond! Command the Whore of 
Imladris!’
      Elladan’s hand shook a little as he continued to cover his love with 
suds. “Aii, Glorfindel, my love, what is wrong?” He sounded shaken and a 
little afraid.
      Glorfindel chastened himself for hurting Elladan. ‘It’s not his fault 
that his father and brother are bastards.’ The Elda remembered his first 
life, when he’d been a free elf, and knew that once he’d dared to voice 
such thoughts. But under Elrond’s dubious mastery, he’d found himself, 
until very recently, even afraid to think such things. It was a small victory, 
if only in his own mind, that he could entertain angry thoughts without 
feeling the attendant guilt.
      To his lover, Glorfindel said, “I’m sorry, Elladan… It was a very 
bad dream.”
      Elladan was now washing away the suds, but his voice sounded 
even more frightened. “Glorfindel, why would you dream something so 
terrible now? All has been well with us for three years… hasn’t it?”
      “Aye, my love; all is well. It’s only memories that come back to 
haunt me occasionally.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled sadly. 
“There are some memories that will take a long time to fade, I fear.” He 
caught Elladan’s hand as it was still absently rubbing his shoulder, and 
now love swelled his heart so that his smile was broader and very gentle. 
“But with you beside me, my Elladan, they fade more each day, and for 
that I will always be grateful.” This last sentence was true as far as it went: 
the pain inflicted on him almost daily by Elrond or Elrohir faded every 
time he was able to be near Elladan. His pain was made so much more 
bearable than he could have ever hoped that Glorfindel didn’t know how 
he’d survived for so long without Elladan’s love.
      Elladan moved closer, and kissed Glorfindel’s cheek. “I love you.” 
The shadow passed from his face, and he chuckled. “Now turn back 
around so I can finish here.”
      Glorfindel glowed as he obeyed. “I love you, too, my Elladan,” he 
whispered.
      “Aye; I’m yours,” Elladan mumbled affectionately as he washed 
off the rest of the suds. “Now, let’s do your hair, and then we can take that 
walk I promised this morning.”
      Glorfindel leaned back as Elladan tugged gently on his hair and 
relaxed. Elladan washed his hair often. He seemed to take an animal 
pleasure in the simple act, in fact, and Glorfindel took a similar pleasure in 
letting Elladan take care of him.
      With his hands buried in Glorfindel’s hair as he scrubbed away the 
shampoo, Elladan groaned softly, “Glorfindel, do you know how 
entrancing you look like this?”
      Glorfindel shifted a little, and felt Elladan’s hardness under his 
back, and he felt his own member hardening. He laughed. “I don’t want 
sex in the water, Elladan; wait until we’re under the trees, then you can 
bury your sword hilt-deep in its sheath.”
      Elladan moaned and his member throbbed. “Nay,” he growled, 
“you’ll be inside me this day. I long to be taken by you, Golden Beauty.”
      Glorfindel’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed past it and 
purred, “Is that what you want, my Elladan? Then I suppose I’ll have to 
give it to you; I could never refuse you.”
      Elladan laughed and went back to rinsing Glorfindel’s hair. “If you 
don’t stop, Glorfy, I’m going to come right here and now, all in your hair. 
And while it may be an excellent conditioner, it would be some time 
before I could remove it. In that time, you would grow very impatient, I 
think.”
      He thrust up playfully, and Glorfindel reached back, swatting the 
dark-haired elf’s arm blindly.
      Elladan’s laughter rang in the bath house.
      Glorfindel felt his sorrow wanting to steal over him again. He 
knew how fragile his relationship with Elladan really was. Not that his 
lover would ever leave him… at least, not of his own free will. ‘But 
Elrond is Lord here. He could force us apart.’
      But he pushed his worries away for the time being, determined to 
just enjoy Elladan’s company, as long as it might last. After all, there was 
nothing else he could do.
      
Chapter Eleven
      Legolas tossed his long, golden hair out of his eyes and shouted, 
“Come for me, if you dare!”
      Aragorn smiled. “You are very bold, Legolas; perhaps too bold.” 
But he didn’t leap at once. After all, Legolas was the one challenging him 
for the right to fight in battle, and go on border patrol, not the other way 
around. It was up to the elf to prove himself.
      Legolas trod forth, his eyes flashing. Two years they’d been in 
Rohan, but in that time, Legolas’ prowess with bow and knife had grown 
by leaps and bounds.
      Legolas leapt, his knives- practice knives, since he didn’t want to 
hurt Aragorn- seeking the man’s flesh. But Aragorn blocked his first 
attempt, his second, his third… but not his fourth. Legolas scored a hit on 
Aragorn’s shoulder, then danced away as Aragorn brought down his 
practice-sword in an arc that would have effectively cloven Legolas’ skull 
if the man had been using a real blade.
      Legolas opened his mouth to taunt, but then a darting blow 
knocked the knife from his left hand. Now with only one knife, Legolas 
jumped back to reassess his situation.
      Aragorn didn’t chasten him; he knew Legolas would learn from 
that little slip. He simply smiled and waited for Legolas to advance again.
      “Thorongil!”
      The soldier turned, holding up his hand to halt Legolas- only to 
have the sword knocked from his hand. The practice-knife was at his 
throat, and Legolas laughed, “Surrender.”
      In spite of himself, Aragorn laughed. “I yield,” he said, but his 
eyes were on Haman as his fellow soldier ran towards him.
      “There is a grey-cloaked man- a wizard, some say- waiting in the 
Golden Hall for you,” Haman informed him when they were close enough 
for quieter words.
      Aragorn blinked. ‘Gandalf? What is Gandalf doing here in broad 
daylight? And why didn’t he simply wait for me to be alone? He’s found 
me that way easily enough before.’ His heart speeding up, Aragorn 
realized, ‘This must be important.’ He handed his practice sword to 
Legolas. “Return the weapons to the armory, please, then come and join 
us.”
      Legolas took the sword. “Yes, Master.” As he started towards the 
armory, he wondered, ‘With a grey cloak, perhaps it is Gandalf… I want 
to meet him.’ He’d been told about the wizard by Aragorn, but he didn’t 
know very much still, and he longed to meet the famous Grey Pilgrim.
***
      Gandalf was grimmer than Aragorn had ever seen him, and the 
Ranger felt his heart grow heavy with fear. He pushed past it resolutely 
and was able to keep his face untroubled, but his mind reeled. ‘To come 
here when I still have eight years left… has something happened to my 
Dunedain or to Rivendell?’
      The two of them were alone in a small room off the main hall, and 
they sat on either side of a fire. Neither of them sat comfortably.
      “Aragorn, there is trouble in Gondor. You are needed now. 
Ecthelion can still be saved from the madness that runs through his city, 
but he needs you to show him the way. It’s time for you to go to Gondor. 
Perhaps you can come here again, but not until all is well in the White 
City.”
      Aragorn took this in. And in spite of the danger to what would one 
day be his city, he was relieved to know that his Rangers and his family 
were all right. Or at least nothing shattering had befallen them. “What 
trouble is in the city?”
      “Ecthelion’s son may easily come under the Shadow. You must 
save him, if you can, and help his father as well.”
      “It isn’t time for me to become king, is it?” Aragorn asked with 
more than a little bit of trepidation.
      Gandalf smiled kindly, knowing Aragorn’s heart, and 
understanding it. Here was a man who would never be driven to command 
for the sake of power; he would only command to save. “No, it is not yet 
time. That time is still a few decades in the future.”
      Aragorn relaxed. “I’ll go.”
            There was a knock on the door, and the two looked up. “Come in,” 
Aragorn called.
            Legolas entered, his eyes going immediately to Gandalf. He closed 
the door behind him and moved to Aragorn’s side, sitting at his feet, but 
his eyes were still focused on the wizard.
      Aragorn placed his hand on Legolas’s hair. “Gandalf, this is 
Legolas. Legolas, meet the Grey Pilgrim.”
      Gandalf nodded to the servant, and wondered how such a beautiful, 
free creature had come to serve. But that wasn’t his concern. He didn’t 
agree with slavery, but he knew Aragorn had never hurt any of his slaves, 
and so this boy was in better hands with the Chief of the Rangers than he 
would be with many other men. “I’m glad to meet you, Legolas,” he said, 
and smiled.
      Legolas’s eyes danced. “I’ve heard so much about you, 
Mithrandir,” he whispered in awe. “I’m happy to meet you at last.”
      Gandalf’s _expression changed: suddenly, his eyes darkened, as if 
with understanding and sorrow. He looked at Aragorn, and said plainly, 
not bothering to hide his words from the young elf before him- ‘not so 
young; he’s maybe fifteen or so’—“You must watch out for Legolas while 
you are in Gondor. He will be greatly desired. Here in Rohan, your claim 
on him was respected, but there it will be seen as an interesting fact, 
perhaps even a challenge to the men who will crave him.” He glanced at 
Legolas again, then said firmly, making sure that Aragorn was looking 
right into his eyes, “And by the Valar, don’t tell any that he’s a virgin.”
      Legolas and Aragorn both gaped at him; Aragorn recovered first, 
though with difficulty. “Will it do me any good to ask how you know 
that?”
      “No,” Gandalf answered curtly. “Just know this: an elf that loses 
his virginity to someone he doesn’t love is almost like handing him or her 
a death sentence.”
      Aragorn thought of Elladan for a moment, then pushed that 
thought away. Surely Elladan hadn’t been a virgin- he’d survived, after all, 
hadn’t he?
      ‘But maybe that’s why Elrohir was so worried about him.’
      Knowing he couldn’t confirm or deny these thoughts, Aragorn set 
them aside and focused back on Gandalf. “Should I… change Legolas’s… 
sexual state?” He couldn’t believe how uncomfortable he felt just saying 
those words. ‘How would it be if I actually had to do that? I can’t even say 
the words without feeling tense!’
      Legolas looked from his master to Gandalf. He understood 
Aragorn’s suggestion (and felt the faint stirring in his groin) but part of 
him didn’t want to understand it. He remembered Saru telling him about 
Halbarad’s attack, and this frightened him, though he was too curious by 
nature to be paralyzed by any secondary tale of rape, no matter how 
terrifying it might sound.
      Gandalf considered this. “Yes,” he said at last, “perhaps it would 
be best.” He studied Aragorn for a moment. “As long as you are willing to 
be gentle with him.”
      Aragorn opened his mouth to speak; he was offended. But then he 
changed his mind and hid his anger. “I’ll always be gentle with him,” he 
said instead.
      The wizard nodded and stood. “Then I’ll leave you to explain 
things to Thengel. He likes you, and will let you go if you explain that I 
requested that you go to Gondor. I want you on the road to Gondor before 
the new moon.”
      That was three days away, as Aragorn well knew, and so the man 
nodded, accepting. ‘Maybe we’ll even leave tomorrow morning,’ he 
thought, ‘if, that is, I can bring myself to take Legolas’s virginity.’ He 
mentally shook himself. ‘I shouldn’t think of it as taking anything from 
him; I need to persuade him to give it to me, so that he feels secure and 
strong and sure of himself. If I frightened him, it might be akin to 
Malacai’s troubles with Saru. I would rather almost anything than hurt 
Legolas.’ Again, his heart filled with that feeling that he thought- 
somewhat self-deceitfully- was protectiveness for his property.
      Gandalf left then, after touching Legolas’s head in blessing and 
smiling reassuring at Aragorn.
***
      The two of them were alone in the tent Aragorn had made for those 
times when he had ridden out with the Rohirrim and they would camp on 
the open plains. This time, the skin of the tent was of a smallish buffalo-
like creature that shared the plains with the horse-lords.
      As in all things, Aragorn had made the tent with the idea that it 
might come in handy for things other than camping with his patrol-mates, 
and indeed it had. One night, Eomund had sought him out in it, offering 
Aragorn the opportunity to lie with him. Both men had understood it 
would be only one night, in all likelihood, and both accepted it as such. 
Eomund had taken the lead, as was his right in Rohan, since he outranked 
Aragorn, and the Ranger had given himself willingly, even though things 
were different among his own people. Among the Dunedain, it was not 
unusual for one man of lesser rank to take a man of greater rank. And in 
the morning, the one would easily follow the other.
      In fact, he and Malacai had lain together frequently when Aragorn 
had first joined the Rangers. He’d needed comfort during those first 
months of strangeness and learning, and Malacai had taken and helped 
him as only he could. But in the day, Malacai still called him “Chief” and 
never tried to lord it over his commander, despite what happened in the 
night.
      Aragorn took Legolas in his arms, kissing him as he often had in 
the past, but there was now a tension between them that could not be 
ignored. At last, Aragorn drew back and said softly, “Legolas, we don’t 
have to do this tonight- or at all- if you’re afraid.”
      Legolas answered candidly, “I’m afraid, Master, but so are you. 
We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’ll be all right.”
      Aragorn stared at him in shock for a long moment, then he 
murmured, “Aii, Legolas, you are amazing. How can you know me so 
well?”
      “I’ve been following you for almost ten years,” Legolas answered. 
“How could I not know you inside and out? That’s part of my job, isn’t 
it?”
      He startled a chuckle, an appreciative one, out of Aragorn. “Aye, it 
is, as it is my job to protect and know you.”
      Legolas swallowed. “So know me in the sexual sense. If 
Mithrandir thinks we should do that, then we should. His advice should 
never be taken lightly.”
      Aragorn considered Legolas’s words, and then nodded. “Yes, 
you’re right.” He moved closer and made as if to kiss Legolas. But then he 
pulled back as an idea flitted through his mind. He suggested, “If we admit 
why we’re afraid, it might help to dispel some of those feelings.” He sat 
up, and Legolas moved close to him, putting his head on Aragorn’s 
shoulder and leaning against him with his eyes closed.
      “I’m afraid because I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never actually 
been with someone who is a virgin,” Aragorn said at last, seeing that he 
would have to be the first one to speak. ‘Besides, I shouldn’t always count 
on him to be the one to rescue us from uncomfortable silences.’
      “How many people have you been with?” Legolas blushed a little, 
knowing his question was impertinent, but he felt a sudden need to know. 
Was his master very experienced?  “How many were men?”
      Aragorn considered the questions, wondering how much Legolas 
needed to know, and, even more important, how much he deserved to 
know. ‘As a slave, he deserves no information from me… but I ceased 
thinking of him as just a slave a very long time ago.’
      “I’ve been with eight men in my lifetime,” he said, hoping this 
didn’t sound like boasting. “My first experience was with Glorfindel.” He 
didn’t know why he told this, only that he felt he should.
      Legolas tensed slightly. “Did you hurt him?”
      Aragorn shook his head, not offended by Legolas’s direct question. 
After what he’d seen in Rivendell all those years ago, the elf had a perfect 
right to ask. “Nay; I didn’t know how to hurt when I was young. I came to 
Glorfindel and asked him to teach me the ways of intercourse.”
      He smiled reminiscently. “At first, he was reluctant, knowing that I 
was fourteen, and thus not an adult yet in my father’s eyes, but my father 
learned about my want, and gave his permission, saying he would rather 
that I learn from Glorfindel than from anyone else in Rivendell.” 
      Seeing the disbelief in Legolas’s eyes, Aragorn hurried to defend 
his foster father. “Elrond was much different in those days- he was gentler, 
especially towards Glorfindel. But this was before he endured much 
heartache when his wife left Middle-Earth and his sons began to journey 
with the Dunedain in their desire to destroy all orcs.”
      He smiled again, this time sadly. “He was kind to Glorfindel, for 
the most part, only occasionally hurting him. And… Glorfindel was 
happier, more radiant and alive than you saw him.” He shook his head. “In 
any case, he was my first. He took me, ever so gently and pleasurably, and 
then I took him, clumsily, but as well as I could. I laid with him many 
times over the next six years before I left Rivendell, learning as I went. 
And even though, gradually, I learned that sex could be used as a weapon 
and a release of anger, my relationship with Glorfindel was built on 
mutual trust and respect- as much as I could have for him, knowing… 
never mind.” Aragorn cleared his throat. “Suffice it to say that Glorfindel 
taught me to be gentle, and yet how to give the greatest physical pleasure a 
man or woman can ever feel in their lives.”
      He paused. “Do you want me to continue?”
      Legolas was gazing up at him raptly. “Yes. I want to know 
everything.”
      Aragorn smiled, feeling both surprised and slightly gratified. 
“When I became Aragorn instead of Estel, Malacai taught me the further 
pleasures of having a man in control. He never hurt me, and yet he was 
firmer than Glorfindel had been, and rougher, though not in an unpleasant 
way.”
      He paused, pondering his next words. “The last six I’ve been with 
were all slaves, some my own and others that were loaned to me.” He 
didn’t feel like discussing any of them. Compared to Legolas, they were 
less than dirt.
      Legolas considered all of this, then said, “I’m afraid because I 
don’t want to be hurt like Saru was.”
      “There will be marked differences between your first sexual 
experience and his,” Aragorn said at once, his voice gentle. He desperately 
needed to reassure Legolas. It hurt him that Legolas was afraid of him, 
even though he understood Legolas’ reasons. “Saru was raped by a man 
that cared nothing for him. I will initiate you into a pleasurable lifestyle 
using all the kindness I know. Also, Saru is different to you: he fears the 
world. I do not think you will ever be like that.”
      His hand had come up of its own accord and was rubbing Legolas’ 
back. “I will teach you the pleasure of intercourse, Legolas; you will never 
have to fear it again.”
      Legolas snuggled against him. “Please,” he whispered, “make love 
to me.”
      Aragorn blanched. The elf knew not what he asked. “Where- 
where did you hear that phrase?” he nearly croaked.
      Legolas looked up at him. “Master Malacai said it once to his 
wife.”
      Aragorn closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. ‘I want to tell 
Legolas…’ he grimaced inwardly ‘or teach him that there is no love 
between us.’
      Putting his discomfort and surprise to one side, Aragorn tilted 
Legolas’ head up and kissed him deeply, drawing both of their minds 
away from questions towards new discoveries.
      Changing his position, Aragorn laid Legolas down in the tent, 
cradling the elf’s head in his palm as he bent over him, intensifying the 
kiss. His other hand began a slow quest downward, starting at the crown 
of Legolas’ head and slipping down the front of his body. He played with 
the ends of Legolas’ hair, then touched his delicately-pointed ears.
      Beneath him, Legolas gasped and wriggled.
      Aragorn smiled against Legolas’ mouth while his fingers continued 
their exploration. He massaged Legolas’ neck, then his shoulder. Next, his 
fingers dipped into the blue-green tunic, feeling the softness and warmth 
of flesh that had been mostly secret to him. He longed to taste it, but 
couldn’t quite take himself away from the pleasure of Legolas’ mouth.
      Legolas arched up, and Aragorn’s fingers slipped over one 
hardening nipple.
      ‘I need to get his tunic off,’ Aragorn thought. He pulled a little 
away from Legolas, removing his hand from beneath the material, and 
pulled off his own tunic. ‘Legolas will feel better, maybe, if he sees that 
I’m willing to undress for him first.’
      Legolas sat up and copied his master’s movements, then, when he 
was bare-chested, he resumed his earlier pose. He gazed up at Aragorn, 
and smiled. He’d seen Aragorn naked- plenty of times, in fact- but he’d 
never thought of the skin that was revealed to him. Now, though, he 
studied the downy hair and the rippling muscles with interest, knowing 
that he was going to lie with this strong man. ‘Be gentle with me,’ he 
thought, but even as this crossed his mind, he knew Aragorn would be just 
that.
      Aragorn’s thumbs brushed over the brown nipples, and he licked 
his lips. Now that the elf before him was bare to the waist, he couldn’t 
restrain himself. He bent and licked at the nipples that teased him with 
their beauty.
      He moved up to suckle at Legolas’ neck, and then down again, 
towards Legolas’ navel. He left a shining trail with his tongue.
      Again, Legolas wriggled, and this time he let out a breathy laugh.
      Aragorn chuckled. “Do you like this?” he whispered, his breath 
ghostly across Legolas’ flat stomach.
      “Ye-yes,” Legolas answered, still laughing. Then, as Aragorn 
continued to kiss him, his hips thrust up of their own accord and his next 
breath came out in a moan.
      ‘Aii,’ Aragorn thought as his penis hardened in excitement, ‘you’ll 
be the end of me, Legolas.’ He sat up and began to hastily unfasten his 
britches.
      Legolas started to do the same, but Aragorn caught his hand, 
leaving his own pants half-undone. “Please, Legolas, let me do that.”
      Seeing Legolas’s curious look, he explained, “It’s part of the 
enjoyment.”
      “Can I help you with yours, then?”
      His penis throbbed again and Aragorn answered, a trifle huskily, 
“Aye, you can.”
      Legolas’ expert fingers unlaced Aragorn’s britches the rest of the 
way and, as Aragorn moved to a kneeling position, drew them down over 
his hips. But when Aragorn’s penis had been released, Legolas froze, his 
eyes wide and his hands moving back to rest on his own thighs.
      Aragorn looked down at him, concerned, and yet his eyes were 
hooded as he fought the feelings surging through him. “Legolas?” he 
prompted, his voice barely audible.
      “It’s so big,” Legolas answered, unable to take his eyes from 
Aragorn’s manhood. And although there was fear in his voice, there was 
excitement also.
      Aragorn was surprised to find himself blushing. When was the last 
time any of his partners had made him blush? ‘Not since Glorfindel,’ he 
decided, his amazement deepening. ‘Or perhaps Malacai.’
      Legolas smiled. “Please take off my leggings.” He looked down, 
flushing prettily. “They feel very tight.”
      Aragorn’s eyes sparkled as he obliged, his hands moving, swift but 
sure, and always gentle. When he saw Legolas’ treasure, he sat back on his 
heels and gazed with open need and more than a little tenderness. ‘Such a 
jewel! To have kept this hidden for so long…’ When Legolas had been 
very young, Aragorn had sometimes bathed him. That had ceased when 
Legolas turned seven, and now he had grown up before the Ranger’s eyes.
      “Legolas,” he gasped, “you’re stunning.”
      Legolas’ blush deepened, but all he did was smile.
      Aragorn moved forward and took Legolas into his arms. He laid on 
his back so that Legolas was above him, and kissed Legolas until they 
were both breathless. His manhood was pressed against Legolas’ hip, and 
the elf’s own shaft was rubbing his stomach. Aragorn thought he was 
going to die or explode from need.
      Then Legolas shifted, and their members touched. Both of them 
froze, shocked at the strength of the pleasure shooting through them, and 
then Legolas began rotating his hips, gasping and whimpering far back in 
his throat.
      Aragorn gave Legolas one last kiss, then asked, “Do you want to 
be in me, Legolas?” He craved nothing more than to bury himself in the 
warm, silky heat of the elf above him, but he knew from experience that 
the best way to relax Legolas would be to let him feel the greatest pleasure 
first. Besides, hard as he was now, he might well hurt Legolas, and that he 
could not allow. He would not even let that have a chance of happening. 
And so he gazed up at Legolas and waited for his answer.
      The elf licked his lips, and then whispered, “Can I?”
      “Yes, Legolas, yes.” Aragorn smiled, sanely, he hoped, though he 
felt randy and nearly crazy-dangerous with desire. He spread his legs and 
helped Legolas to arrange himself between them.
      Legolas moved forward, rubbing against Aragorn’s backside, and 
both of them moaned. But then Legolas stopped, and his eyes grew wide. 
“What if I hurt you?” He looked very unsure of himself… and too young 
to be here, doing this.
      Aragorn tried to look past that image. “You won’t hurt me, 
Legolas. I’m well-stretched.” He blushed again, though not so brightly as 
before. “If you’re worried, I can get some lubricant.” But he didn’t really 
want to move. All he wanted was for Legolas to be inside him, to fill him 
with his sweet seed.
      When Legolas still looked nervous, Aragorn got a hold of his 
raging need. Then he drew Legolas forward, ever so gently, and kissed 
him. “Please don’t be afraid, Legolas. There’s really very little chance of 
you hurting me. I’ve been taken by men clumsier than you could ever be.” 
He smiled kindly. “Please trust me, lo- Legolas.”
      ‘What was that? What was I going to say?’
      But Aragorn’s questions were forgotten as Legolas, reassured, took 
his elfhood in his hand, found Aragorn’s entrance, and pushed in 
smoothly.
      He didn’t know he was supposed to pause, to allow Aragorn time 
to get used to his length, but it didn’t matter. The Ranger was indeed well-
stretched, so that all he felt was a brief discomfort not strong enough to be 
called pain. Then Legolas began, instinctively, to move in and out, 
breathing in time with his movements.
      Aragorn moaned, and urged Legolas on by putting his hands on 
Legolas’ backside and pushing him forward firmly.
      As Legolas got the idea, moving more quickly with each passing 
second, he brushed, though he couldn’t have known it, Aragorn’s secret 
gland. The Ranger groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut at the intensity 
of the feeling. His member began to weep its pearly liquid.
      Soon, they were moving as one, Aragorn thrusting towards 
Legolas as the blond thrust forward. Their dance culminated in a series of 
short, jabbing movements, and then Legolas came, hot and pleasant, deep 
inside Aragorn.
      The man followed an instant later as Legolas rode out his orgasm.
      Then Legolas collapsed on top of Aragorn, not feeling the sticky 
stuff on his belly as he snuggled against Aragorn’s chest.
      Aragorn brought his arms up and around Legolas, hugging him. He 
rolled onto his side and as he kissed the top of Legolas’s head, still 
gasping, he felt Legolas slip out of him. He already missed the feeling of 
Legolas being buried within him. None of his slaves had ever been in him 
before, believing that they were being presumptuous. And until now, 
Aragorn would have agreed with them. Of course no slave should be 
inside his master; it just wasn’t done.
      But he’d been making exceptions in Legolas’ case since he’d met 
the elf, and he knew he would continue doing so.
      With difficulty, he found his voice. “Legolas?”
      The elf moved even closer. “Yes?”
      “Did you like that?”
      Legolas sat up abruptly, and his eyes flashed, though without 
anger. “What do you think?” he demanded.
      Aragorn laughed. “Aye, it was a stupid question.” He caught 
Legolas’ hand. “Will you forgive me and lay back down?”
      But Legolas grinned. “No. I think we need to clean up.” He 
pointed at Aragorn’s stomach, then at his own. Then he stood, retrieved 
Aragorn’s waterskin and returned. Without waiting to ask if he should, 
Legolas poured the cold liquid over Aragorn’s belly.
      The Ranger gasped and cried, “That’s cold!”
      Legolas’ eyes laughed at him. “But aren’t you a strong Ranger who 
can endure any hardship?”
      Aragorn snorted, and tried to grab the waterskin from Legolas.
      But the elf jumped back. “I’ll do it myself, thank you.” And he 
stepped a little further away from Aragorn, poured the water over himself, 
shivered a little, then smiled. “There. All clean.”
      Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Now will you come back to 
me?”
      Grinning wickedly, the elf answered, “Indeed.” Legolas set the 
waterskin away, then came and curled up next to Aragorn. The Man 
grabbed for the folded blanket nearby and drew it over their naked bodies. 
He was lying on his back, and Legolas moved close, using Aragorn’s 
shoulder as a pillow and resting his leg across Aragorn’s thighs.
      Aragorn inhaled the sweet smell of Legolas’s hair and murmured, 
“Now you need never fear sex again.”
      Legolas didn’t answer; he’d already passed into reverie.
      Before he followed Legolas, Aragorn had a disturbing thought: as 
helpful as his submission to Legolas’ member no doubt was, Legolas still 
was a virgin as far as his entrance was concerned.
      ‘Ah, well,’ Aragorn thought as he started to drift. ‘At least now 
he’s not intimidated. He’ll be all right, I’m sure. After all, he’s never let 
fear keep him from anything.” And with that comforting thought, Aragorn 
let the darkness take him.
Chapter Twelve
      
      Denethor paced, his hands balled into fists as he recalled the 
exchange he’d heard an hour ago between his father and the dirty creature 
out of Rohan. “Or so he said. He doesn’t look like any horse-lord I’ve ever 
heard of,” Denethor muttered. “He looked more like a cur than a man. And 
as for the beauty…”
      
      Yes, the beauty beside him was something else, wasn’t he? 
Tapering limbs, soft cheeks, dazzling eyes, and sun-kissed hair were just 
the things Denethor had been able to see with a glance. ‘What might he 
look like without those clothes?’
      
      But then his mind swerved back to the conversation he’d 
witnessed, and he forgot the beauty for a little while in his fury.

***Flashback***
      
      He had been standing beside his father’s chair and speaking to him 
of his longing to be wed to the woman he’d chosen. She was angelic and 
absolutely perfect in every way. Her manner was demure, and her mind 
filled only, as a woman’s mind should be filled, with charities and 
decorating and the idea of having ten sons.
      
      His father had said, as he always did, “Denethor, soon you will 
wed her, but not yet. I wish for you to learn more about Gondor before 
you seek to learn the heart of a woman.”
      
      Trust his father to be poetic when he was raging with lust! ‘Love. I 
must call it love to his face, or he’ll never allow the marriage,’ Denethor 
reminded himself.
      
      Then there had been a knock on the large door at the end of the 
hall, and a page had stuck his curly head in. “Lord Ecthelion, there is a 
man from Rohan here to see you. He begs admittance.”
      
      “Let him enter,” Ecthelion returned. When the page was gone, he 
said quietly to Denethor, “We will continue this discussion later. For now, 
watch and learn how to receive messengers from other kingdoms.”
      
      The doors were pushed open and a man dressed in a green cloak, 
held back with a clasp so that his shirt of some rough, brown, material, 
could be seen, stepped in. His eyes were grey, piercing, but Denethor 
ignored that. This was the moment when he got his glance at the beauty 
that walked beside the man.
      
      Then the man stopped, turned to the beauty and whispered 
something. The beauty turned and left the room.
      
      The man approached the chair of the Steward with his hands held 
where Denethor and his father could see them, and his eyes were candid. 
He stopped in front of the chair, knelt, and said in a quiet yet somehow 
ringing baritone, “I am Thorongil, soldier of Rohan. I have come to beg 
service in your fair city, Lord Ecthelion. I wish to serve faithfully the 
Steward of the White City.”
      
      From inside his cloak, the man drew a small piece of cloth. This he 
unfolded reverently and held it out to Ecthelion for his inspection. It was 
the seal of Thengel King.
      
      Ecthelion looked at it, then handed it back. There was absolutely 
no way to read the expression on his face. Denethor had to admit this was 
something he had never quite managed- all his people knew how he 
thought if they cared to give him