Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter VI b – Through Eregion (Past and
Present) - Part II and III

   Author: Aislynn Crowdaughter

   Author's Email: Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net

   Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas (mainly), Boromir/Legolas ,
Gimli/Legolas, Others/Legolas. 

   Rating: NC (M) –strictly adults only.

   Summary: AU. Legolas slave fic. Mirkwood is a subjected realm
and must give hostages to the other Elven realms as slaves. Legolas
is the slave of Aragorn, who is a sadist. And to keep Legolas loyal
to the Ranger, he is bound by a cruel spell: the *Mael-Gûl*... This
story was inspired by BlueGolds story “Bound” which can be found
here:
http://www.libraryofmoria.com/legolasaragorn/boundbybluegold.txt
I use similar plot ideas here with her permission.
   *Warnings*: Slash, m/m, BDSM, *torture*, toys, d/s, hard stuff,
*Non-con sexual situations* and *debatable consent*.  Drug Abuse
(in Flashbacks only). *Very* graphic descriptions, both physical
and mental; abuse both physical and sexual.  

   SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: *explicit torture*, severe
abuse, *explicit gang rape*, and *mutilation* (in Flashbacks only).
I mean it! This chapter has very strong stuff, so please don't read
if you don't like!  Also there will be Flashbacks including sexual
situations with adolescents. I am going back into the history of
Estel and Legolas at some point, and I feel that Estel's first
fumbling explorations of sexuality may have started as early as
seventeen, and probably  included a certain Elf. But there will be
no sexual abuse of minors. The gang-rape and mutilation scenes
happen in the first flashback of Part I “Past and Present I:
Enslaved”, another explicit gang rape scene happens in the
flashback scene of  Part VI, “Past and Present IV: Master and
Slave”. Please heed the Warnings!

   Disclaimer: Not mine. LOTR was created by J.R.R. Tolkien, who
owns the characters, safe a few original characters in side roles.
Peter Jackson owns the Movies. I just borrow from them without
permission.  The setting of the story is inspired by a plot bunny
of Cheysuli and the story “Bound” by BlueGold, as mentioned in the
summary and author's note. The idea of the *Mael-Gûl*, or *Rhach e-
Maelangwedh* (Lust-Spell, Curse of Lustchain) however is entirely
mine. 

   Feedback: Yes please! Send to Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net This
is my first LOTR fic, and I am no native speaker. Any comments
welcome, including about grammar! 
...*Betareader*: Surreysmum. All remaining errors are my own. Thank
you! 
   *Additional Author's Note*: This story is based on the
Movieverse with some book elements. *However*, this is *AU*.
Utterly and completely. I apologize to all Tolkien purists. I know
the Master himself would rotate in his grave if ever he was
confronted with anything like this. I know, Galadriel, Elrond,
Thranduil and their Elves are not this way,  and Aragorn is
neither. But I simply had to write this, so please don’t read if
you don’t like. You have been warned!

Additionally, I wish to announce that in this chapter, I am
operating *extensively* with flashback scenes. Here is a Guide: //
/flashback/ //; ************Time change within a
flashback***********;  “speech”; 'thoughts'

   *Languages*: I am no great expert in Sindarin and have no clue
to its grammar, therefore I will just use a few words of this
language in this fic. So whenever Aragorn is speaking with Elves,
consider the conversation is taking place in Sindarin, except if
explicitly differently mentioned. At the council or among the
Fellowship, he and everybody else is talking in Common Speech or
Westron, except if differently mentioned. 

For all other notes and warnings see Prologue and Chapter One.


________________________


CHAPTER VI b 	Through Eregion (Past and Present)– Part II and
III


Part II – Keeping The Bargain


Aragorn woke to a gentle shake. He was instantly awake and alert,
but the gentle pressure remaining on his shoulder for a moment made
it clear to him there was no real danger. He opened his eyes to a
cold, early dawn. The sun wasn't up yet, and the dark was just
giving way to grey, dizzy twilight. 

He got up on his elbows and looked at the still form of his slave
beside him.

Legolas was kneeling. He seemed somehow uneasy, slightly
uncomfortable, and was fidgeting with his bedroll. Aragorn could
see that the hadn't found much rest, and seemed curiously shy to
his master's scrutinizing gaze.

Sighing, Aragorn leaned back, then he rolled himself out of his
coat – all the shelter he had found this night, since the blanket
he had washed the evening before was still damp - and sat up.  He
reached out a hand and traced Legolas' cheeks.  He found his slave
leaning into his touch, but to his dismay he felt him slightly
shivering.  Gently and with concern, he drew the Elf toward himself
and kissed him lightly on the brow. 

“Good morning!” he greeted him gently, and when the slave leaned
against him with only a murmured reply, he asked quietly: “What is
it, Little Leaf?”

Legolas didn't answer immediately. He just huddled deeper into his
master's touch. After a moment, he asked shyly:

“Would you... would you hold me, Estel?”

Aragorn hesitated a moment, astonished at this change of mood from
yesterday, but then he simply enfolded the Elf  wordlessly within
his arms. Legolas closed his eyes and nestled gratefully against
him. Aragorn held him close, luxuriating in his warmth and touch.
Quietly and tenderly, he began to pet his Elf's back and head. He
could feel Legolas trembling slightly in his arms. Very slowly, the
trembling died down.

For a moment, Aragorn felt a twinge of panic. *Legolas could not
possibly be in need again already, could he? He had been cautious,
he had been careful not to tighten the bond any further than
absolutely inevitable, he was sure he had!* 

Quickly, he rubbed his face against that of his slave, inhaling his
smell, checking for the tell-tale signs of desperate desire and
unwanted arousal. Then he gently tipped the chin of his slave up
and looked searchingly into his eyes.

He sighed in relief. Exhausted, yes; grieved and with a haunted
expression, some sort of despair. Probably nightmares again, or
ugly memories; for an Elf they were practically the same. But no
signs of withdrawal, not even of the earliest stages of need. After
more than seventy years he knew the signs for *that* with
certainty, and better than he cared for.

Very gently, he asked: “You seem exhausted, Little Leaf. Did you
find rest at all last night?”

Legolas fidgeted.

“Not much,” he finally  admitted, “I woke early and could not
return into dreams again, so I relieved Pippin of his watch a bit
earlier than was due.” 

Aragorn did not stop his gentle petting, but he made a face. He
resisted the impulse to ask *how* early, exactly *'a bit earlier
than was due'* had been. Instead he asked quietly: “Why didn't you
wake me?”

Legolas shifted a little in his arms, and Aragorn searched his gaze
again. The slave averted his eyes. 

“There was no need,” Legolas lied, “it was close to the beginning
of my watch, anyway. I deemed it unnecessary to trouble you, when I
had to get up so soon afterwards again.”

Aragorn studied him for a moment. He knew he was lying; Legolas was
never good at withholding the truth, much less at lying through his
teeth. He sighed. “How close to your own watch was it, really?” he
asked. 
When Legolas did not answer right away, he raised a brow. “Well?”

Legolas hung his head. ”Two hours,” the slave finally reluctantly
admitted.

Aragorn shook his head, gathering his stricken Elf more closely in
his arms. “One day, *melethron*,” he said quietly but with dry,
resigned humour, “we need to talk about your definition of a
*'short time'*!”

He felt his slave starting to tremble again and placed a quick kiss
on his forehead. “Shhh, it is well” he soothed. “Just remember next
time you are plagued by nightmares again to wake me. You need your
rest, too, once in a while,you know, Little Leaf!” Legolas nodded
mutely. He leaned deeper into Aragorn's touch and sighed with
relief. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly and gratefully, “Thank you, Estel!” 

They stayed that way for some more time, stole a few undisturbed,
precious moments together, until the first of the Hobbits stirred
and on the other side of the camp Gandalf grumbled and slowly
scrambled up. Slowly, but inevitably, the Fellowship woke and got
up around them.

It was time for another long day's march.


_____________ o ___________


During the whole day, Legolas stayed close to his master.  Even
when he chatted with the Hobbits, he did not leave Aragorn's
vicinity, and he did not undertake any scouting missions that day.

In the evening, after the haggling to divide the watches – Boromir,
to his dismay, got the first one, again - the Fellowship settled
down around the small fire they decided to risk, since they still
had not met any creatures of the enemy. Legolas chose a place close
beside his master, and when Aragorn opened his arms for him, he
settled himself comfortably between  his master's legs, back
nestled against him. Aragorn savoured it, leaning his own back
against a tree and petting his Elf absent-mindedly while he
inserted the occasional comment into the animated chatter of the
other members of the Fellowship. It was one of the few assets of
the new situation, he reflected: at least he and Legolas did not
need to hide the nature of their relationship and their affection
any more. While the Hobbits at first had glared at him, they soon
seemed to accept that Legolas at least seemed comfortable where he
presently was, and minded their own business. Legolas, on the other
hand, was unusually quiet, seemingly content to let himself be
petted.  He seemed drowsy, close to drifting off into Elven dreams.

Once or twice, Aragorn could see the sullen and increasingly dark
looks Boromir shot them. 

He sighed.

As wonderful as it was to luxuriate in Legolas' sudden desire for
closeness and the fact that they could now openly indulge in
showing affection, there was a bargain he needed to  fulfil.

Careful, he leaned forward and whispered into his Elf's ear:  “Try
not to walk your Elven dreams too deeply, tonight, *melethron*.”

Legolas started a little and turned half-way around in his arms,
giving him a questioning look. 

Sighing again and resigning himself to the disappointment he knew
he would cause,  Aragorn explained:
“It is Boromir's turn to have you, tonight.”

He saw the face of his Elf crumble, and hurried to add quietly and
soothingly: “Shh! It's what we agreed to do. And it is for your own
good! You need not fear him. I don't believe he is out to hurt
you.” He paused and stopped himself. After a moment, he added: “And
if he does, in any way, the bargain is off. I promise.”

He spoke very quietly, so the others of the fellowship would not
discern the content of their conversation. He did not care for
Boromir to insert his own thoughts into this matter and thereby
make it even worse. And neither did he care for involving the
Hobbits. Of course, he'd spoken Sindarin, so neither Boromir nor
Gimli nor most of the Hobbits would understand his words even were
they overheard. But Frodo, for one, did understand Sindarin, and so
did Gandalf.  In fact, looking across the fire, he felt both the
eyes of the gentle Hobbit and the watchful gaze of the wizard on
him.

He ignored them and concentrated back on Legolas. 

Legolas shuddered. Very hesitantly and equally quietly, he said
once more:  “I do not like to share myself with others beside you,
Aragorn.”

It was a daring move, yet  he felt he had to try, at least one more
time. At least, his master seemed in a much more indulgent mood
tonight.

Aragorn hesitated. “You were never that hesitant to lie with
Halbarad,” he said with hard-won patience, “or Onogdir.”

Legolas swallowed at the slight note of incomprehension he could
hear in his master's voice. Very quietly, he said: “Halbarad always
treated me as a comrade. He... he never saw me simply as a bed-toy,
Aragorn.” 

He saw his master's uncomprehending look and his voice broke.
Resignedly and quietly, he added: “I am sorry, My Lord. I just...” 

He swallowed hard in fear of Aragorn's anger.

But the feared harshness never came. Instead, Aragorn kissed him
gently.

“Look,” he said, “it is just for the time of the Quest. And what
does it matter if Boromir does not see you as a comrade right now?
*He will keep you safe*. That is all that matters now. He was
gentle enough with you the other night. And I will not allow him to
hurt you!”

After a moment, he added reasonably: “Do not fear! Soon enough,
we'll find ourselves facing the enemy, and as soon as Boromir gets
to see you fight, he will come to respect you again. It's hard to
disdain someone to whom you owe your life. Believe me, I would
know!”

Legolas hesitated. “Do you... did you have a vision, Estel?” he
asked quietly.

The eyes of his master darkened in pain. He shook his head as if to
banish an unwelcome thought, and his face grew grim. A far-away
look entered his eyes. 

Quietly, he replied: “I saw the fellowship hunted. No time to
pause, no time to give you what you need, no time to feed the
spell. You... you were...” He could not go on and shook his head
again.

“--Dying,” Legolas supplied. He quickly looked around to the
dancing shadows the flames of the fire cast. He wasn't shocked. If
that was to be his fate, he was ready to bear it. 

Across the fire, on the other side of their little camp, he could
see Gandalf's head rise, and the wizard gave them a sharp look. He
realized that the Istar had probably heard and followed their
little exchange, in spite of the chatter of the Hobbits.  The old
wizard had sharp ears, if he wanted.

Aragorn drew a deep breath, then he gently shook his head and
kissed his slave on the brow. “--too weak to keep up,” he supplied
finally. “And there was no way I could stay behind with you. We had
to leave you.”  

His face was grim. He shook his head again. “There is no way this
side of  Mandos or beyond I'd let that happen. Boromir can give you
what you need, even when there is little time. He won't need to...
do what I need to do to you. He... can do what I cannot.”

His voice faded, croaky in its rawness. Finally, he added: “Do you
not see, *melethron*? I need to know you're safe. And *he* can
*keep* you safe. And more, he...” 

He shook his head. 

“He won't have to hurt you,” he whispered. Then he swallowed hard
and found his resolve again. Fiercely, he added: “This is no
punishment I place on you, nor a cruel game. I would have you see
this as a gift. I would have you relish it!”

Legolas looked at him, stunned by his agitation and his pain. 

Quietly and earnestly, he said: “I do not relish it, master. But I
will do as you say.”


________________ o ______________


When Boromir got back from his watch to his bedroll this night, he
found Legolas waiting for him. The Elf had already spread out
Boromir's bedroll and placed his own beside it. His weapons were
discarded and in easy reach, but Legolas had also shed his tunic
and his belt and wore merely his undershirt and leggings. He had
placed himself on Boromir''s bedroll and laid his blanket loosely
around him. At first, Boromir thought he might have erred about the
place where he left his pack, but then he noticed it neatly placed
beside his own bedroll. 

Of course Aragorn had in the end agreed to keep the bargain the
other day. But then the Elf had seemed so unwilling and reluctant
to leave the Ranger's side that Boromir had nearly expected he
would not get to taste the slave again without a fight. Unwilling
to confront Aragorn in front of the Hobbits and risk their censure
in the matter, he had postponed that confrontation to the next day. 

Yet now here the Elf was waiting for him like a gift ready to be
unwrapped!

He frowned and knelt beside the Elf. “Legolas,” he said,
deliberately using the slave's name instead of the more derogatory
addresses unbidden entering his mind, “what are you doing?”

The Elf shed his blanket, rolled around and looked up to him.
Quietly and without visible emotion, he said: “It is your turn
tonight.” 

Boromir studied him. The slave did not seem excited at the thought,
but neither did he seem fearful or completely loathing. Besides,
Boromir had seen the other day what this Elf could do if he set his
mind to an attack. Could it be that he *liked* the prospect of
sharing himself? 

Cautiously, he asked: “You came to me out of your own, free will?”

Legolas shook his head. He refused to meet the Adan's gaze. “My
master ordered me to come to you,” he said.  “Yet he is right; it
was the agreement that I would have to share myself with you.
Should you wish me, I will be with you tonight.”

Boromir drew his brows together. “But do *you* wish it?” he asked
hopefully, “Do *you* wish to be with me?”

Legolas looked away. “It does not matter what I wish,” he said
sadly. “The Fellowship decided it should be this way, and my master
is bound by this decision. He will keep to the agreement he has
made with you. It is your turn tonight, and so I will share myself
with you.”

Boromir shook his head. He felt curiously abashed that Aragorn
would send the Elf to him although Legolas was clearly not eager to
obey, but then again, perhaps he could do something about the
latter. Slowly, he grew comfortable with the situation. Still, to
think that only a few days ago, he had started to respect this so
called *'prince of Mirkwood'*...

“So *this* was what you and your Ranger were whispering about all
evening,” he said, feeling oddly disappointed that at a mere word
of Aragorn the slave would offer himself up obediently like a
whore. Of course, Legolas had not put up any fight during the
extension of the spell two nights before, either. “I was beginning
to wonder already if he would keep the bargain.”

Legolas nodded. “He will abide by it” he merely said. 

Oddly fascinated, Boromir reached out and touched his face. “He
must be glad to have such loyalty,” he said. “Were you mine, I
would not share you with anyone.”

Legolas shuddered slightly under his touch, but did not pull away. 

Boromir traced his features for a moment, then he drew his hand
back. ”Very well, then” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Help me
undress. I would relish tasting your sweetness and getting the
chance to sheath myself in you once more.” He licked his lips,
devouring the Elf with his eyes, admiring his soft glow against the
night. 

Legolas blanched a little at the Adan's words, but he stood up as
he was ordered and helped the man of Gondor out of his coat.

“I believe that was the point, My Lord,” he said quietly, “though
you may do whatever you wish to do tonight, as long as you do no
lasting harm.”

Boromir gasped. *“Everything -- I wish?”* he repeated
disbelievingly. His eyes were wide. 

The Elf actually smiled at him, although it was a joyless smile.
“Yes, although of course within certain limits. You heard my
master's words to the Dwarf the other day. You have no leave to
harass or to torment me, or to do lasting harm. Nor am I bound to
obey you outside the bedroll, or to be your servant and do your
chores. But otherwise, I am to serve you as you please. Of course,”
he added in an afterthought, “we may be hampered a bit by the need
to be discreet and quiet, though we may leave the camp should you
wish to have some privacy.” It sounded bitter, yet resigned. 

Boromir's face was grim. “Your master is quite careless if he
grants such a generous and barely restrained use of you to men he
has scarcely known for more than a few weeks,” he said. “Were you
mine, I would take better care of you. I would make sure I was the
only one who was allowed to touch you, and everyone else who tried
to lie a hand on you would taste my sword!”

Legolas said nothing.  He had freed Boromir of his heavy overcoat,
and Boromir found he had already folded it neatly and placed it in
a little pile on the pack. Now, he relieved him of the belt and
began to tug at the bindings of Boromir's jerkin. 

Boromir stood still and let him work. It was a nice change for once
to be fussed over and attended to the way he used to be at home in
Gondor, at least in his father's palace. In the field, he normally
did without fussing aides or eager valets. But apparently,
Aragorn's Elf had good practice in *this* function as well.

Boromir started to really envy the Ranger.

Wordlessly, he raised his arms and assisted the Elf in pulling the
jerkin over his head. Legolas folded the  heavy leather quickly and
placed it neatly on the pile. Boromir observed him in growing
fascination. He noticed the slight stiffness in the normally
gracious and nimble gestures of the Elf, the carefully blank face,
the thin and joyless line of the lips.

He resolved to change that, if he could. Maybe, he could bring the
Elf to the point that after this night, Legolas would *look
forward* to sharing his nights with him instead of with his master.

He stepped close and indulged his desire to touch. Gently, he took
the well developed shoulders, pulled the slave up and drew him
close. Legolas didn't resist, and Boromir enfolded the slender body
in his arms. He felt the Elf shiver and knew it for fear and
reluctance, not anticipation and desire, though Legolas' face
betrayed nothing.

Yet the archer held obediently still under his touch and made no
move to pull away. 

Carefully, Boromir started to explore the slender neck, the long,
silken hair, the leaf-shaped ears. Legolas gasped at that, and
Boromir smiled. He continued to let his hands roam for a while,
exploring the well-muscled chest, the straight back, the narrow
hips. The soft cloth of the undershirt hampered his explorations,
and he wished to touch bare skin; but for that he preferred some
more privacy than they had here. 

He felt his groin twitch. It was time to take this to some place
outside the camp. 

Yet the slave was still shivering in his arms.

Boromir sought his lips and kissed him. He savored the enticing
sweetness, the obediently opening mouth, yet he allowed himself
barely more than a taste for the moment. 

“Do not fear,” Boromir finally said, “I do not wish to do you harm
or to hurt you. I would like to taste you again, and to   bring you
pleasure. And I would enjoy being within you, yet I would prefer if
I don't have to hurry this time. I'd like to taste you thoroughly,
tonight. I did not get the chance to do so that first time.”

The Elf under his hands shuddered again, though he finally looked
up and returned his gaze. “You do not have to hurry. I am yours
tonight,”he offered quietly. “Though there will be many other
nights ahead for you to take whatever  you want. The Quest is
long.”

His eyes were a tad too bright, betraying unshed tears, although
his face was still carefully blank. His muscles under Boromir's
touch were rigid in reluctant submission. He still shivered
slightly, though he tried to control it.

Boromir's groin twitched again. He drew the Elf even closer to
himself and kissed him again. The slave hesitated a mere heartbeat,
then he obediently opened up for him, and Boromir tasted him
thoroughly. 

He finished the kiss and caressed the Elf's face and ears again.
“Then I will do that,” he said hoarsely, “and deeply enjoy it. I do
not wish to do you harm, and I hope I may even bring you to the
point where you do not weep before or after you have to allow me to
touch you.”

Legolas looked a bit startled. “I am not weeping now,” he said. 

Boromir cocked his head. “No,” he said, “and I hope I can manage
that you do not weep later, either. I know you have been *ordered*
to lie with me, but perhaps, if you give me the chance, I can even
cause you to enjoy it.”  He traced the face and ears of the
unresisting Elf again and asked: “Will you kiss me?”

Legolas eyes widened. Then he obeyed. Boromir tasted sweetness
again and felt the body under his hands surrender a little of its
stiffness. 

He smiled.

“Come,” he quietly commanded, “I think we may indeed wish for some
privacy. Take your blanket and your knives, sir Elf, and if you
happen to have anything to ease the way, I'd suggest you bring it
with you, too. Let us find some quiet spot outside the camp where
we will not disturb the others.”

Legolas shot him another amazed look, yet obeyed him wordlessly. It
took just a short rummage through his pack to find the vial with
oil Boromir had suggested, and then he grabbed his blanket and the
knives and followed the Adan out of the camp.

They did not go far, only far enough to be hidden from view and out
of immediate earshot from the camp. Boromir had buckled his sword
on again; it would not do to be weaponless, should they find
themselves surprised by a hostile creature of any kind. He had also
brought his bedroll with him, and now he laid it on a dry spot on
the ground, unbuckled his belt again and set his sword beside it in
easy reach. He sat down and patted the blanket beside himself
invitingly. 

“Come here, sir Elf,” he said, “undress for me!”
Hesitantly, but obediently, the slave knelt down and set his knives
aside. He yielded his boots, shirt and leggings, and finally his
loincloth. He placed the garments carefully beside them, and laid
the vial atop the little pile. 

Boromir felt the water gather in his mouth at the reluctant but
obedient gestures and watched hungrily while the glorious body was
slowly revealed for him. 

Then the slave finally arched his back and bowed his head, letting
his legs fall slightly apart, and knelt in glorious nakedness
before the man of Gondor, presenting himself to his view as he had
been trained by his masters. 

Boromir heard himself gasp and had to swallow hard. *Aragorn must
be mad to share such a prize with anyone!*
He approached the Elf a little and knelt before him. Gently, he
tipped the head of the slave up.

“Not like this,” he said. “You do not need to fear me. Kiss me, sir
Elf. I wish to feel your hands on me!” 

Startled and amazed, the Elf hesitated a moment to obey, but then
he carefully reached out and started to touch the Adan's face. He
scrambled closer and kissed the man again. His hands trailed
higher, touching the round ears, then down the neck, thumbs feeling
the beard -so different from Aragorn's  familiar stubble – then
down the powerful shoulders, well-defined under the covering shirt
the man still wore. He tasted the man deeply, engaging for a moment
in dueling tongues. Then he abruptly pulled back, his eyes wide
with amazement and sudden fear. 

*What was happening to him?!*

He felt his groin twitch, felt arousal kindling in his veins, felt
himself react to the unfamiliar body. Yet he was far away from the
time he should feel need and be thrown into desire. And yet, this
man was completely different from Aragorn.

Boromir noticed his astonishment, but he didn't feel alarmed. He
saw the waxing erection of the slave, the flushed cheeks, and
interpreted them correctly. He smiled, and felt his breath quicken.
It made him giddy to have such power over the unwilling Elf that he
even could order him to take the initiative, and that he managed to
wake his responses. Gently and with some devilish delight he drew
the hesitating Elf close again, placed his partner's hands back on
his own shoulders, and encouraged him to go on.

After a mere heartbeat of bewilderment, the Elf obeyed and
continued to caress him. Boromir savoured the exploring hands, but
soon the gentle touches roaming him were not enough for him anymore
and his own hands came up. He seized the face of the Elf again and
took him in a demanding kiss, then he gathered him in his arms,
guided him slowly on his back and down onto the bedroll.

“Now,” he ordered hoarsely, “lie still for me!”

And with that he began to explore his partner in earnest, touching
with hands, lips and tongue, roaming and petting down the breast
and over the whole body, and concentrating on learning the strange
body's reactions, trying out what made him jerk, shiver and squirm.
He savored the curiously hairless chest, skin so smooth like a
woman's, but too well muscled and without the softness a female
body would provide; he lapped and worried the sensitive nipples
until they stood red and erect, eager for more, and he heard his
partner whimper at his tongue's explorations;  and then he licked
further down towards the nearly hairless groin. To his delight, he
found that it took him not all that long to make the lithe body
squirm in pleasure and desire under his touches. The Elf was
incredibly responsive as soon as he allowed himself to let go!

Finally, Boromir reached his goal. He took the half-erect member
into his mouth and licked and suckled it to full arousal,
delighting in Legolas' gasps and little whimpers under his
ministrations.

Then he got up – smiling at the involuntary little groan of protest
uttered by the Elf – and freed his own erection. 

“Now, my dear Elf,” he said, smirking, “I think it's time for you
to use that vial of oil you brought,  if you do not wish me to take
you unprepared!”

Breathing hard in anticipation, the Elf rolled around and reached
to the spot where he had placed the vial. He uncorked it and knelt
before the man, dribbling some of the fluid into his palms. Then he
closed the vial again and touched the straining erection of the
man. Carefully and practiced he coated the hot flesh of the Adan's
shaft with the fine, scented oil, breathing hard in anticipation.
He could see little drops of pre-come already and swallowed hard.
Done, he lay back on the bedroll and opened his legs wide for the
man.

Boromir had to bite his lips to prevent himself from coming too
soon at the eager invitation. He took the vial from the Elf and
coated his fingers, then he set it away and knelt between Legolas'
legs. Taking his partner's legs, he placed them up over his
shoulders. Then he entered the body before him with two fingers,
stretching him a bit and massaging until he found the sweet spot.
He curled his fingers and delighted in seeing his partner squirm
and gasp in pleasure; then he withdrew – the Elf moaned a bit in
frustration – and replaced his fingers with his own, eager member. 

Legolas gasped in sudden pain as the thick cock entered him, and
Boromir stopped immediately, giving him time to adjust. After a
moment, the resisting muscles of the slave's passage relaxed, and
Boromir drove deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed. He
gasped in pleasure. It was incredible to be surrounded by the hot,
welcoming flesh of his partner, seeing the look of wonder and
abandon on the flushed face of the Elf. He reached down and
caressed the slim sides, the erect nipples, then one hand trailed
down and found his partner's straining erection. 

Slowly, then ever faster, he began to move within his living
sheath, massaging the rigid flesh under his hand in counterpoint.
He found the angle that made Legolas squirm and gasp with each new
thrust and adjusted his own thrusting to give his partner the most
possible pleasure. For a moment, he saw the deep, disbelieving eyes
of the Elf, wide open and unseeing in intense passion; the look
nearly made him come all in itself. 

Then the Elf closed his eyes, mouth agape, and Boromir thrust three
more times and spilled himself. When he came, he felt creamy,
pearly fluid coat his hand and soil his undershirt. Gasping in
bliss, he pulled out and collapsed beside his pliant partner.

Legolas' eyes were closed. His lips were whispering a name,
tonelessly and nearly indiscernible. Yet Boromir had the nagging
impression it was not his own.

Mood spoiled a bit, he sighed and trailed the flushed, heaving
chest of his partner, glistening with sweat and traces of the Elf's
own come. “Bad slave,” he joked,  “you soiled my clothes when you
came!”

It was meant merely as a joke, but Legolas instantly stiffened.
Dragging himself back from whatever place of abandon his mind had
fled to, the Elf swallowed hard and brought his breathing under
control with effort. After a moment, he said bleakly:

“I am sorry, My Lord. I... I request... punishment, if you would
grace me with it.”

Boromir felt as if he had been doused. Ripped out of his bliss, he
shot the Elf an incredulous look.  

“It was a joke!” he said. “I hope you did not take me seriously?
Or... do you *like* to be hurt?” For a moment, the way he had found
the Elf, bound, half-naked,  draped over the thighs of Aragorn,
being whipped by the Ranger, flashed through his mind. Had he
misread the scene? Was this Elf one of those sick minds who drew
pleasure out of the pain and humiliation inflicted on them?

But he had seemed delighted enough by Boromir's gentle
ministrations just moments ago....

The Elf flushed deeply and tiredly shook his head. “No,” he
whispered, “I do *not* enjoy that. I am sorry I misunderstood your
meaning.”

Boromir decided to try to banish  that look of tired resignation.
He rose up on his elbows, leaned over his partner and kissed him
deeply. “Good,” he said, “because at the moment I hardly feel  up
to spanking you. And concerning the clothes, I could not care
less!”

He stole another kiss. “You were wonderful!” he said, stroking the
naked chest, “You gave me great pleasure, master Elf. Thank you! I
am glad I'll have the chance to repeat this with you, soon.”

The Elf bit his lips. 

Boromir sighed. He had thought the Elf had enjoyed their sharing,
too. In fact, only moments before, he had been sure of it. 

“Even if you don't seem to enjoy it,” he said a bit disappointed.

Legolas closed his eyes. ”I *did* enjoy it, My Lord,” he said. “It
is just... “ he stopped himself. “Forgive me.”

Boromir watched him closely. He felt a sudden stab of jealousy. 

“This master of yours has your loyalty, has he not?” he asked
abruptly.

Legolas shivered at the Adan's tone. *So, now the punishment would
come, anyway!* 

“Yes, My Lord,” he answered truthfully.

“And you obey him,” Boromir said flatly, “whatever he commands you
to do.”

“I am bound to, My Lord.” Legolas said a little sadly, “I am his to
command.”

“And without his command, you would not do this again with me?”

Legolas shook his head and braced himself for the Man's anger. “No,
My Lord. I am sorry.”

Boromir looked grim. “He's a fool,” he said harshly, “to treat you
the way he does. Were you but mine...” He trailed off. More
harshly, he said: “Well, I hope at least you did not loathe the
experience, because I will surely insist on having some share of
you as often as is due. You are too good a prize to miss the
chance!”

With that, he got up and cleaned himself with Legolas' loincloth,
then he adjusted his clothes and covered himself. He bowed down,
took the hand of the still lying slave and pulled him up. 

“Come,” he commanded, “dress  yourself. It is time to return to the
camp.”

The Elf sat up and followed his command miserably.  Wordlessly, he
used the soiled loincloth to wipe himself, then, leaving it aside,
he slipped into his leggings and shirt and donned his boots. He
wrapped the soiled cloth neatly in a bundle and stood up, taking
his knives, his blanket and Boromir's bedroll.

When they started to walk, Legolas bowed his head and looked at his
feet. *He should have known the wondrous moment of the
earlier would not last! And yet...*

Suddenly, his sharp ears picked up a soft rustle in the bushes, and
his head whipped up. The noise ceased. Legolas' brows came down as
he stared at the place where he had heard the noise.

Boromir saw his reaction. He drew his sword to defend them against
the perceived threat, but Legolas stopped him.

“It is probably just one of our comrades,” he said softly, “out to
relieve himself. I feel no danger.”

Boromir sighed. “You have keen senses, master Elf,” he said, “and
more uses than one!”

Shrugging, he sheathed his sword again and started to walk into the
direction of their camp. 

Legolas followed him slowly.

He had a very good idea who their watcher might have been, and  he
was proved right when they returned to the camp, and he found
Estel's bedroll empty, although it was not Aragorn's watch at the
moment.

So, his master had taken it upon himself to watch over them the
first night his slave had been forced to offer himself to another
man at his command. 

Somehow, Legolas found it hard to be grateful.


________________ o ________________ 


PART III – Past and Present II: Falling In Love


Legolas dreamed...

// /Warm lips were closing over his own and a soft, warm tongue was
teasing his mouth. His whole body tingled at the touch. Before he
knew what he was doing, he opened his mouth and tasted sweetness.
The teasing tongue slipped inside and started to explore.
Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, his whole body was
glowing with warmth. The tingling reached his groin.  He felt
himself melting under the touch, felt the sweetness of Estel's
breath mingling with his own -- 

Then his mind regained control, his eyes flew open and he forced
himself to withdraw, staring startled at the young man who had just
claimed his mouth.

He saw Estel's flushed face, met his gaze, gleaming in love and
adoration. “I always knew you loved me!” the young man said.

He felt his own body react,  even while his consciousness sent icy
warnings through his mind. He drew back as if burned and tried to
bring himself under control again. / //


Legolas shifted in his sleep, lingering on the memory. It was a
pleasant one, although a part of his consciousness warned him that
there were bitterness and pain yet to come, mingled with the
sweetness. But in his heart he knew that he would always remember
this first kiss, that he would hold it precious and recall it to
the end of his life, even were he to live to the end of Arda. And
it had started innocently enough, after all...


// / “Teach me how to do it!”

Legolas looked at the young man sitting before him on the thick
branch they shared. Estel's face was flushed and his eyes sparkled
with excitement from their previous game of hunting each other and
the following, long and competitive climb, which Estel had –
naturally – lost again. There was hardly a way the young human
could gain any victory over his Elven friend if they competed about
anything concerning trees or the woods, or quickness. Luckily
enough, by now, Estel usually took such losses against his Elven
companion with good grace.    

Legolas raised a brow.

“Teach you how to do what?” he asked.

Estel patted the branch they were sitting on. “Teach me how to run
in  the trees!” he said, “The way you do it!” 

Legolas looked at him bewildered, not sure he had understood him
correctly. “You want me to teach you how to walk on branches?” he
asked cautiously.

Estel shook his head.

“Not walk! Run!” he exclaimed. “The way you did just now! The way
you irritated me by climbing one tree, then changing to another and
another, so when I tracked you down I lost the trail of you again;
and when I finally found you and climbed after you, you easily ran
away so I could not catch you until you let yourself be cornered.
You do that all the time – run along one branch, then jump to the
other and the next. It looks fantastic!” He beamed at the Elf, eyes
gleaming with admiration and a little longing. “I want to learn
that, too!” he finally concluded.

Legolas watched him sceptically. The young man  looked determined,
really taken with the idea.

“Estel...” he began carefully, then, after a moment, he asked: “Why
do you want to learn that?”

Estel looked at him incredulously. 

“Why?” he asked surprised, “Because it is a great skill, of course!
And it looks like fun!” He beamed again. “It would be very useful
while hunting game – moving above your prey, catching it unawares!
And it is a great skill for an ambush against Orcs! Why shouldn't I
want to learn how to do it?!” 

He watched his Elven friend another moment, then he narrowed his
eyes suspiciously. “You are stalling, aren't you? Why?”

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but Estel shook his head and
raised a hand.

“No, on second thought, don't tell me! I do not want to know! You
probably think I'm human, and therefore clumsy, or lacking balance,
or too heavy – whatever. Well, whatever it is, forget it! I want to
learn it, so just stop stalling and let's try! I am sure that  you
can teach me *anything*!” 

His eyes, still sparkling in excitement, showed a dangerous mix of
anger, determination, and trust. 

Legolas heart sank.  It would be hard to talk him out of this!

He raised his brows and sighed. “I am not sure I can,” he said
honestly. “It is an Elvish thing to do,  you see, just like talking
to the trees. I tried to teach you how to do that, too, remember?
It just didn't work.”

He looked at his younger companion, hoping that Estel would rise to
the bait and let himself be distracted into some good-natured
teasing game and subsequent wrestling match about the superiority
of humans versus Elves. He tensed,  ready to jump up and run away
should Estel lunge at him.

But this time, the young man didn't take the bait. Instead, Estel
scowled.

“Aye, I know. I am just a human,” he said accusingly, “so there is
no point for me to even try, is there?” 
He looked away. Legolas was surprised at the hurt and
disappointment in his voice.  
After a moment, Estel angrily continued:  “But it's not true that
this  is just an Elvish thing! Elrohir and Elladan can't do it, nor
most of the other Elves in Rivendell. I bet even Glorfindel can't
do it, although he probably would not be above trying and he might
be able to learn it, if he wanted, too!”

There was a distinctive undercurrent in his voice suggesting  that
Glorfindel, at least, could learn *anything* if he just set his
mind to it – and an unspoken insisting: 'and so can I!'.

Legolas bowed his head. He found it hard to deal with Estel's
dismay.  “I think it may be a speciality of Woodelves,” he
admitted. “I learned it when I was little, barely half your age in
Elven years. And I've done it ever since, all my life. Everyone at
home does!”

Instead of being disheartened, the young man before him looked
triumphant. 

“There, you see, you had to learn it, too! It is not just a thing
that you were born to, like understanding trees or Elvish senses!”
he said. “I bet you weren't even all that good  at it at first! You
see, it's nothing exclusively Elvish! You can teach me!”

Legolas felt his heart sink and knew he was fighting a losing
battle. This was not a temporary whim of his human companion and
friend. Estel was determined and had made up his mind, and there
was no way to talk him out of this.   Still, Legolas had to try.

“Estel,” he began cautiously, “I  think...”

He stopped at Estel's expression. The young man scowled at him.

“I know,” Estel said bitterly. “You think I'm clumsy, dense, slow
on my feet, and I lack balance. I am hopeless, ugly  and without
any grace. In short, I'm human!”     

Again, Legolas was shocked at the anger and bitterness he heard in
the young man's voice. This was more than just normal
disappointment. Estel was really hurt. But whoever had said such
things to him?

No matter. Estel was obviously pained. 

Legolas could not bear it.

“That's not true,” he exclaimed, touching the young man's arm. “You
are not clumsy! You are strong, quick on your feet, and you have a
lot of balance!”

“--for a human,” Estel added bitterly, as his brothers had so often
done when they teased him. 

Legolas shrugged. “Maybe. You *are* human, after all, and so your
weight and proportions are different than  ours. Remember what
Glorfindel said? *Of course* your balance is different than  that
of an Elf! But it is *your* balance you have to care about, not
anybody else's. And you have a lot of balance, and a lot of grace,
and your own kind of beauty. You are beautiful and graceful! Anyone
who does not see this must be blind!”

He stopped suddenly and flushed. Startled, he realized that he had
said too much, and bit his lips. His face felt warm, and he had the
uncomfortable   suspicion that his cheeks wore a distinct blush and
his ears had to be  bright red. He swallowed.

But Estel looked at him with bright eyes and an oddly hopeful
expression.

“You think I'm beautiful?” he asked eagerly.

For a moment, Legolas hesitated to answer.

Just half an year ago, he would have had to lie to call Estel
anything but clumsy, awkward and, yes, even less than a beauty.
During the last few years, Estel's body had grown immensely and
gained height and muscle. Spreading up like a young sapling, there
had been a time when the young human had seemed to be all arms and
legs, in addition to an oddly pimpled face, much to Estel's great
shame and dismay. Even worse, the balance and coordination of the
young human could not keep up with his growing height, and there
had been a time when he resembled a walking disaster. Estel's
mother Gilraen – whom Legolas liked and respected very much – had
sworn that this was a perfectly normal development for a human of
that age, and Glorfindel reassured the despairing young one in the
same way, too, telling Estel that he had fought at the side of a
lot of humans in the past and that this was the normal way for them
to grow up to men. Still, this had done little to reassure the
dismayed teenager, who had to bear his brothers' merciless teasing
on top of his own fears and despair. It had been hard for Legolas
to deal with Estel's disappointment and resentment at times,
although he had done his best to be the dependable friend and the
strong, reassuring  tree in the flood Estel needed.

No longer. During the last few month, Estel had grown accustomed to
his new height and mass. No longer did he resemble a thin sapling
with too long limbs; now he was distinctively human in his broad
shoulders, narrow hips, strong arms and curly brown hair. 

And even more importantly, he'd won his grace and balance back much
to his own joy and Legolas' secret satisfaction. Estel's skin was
clear again, and  even the thin foam of hair starting to spread on
his chin added to his attraction. Estel had been dismayed at that,
too, until his mother reassured him that a beard was a  visible
sign of maturity in men.  

Yes, Estel had grown into a well-formed,  strong, promising young
man of innate beauty and grace. And he had developed from a moody
teenager to a happy, gracious companion again. 

And if Estel was happy, as a rule, Legolas was happy, too. 

 After a heartbeat, Legolas nodded. “I do,” he said. “And I think
you are comely, and you have a lot of grace, although both
Glorfindel and your mother say that it will still take some time
until you cease to grow and reach your final stature.   They say it
will probably happen when you are eighteen or nineteen.”

He saw Estel's gleaming, hopeful look of pleasure at his words, and
his own face suddenly felt very warm. He swallowed again and had to
compose himself.  He could not afford to let himself be distracted.
And Estel was still far away from his majority, he was only...

“I will be eighteen in just a few weeks,” Estel said with a smile.
He still seemed curiously pleased at his Elven companion's words. 

Then he got back on track. “So you see,” he said with finality, as
if everything had been cleared up now, “you can teach me!”

Legolas looked down,  crestfallen.

“Estel,” he began again, dismayed, and then he said unhappily: “I
am afraid I cannot do that!”

He braced himself against the storm of disappointment. Carefully he
looked up. 

Estel scowled. “But you just said...”

Legolas looked back down at his hands. 

“It is too dangerous,” he explained quickly. “Should anything
happen to you – should you fall and break your neck, or your back,
or even just a limb – your brothers and your father would skin me
alive. That's not the worst, though; if you were injured because of
me, I could not live with myself, anyway. But they would also
torture and kill the other hostages! At least any of my people who
are here and on whom they can lay their hands. I cannot risk that!”

He bit his lips and braced himself again against the expected
disdain of his friend at his perceived over-carefulness and
'cowardice'. But to his astonishment,  the feared sneering and
scolding did not come.

Instead, Estel kept silent for a moment, then he reached carefully
out and touched Legolas arm. “Always you think first of your
people,” the young man said with a trace of wonder and admiration
in his voice.

Legolas looked up, completely taken by surprise. Estel's voice –
and his face – were devoid of disappointment. Instead, they held
respect and understanding.

But then the young man smiled again and beamed at him.

“You need not fear, though!” he said. “We'll just be extra careful!
And we won't tell anyone! I will do anything you say, follow all
your instructions. With you teaching me and staying close, nothing
will happen to me! I  am sure of that. You'll see!”

Legolas stared back at him  and knew his battle lost. He could not
bring himself to disappoint that display of trust and   acceptance.
He could not deny this boy – no, he corrected himself, *this young
man* – anything.

He took a deep breath.

“All right,” he finally said, “but you must promise that you will
follow my instructions in this. And we can't start right now. We
will need rope, and privacy.”

Estel looked a little  disappointed, but he nodded, knowing he had
won and unwilling to risk the victory. “Rope?” he asked, “why would
we need rope?”

Legolas looked grim. “To bind ourselves together,” he said. “If
you fall, I can keep you safe. Or if I can't, at least we fall
together. Maybe the trees will try to catch *me*. They do that
sometimes.”

He saw his younger companion's look of disbelief, but he ignored
it. The trees of Rivendell were not like the trees of his home, but
they knew him by now, and he was still a Woodelf. They had kept him
safe in dangerous situations before. Maybe it would be enough. He
had to risk it.


_________________ o _______________


They started early the following day. Legolas found a place deeper
in the woods, close to the river and the old beech tree that had
become his favorite place to seek rest and comfort whenever he
needed to be alone in this valley of his enemies. He had brought
twenty feet of rope, enough to provide security, but allow jumps
from tree to tree if needed. He led his eager companion to  a place
with some big trees around his favorite venerable beech and they
climbed up to a few big branches about fifty feet above the ground.
There Legolas  secured one end of the rope around Estel's waist,
the other around his own. He chose a place where they could
practice easily, but had a few branches below them to stop their
fall at need, should such prove necessary. They started slowly,
Legolas placing Estel's hands on his waist and walking him along
the bigger branches; later, he carefully let him walk alone and
even jump from one branch to  another a few times.  

At first, everything went well. Estel was eager to learn and
followed Legolas' instructions obediently. He was curiously pliant
and smiled when Legolas held his hands or let him hold his
teacher's hips while he taught him to walk forward and backwards on
the branch and feel the space behind him with his feet without
losing his balance. But soon, the young man grew impatient with
their slow pace and wanted to do more – not only walk slowly and
jump from one thick branch to the next one only a few feet away,
but run and jump to other trees as he had seen his Elven friend do
it.

Legolas protested that they should give it another day or two, but
Estel grew mutinous. 

“You are too cautious,” he scowled.  “Look, I can walk along the
branches by now! Now teach me how to do it fast!   I'm no clumsy
toddler who needs to hold hands for every step any more. I can move
faster. And I want to jump between the trees like you!”

“Estel,” Legolas began with a slight note of impatience and
warning, but he young man was not in the mood to listen anymore. He
suddenly jumped up and ran away, assessing the distance to the tree
next to them, and jumped – to Legolas' horror and dismay – without
further warning. To his great joy – and the great relief of his
teacher – Estel reached the branch he'd aimed for and regained his
balance. Then he stood there and grinned back at his scowling
teacher. “You see?” he cried triumphantly, “I can do it!”

Legolas resigned himself to the situation. “All right,” he gave in
while he followed Estel to the other tree. “We can move along a few
trees, but you still need to follow my directions! Please, Estel,
we need to do this carefully!”

But the young man, overjoyed with his success, was in no mood to
listen. As soon as Legolas  had followed him, he ran along the
branch, aiming for the next branch, then the next tree and the
next. Legolas followed. He could have stopped Estel by stopping and
clutching the branch where he was, simply letting his companion
reach the end of the rope; but he feared that Estel, should Legolas
stop him like this, would simply cut the rope and go on alone. And
he couldn't risk that.

It took only a few minutes until things went wrong. Estel saw a
tree close by with a promising branch and ran to jump the slightly
greater distance of about five feet, deaf to Legolas alarmed cry: *
“Estel, no! Not that one!”* 
He even reached the other branch, but his feet found no hold. The
tree had been struck by lightning once and it was dead. The branch
was wet with mould and moss, and Estel lost his balance and fell.
He tried to grab the branch, but his hands slipped off and he fell
a few feet further. Legolas braced himself for the jerk when the
rope would stop the fall. Then, Estel found hold on a lower branch
of the dead tree, and after a few moments he managed to scramble up
again. Legolas relaxed, looking down to his charge and then around,
assessing the surrounding branches for a way to get Estel back to
safety. 

He froze. They had started at a place where they were not too far
above the ground. But in Estel's eagerness to race across the
branches, he had not paid attention to such things as the formation
of the valley, and the dead  tree he'd chosen to jump reached its
branches wide across one of the many gaps of the valley. There was
a sheer fall of over hundred feet below Estel, and no other
branches below him. And even where Legolas now stood the distance
to the ground was over eighty feet, maybe not enough to kill an
Elf, but surely enough to kill a human. Not to mention that the
ground at this place consisted mostly of hard rocks and little
undergrowth.

No matter. If they just --

-- at this precise moment,  the branch the young man clutched
suddenly broke and Estel cried out. Unfortunately, this sudden new
fall took Legolas completely by surprise. His quick reflexes were
half a heartbeat too slow, and the sudden jerk when Estel reached
the end of the rope and his weight tearing at Legolas' waist ripped
the Elf off the branch where he was standing. He tried to grab for
it but missed.

For a moment, they both were airborne. Under them were few other
branches, and most were too far away. There were none below Estel,
nothing to break the fall. For a moment, Legolas was sure that his
failure to grab the branch  had killed them both. He did not think
of himself,  nor of the consequences for his people. His only
thought was of Estel.

*Estel! Estel would die!* Legolas knew only one thing: he could not
let that happen!

Legolas managed to grab a branch about six feet below, but this
branch was too weak to hold them both. Desperate, Legolas used his
whole strength to propel himself away from the weak branch and
towards another, lower one which was further away. He feared the
distance was too great. They would not make it --

-- then, suddenly, his hands found secure hold and he clutched  the
thick branch with all his strength. The jerk when his companion's
fall was stopped by the rope nearly made him lose his hold again,
but he clutched on with all his strength, and he prevailed. Then,
he found himself dangling off the branch, hurting badly and
breathing with difficulty, holding on for all he was worth. Estel,
twenty feet lower, was silent and did not seem to move. Legolas
feared the worst. But he could not give in, now. He felt the
reassuring voice of the tree he clutched, and gratefully accepted
its strength and support.

Carefully and with great effort, he managed to haul his feet up and
hook them around the branch. Then, after a moment, he finally
managed to get up on it. He gave himself a few moments to regain
his strength. Only then, he began to haul his unmoving companion up
to himself again.  


________________________ o ________________


Fortunately, Estel had not broken anything; the jerk when his fall
was stopped had just numbed him and made him lose consciousness for
a moment. When he came to, he allowed Legolas to haul him up. Then,
when they both securely sat on the branch, he clutched his Elven
companion as if he never wanted to let go again. White-faced, eyes
displaying his shock, it took him a few moments until he could
speak. At Legolas' concerned questions if he was hurt or injured he
only shook his head. When he finally found his voice again, he said
with awe and wonder: “You saved my life!”

Legolas nodded tiredly. “The tree did,” he said. “I could not have
reached the branch without its help. I swear it shoved the branch
within my reach.”

He looked down. “It knows me well.  I could not bear it if you died
or were injured.”

Suddenly, he found warm lips closing over his own and a soft, warm
tongue teasing his mouth. In sheer surprise, before he knew what he
was doing, he opened his mouth as he was trained to do by his twin
masters – and tasted sweetness. The teasing tongue slipped inside
and started to explore his mouth, and for a moment, Legolas felt
himself melt at the sweetness of Estel's breath, and his whole body
tingled at the touch.

Then his mind regained control, his eyes flew open and he forced
himself to withdraw.

He saw Estel's face, flushed, eyes gleaming in love and adoration. 

“I knew that you would save us,” the young man said. “I wasn't
scared, not even when I fell, because I knew that you would find a
way to save us. You always do!” He raised a hand and touched
Legolas' face, tracing it in wonder.

“I always knew you loved me!”

Legolas felt his own body react to the touch even while his
consciousness sent icy warnings through his mind. He drew back as
if burned and tried to bring himself under control again. 

Estel was *seventeen*! True, he was a human,  and they matured
faster than Elves, but he was still far away from his majority.
Legolas had no idea when a human would be considered to be old
enough to explore physical pleasure – it was hardly a thing he
could discuss with Estel's mother Gilraen, who was, after all, the
only other human available here in Rivendell. Yet an Elf at
seventeen would still be just a boy. And while Estel was far from
being still a boy, he was hardly a full grown man yet, either. He
could hardly know what he was doing! 

This was wrong! They could not do this!

Besides, Legolas had been taken by his masters only days ago. He
could not be in need again already. So why then did his body react
with arousal at the young man's touch, why did he feel desire?

Why did he feel a cloud of butterflies fluttering in his stomach
and everything within him wished to just return the kiss and never
let go again?

*What was happening to him?!*

Estel started to notice his confusion. “What's wrong?” he asked
bewildered. 

Legolas felt his heart sink at the young man's look. There was so
much love, so much trust shining back at him! 

Bracing himself against the disappointment he knew he would cause,
he said regretfully:

“Estel, we cannot do this!”

For a moment, the young man looked at him without comprehension.
“Why?” he asked innocently and bemused. He tried to touch Legolas
again, but the Elf avoided his hand and shook his head.

Estel's face fell. “But- I thought-” the young man stammered, “I
thought you loved me!”

Legolas had to swallow hard at his look. His heart hurt in his
chest. The young man's disappointment together with his own
confusion and conflicting emotions, tore at his soul and the
butterflies swarming in his stomach spread. 

“Of course I do!” he said, then forced himself to say: “But – not
like that!”

Unfortunately, he was not too sure about this claim himself. Yet
Estel was. His eyes still showed bewilderment, but now they held
growing hurt. 

“But-” he protested in a small voice.

Legolas struggled for a way to lessen the blow and ease the young
man's pain.

“Estel,” he began, then asked: “I thought you were in love with
that cooking maid of Elrond's household! What was her name,
Lothluin(1)? The one to whom you sent all those verses and letters
you wrote these last few months and had me review beforehand?”

Estel scowled. 

“She's stupid and vain and just full of herself, and she's not
worth my attention!” he said. “I do not love her! In fact, I cannot
understand anymore why I ever fell for her at all!”

His voice was bitter and betrayed his hurt. Legolas was shocked at
his pain. He did not know precisely what the Noldor elleth had done
or said to the lovesick young man,  because for once Estel had not
confided in him, but obviously, it had not been pretty.

Still, he had to admit to himself, he was not sorry it was over. He
had never liked that stupid She-Elf and thought that Estel wasted
his affection and deserved better. 

And yet...

“And what about that servant girl of your mother, Moriel, whom  you
adored so long?” he asked helplessly. Moriel had been Estel's first
big crush – the center of the attention of a sixteen-years-old boy
who brought her flowers and adored her from afar, and tormented
Legolas as well as everybody  else in reach with endless  praise
about her grace and beauty, which unfortunately nobody beside
himself could see. 

Not to mention that the maiden could hardly be called one of the
brightest Elves ever to walk Ennor(2), either.

Estel rolled his eyes. “Don't remind me!” he groaned. But then he
shook his head and looked at Legolas again. Very seriously, he
said: “Anyway, that's over. I do not love them, Legolas! I love
you!”

Legolas felt his face crumble. 

He felt as if he would drown in his conflicting feelings: joy and
elation at Estel's confession warring with shock and disbelief and
with the pain at the necessary rejection he must give and at the
hurt he was about to cause. He felt himself torn in different
directions. With effort, he tried to compose himself. He needed to
be strong.

They could not do this.

“Estel,” he said unhappily and regretfully, “we can't!”

Estel stared back at him without comprehension.

“Why not?” he asked. “I thought...”

Legolas took a deep breath. He scrambled for a reason that would
not hurt Estel's feelings.

“I belong to your brothers,” he began, “I'm their slave, remember?
I'm not supposed to share myself with anybody else. They could have
me killed for this.”

It was the wrong thing to say. It was perfectly true, of course,
but they both knew that it was not the real reason. For one thing,
Elrohir and Elladan would not react this way, at least not where
their brother was concerned. And secondly, Legolas had taken
greater risks before in all the hare-brained schemes Estel had
talked him into. As a rule, he could not deny Estel anything, and
the young man knew that very well.

Estel looked at him incredulously. He scowled. 

“You mean to say,” he said, “that you would deny me even a simple
kiss just because of *that*?” 

There was still mostly disbelief in his eyes, but it was changing
fast into an expression of hurt and betrayal.  

*“Oh, please!”* he said, “They probably *expect* that we have done
that much. They hardly will believe all we did in all that time
when we have been together these last months was holding hands!”

Legolas did not know what to say at his accusing tone. Estel's
voice held venom. He knew he had hurt the young man very deeply,
and was at a loss what he could say to lessen the blow. 

Helplessly, he replied: “You are too young...”

The expression in the Young One's eyes changed. Anger flared up,
and something dark Legolas could not identify. 

“Oh, yes, I see!” Estel spat. “Now we come to the real reason, do
we not? I am just too young! Not to be taken seriously! Just a
young, lovesick bastard making a fool out of himself with his bad
poetry and his confessions!” There were tears brimming in his eyes,
but the young man did not let them flow. He was burning with anger.
“Wasn't that what you thought when you listened to all my verses?”

Legolas took a sharp breath. “I never said-”

But Estel did not listen anymore. Hurt and betrayal dominated in
his face. Angrily, he spat:

“I  thought you loved me! But I am not fit for your attentions, am
I? I am too young for you, and I'm just human!”

Shocked to his core, Legolas stammered: “Estel--”

The young man was too fast for him. Angrily, he jumped up.

“You're such a hypocrite!” he spat with venom. “If I were to ask my
brothers for a share of you and they commanded  you to lie with me,
you would do it without complaint. Because that is your duty, is it
not, obedient little pleasure-slave that you are! But if I come to
you myself, I am not even worth a simple kiss!”  

He trembled in betrayal and in rage. 

“How could I ever think I loved you!?”

Legolas felt frozen.

“Estel,” he whispered helplessly, fighting for his voice, not
believing what he had just heard, “please...”

But Estel had had enough. 

“Don't bother,” he spat venomously, “I will not bore you with my
confessions anymore! Instead I'll simply ask my brothers for a
share of you and be content!” 

And with that, he drew his knife and cut the rope between them, and
then he ran along the branch to the trunk just as they had
practiced  before and climbed down. In moments, he disappeared
between the trees and Legolas could not see him anymore. 

Legolas remained where he was, frozen in horror and in pain. He
felt as if his whole world had suddenly come down around him.

_____________________  o __________________


Legolas didn't know how he made it back to the house that day, and
he had little memory of the next few days either. His whole world
consisted only of pain, and nothing seemed to matter anymore. He
could recall that he ran into a concerned Glorfindel, who asked him
if he and Estel had had a fight, since Estel had taken his horse
and left Rivendell for a ride, looking like a storm front about to
unleash. But he could not recall what he answered, just that it
wasn't much. 

He was asked the same question later by his masters, who also
threatened him with harsh punishment if he would not tell them what
precisely had occurred, but he refused to tell them anything beside
the fact that he and Estel had had an disagreement, and bore their
punishment without any complaint. He felt as if he was about to
die, and if he could have died of a broken heart, he would have
done so. Unfortunately, this was not an option.

To Elrohir's and Elladan's bewilderment, they didn't get more
information from Estel after the young man came back from the trip
he had taken with his horse the other day. Estel refused to tell
them anything. He  did not make good on his threat to ask them for
a share of Legolas; but he refused to meet Legolas or to speak with
him, either. He avoided him completely.

The twins could not get either of them to explain what had
happened, but they were hardly blind or stupid. It did not take
them not long to guess the reason for the fight. And they reacted
in their own, unique way. 

They took Estel with them to an Orc-hunt. And to Legolas' complete
bewilderment, this time they commanded him to accompany them, too.
They even provided him with a weapon, although it wasn't a bow and
arrows, but just a large hunting knife.

They told Legolas that he had proved himself loyal during all that
time he had spent alone with Estel – especially that one time three
years ago when he had saved Estel from an angry she-bear who felt
he threatened her child -  and that it was time they took him along
on their Quests by now. They would expect him to do his best to
protect Estel on this trip as well. They also reminded Legolas that
if he failed in this duty in any way, and if Estel got hurt, not
only he but also the other hostages would pay for it.

When Legolas hesitantly confessed that he doubted Estel would be
fond of having him near right now, Elladan shrugged and asked him
what difference he thought that made? Legolas stared at him, met
his amused and knowing eyes, and had to admit it made none.

For in truth, he later admitted to himself, he would die and allow
himself to be torn apart before he allowed anything to happen to
Estel, anyway.


_________________ o ____________________


The first few days of the trip proved awkward. It was early Echuir
(3), the time of stirring after winter, and though in Rivendell,
the protected valley, there was no such thing as a hard winter,
outside it was still rather cold. On the other hand, there was no
snow, but the melting frost made the ground muddy and the brooks
and rivers strong and fast. Under the circumstances, travelling was
an uncomfortable thing to do even on horses. 

Even more awkward though was the uncomfortable silence  between
Legolas and Estel.   

Estel had made a face when he learned that Legolas would accompany
them on this trip. Yet his brothers had been unmoved. They had
simply told him that they thought it was time they put their slave
to further uses according to his abilities, and unlike Estel he had
already gathered experience in fighting Orcs in the past, after
all. Besides, in all the time of his close association with Estel,
Legolas had proven himself loyal enough; it was time to reward that
loyalty with trust. Did Estel have any objections?

The young man was silent after that, and he kept silent during the
following days. He did his best to avoid Legolas, but he did not
treat him with scorn or derision, either. He just chose a place as
far away from the slave as he could, and even that pained Legolas
enough. He bowed his head and wished that he could turn invisible,
or better, disappear. Unfortunately, he couldn't, so he kept his
head down, concentrated on his horse and tried as best as he could
to bear the fact that Estel ignored him. Sometimes, when he could
not bear it any longer, he stole a look in the young man's
direction. Most of the times he did that, he found Estel quickly
looking away and blushing deeply.

A few times, Estel approached the slave hesitantly after the
company made camp, or he appeared suddenly in his way when Legolas
was performing one task or another, like gathering wood or fetching
water. But always on these occasions, Estel simply stood there,
searching for his voice, then turned and fled. He never said a
word. And afterwards he would avoid the slave again and try to
ignore that he was there.

Legolas did not know what he should think of this. If he only had
known how, he would probably have tried to approach Estel and
apologize, but he didn't know what he should say or what precisely
he should ask forgiveness for, and he had no idea how to do it
without the scene becoming the center of attention of all the camp.
And of course, his masters, Estel's brothers, would then learn of
everything that had happened between them. And what if Estel would
not accept his apology and still reject him? Or demand that he
should serve his pleasure, but then still throw him away? He knew
he could not bear this. So he kept  silent.  

After a few days of this awkward dance, however, he found that
Estel returned to his side. The young human still didn't speak to
him, but he also did not avoid him anymore -  at least not
physically. Estel chose to ride close to him and even wordlessly
handed him his water skin once or twice, when Legolas was thirsty
but did not dare to ask his masters for a drink. But Estel knew him
well and obviously noticed his thirst even without any word or
gesture.

Legolas was grateful, yet he wished his beloved friend would speak
to him again, too.


It took two weeks of travelling until they finally met the enemy. 

Legolas felt the familiar shadow growing in his mind for hours. At
first, he did not pay much attention to the feeling; with
everything that had happened to him since he had last been free he
had nearly  lost the ability to understand the warning, for he had
learned the hard way that its absence did not necessarily meant the
absence of danger.  There were other creatures in this world that
were nearly as bad as Orcs, although they did not look like them
and spoke Elvish. But finally, when the company reached the
entrance of a valley between steep hills, he could feel it, as
clearly and precisely as he had always done at home in Mirkwood:
the trees were screaming out to him and the very earth groaned
under the presence of the Orcs defiling it. And if he was not
completely wrong, there were Wargs as well. 

He looked around sharply, trying to find out where, precisely, the
enemy was hiding, and pondered if he should give a warning to the
company; but he didn't know how to say what he knew without giving
away too much of his people's abilities, and he did not care to
earn a laugh from the arrogant Noldor warriors around him. Still he
could not help  placing his hand on the handle of his weapon and
nudging his horse closer to Estel's.

His actions had not gone unnoticed. Suddenly, he heard Estel's soft
voice beside him, whispering: “What's wrong?” 
It was the first time that Estel spoke to him at all in three long
weeks. Completely surprised he turned around and met his human
companion's worried gaze. There was no sneer and no anger in those
eyes, just concern. After a moment, Estel added: “You are sensing
something, are you not?”

It was too much. After all the hurt and pain, all Legolas could do
in this moment was a simple nod. But then he could no longer stand
Estel's gaze and quickly turned away. 

But he did not need to say more, because in the next moment, Estel
closed the short distance between himself and Elladan and whispered
to him: “Legolas sensed something. He can feel the presence of the
enemy; he told me of this ability of his. And he can sense the
warnings of the trees.”

Legolas whirled around to him and stared at him with disbelief. It
was true, he had told Estel about that when he tried to teach him
to understand the trees. Yet it was the first time that Estel had
disclosed anything to his brothers that Legolas  had confided to
him of his home;  or at least it was the first time since Estel had
been old enough to understand why Legolas would want  to keep these
things secret. Although, in this special case, Legolas had to
admit, Estel probably was right; after all, the safety of their
whole company might depend on an early warning before a possible
attack.

But he could not ponder for long  if under the circumstances
Estel's small betrayal was acceptable or not, because Elladan
turned around to him and raised a brow. “Is that true?” he asked.
“Do you feel them close?”

Legolas merely nodded. 

Elladan exchanged a look with his twin, then he turned back to
their slave and asked: “And where, do you think, they are hiding?”

Legolas blushed, yet he refused to be cowed. He looked searchingly
around. Then he had it. There was a copse of dark, forbidding trees
at one side of the valley. He could hear the trees screaming out to
him across  the distance.

“They hide there,” he said with sureness, looking into the
direction of the copse. “There may be more of them at the end of
the valley and over there between those cliffs, but the trees on
that hill groan under their foul presence!”

Some Noldor guards around him started to laugh. But Elladan just
raised a brow and looked back at his twin. Elrohir wore a similar
expression. The second twin simply shrugged and drew his sword a
bit out of its sheath. There was a gleam of blue.

Elrohir cocked his head and placed a calculating, yet approving
gaze on the Mirkwood slave. “Not bad, little Pet,” he said.
“Apparently there are  a lot of things you may yet show us. You are
nearly as useful for a warning against Orcs as an enchanted blade.”

The Noldor guards stopped their laughter, startled at their
leader's approving reaction to the slave. Elladan nodded
thoughtfully. “And the places you mentioned are precisely where I
would have said they waited,” he added. “Well done,  indeed!” 

He narrowed his eyes. “You stay close to Estel. You are responsible
for him. Whatever happens, if he is killed or just injured, your
people pay for it. You understand?”

Legolas simply nodded, while beside him Estel protested angrily
that he was old enough to fight without a baby sitter taking care
of him. 

Elladan turned his head around to him and snarled: “Be silent! This
is your first contact with the enemy, so you will do precisely as I
say! You stay back here and only fight if  you are attacked first.
Is that clear?!”

Startled by his tone, Estel nodded. Meanwhile, Elrohir was already
giving commands to the warriors of the company   when to attack,
and in which order. It was obvious  that both twins had centuries
of experience at this.

In the next moment, the battle started. The Elves sent a small
vanguard into the valley to draw the Orcs out, and as soon as the
attack came, the battle was joined by their main force. Staying
back as he had been commanded, Estel suddenly drew his hunting
knife and handed it to Legolas. 

Legolas stared uncomprehending  back at him. 

“Take it,” Estel said, “You need it more than I. I know you are
ambidextrous, and I am better with the sword.”

Legolas accepted the knife gratefully. But he had not even time to
thank Estel, because suddenly  they heard loud clamor to their side
and turned around, and frozen in horror Legolas saw a company of
warg-riders racing down at them.  

He had no bow, and there were just a few Noldor guards remaining
with them, placed there by the twins to ensure the safety of their
little brother. The Noldor shot as many wargs as they could, but
only too soon the attackers were too close for the bow, and they
drew their swords. Legolas caught  a glimpse at the white, but
determined face of Estel, then the wargs were there. Keeping
himself between the attackers and his charge, Legolas made his
horse rise and attack one of the wargs with its hooves while he
himself lunged for the riding Orc. Both he and his horse made their
kill. But then Legolas heard a cry behind him and saw a movement,
and when he whirled around he just saw Estel going down under an
attacking Warg which snapped at him although the young man had
already impaled it with his sword. There was no Orc. Apparently,
the rider of the beast had been killed already.


Unfortunately, Estel did not yet know where best to hit. His sword
had only grazed the shoulder and had not hit the creature fatally.
And these beasts were hard to kill even in the best of cases. 

Legolas did not hesitate. He jumped the beast and buried his knife
in its neck before it could do the human any harm. Then he helped
Estel up, asking breathlessly: “Are you hurt?” 

The young man simply shook his head. In the next moment, they were
fighting back to back and Legolas lost all sense of time.

The battle seemed to last for hours, although it probably took only
minutes.  At one point, Legolas suddenly felt his back uncovered
and turned. He saw Estel attacked by three Orcs at once, fighting
for his life, too proud to cry for help. Even as he watched, the
young man killed one Orc, but when Estel danced back to avoid the
sword lunge of another, he stumbled and fell over one of the dead
enemies at their feet. Falling, he managed to defeat the lunge of
the third Orc, but doing this, his sword was caught and he lost it.
Wide eyed, the young man stared at the second Orc, now standing
over him triumphantly and raising his sword for the death stroke. 

There was a cry, and suddenly the Orc above him sported a long
knife in its throat. In the next instant,  a whirlwind of a furious
blonde Elf stood above the young human warrior, moving in a dance
of deadly grace against all comers. Legolas killed one Orc, and in
the same graceful turn slit he throat of another while his other
knife buried itself deeply in the mouth of an attacking Warg,
piercing the brain. The blonde Elf ducked out of the way of an ugly
black arrow. Coming up again, he killed another Orc, then whirled
around and threw the knife into the back of a third who struggled
with one of the other Elves. He turned around  to look for other
attackers, but there were none. As suddenly as it had started, the
battle was over. They had won.

There were hoof beats. Suddenly, Elladan appeared beside them
again. He raised his sword. “What has happened to  Estel?” he
growled threateningly, his face  wearing a furious expression.

“I'm fine!” Estel's voice reached his ears, “I'm uninjured!”
Hurriedly, Estel scrambled out from under Legolas and stood up.
“I'm not hurt! I'm all right!”

Elladan let his sword sink. Estel looked at Legolas, wide-eyed and
a little shocked at Elladan's display, but still very excited. 

“You saved my life again,” he said breathlessly. “They way you
fight, you move... you are incredible!” 

He trailed off, becoming aware that they had an audience. Still,
his face shone with excitement, as if nothing had ever changed,
nothing had happened, as if the last three weeks had never been.

Legolas just looked at him, eyes full of hurt. 

“I had to,” he simply said. “I am responsible for you, remember?”

He saw Estel's face crumble and his eyes widen with hurt, and he
couldn't stand it. He turned around, looking for the knife he had
thrown after that last Orc. Turning to get it, he noticed Elrohir,
standing close by, watching them with a raised brow and a
speculative expression in his eyes.


______________________ o ___________________


This evening, Elrohir and Elladan both shared their bedding with
their slave. They did not play long games, just took their pleasure
and fed the spell. Afterwards, they send him off to sleep on his
own. The other warriors, especially the guards, looked politely
away when their lords took what was their right, yet they were not
above giving the slave leering glances and catcalls when he went to
his own bedding later. 

Yet Estel was another matter. Briefly, Legolas met his gaze when he
settled down at the place he had chosen to rest, and there was hurt
and longing in the young man's eyes. 

Legolas quickly looked away and buried himself under his blanket.

During the following days, Estel avoided meeting Legolas' gaze
again. He looked away and blushed whenever Legolas looked in his
direction. Then, one evening, Elrohir and Elladan chose to make
camp early. They chose a well protected place on a hillside with a
small meadow surrounded by trees. They called their slave to them
and told him to prepare a place on one side of the meadow, between
a few bushes, spread out a blanket, place  some torches around it
and start a fire. Then they told him to undress and kneel himself
on the blanket, awaiting their pleasure.

Legolas obeyed. He shivered. It was cold, but even more he feared
what new cruel game his masters had thought up for him. His fears
mounted when Elrohir and Elladan called Estel.

The young man approached, and Legolas could see his face, white
with apprehension. Elrohir stepped up and stood beside the kneeling
slave, petting his head. Legolas shivered under his touch. He
wished that he could die this very moment.

“Do you remember what date it is today?” Elrohir asked his human
brother.

Estel mutely shook his head. Elladan, standing beside the blanket,
smiled.

“It s the first of March! Don't tell me you forgot your own
birthday? You are eighteen years old, now!” he said teasingly. 

Estel stared at him, clearly startled. Obviously, he had been so
preoccupied these last few days that he really forgot the date
completely. The grin of his brother widened.

“And even more, you have just fought your first battle recently and
proven yourself as a worthy warrior. You are a man now, even if
your true majority is yet to come.”

Elrohir's cool voice added: “Therefore we think that it is time we
gave you a special gift. We have seen how longingly you look at our
slave. We decided to let you have a taste of him. You are certainly
old enough for it!”

Legolas' head shot up, and he stared at the young human, frozen in
terror. Estel looked startled.  He met Legolas' gaze and shook his
head nearly imperceptibly. “No,” he mouthed, “I didn't... never...
No!”

Elrohir's voice hit them. “You do not want to taste him?” he asked
coolly. “From the looks you sent him and us the other day, we
thought you did.”

Estel took a step closer, as if he was drawn against his will, as
if he was pulled on strings. He stopped again, hesitating.

“Come now,” Elladan said from his side with a note of impatience,
“do you want to be a man or not?It would be impolite to decline the
invitation!”

Elrohir added: “The way you always look at him like a man dying of
thirst at his only well, it's pretty obvious you want him! Have a
taste!”

Legolas bit his lips, then blushed and bowed his head again. Big
tears formed in his eyes, wetting his cheeks, and he shivered
harder.

He could hear Estel coming closer, step by step, as if he was
pulled against his will. Then the young man knelt beside him,
carefully reaching out, touching his skin. Legolas could hear
Estel's hard breathing, could hear him fighting for his voice.

Estel's hand was cold, his touch was hesitant.

“Legolas,” he whispered rawly, then he lost his voice. Slowly, his
hands wandered up, touched Legolas' face and turned it up. Legolas
briefly saw Estel's white face, frozen in horror, with terror in
his eyes, and knew he had not planned this. It was just a cruel
joke of Estel's brothers. 

Then Legolas could not longer stand it and closed his eyes. He felt
hesitant lips touching his own, and opened his mouth as was his
duty. The lips on his own  opened as well, and there was warmth and
softness, but there was none of the tingling and arousal he had
felt during their first, hesitant kiss in that tree in Rivendell. 

He was frozen in horror.

Estel's lips touched him, left him, then he heard a sob, and
suddenly the young man jumped up and fled, with a half-sobbed: “I
can't!” thrown over his shoulder. Legolas eyes flew open and he saw
his retreating figure, running to the trees.

Elrohir and Elladan laughed, and all the surrounding Noldor guards
joined in.

Legolas bowed his head to hide his face, feeling as if he had been
hit in the stomach. He was relieved when Elrohir let go of him and
coolly commanded him to dress  again.

He obeyed, and when he got permission to leave, he followed Estel's
example and fled.

Several hours later, sitting in the tree where he had sought and
found shelter for the night, he was finally approached by Estel.

“Legolas,” the young man said, touching his arm, “I swear to you, I
did not ask them for this! I never approached them, I never asked
them for a share of you! I swear I didn't!!!” His voice was barely
distinguishable from a  sob. “It wasn't my idea! I didn't want
this!”

Legolas finally looked up and met eyes full of pain. 

“I swear to you, I didn't ask them! Please, you must believe me!”
Estel begged.

Legolas searched his eyes and found he told the truth. Still he
could not help the hurt welling up in him. Bitterly he asked: “Even
so, why did you flee? Wasn't that what you wanted?”

Estel shook his head in horror. “Never!” he exclaimed, “Not like
this! I never wanted you like this! Unwilling, forced – I never...”

He swallowed hard, tears brimming in his eyes. “Don't you see? *I
love you!* All I ever wanted was for you to love me back! I want to
have you willingly! Not like this...” He shivered. 
 
Hesitantly, Legolas' hands came up and touched him, too. 

“But you said...”

Estel shook his head. “I was hurt and dense and stupid, and I could
only hear that you rejected me. Just like... Oh, Valar! How dense
I've been! I- I apologize. I didn't mean it! Never!!!”

He swallowed hard, then begged intently: “Please believe me!” 

Legolas looked at him and slowly he allowed his hurt and anger to
melt away. Carefully, he drew the young man close and enfolded him
in his arms. “You truly love me?” 

He could feel Estel nod. 

“I do,” the young man said, “I swear I do. I want you, Legolas. But
not like this. I want you only if you want me, too!”

Legolas could feel him shiver in his arms and allowed his own hands
to roam and pet his back. Suddenly, he was flooded with warmth. The
tingle was back.

Estel loved him! 

Estel truly loved him!  

And he had declined to have him by force or on command. He could
have taken simply what he wanted, but he loved Legolas  too much
for that. Instead, he even risked the mockery and scorn of the
other warriors and of his brothers. 

“I love you, too,” Legolas said, and it was the truth, a truth he
could feel in his heart and soul and in his entire body. “I want
you, too. I never meant to mock you! I just--”

Estel kissed him again. 

The soft lips on his own filled him with warmth. The tingling took
hold of his whole body, filled his stomach, reached his groin.

His eyes flew open. “Estel!--”

Estel withdrew a bit. “Shhh!” he said, “It's all right! I am not
too young anymore! You heard my brothers! I am a warrior now!”

Legolas shuddered. “Your brothers...” he began, but Estel shook his
head. 

“They practically invited me. Even if they didn't say it
explicitly, they gave their permission. And I fought my first
battle the other day. I am a man now!”

He traced his partner's face. Legolas could see his eyes, warm and
pleading. “Please! Will you allow me to kiss you again?”

Desire rose in him, and it was new and unexpected, full of warmth
and the wish to give instead of the hateful, tainted *need* or the
unwilling arousal he was used to, when his masters took their
pleasure and he felt himself betrayed by his own body. This was
different. His heart sang, and warmth filled him. 

He could not bring himself to resist any more. He nodded.

The next kiss felt like finally, wonderfully coming home at last.

They made love for the first time under that tree, in the privacy
of some bushes, on Legolas' blanket, covered by Estel's cloak, and
it was pure joy, a giving and taking equally pleasurable for them
both. In many ways, it was the first time for them both: to Estel,
because he never had lain with someone before, and for Legolas,
because always before for him  the sharing of his body had been an
act of rape and violation. Even with Glorfindel, who was careful
and gentle enough, always the fact remained that their sharing was
done not out of love, but just to feed the spell, an act of
painful, brutal necessity. 

But *this* was love, and it was pure, unblemished joy-

The first time was a little awkward for Estel, because he was shy
and not sure what he was supposed to do, although he had seen
couplings before and he had for some time during his adolescence
pestered Legolas (and his brothers) with a lot of curious
questions. 

But Legolas was patient and guided him. For  once his forced
experience proved to be an asset. When they slept close to each
other afterwards, it was the first peaceful sleep for both of them
in weeks.

From that day on, they made love or just shared tenderness whenever
they could steal away to do it, and later, after the Orc-hunt, back
in Rivendell, whenever they could spent unobserved time together.
The twins looked the other way and never said a word. They still
demanded that Legolas served them,  but they left him a lot of time
to spend with Estel, too. And they thenceforth regularly took both
Estel and Legolas with them on their Orc-hunts, and even provided
Legolas with a bow, after they made him swear he would never use it
against them or other Elves, but just against the creatures of the
Shadow or to hunt game. Their warriors respected their leaders'
example and never said a word to anybody, either. 

The only shadow on their love was a warning from Glorfindel.  A few
days after the whole company was back in Rivendell, the Noldor Lord
took Estel and Legolas aside to talk to them in privacy. 

“I'm happy for you both,” he said, “but I have to warn you to be
discreet. Elladan and Elrohir might tolerate what you do – never
think they do not know about it! - but Lord Elrond would be another
matter. He hates you, Greenleaf! He will not tolerate that you have
'ensnared' Estel like this, as he would see it. It will be better
if you two avoid bringing your love  to his attention.  And there
are others here who may be jealous and envy your joy. So be
careful!”

Legolas and Estel both looked at him, wide-eyed. When under
observation, they were as discreet as they could; they never
touched each other in public and tried to hide the change in their
relationship as best as they could. 
“How do you know--?” Legolas finally asked.

Glorfindel saw their stunned looks and laughed. “What do you think,
Greenleaf?” he asked. “One long week you look as if your world just
ended, and Estel looks the same, and he doesn't speak to you. Then
you both take a hunting trip against the Orcs together, and when
you return you are inseparable again and both of you look radiant!
Whenever you look at each other, you resemble Beren and Luthien, or
maybe Idril and Tuor. How indeed could anyone get  the idea you
were in love?”

He laughed heartily at their blush, then he grew serious again.
“You need to be more careful! Heed my warning! Legolas has powerful
enemies here!”

A bit dampened in their joy, they promised it and thenceforth
checked their behavior in public more carefully. Legolas did his
best to play the humble slave and obedient, silent shadow of Estel,
when there were hostile eyes to see, and Estel got practice in
acting the master. But even that could hardly diminish their joy.
Legolas  would have been content to remain like this with Estel for
all his life. 

For a year and a half, Legolas was completely happy. 

Then Glorfindel's warning came back to haunt them. / //


__________________ o ____________________


Legolas woke with a start. Pale and trembling, he rose to sit and
huddled himself together, grasping his knees. He sent a quick look
to his side, to the Man of Gondor, but Boromir was sleeping
peacefully and had not woken at his sudden movement. Legolas
swallowed a sigh of relief. The Man of Gondor was much less alert
than Aragorn! 
Carefully and silently he pulled the blanket around him and
burrowed his face in his knees.

He shook as he remembered his dream.

*Why!? Why now? This used to be one of his favorite memories, one
of those he tried to recall and linger on when he sought Elven
dreams. But right now, it only reminded him of everything he had
lost.*

Silently, he raised his head and looked longingly over to the other
side of the camp, to the sleeping form of his master. *If Estel
would mind if he tried to snuggle up to him tonight?*

Then he discarded the thought. He still reeked of sex, and of the
touch of Boromir. And although Aragorn  himself had commanded his
slave to lie with Boromir, it would hardly improve his mood if he
had to taste another man's scent  on Legolas'  body! How could
Legolas approach Estel like this?  And even if Aragorn would not
mind – it would surely offend Boromir! The Gondorian's reaction
earlier this night had been proof of that.

Miserably and longing for his master, Legolas rose and went to find
a place where he could wash himself as best as he could with only
the contents of his water skin.


_________________ o ________________


-- End of Chapter VI b--


-- To be continued in CHAPTER VI c - PART IV - “Respite”


Notes:

 (1) Lothluin – Sindarin:  Blue Flower (OC Name)

 (2) Ennor – Sindarin: Arda, Middle Earth. Moriel- Sindarin: Dark
Daughter (OC Name)

 (3) Echuir – Sindarin: 'Stirring', one of the six Elven seasons of
the year, the period between Rhiw (winter) and Ethuil (spring). The
other three seasons are: Laer (summer), Iavas (early autumn) and
Firith (fading), also called Narbeleth (Leaf-Fall, late autumn).
Echuir is the time between the 1th of February and the 26th of
March in our modern calendar. So, the company started the trip in
the first week of February.