Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter IV – The Quest Begins 
   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*. Rape in later chapters (flashback, only). *Very* graphic descriptions, both physical and mental; abuse 
both physical and sexual.  

   SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: *Rape* (In Flashback only)

   Disclaimer: 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.  The setting ogf 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!

   Guide: Later in the story I will give flashback scenes. Here is a guide:
// /flashback/ //; *******time change within 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 tak-
ing 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 IV 	THE QUEST BEGINS


PART I – On the Road

Legolas adjusted his pack for what must have been the fifth time. It was no use. However he shifted the heavy 
weight, it still hurt where ever it applied pressure to his sore back and sides; as did the straps that he used to carry 
it. So did the heavy water skin. He could not readjust his quiver, though, and it chafed on his sore and swollen 
back with every new step. Soon after their start he had sunk in a sort of dizzy, half aware haze, concentrating just 
on every single step after the other. It was only three hours since they had left Rivendell and he felt exhausted 
already. The walk was taxing his strength more than he had anticipated, even after the exertions he went through 
last night. 

His stomach was empty, but by now he supposed he would be unable to eat and keep down anything even if he 
had been offered, because of the persistent feeling of nausea that rested there. He did not know that he was deadly 
pale, frequently stumbling and that his eyes held a slightly unfocused gaze. His whole face was bathed in sweat, 
and his lips had withdrawn into a thin, grim and determined line.

Suddenly, there was a derisive and scornful voice beside him.

“If a little walk tries you this much already, Master Elf, then maybe you should have stayed home!”

Startled, he looked around, and it took him a moment to realize that it had been the Dwarf that had spoken and 
that he needed to look *down* instead beside him. This lack of awareness earned him another derisive snort. 

“I thought you Elves are supposed to have such sharp senses?” the Dwarf drawled. “Obviously not! But you are 
lucky, Elf, we haven't gone that far! You can still turn tail and run home!”

He sneered. “I suppose this Quest is too much for a weak Elven princeling!”

For a moment, Legolas felt himself vexed enough to search his brain for an equally sneering answer, but then he 
just gave in to his exhaustion and trudged on without giving attention to the disdainful words and voice. He just 
didn't have the strength to spare to give the taunting back; he needed all his vigor and his nerves just to stay up-
right. His subdued demeanor earned him another derisive sneer. Obviously, the Nogoth saw his failure to retaliate 
as a proof of weakness. But at the moment he could not care less.

'*Let him walk after a night of torture with a heavy pack and quiver on his back; then we can talk*,' he thought, 
yet even this thought seemed to tax his mind too much and he simply concentrated on trudging on.

Quick footsteps closed up to him and looking around again he saw the familiar form of his master. “Legolas,” 
Aragorn said and laid his hand lightly on his arm, “a word!”

He looked dismayed and concerned when his slave could not help flinching involuntarily at his touch even though 
he *had* been careful not to touch him anywhere where Legolas was bruised or wounded.

“Slow down for a moment, Little Leaf,” he continued in Silvain, “stand and let us talk.”

Sighing, but obedient, Legolas  stayed his steps. He swayed a little when he did, and Aragorn paled and steadied 
him with a hand on his shoulder. He studied him with growing concern.

“How fares your back?” he asked, still in Silvain.

Legolas gave him an incredulous look. *What did he think? He himself had placed the bruises and welts there 
that now made his slave's back feel as if it was on fire*! Still, he had asked and expected an answer, so Legolas 
replied obediently, also using Silvain: “It hurts, master. Your punishment was quite thorough.” 

He was a bit astonished to see Aragorn wince and make a face. That had been the intention of it all, had it not?

Aragorn sighed. “I know that it must hurt you, Little Leaf,” he said. “Give me your pack, and your water skin. I 
will carry them for you.” 

Legolas looked at him without comprehension. “But...”

Aragorn looked exasperated. “*Do as I say*! Right now you need all the strength you can spare to heal, and heal 
as fast as you can. You cannot afford to carry more than you must. I will carry your pack for you during the next 
two days, and also I will take your watches. Do not argue!”

Baffled, Legolas just regarded him a moment, then he finally brought his mind up to speed. Quickly and with a 
short flicker of his eyes to the watching Nogoth he protested: “But the Dwarf...”

His master uttered an exasperated Silvain curse that actually made Legolas flinch once more.

“*I do not care about the Dwarf!*” Aragorn spat. “Right now I could not care less what he thinks of you, or of 
me, or what anybody else will think! You need your strength for other things right now, and you *will* obey me! 
He may later see you in a fight or taking up your chores like everybody else, when you are well again!”

Still exasperated, but more gentle, he added: “*Please*, Little Leaf! Will you stop arguing now and just obey? 
Before this whole conversation reaches the ears of Gandalf? He speaks Silvain, too, you know!”

Still a bit baffled, Legolas gave him an obedient nod and shrugged out of his pack and water skin. While he 
handed both to Aragorn he dared to say hesitantly: “But... you said... it was to be part of my punishment...”

To his surprise Aragorn flinched again. Then his master took his pack and water skin and adjusted them on his 
own back. 

“I know what I said, Little Leaf,” Aragorn finally answered. “And I am not relieving you of your quiver, am I? 
still, there is *punishment*, and there is *prudence*. And prudence demands that you should not overtax your 
strength when you have none to spare.”


Legolas had the distinct impression that Aragorn wanted to say something completely different, something more 
personal, but he could for the life of him not guess what it may be; and Estel seemed reluctant to speak clearly. 
Maybe he did not want to speak too openly while others might be listening. Gandalf came to mind, for one, and 
they were still close to Rivendell.

Besides he felt truly relieved and grateful. “Thank you, master,” he offered. Then a thought came to his mind. “Is 
this about Glorfindel?” he asked, “Did he ask you to do this for me?”

Somewhere within himself, he felt his heart sink. It had been a warming and comforting thought that Estel might 
actually care that much, that he might have decided to rethink his judgment, but of course it had been too much to 
hope. Why should his master go back on his own decisions?

Aragorn closed his eyes. His face showed pain.

“Yes, he *did* ask me to go easy on you, Little Leaf,” he admitted sadly, “but he would not have needed to. I had 
planned to do this already even before he asked. I just had to wait until we were far enough away from Imladris, 
so Elrond would have no excuse to change his mind!”

He opened his eyes again and looked back at his slave. “He told me what happened this morning. I'm sorry, Little 
Leaf.”

He held Legolas' gaze for a few moments, saw the slight dizziness and incomprehension there and bowed his 
head. *Obviously, the damage was done. It would take him some time to regain his slave's trust again*!

With a sigh he fumbled in his own pack and produced the slim bundle that Elladan had earlier slipped to him. He 
unwrapped it and revealed a few fresh leaves each wrapped around a thin, triangular form, and a small flask. He 
unwrapped one of the triangles and handed his slave the wafer. “Here! I know that you had hardly time to eat, and 
you will sorely need it. And this,” he uncorked the flask and handed it to Legolas, “will give you back your 
strength. Go easy on it, do not drink too much; we shall need it again later and I think it should not be drunk in 
great amounts on an empty stomach!”

Legolas took the slim wafer in wonder. *Lembas*! How had his master obtained *Lembas*?! He did not know 
Elrond had given them such supplies. Maybe the Lady Arwen...? 

Gratefully, he took the slight wafer and took a bite, then munched happily away at it. This would be easy on the 
stomach and would stay down even though his still persistent feeling of nausea. Then he took the offered flask 
and found himself treated with a sip of *Miruvor*!

Gratefully and greatly relieved he took another sip, then handed the little flask back. Aragorn sniffed at it, then 
took a sip himself and closed it.  He smiled. “Save me a bite of the Lembas, too,” he said. “Just in case my broth-
ers tried something funny.” He saw with dismay Legolas' sudden hesitation to eat and laid a placating hand on his 
back.

“Do not worry! They will have known that I would eat it, too. I asked them to provide us with some Lembas and 
Miruvor yesterday evening.” A little bitterly he added: “I knew you would need nourishment today.”

Legolas looked at him, and for the first time since they spoke a tiny spark of hope and trust dawned again within 
his eyes. *So it was indeed Estel who had thought of this. He had not ceased to care*.

Aragorn saw it with relief. He gave the shoulder under his hand a careful squeeze. “Trust me, Little Leaf,” he  
pleaded. “We are away from Rivendell. It will get better now.”

Very hesitantly, Legolas offered: “Thank you, master.”

They were ripped from their intimacy by a gruff and quite exasperated voice.

“Well, so much for courtesy among the Fellowship!” the Dwarf drawled. “Speak something we all can under-
stand! And I did not know that we were stopping for rest already. Is that Elvish Weakling too feeble to wait until 
we call for an halt? He must be indeed if he can not even carry his own pack. How could it come about that such a 
Weakling would join such a Quest? Was there no other, stronger Elf to have?”


Aragorn whipped around to face the Dwarf; Legolas glared at the stunted creature. The Nogoth stood there, eyes 
glittering maliciously and face laid into a sneer, and watched them with derision. It was clear he was exasperated, 
and as clear that he was aiming for quarrel.

Aragorn regarded the dwarf with a long, very cool look. 

“Not that this would be any of your business, Master Dwarf,” he drawled in Common, “but this is not about 
weakness.”

Legolas said nothing. He was trying very hard to appear strong, alert and well. 

The Dwarf snorted derisively. “Oh?” he snarled, “Why then do you take his pack?! That dainty Elven princeling 
is so exhausted from this little walk already that he is swaying on his feet! Just look at him!” he added accusingly 
and with obvious disgust.

Legolas glared down at him, too angry now to care about his own physical state. Aragorn laid a warning hand on 
his arm without even looking. Unfortunately he touched a spot that was sore from last night's whipping, and Le-
golas could not suppress a flinch.

Aragorn pretended he had not noticed. He shrugged. “Legolas had a trying night,” he said casually. “Still my  
carrying his pack is not about weakness.  Not his,” he gave the Elf beside him a short nod, “or mine.” He 
shrugged his shoulders again. “If you *have* to know,  it is about a bet. I lost, and now I have to carry it for him!”

Legolas' eyes flickered a bit at this astounding lie, but he recovered fast and admirably. “And it is about time you 
remembered that!” he chimed in. ”It is your own fault, Estel! Why did you have to bet on the patience of the 
*Dwarves* of all people? I *told* you that they would disrupt the council...”

Aragorn gave him an incredulous look and rolled his eyes. *Trust Legolas to find a way to provoke the Dwarf 
even further*! Yet he answered with faked outrage:

“It was hardly them alone who did it! As I recall, there was a *certain Elf*...”

Legolas stared back at him, apparently hurt. “Don't you try to wriggle out of this!” he cried, equally outraged, 
“Did you propose this bet or did you not?!”

Aragorn gave him a disgusted look. “I did,” he growled. “And I lost. But having to carry your pack and water for 
three days, and taking over all your chores and watches is a bit high a price for this. It is hardly fair!”

Legolas eyes were wide. *Three days?! That was even more than Estel had offered at first*! “Yet it was *you* 
who set the price,” he nevertheless insisted. ”And had *you* won it would have been *my* place to do your 
chores.”

Aragorn could not shake the feeling that his slave enjoyed this game of skilfully chosen innuendo far too much. 
Still, he did not break their game. 

“*Oh, drop it*,” he answered seemingly disgusted. ”Just don't think I will take up a bet with you again anytime 
soon. *And* you can be sure I will get back at you!”

With dismay, he saw Legolas involuntarily wince at this threat, and shrugged. “Just not these next three days,” he 
growled.

Again their exchange was disrupted by the Dwarf who had taken this long to recover from his stunned anger.

“You *dare* to bet about me and my people?” he growled furiously.

Both the Elf and the Ranger gave him an astonished look. Apparently they had briefly forgotten he was there. 
*Again*.

It was the Elf who recovered first. 

“Why, yes, we did, Master Dwarf,” he said lightly and with a bit of haughtiness, “we are in the habit to bet about 
a lot of things. Why should you and your people be excepted?!”

Inwardly, Legolas seethed. He was still exhausted, but this new insult and presumption of the Nogoth was too 
much! The Stunted One was *not* his master, and he would *not* show any deference to him unless Aragorn 
explicitly commanded him to do so!

Aragorn heard him reply and groaned inwardly. Apparently the Miruvor and the Lembas had done a good job of 
restoring Legolas' strength, if the Elf felt up to baiting the Dwarf already. And he could hardly interfere and stop  
him now, because this encounter would set some kind of ground rules between the two. If he now called his slave 
to heel and forbade him to retaliate against the Nogoth, he would ensure Legolas was at the mercy of the Dwarf – 
and any other member of the Fellowship - for the rest of their entire journey. He had no intention of doing that.

And had he not himself established that they would not let them know Legolas was a slave?

So he decided to give his Elf free rein and play along. And maybe he could find another way to remind Legolas  
not to go too far...

“Besides,  Master Dwarf” he added casually, “it is not you alone among the Fellowship who has figured as the 
object of a bet already. I seem to recall a certain bet about the state of Gandalf's beard...”

Legolas seemed alarmed and paled a bit. “Not *that* again, Estel,” he pleaded. “You *promised*! You promised 
that you would not bring that up again within Gandalf's hearing!”

Aragorn raised a brow. The bet in question had involved an accident with Gandalf's fireworks, some startled rang-
ers and a *very* grumpy wizard. Whose mood did *not* improve as he heard Legolas and Halbarad had actually 
dared to bet how much of his beard had survived the accident (only half of it, to be exact), and had been quite 
inventive in his retaliation. To this day, it was one of Aragorn's fonder memories, including his cousin's and Lego-
las' faces at the colour of their hair next morning, and the satisfied smirk of the wizard.

Luckily, both Legolas' and Halbarad's hair had returned to its usual colour within the month. But the memory  
should serve to subdue his Elf and calm his tongue enough for the moment.

The answer of the Dwarf thwarted his plan. Angrily, the Nogoth growled: “I am sure *Tharkun*(1) would not be 
pleased to hear he was the object of your silly bets, and I suggest *you*, Master Elf, desist henceforth from bet-
ting about me or my people! Or  will have to cure you from the habit with my axe!”

Aragorn gave the shoulder of his slave under his hand a quick and warning squeeze and felt Legolas flinch. He 
knew without looking that Legolas had swallowed an angry comeback at the last moment under his warning 
touch.

Carefully and with a small bow, he said: 

“Very well, Master Dwarf. We did not know it was against your custom to bet or be the object of a bet, or that 
you would feel it to be insulting. We meant no offense!”

Taking his clue from his master, Legolas gave the Nogoth a small bow of his own, although he seemed slightly 
disappointed.

“We will be mindful of your *sensibilities* from now on,” the Elf said, “as much as possible.” 

The Dwarf glared at him, and Aragorn suppressed a sigh. “Be careful, Little Leaf,” he warned in Silvain, “and 
mind your tongue! That is quite enough!”

Legolas swallowed and lowered his lashes. He was all too aware of the glittering, malevolent eyes of the Dwarf 
who missed nothing of his reaction as he bowed his head a bit to his master and subsided.

Haughtily, the Dwarf answered him: “You do that! And in repayment of the offense you caused me and my people 
you can carry my pack!”

Legolas took a step back, glaring at the Nogoth. He was shocked and speechless. Then his eyes flickered shortly 
to his master's irritated face and he remembered that the Dwarf could not know of his status and simply tried to 
humiliate him with his demand. Recovering fast, he offered smoothly and politely:

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Master Dwarf, since I do not recall that I have lost any bet to *you*. Or that I and 
Estel would owe you any other debt I could remember.” 

He cast a quick look at his master, uncertain about Aragorn's reaction. Maybe he would be punished again for 
this, but he would be damned if he allowed that Dwarf to order him around without a direct command of his mas-
ter to submit to him!

To his relief, Aragorn seemed similarly outraged at Gimli's demand. His master gave the Dwarf a measuring look 
and added without missing a beat: 

“Still, if you are already tired or your burden, Master Dwarf, I am sure we can add it to the packs that are carried 
by the pony for awhile...”

Legolas said nothing and kept his face carefully blank. And his master felt that *his* words to the Dwarf were 
provoking?!

“Tired?!” the Dwarf cried outraged. “I'll have you know, Master Ranger, that Dwarves can carry more than their 
own weight for days at need, without complaint or any feeling of exhaustion! Not like *that* one!” he said deri-
sively, nodding at the Elf.

Glowering inwardly, but carefully hiding it, Aragorn answered mildly: ”Yet it was *you*, not him, who asked to 
be relieved of your pack.”

Glaring back at him, the Dwarf hesitated just for another moment. Then he just growled something unintelligible 
and trudged on without another word.

Aragorn watched him go, then he turned back to his slave and raised his brows.

“'*Dwarven patience*'?!” he asked in Silvain. ”Did you *have* to offend him further?!”

Legolas looked down. 

“He called me weak,” he said a bit defiantly. “Besides, claiming a bet was your idea. And you said that we should 
act as if we were just friends and I was free.”

Bleak despair threatened to close around him. Would Aragorn decide to take that back now?!

Aragorn regarded him for a moment, then he gave the Elven shoulder under his hand another reassuring squeeze. 
He sighed and nodded.

“And I stand by that,” he said. “You may defend yourself and retaliate if he insults you. Just do not go too far. On 
this journey we all need to stand together, and we cannot do that if the two of you are at each other's throats.”

Legolas looked up and met his gaze again, and his eyes held renewed hope and trust. Aragorn saw it with relief. 
He smiled.

“Very well. At least, this gives me an excuse to relieve you from your chores for a few days, until you are recov-
ered. See to it that you recover fast and as much as you can. Regain your strength. We shall need it!”

Legolas could not help flinching at his master's words and at the small squeeze of his hurting flesh. He simply 
nodded and bowed his head obediently; and so he missed the brief flash of dismay at his reaction in his master's 
eyes.

When he looked up again, Aragorn gave him a reassuring smile, then he let go of him and moved on. Legolas fol-
lowed him. They had to hurry a bit to catch up with the others, who had gained quite some distance while they 
stood and talked. 

Neither of them saw the Dwarf who had stopped a little way ahead to watch their exchange, and who had not 
missed the flinch of pain the Elf showed whenever the Ranger touched his back. So the stupid, haughty Elf was 
injured, was he? And *still* he had been arrogant enough to start on such a journey in his wounded state? 

No matter. Gimli son of Gloin did not know a lot about Elves, and he certainly was not interested in the reasons 
why this particular Elf should do such a thing, but he definitely planned to exploit it!(2)


_____________ o____________


While he walked, Legolas continued to nibble absentmindedly at the wafer of Lembas his master had given him. 
The small respite had done much to restore a little of his strength and the Miruvor and nourishment did even 
more. But most of all he was heartened and reassured by Aragorn's concern and by his master's willingness to 
spare his strength and to defend him.  It  was good to know Estel still cared, that his absence in Elrond's study 
this morning had been just an oversight, a stupid accident, nothing more. That Aragorn's reassurances of this 
morning were more than just words. That even with the darkness and cruelty his master had shown to him last 
night, this was still *Estel* as he knew and trusted him, not some merciless and ruthless inner core of Aragorn 
revealed at last by the necessity of accepting his destiny, and who could not be bothered any more to keep his 
word to a mere slave, or even care about him. 

Still, it did not change his hurting back, the chafing of his quiver, and the pain every step caused him, and soon 
Legolas gave up on his musings and let himself slip back into a comfortable numbness, simply concentrating on 
each step as it came. The walk had led them through some open plain for a while, but now they were back within 
a copse of close standing trees, and Legolas allowed his mind to drift, aware of his surroundings just enough to 
make sure he was not stumbling over roots or running into trees.

It was then that he was suddenly ripped out of his stupor by a hard, painful lash to his already hurting back and 
jumped forward with a startled yell. He whirled around, knives out, and found himself face to face with the Dwarf 
who was watching him with malevolently, glittering eyes.

“Oh, sorry!” Gimli said, not in the least bothering to hide his satisfaction, “I did not see that twig! Clumsy of 
me!”

Legolas looked briefly at the twig that had snapped back and hit him, injuring his back, then he regarded the 
Dwarf with a baleful look. Since Gimli stood behind him, and the twig had snapped back at him from that direc-
tion, there was not a trace of doubt that the attack had been deliberate. Still, he recalled Aragorn's warning words, 
and he could hardly kill or injure the Dwarf for a hurt back.

So he simply swallowed his anger and pain and sheathed his knives again. 

“Very well, Master Dwarf,” he haughtily replied, “I suggest you watch your way more closely then from now on, 
and pay more attention to your steps to avoid being mistaken for an Orc, or for clumsy game. But I can under-
stand that for a Dwarf who is used to live in caves a long travel above ground and through the forests might be 
overly confusing. Still, you stem from the Lonely Mountain, do you not? I hear a lot of Dwarves there  are known 
to have some traveling experience. Was there no *more experienced* Dwarf to have for such a Quest, if the first 
day within a forest troubles you already?”

The Dwarf growled at the insult and lunged for his axe, but before he could bring it out or Legolas could draw his 
knives again and drop into a fighting stance, two of the Hobbits and Boromir caught up with them.

They saw the grim and angry faces of their two companions and looked startled. “Is something the matter, Master 
Elf?” one of the Hobbits asked- Merry, if Legolas' memory served him – and the other Hobbit frowned at the 
glowering Dwarf and asked a bit hesitantly: “Gimli?”

Somewhat ashamed that he had nearly let himself provoke into an useless fight so soon after the start of the 
Quest, Legolas swallowed and straightened.

“It is nothing, Master Hobbit,” he replied politely, ”just a small accident with a twig.” And with that, he gave the 
Hobbits, the man of Gondor and the Dwarf a small bow and turned around, leaving quickly. He hurried to catch 
up with Gandalf, who was in the lead of the Fellowship, and took care to avoid Gimli's company for a while.

______________ o ______________


Gimli growled and muttered darkly to himself while he trudged on. The attack with the twig on the haughty Elf 
had been quite satisfying, and he was content with the results. Yes, the Elf was indeed injured. That was the rea-
son, then, why he was so pale and grew exhausted so soon. Gimli was sure he could find ways to exploit this 
weakness;  the stupid Elf would learn the folly of insulting one of Durin's line soon enough. Gimli had had quite 
enough of that specific family of Elves insulting and pushing his own line around, and he had a slight to avenge. 
Thranduil's son would learn the errors of his and his father's ways and regret ever crossing Gimli son of Gloin or 
his family.

Yes, the attack with the twig had been quite satisfying, and the startled reaction of the Elven princeling had 
warmed his heart. But what the Elf had said... 

Gimli knew it had been meant merely as a comeback at his own jeering words, and the witless Elf had probably 
thought nothing more of it. He probably had forgotten the insults as soon as they left his mouth.

But they *stung*.

By necessity rather than by choice, Gimli's branch of Durin's line was indeed more experienced at traveling above 
ground than most other Dwarves could claim.  Ever since Smaug the Dragon had expelled the Dwarves, among 
them Gimli's ancestors,  from the Lonely Mountain, over 240 years ago, they had been exiled, forced to wander 
and to find their succor by settling as guests of other Dwarven colonies or selling their services as they could; 
even to humans if there were no other employers to have. Only after Thorin Oakenshield took the Lonely Moun-
tain back from Smaug again some eighty years ago with the help of a Hobbit could they settle down in their own 
home again. Gimli himself was a Dwarf of many journeys, not by choice, but by cruel need. The haughty remark 
of the Elf had hit a truer blow than the flimsy creature could know.

With grim determination Gimli swore to himself the Elf would pay for that.


________________ o ___________


Legolas trudged on. He kept his mind carefully blank, just concentrating on each new step. He was so caught in 
his single minded occupation, that he was startled and jumped a little as suddenly a warm hand settled itself on 
his shoulder again. He looked up and found Aragorn beside him, staying his steps and calling him to rest. Aston-
ished, he looked around and found that the others of the Fellowship discarded their packs already in the small 
clearing they had reached and the Hobbits in particular were busy gathering firewood and starting a fire. 

“We take a short rest here,” Aragorn explained gently. “The Hobbits feel it is time for a meal. Try to recover your 
strength!”

Legolas said nothing. He just nodded back at him and picked a spot to settle down. There he sank to his knees 
and took deep breaths, trying to fight the pain in his back and his exhaustion. He did not dare to sit or put weight 
on his thighs, because he knew it would hurt excruciatingly after the severe beating he had received last night.

Aragorn squatted down beside him and handed him his water skin. Legolas took it gratefully and drank deeply. 
Then his master took the water back and handed him the flask with Miruvor again. 

“Drink,” he prompted gently, “you shall need it. Would you like another piece of Lembas?”

Gratefully, Legolas took a sip, then he handed the little flask back and shook his head.”Thank you... Estel,” he 
answered politely, “but no! I am afraid I could not keep it down right now.”

Aragorn looked at him, troubled and dismayed. Legolas took another couple of deep breaths and asked: “Could I 
have my pack back, please?”

Puzzled, Aragorn handed it to him. Carefully, the Elf placed the pack on the ground, then leaned himself on it 
with one side to put as little weight as possible to his hurting back and  rear. Aragorn lowered his head briefly. 

Finally, he settled himself beside his Elf and relieved himself of his pack and the two water skins. He began to 
rummage through their packs. Then he looked up, bemused, and asked in Silvain: 

“Where is the bundle with the toys, Little Leaf? I cannot find it in your pack!”

Legolas' eyers flew open and he stared at his master with disbelief. Surely Aragorn could not mean to bring out 
those toys and use them *here*?!

Aragorn saw his expression and flinched. Then he growled slightly exasperated: “I do not want to *use* them 
now, I just want to know where you put them! *Really*, Legolas...”

He sincerely hoped his slave had not forgotten or refused to pack the toys. He did not care to punish Legolas 
again so soon after the last time, but he could hardly afford to ignore such a blatant disobedience of his orders, 
either. 

His slave flinched at his tone. ”They are in my quiver, master,” he said carefully in the same language. “I 
thought...“

Aragorn looked back at him, startled. He was relieved that, after all,  Legolas had packed the items he had com-
manded. Still... He paled a bit. “In your quiver? But the weight...”

Legolas shrugged, then made a face as the small movement aggravated his already hurting back. “I did not care to 
pack them in a place where they could fall into the hands of a curious Hobbit,” he explained. 

Aragorn jumped a little at the thought, then he shook his head. “Very well” he said. “Give them to me, Little 
Leaf.”

He saw the renewed fear and panic in his slave's eyes and had to force himself to fight down his exasperation. 
*For what did his slave take him? He should know him better after all*...

Then he thought of what he had put his Elf through last night, and what he'd done this morning, and swallowed. 
“I just want to carry them myself,” he explained. “You can not afford to aggravate your back with any more 
weight than is absolutely necessary for the next few days. I cannot relieve you from your weapons, Little Leaf, but 
I can certainly make sure they are not made heavier by an unnecessary burden!”

Legolas looked at him in startled disbelief.

“But... I thought--” he said.

Aragorn closed his eyes. His face showed pain.

“You thought *wrong*,” he said quietly. “I did not wish to punish you further, and it wasn't deliberate. I have 
simply been an idiot. As Glorfindel took great care to remind me in no uncertain words and great detail this morn-
ing.”

Legolas kept his face carefully blank as he looked back at him. Aragorn was relieved to see a bit more alertness 
and interest back in his eyes. “My Lord Glorfindel called you that?” he asked.

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

“That and several other things, most of them even less flattering,” he said. “I am sorry, Little Leaf. I should have 
been there, or made sure Glorfindel was there to guard you. I did not *think*.”

He sighed. “Please, forgive me!”

Legolas looked at him, dumbfounded.

“I... am alive, Estel,” he said carefully. “Glorfindel came in time. And... it is not *my* place to forgive... *you*, 
My Lord! Nor are *you* bound to apologize to *me*. You know that!”

Aragorn looked back at him, sad and troubled.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Still I am sorry, Little Leaf.” Then he looked away and shook his head. He sighed.

“Now give me the bundle with the toys. Stop stalling!”

Startled, but obedient, Legolas began to fumble with the straps of his harness. He made a face as even the small 
movement of the quiver as the first strap was loosened sent bolts of renewed pain through his back. In the next 
instant, Aragorn was close, kneeling half behind him, taking the weight off his quiver and taking it carefully from 
his back as the straps came loose. Then he gently and carefully removed it and settled himself beside his slave 
again. He handed Legolas the quiver so he could unpack it.

Obediently, Legolas began to unpack the arrows and the bundle with his archer gear – spare strings, oil, feathers, 
glue and thread, whetstone and everything else needed to repair the bow and arrows or produce new fletchings – 
until he could fish out the small, but heavy bundle with the toys and hand it to his master. Aragorn nodded his 
thanks and shrugged out of his own quiver, beginning to unpack it in turn. Obviously, Legolas' idea of how to 
keep the bundle safe made sense to him.

Legolas watched him for a moment, then he carefully began to repack his own quiver. He was still a bit dizzy, and 
his back still hurt, not to mention his thighs and rear, but the Miruvor had restored a little of his strength again 
and both the familiar occupation and the reassuring and familiar sight of his master efficiently handling his own 
things did a lot to calm him. Still his mind was not at its usual speed. He supposed the walk had taken a greater 
toll on him that he had thought.

Aragorn looked up. “How is your back?” he asked. 

Startled out of his thoughts Legolas replied carefully but honestly: “It hurts, Estel. But I can manage.” 

Aragorn looked down again and bit his lips. “I will apply more of the salve to you in the evening,” he promised. 
“And you won't have to take a watch tonight. It should be better in the morning.”

He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say more, but then he only shook his head and slipped his quiver back 
over his shoulders. 

They both started a bit when one of the Hobbits approached them. It was the one who had first demanded to ac-
company Frodo at the council and who kept mainly company with the pony, caring for all their gear. Sam, Lego-
las' brain provided after a moment.

“Excuse me, Master Strider, Master Elf,” the Perian said, “but the meal is ready. Would you like some sau-
sages?” 

Aragorn accepted the offered plate with a courteous nod and a smile, but Legolas shook his head. “Thank you, 
Master Perian, but I am not hungry,” he excused himself politely in flawless Common. “I will gladly give up my 
portion for another member of the Fellowship this time.”

Aragorn cast him a sharp look, and saw that his Elf was a bit green about the gills.

Sam looked dismayed. “There is no need to call me 'master', Master Elf,” he said nonetheless, blushing a bit, “my 
name is Sam, at your service. Would you like to have something else? Perhaps an apple?”

Legolas looked back at him, astonished, and Aragorn smiled. “You will not get out of this that easily, 
*mellon(3)*,” he said in Common, “refusing a meal is unthinkable for a Hobbit! It would be better if you just 
accepted, or he may think you are ill.”

Legolas cast him a startled look. *Was that an order*? He saw Aragorn's concerned gaze and lowered his head. “I 
am not ill, Master Samwise,” he offered, recalling the full name of the Hobbit as he heard it at the Council, “and I 
will gladly accept an apple, thank you!”

The Hobbit seemed a bit mollified. “What does '*Perian*' mean?” he suddenly asked curiously. 

Legolas looked back at him, a bit puzzled. “Excuse my oversight, Master Samwise. I forgot to  keep to the Com-
mon tongue. Perian is an Elvish word for Hobbit,” he explained.  “It means Halfling in our tongue.”

He hesitated a bit, unsure if the Hobbit would feel the meaning of the word to be offensive, but Sam only smiled, 
obviously delighted. “Thank you, Master Elf! I will fetch you your apple in a moment,” he promised. 

He turned to go. Aragorn stopped him and shook his head. “There is no need for that, Sam,” he offered. “Legolas 
can have his apple from me; I keep a small store of my own. I think you should offer this plate to somebody else 
before it grows cold, instead.”

Samwise looked a bit dismayed, but just nodded and took off. Legolas was a bit ashamed that he had forgotten to 
offer his name to the Hobbit himself. 

He looked up and met his master's gaze. “He is right, you know,” Aragorn said. “You should eat something more. 
I will give you that apple, and for now you'll have another piece of Lembas. Do not argue!” he warned, “You don't 
need to eat it all at once. But you need more nourishment right now, and you cannot afford to skip your meals. 
Just indulge me and obey!”

Reluctantly, but obediently, Legolas took the offered apple and the other Lembas. He unwrapped the wafer and 
took a bite, rewrapping the rest and packing it into the pouch he kept at his belt. Then he used his hunting knife 
to slice the apple into several parts and stored most of them away for later likewise. Afterwards he obediently 
began to munch.

Aragorn watched him for a moment, then he occupied himself with his own plate. Silently, he cursed himself 
again. Legolas seemed far too exhausted for his liking. But he knew he could not show  more of his concern 
without alerting Gandalf and the others. The wizard had cast them troubled glances already. And they had still a 
long way to travel today. He would need to wait for the evening before he could see to Legolas' injuries again. 
Right now he could do nothing more for his slave but leave him alone. 

Finished with his plate, Aragorn looked up again and saw that Legolas was finished with his quiver. Quietly, he 
offered: “Let me help you put that on again.”

Legolas looked up at him, a bit startled. He had hoped he could stall putting the thing back on and give his back 
relief a few more moments; but if his master ordered it differently, he had to obey. Then he looked around and 
saw that the rest of the Fellowship had finished with their meals and were about to make ready for departure, too.

He bit his lips and had to suppress a hiss when he shrugged back into his harness and Aragorn helped him to get 
the quiver back in place again; his back sent bolts of protest through his body, and the pain was hard to bear. Yet 
he managed. Aragorn laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and helped him ride it out for a moment, whispering 
quiet endearments and encouragements in Silvain. Then the quiver was back in place, and the Elf gave his master 
a grateful nod. 

Aragorn knelt before him and held him for a moment. “Be brave, Little Leaf,” he offered. ”It will be yet a few 
hours of travel until nightfall, but I am sure you can manage. Then you may rest. It will be better tomorrow. Be 
brave for me.”

He could not kiss his Elf openly in front of the others, so he just settled for squeezing his shoulders carefully, 
then he got up and helped his slave up, too. 

Legolas stood and bowed his head nearly imperceptibly to his master. Sam gathered the plates and stored them. 
Boromir killed the fire. The Fellowship moved on.


________________ 0 _____________


PART II  - Trials and Nightmares

The Fellowship walked on for what seemed an endless time. Legolas had long given up paying attention to his 
back or even his surroundings. He was careful to stay aware just enough so he would not stumble or walk into 
something and stay close enough to the others, and he took care to keep the pain and exhaustion off his face. 
Otherwise, he was completely numb, caught in his own little world of suffering. He had trouble even staying 
awake. Images intruded in his waking mind, and he had trouble convincing himself that they were memories: of 
himself in his bonds, the pain when the whip hit his back again, his tormentor's cruel voice, ordering him to 
count, to  beg for his punishment, for every new kind of cruel torture... He shook his head again, trying to shove 
the images away, but they kept coming. 

He remembered Elrond again, poised to strike, and his own desperate rage, the helpless feeling of betrayal, 
screaming inwardly for Estel, for his master to come and rescue him as he had promised. He heard Estel's voice 
again, just this morning: '*He will not touch you*!' -- but Estel had not been there. *He had not been there*.

Other images crept up, from a time far further back. *Cruel hands grabbing him, forcing him to his knees. His 
own people, held back by drawn weapons, swords at his father's throat, the assembled warriors trembling with 
suppressed rage. Elrond smiling maliciously, looking down at him,  coming closer*...

He swallowed and fought to keep the images away.


Legolas started as he was stopped again and found Aragorn back at his side. “Today's travel is over,” his master 
said. “We will rest here.”  

Too numb to react, Legolas for a moment just stared back at him. Then he managed to rise a bit from his stupor 
and nodded. He looked around. They had arrived at a little plateau, protected by a few bushes. There were no 
trees, but with his hurting rear he would not be able to sleep within one tonight anyway. 

Aragorn regarded him with some concern, then directed him gently to a place a little off to the side and in the 
cover of the bushes. He shrugged out of their packs, unrolled his blanket, placed one of the packs on it and in-
vited: “Settle down, *mellon*. Rest a bit. I will see to everything.”

Wordlessly, too exhausted to object, Legolas obeyed. 

It took some time until Aragorn was back and by then Legolas had already managed to fumble out of his harness 
and place his bow and quiver beside him. The bow was still unstrung; he did not feel up to the task of stringing it 
just yet. While the Fellowship settled all around them, Aragorn squatted down beside his Elf.

“I've taken the second watch tonight,” he offered, “and will take care of firewood tomorrow. For now, I am free to 
see to you. Now, Little Leaf, get out of that tunic. Let me tend your back,” he ordered in Silvain, rummaging 
through his pack and bringing out his medicines. 

Legolas nodded and obeyed. It took some effort to get out of his garb, and again he soon found his master at his 
side, carefully helping him. Getting the tunic off was bad enough, but getting out of the shirt proved to be ex-
tremely painful, and he had to swallow hard as the cloth came loose. Aragorn uttered a hiss and a quiet curse as 
he helped his Elf to get the shirt over his head. He cursed again as he saw the bloodstains on the cloth.

He had been careful not to tear the skin last night, but obviously the constant chafing of the quiver on his slave's 
sore skin had done its own part to aggravate the welts, and there was one particularly angry welt that seemed quite 
deep and was seeping blood as he watched. Tersely he ordered: “Lie down. On your stomach!”

The Elf obeyed, yet dared to utter a faint protest: “But, My Lord, the others--”

Aragorn sighed and rolled his eyes. “Gimli is off to gather firewood. So is Boromir. The Hobbits are busy with 
preparing food and seeing to their gear. So I suggest you hurry up before they all are back and assemble around 
us!” he said dryly. “Now let me see to this!”

He bit his lips again while he found a clean cloth and wetted it with water, then began carefully to cleanse the 
wounds and welts on the Elf's back. “You have been very brave today, Little Leaf,” he murmured, while he 
worked. “I'm very proud of you!”

Suddenly, a shadow fell over them and Aragorn looked up, caught and startled. It was Gandalf. His old eyes re-
garded the Elf's  bruised back with horror and concern, and he gave a low hiss. “I asked myself already what was 
up with you today, young Thranduilion,” he said, “You seemed in pain, but unwilling to let anybody close to 
you.” 

He turned to Aragorn. “What happened to him?” he asked angrily.

Aragorn considered his options. He knew he could not risk a fight with Mithrandir, especially not right now. So 
he settled for part of the truth. Grimly, he offered: “Elrond...”

Gandalf hissed again. “*He promised*!” he growled. “He promised me he would postpone Mirkwood's punish-
ment and lift his ban, and let Legolas partake in the Quest instead! Never had I thought him so corrupted already 
that he would break his word!”

Aragorn said nothing. He could feel Legolas shudder under his hand, and pressed warningly down on the body of 
his slave. Continuing to clean the welts and wounds on the sore back he finally offered: “Well, he *did* post-
pone the punishment, and he allowed Legolas to partake in the Quest. But he insisted on having him punished for 
gainsaying him during the trial.”

It was the truth, in a way; he just left out that he himself had been the one to mete out the cruel punishment. 
Mithrandir did not catch on to the deception.

He sighed deeply. “This is grave news and an ill deed indeed,” he said. “The Fellowship can ill afford it! Yet now 
I understand why you insisted on keeping Legolas free of all chores. What did you tell the others?” 

“I claimed a bet,” Aragorn said. “We do not wish to let them know the truth. Please, Mithrandir, I must see to 
Legolas' injuries, and I have to do it undisturbed. Can you help us? It will just be a few days; usually, he heals 
fast.”

The wizard nodded. “I will keep them off your back, if I can,” he said, “but Legolas, you need to be careful. The 
Hobbits are concerned about you already, and Gimli is muttering about you being relieved of your chores. Try to 
get well again, soon!”

He knelt and placed a warm hand on the back of the Elf, giving him strength, and Legolas sighed with relief.

“Thank you, Mithrandir,” he said, “I will do what I can.”

“You do that,” the old Istar said, and Legolas could hear the smile in his voice. Then the wizard got up again. 
“See to his needs, Aragorn,” he advised. “And hurry! Gimli and Boromir will be back soon!”

Aragorn occupied himself with applying the healing salve, first to his slave's back, then, in the cover of his cloak, 
to his rear and thighs, and finally his insides. The cool salve soothed the inflamed flesh and did a lot to calm the 
pain. So did Estel's caring and his gentle touches. Still, Aragorn worked quickly, and to Legolas' relief he was 
finished when the Dwarf and the Adan  came back. 

Legolas managed to keep a calm face during the evening, and even to partake in the meal, though he did not feel 
hungry. But he nibbled a bit at the porridge the Hobbit provided them with, and then gave the bigger portion over 
to another Hobbit when he thought his master wouldn't  notice. Yet he was caught; when he turned back he found 
his master's eyes on him. At Aragorn's frown, he took out the remaining slices of the apple and munched them, 
and Aragorn nodded approvingly. Legolas sighed in relief. He noticed the Dwarf throwing him angry and baleful 
looks, but he was too exhausted to react to it. He was relieved as the Fellowship finally settled down.

________________ o ______________


// / *Legolas stood trembling but determined before the hostile Lord who had threatened his home, his family 
and his father. He knew what was to come would hurt immensely, and be sheer torture, and he was giving him-
self up to slavery; but it was the only way. The hostile Elves were too many, and too well armed, and their Lord 
had made it clear that they would kill all of Mirkwood down to the last child if his will was refused.

And their own warriors could not hold out against Rivendell and its ally Lothlorien, and against the Shadow 
all at once.

So he had *begged* his father to be allowed this sacrifice. And bereft of any alternative save certain death not 
only to himself and his last free son, but to all his people, Thranduil had finally accepted.

He felt the guards closing in on him. Cruel hands grabbed him, forced him to his knees. His own people, too few 
to fight the greater host of Rivendell due to the arranged trap, stood apart, held back by drawn weapons and 
strung bows. The assembled Mirkwood warriors, bereft of their weapons already, were trembling with sup-
pressed rage. His father was there, held by six Noldor guards, swords at his throat, frozen in mute horror. He 
tried to cast him a reassuring look, but could not meet his gaze. The hostile Lord of Rivendell, Elrond, smiled 
maliciously at him and came slowly closer... Fear claimed him, sweeping away his grim determination not to 
give his tormentors satisfaction by showing them his pain. He was barely aware that he had started to struggle 
and it took all the strength of the four guards to hold him down, but he felt the bruises forming on his skin, and 
the pain as they started to beat him.

Then Elrond stood close before him and touched his hand to his forehead. A cold, fiery sensation burned itself 
into his brain, and cold, blue light was searing through his soul. Elrond began to chant, a cruel, cold sing-song 
of strange words he recognized vaguely as Quenya, and to his uttermost horror he found that he could not move 
anymore, was frozen in immobility. The searing light within his mind came closer, closer, and he tried to shy 
back, to recede, yet he couldn't. He was caught like a moth in the flame. The chanting continued, seemed to en-
close him, filled his mind, his soul... Then he could feel again as his clothes were sliced and ripped from his 
body. Anew he tried to struggle, but he could not move. His legs were forced apart, and with utter horror he felt 
that he was breached, that *something* touched him, entered him, where he had never been touched and en-
tered by anyone before.  

He screamed then, but the piercing thing impaling him did not recede, pressing further, and he thought that he 
would surely die from the pain, or from the burning shame... that the *thing* within him would go on and on 
and  burst through his stomach... Still he could not move. He tried to flee his body then, to give it up and flee to 
Mandos, where his Mother had gone a long time ago, but he couldn't. He willed himself to fade, to lose con-
sciousness, but he was caught by the blue light, and hauled back into his body. Suddenly he was all aware 
again, could feel the thing impaling him recede, then be replaced by fingers that were stretching, tormenting, 
rubbing something fiery and burning into his vulnerable flesh; and finally the fingers were replaced by a hard 
column of hot flesh, and with utter despair he realized that he could not even flee into death anymore....

In utter horror and utter despair, Legolas screamed*./ //



-- He felt himself shaken by strong, but gentle hands, heard gently soothing words and suddenly he felt that he 
could move again. Tossing and turning, he struggled for a moment against the one who held him, desperate to get 
away, then finally reality set in  and he realized that the voice addressing him with soothing words, the hands that 
held him fast, belonged to his master. “*Shhh*, Little Leaf,” Aragorn soothed, “*Shhh*, all is well, you are safe... 
you are here... I am with you... calm down, Little Leaf, you will wake the others...”

Aragorn held Legolas fast, trying to calm him before the whole Fellowship was alarmed. He was all too aware that 
it was probably too late to avoid that anyway, and they were lucky if any of the others had not yet been roused by 
Legolas' scream. But there was hardly any help for that.  To his relief, finally, Legolas ceased to struggle and 
calmed down. 


He continued to soothe him in quiet, calming Sindarin, until he could hear Boromir's voice behind him. “What is 
it? What happened?!”

The Gondorian had the first watch; but he had expected any danger to attack the Fellowship from *outside* the 
camp, not from within.

Aragorn did not turn around. He concentrated on holding his Elf. He just shook his head. “It is nothing, 
Boromir,” he said, “just a bad dream.”

Boromir let out a shuddering breath. “Must have been *some* dream,” he said, “for him to scream like that. I 
thought we were attacked by one of the Nazgûl!”

Aragorn snorted. “Those cries are nastier,” he offered, and Boromir squatted down beside them. 

“I heard you have encountered them, too,” the Gondorian offered. “I suppose, your Elf also had a run in with 
them?” 

Aragorn could feel Legolas in his arms slowly calming. “I *have* encountered them before, Master Boromir,” the 
melodic voice of the Elf answered. “Luckily, though, this dream was not about *them*.” 

He tried to disentangle himself from his master, but Aragorn refused to let him go. Legolas gave in and submitted 
to being held. 

“I am sorry, Estel, Master Boromir,” he offered. “It was a dream about the past. I will guard from now on against 
this kind of dream. It will not happen again.”

Behind them, another and more hostile voice snorted. “You better see to that, princeling,” the Dwarf said scorn-
fully, “if you can't take up any chores and need your human to protect you, you should at the very least see to it 
that you don't alert the enemy to our presence because you cannot even stand the dark!”

Aragorn let go of Legolas and turned around, but before he could say anything, Gandalf interfered.

“Hope that *you* never have cause to rouse your companions with the horrors of your dreams, Gimli, son of 
Gloin,” he said gravely and harshly. “A fool is he who thinks himself proof against the horrors of the Enemy and 
the threats of his night terrors and darkness. You should respect your fellow warrior's plight, not make fun of 
him!”

Legolas finally managed to shove the last traces of the dream away. He took a deep sigh. 

“Thank you for your kind words, Mithrandir,” he said. “I'm sorry, Master Dwarf. I will try not to trouble you with 
my night terrors anymore, though I would not wish them on you even  to see if you could stand them better. Rest 
assured that I will guard my dreams from now on.”

After another sigh he added to the assembled Fellowship in general: “I am sorry I have woken you.”

Aragorn turned back to him. “Shh, it is all right *mellon*. It can happen to anyone,” he soothed. Legolas just 
closed his eyes and leaned against him. 

“Well, if this is all I suggest we go back to sleep for now,” Gandalf interfered again. ”We have a long day before 
us.” 

Without further protest – save some muttered jibes from the Dwarf – the Fellowship settled back into their bed-
ding. Aragorn settled himself beside his Elf again. “What was it, Little Leaf?” he asked quietly. “What did you 
dream of?” 

Legolas shook his head. He trembled still; he refused to recall the memory. “It was nothing,” he lied. ”Just a 
memory. Would you... would you ...hold me, please, Estel?” Somewhere within him, a nasty, harsh voice re-
minded  him sneeringly that this was the very man who had hurt him yesterday and the hands that held him were 
the very hands that tortured him and caused the pain of his still hurting body, but the greater part of his soul in-
sisted that this was, after all, *still Estel*, and there was nobody else whom he could turn to. And he knew he 
could not stand the aftermath of the dream and the remainder of the night without him. 

His voice was pleading and hesitant, and Aragorn could do nothing else but give in. 

*At least, if his slave asked him to hold him, he had probably not dreamed of last night*! 

Allowing his Elf to snuggle close, he gathered him in his arms and held him tight. For a while, he continued to 
murmur soothingly, then, finally, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He only woke again when Boromir's watch 
was over and he shook the Ranger awake. Legolas turned to his side as Aragorn let go of him and pretended to be 
deep in Elven dreams. 

He did not dare to sleep again that night.

__________________ o ________________


In the morning, Aragorn rose early and roused his Elf as well. As soon as the growing light permitted, he tended 
to his slave's back and to his other injuries again. He made a face at the still angrily swollen welts, and shook his 
head. 

“You are healing much too slowly, Little Leaf,” he chided quietly in Silvain. “Tell me, did you sleep at all last 
night?” 

Legolas shuddered. He shook his head.

“I did not dare again after that dream,” he said. “I am sorry, Estel.”

Aragorn said nothing. He concentrated on applying more of the salve. Finally, he asked carefully:

“What was that dream about, Little Leaf?”

Legolas shuddered again. ”I'd rather not say,” he dared to plead. “Please, Estel...”

Aragorn was silent and Legolas tensed up, fearing a harsh command to speak or another punishment, but finally 
his master only shook his head. 

“It's all right, Little Leaf,” he said regretfully. “I'm not sure I really want to know. But I think that I should take 
you again this evening.”

He felt Legolas' body freeze under his hands, felt his slave's sudden trembling, and he gave the shoulder under his 
fingers a small, gentle squeeze. “I know, Little Leaf,” he said, “it will hurt you even more as sore as you are now. 
But I do not see another way to speed up the healing. We have not the time to let you rest for a few days, as you 
really needed.”

Legolas whole body tensed and he suppressed a sob. Everything within him screamed: '*Valar, please, no!*', yet 
he did not dare to say it. In his current state, being taken again would be sheer torture for his hurting buttocks and 
his inflamed flesh. He tried forcefully to calm himself, but he just couldn't. 

“I am sorry, master,” he finally managed to say, “I am not sure if I can bear it... so soon after... I just--” 

He stopped. With deep, deliberate breaths he  calmed himself. With effort he finally managed to say: “Forgive 
me, master. I will try to adjust to it if it is your wish.” He thought he would choke on the words. Inwardly he 
screamed. '*Please, Estel, no!!! Not yet!!!'* --  but he did not dare to say it.

Trembling in fear he tensed up, waiting for his master's blow, for another painful punishment...

Aragorn's hand never left his shoulder, and it never stopped the gentle pressure that told him to stay down. There 
were no blows and no new, harsh judgment.

Aragorn looked down at him, sad and disturbed. It pained him that his slave – that Legolas – had left so little trust 
in him. Yet he had not given him much reason to feel otherwise these last few days, had he?

For a few moments he was just too dismayed to find an answer. Then he finally bowed down and placed a tender 
kiss on the shivering shoulder of his Elf.

“Very well, Little Leaf,” he gently said. “We will give it another day. But if you haven't healed more by tomorrow, 
I'll need to fill you with my essence again. It'll be the best we can do to help you heal under the circumstances, 
even if it may at first hurt you more. But I hope you will be better tomorrow anyway.”

He continued to apply the healing salve with gentle hands. “Do not fear!” he murmured soothingly. “Today will 
be hard on you again, but now that Gandalf knows your plight, hopefully today's march will be shorter. Try not to 
exhaust yourself too much. We will call a rest again around midday, and with any luck, our way today won't be 
too taxing for you.”

Legolas tried to let himself be soothed by the gentle touches and the familiar murmuring, but it did not seem to 
work as well as he was used to. Somewhere, deep in his mind, something hesitated to trust the soothing words 
and just trembled in fear. '*Why, Estel*?' he inwardly pleaded. '*Why did you have to bring me to a point where I 
cannot even find comfort in your touch anymore*?' -- But he could not say that aloud, and he did not dare to 
show his bleak mood and his desperation. 

At the moment Aragorn's mood seemed concerned and gentle.

He had no idea, though, how long his master's indulgent mood would last.


________________- o ________________


PART III – Dark Visions


It was a hard day again for Legolas. Not only was he still easily exhausted but his sore and swollen back still hurt 
under the chafing quiver, not to mention his thighs and rear and even his still healing passage. He also  found that 
he had trouble staying awake. Normally, as an Elf, he would have been able to forgo sleep for days at a time 
without ill effect, but right now his body was injured and in dire need of healing. And his mind was still troubled 
and overtaxed. 

But while it took him great effort to stay awake and aware enough of his surroundings that he could at least safely 
keep walking, he found it equally impossible to let his mind drift in relaxing Elven dreams. Unwelcome disturb-
ing images invaded his thoughts relentlessly, whether  he was allowing himself to drift, or whether he tried to stay 
awake and banish them. 

Memories were assaulting him, memories not of events long in the past, but just too recent.


*He saw himself in his bonds again, struggling and wriggling, heard the harsh voice of his master, forbidding 
him to speak, to beg, to make any noise... He felt the whip come down on his unprotected back again, leaving 
lines of fire as it burned itself into his flesh. He felt the strain of his bonds, his own weight tugging at his over-
stretched shoulders... and there was Estel, Estel, ordering him to count, to thank him for the pain, to beg him 
for another, harsher torture...

He fought the urge to scream again, to beg for mercy, beg to stop this torture or at least to give him the time he 
needed to adjust; but he had been commanded to silence, and he nearly choked on the suppressed tears, the 
swallowed words. And still the torture went on mercilessly.*


-- Legolas shook his head as if that would help him to block out the images. He tried to force them out, to shove 
them away; he tried to tell himself that this was in the past, that it was *done*;  they were now safely away from 
Rivendell, and Estel would not soon hurt him like that again. 

And it had been about survival, had it not?  Elrond's cruel attempt to find an excuse to kill him yesterday morning 
had been proof of that.

-- But then he heard again his master's promise to protect him, to keep him safe from Elrond; that he would make 
sure Elrond would not touch him; and he saw again Elrond poised to strike, and Estel was not there. And he 
stood there again, frozen in helpless rage, in despair and in fear, waiting for the blow that would seal his fate. 
Facing Elrond alone. Estel had not been there.

*He had not been there*.

If Glorfindel had not rescued him, he would have died there, or soon afterwards, and all the cruelty Aragorn put 
him through the night before would have been for nothing. 

No, not for *nothing*; it would have served at least one purpose: it served Aragorn's pleasure.  Aragorn, who had 
more pressing and more enjoyable things to do while Elrond checked on Legolas, and who could not be bothered 
to keep his promise, only just given to his slave. His slave who had been simple enough and stupid enough to 
believe him.

-- Legolas shook his head again and fought the images away with effort. He shook in desperation. *It was not 
true*!!! It had just been a mistake, a stupid oversight; Estel had not believed Elrond would go that far. Valar, 
even *Glorfindel* had not believed Elrond would go that far and had not thought it necessary to shadow him! 
And Estel regretted his mistake;  he had even *apologized*! Something he certainly was not required to do to-
wards his slave. They were away from Rivendell, hopefully never to return, and Estel would hold to his promise 
from now. He had *sworn* it!


And yet there was a nasty, persistent voice in the back of his mind, insisting:

*'He did betray you once. Broke his promise. How do you know he won't do it again? If something else catches 
his eyes and he finds himself too occupied to bother about his slave... and after all, why should he bother about 
you in the first place? You are just his *slave*! He is not required to answer to you about *anything*!'* 

Trembling and pale, Legolas tried to clear his thoughts again, to expel that foreign voice, and silence the despair 
and doubts that tore him to his core. It took great effort to merely trudge on, as he was tempted to cover his ears 
as if that could block out his inner monologue. He tried to tell himself that Aragorn would never do that. He re-
called better memories; their tender lovemaking only a few days before. The carefree tickling match of the council 
morning. The way Aragorn had trusted him without question, had reassured him, had defended him against Ere-
stor and later against Elrond himself. The way his master had held him afterwards while he was overwhelmed by 
despair at Elrond's judgment and the threat that loomed over his sister. 

He reminded himself that even now, Aragorn carried both their packs for no other reason but to give his slave 
relief.

Still, the bleak thoughts and painful images kept intruding and he could not completely banish them from his 
mind as much as he tried.

He was so completely preoccupied by his inner struggle that he jumped as suddenly somebody was beside him 
and placed a gentle hand upon his arm. He looked up and regarded the familiar form of his master.

“Legolas, what is it?” Aragorn asked concerned and gave his arm a little squeeze.

Legolas could not help himself. He flinched away from his master's touch. The reaction was so visceral, so auto-
matic, that he did not even register what he did before it was too late. 

In the next moment, he realized what he had done and he paled. Yet it was too late. Aragorn let go of him and 
took a step back, hurt and dismay flashing through his eyes. Legolas saw his expression crumble, and it hurt his 
soul.

“I'm sorry, master, I didn't mean...” he stammered in Silvain. Then he caught himself and added in Sindarin: “I am 
sorry, Estel. I was... lost in my thoughts. You just startled me.” He swallowed. ”Please forgive me!”

He remembered in the last moment to swallow the 'master', and his own voice sounded all too fearful and pleading 
in his own ears. 

He could see that Aragorn didn't believe his explanation for a moment. Inwardly, he wanted to scream. '*Estel*!' a 
voice inside him cried, begged his master to *hold him, help him, reassure him, keep away the hurting memories 
and nagging doubts*...

Yet his voice died in his mouth and he felt himself at a loss to explain what was happening to him.

Aragorn regarded him with muted pain. “It is all right, mellon,” he finally offered in Sindarin. “I'm sorry I startled 
you.” 

Very carefully he reached out with his hand again, and this time, Legolas managed to stay calm under his touch 
albeit it took him quite some effort and he could not suppress a slight trembling. Aragorn's hand closed a bit too 
tightly around his arm, and he flinched again. 

He hung his head. “I am sorry, Estel,” he said, “I... seem to have trouble staying awake.” 

This was closer to the truth and had the desired effect, because Aragorn accepted the offered explanation without 
question. He shook his head and swallowed hard.

“The Fellowship will stop soon,” he offered, “in just another hour or so we'll reach the brook that runs here. You 
remember? As soon as we will reach it, we will rest for a while.”

His hand trailed upwards and settled on his slave's shoulder. More quietly he added: ”Think nothing of it, Little 
Leaf. You are not well right now, and you hardly slept last night. No wonder that you tend to fall asleep on your 
feet. Hopefully, you'll find better rest tonight and can restore your strength. Tomorrow, things will look better.”

Legolas looked up and met his gaze again. The cynical voice inside his head snorted derisively. Legolas ignored 
it. He forced the voice away and decided to trust. 

Very hesitantly, he offered: 

“I... keep seeing things, Estel. Memories.” He bit his lips. “I do not know how to guard against them.”

Aragorn's eyes widened for a moment, then his expression hardened, and Legolas shrank a bit into himself again. 
“I--  I didn't mean--”

Aragorn shook his head. “Do not fear, Little Leaf,” he said tiredly. “I am afraid I know all too well of what you 
speak.”

He looked away. “It is the Ring, I think,” he said. “I was afraid this would happen, although I did not expect it so 
soon. I am afraid it tried to prey on me when I was traveling with the Hobbits from Bree.”

He hung his head again. '*And in your case, melethron, I suppose it has a lot of very bad memories right now to 
use against us*' he added in his thoughts. '*I cleverly made sure of that*!' But he did not say that aloud. How 
could he blame his slave for being vulnerable to the fear and hurt he himself had instilled in him?

Yet Legolas looked back at him with renewed hope. “Do you really think so, Estel?” he asked. “I.. was not 
aware...” He took a deep breath, then he breathed out again. “My Lord Glorfindel warned me against this. I will 
try to close my mind to it from now on.”

For some strange reason, he seemed relieved, as if a great burden had suddenly left his soul. Aragorn looked back 
at him, a bit puzzled.

“Try not to let it hurt you, Little Leaf,” he finally said. “You are weakened right now and it will try to prey on 
that. Hopefully, in a few days when you are better, it will be easier for you to close it out.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he just shook his head again, gave his Elf's shoulder another reas-
suring squeeze and trudged on.

Legolas glanced after him. He gathered his thoughts. *The Ring*?! That would make sense. Glorfindel had 
warned him against this. It was a comforting thought.

Still...

He looked down the trail they were following, and for the first time in hours he truly registered his surroundings.  
He looked ahead and for his Elven eyes it was not hard to spy the brook his master had mentioned in the far dis-
tance.

He looked down to his feet again. 

The brook looked impossibly far away. Normally, he would have considered it to be in easy distance, and the 
walk would have been as nothing to his mind. But as it was, right now, with nearly every part of his body hurting 
and heavy with weariness, the distance seemed disturbingly far to him.

With grim determination not to let himself be overwhelmed by his bleak thoughts, he started to walk again, and 
this time, he indeed managed to close his mind to the prying doubts and images.

__________________ o _______________


The promised rest was slow in coming, and as the Fellowship finally reached the brook, Legolas sank down on 
the first lush, green spot he could find, grateful for the respite. Again, he carefully placed himself on his side, 
meticulously avoiding putting weight on his sore rear and thighs. And again he politely declined the offered meal, 
preferring to nibble at the piece of Lembas Aragorn offered. 

He knew he could not keep this up; not only was the small supply of Lembas Aragorn had brought rapidly run-
ning out, even more his rejection of Sam's carefully prepared food was starting to offend the Hobbits. He resolved 
to make it up to them as soon as he was able, and to make a point of eating something of Sam's cooking in the 
evening. But at the moment the mere thought of roasted sausages and potatoes made his stomach churn, and the 
inescapable smell of the grilled flesh did nothing to appease it, either.

Had he been better, he would have taken the chance to wash himself, maybe even to bathe, but as it was, he hardly 
made it to the edge of the water; not to mention that he could ill afford to let the others of the Fellowship see his 
bruises. It was Aragorn who took it upon himself to refill both their water skins and who made sure he had a 
drink. His master also forced him to accept another apple, and as Legolas slowly munched the slices under his 
watchful eyes, he had to admit that they indeed made him feel a little better. 

So he simply contented himself to lie about, too tired even to rise to Gimli's scornful mutterings about *lazy Elves 
who skipped all  chores and left them to their comrades and weak Elven princelings who could not even stand a 
hard day's walk or the dark of night*. He did not even react to the sneering comment of the Dwarf at his refusal 
of the meal that the portion was better suited to feed somebody who made himself useful to the others anyway. 
And he also ignored the whispering of the Hobbits, who sat together and shot shy and curious glances in his di-
rection from time to time.

As strengthening as the rest proved to be, it was over all too soon, and Legolas found himself trudging on much 
sooner that he would have preferred. At least the visions were gone for now, but he had still trouble staying  
awake, and had constantly to fight against his exhaustion. 

So he was not too happy when after a while the man of Gondor approached him to start a conversation.

“You seem weary, Master Elf,” the Adan offered, “and you do not seem too well. Did you sleep at all last night?”

Legolas gave the Gondorian an astonished look. Still, the tone had not been hostile, like the sneers of the Nogoth, 
but merely inquiring.

So he decided to answer politely.

“Not much,” he offered reluctantly. “I owe you an apology, Master Boromir. I did not mean to alarm you need-
lessly while it was your watch. Rest assured that I will guard my dreams from now, so this will not happen again.”

The man of Gondor looked a bit abashed. “No apology is needed,” he hurried to say. “It must have been a fear-
some dream to make you scream like that! You said it was about a memory. I suppose it must have been very 
bad.”

Legolas just looked at him. He raised a brow. “It was,” he said. 

He didn't elaborate. Boromir waited a few more moments; when it became clear that no further explanation was 
forthcoming, he tried again.

“We have men in Gondor who encountered the Nazgûl close up and fell victim to their Black Breath. They are 
caught in nightmares and cannot wake up. I heard them screaming in their sleep like you.”

Legolas face betrayed nothing, yet he was startled. *It had been that bad*?! He was very aware that Boromir was 
waiting for an answer. After a while he said: “I have fought against the Nazgûl in my home.” 

He did not say that it had been some  time ago – about eighty years, as mortals counted them – when he last had 
fought under the trees of *Eryn Galen*, now called *Taur-nu-Fuin(4)*,  that was something the Gondorian could 
not know, and the Elf supposed it wold probably somewhat lessen the impact of his deeds on the Adan if the 
mortal realized that they had happened long before Boromir had even been born.

Since the mortal still looked at him expectantly, he finally added: “But my dream last night was not about them.  
It was about another memory.”

Boromir looked at him.  “It must have been a bad one if it made you scream like that,” he finally prodded.

Legolas made a face. “Very bad,” he said. 

Then, after a moment, he decided to offer more. At least the Gondorian was making an effort! And he did not 
seem inclined to let the issue go. So he offered somewhat reluctantly: “I relived a time when I found myself in the 
hands of our enemies...”

He did not elaborate. Let Boromir come to his own conclusions; he did not need to know that the enemy in ques-
tion had been hostile Elves, not Orcs. As he had expected, the Gondorian paled and looked back at him with new 
respect.

Boromir swallowed. He knew only too well what happened to those of his men unlucky enough to fall into the 
hands of Orcs alive, and he did not think that those beasts treated Elves any better. If this was indeed what the 
Mirkwood Elf talked about, then he had been lucky to escape more or less unscathed. Or indeed lucky to escape 
at all!

A little hesitantly he offered: “I can imagine that would give one nightmares.”  Then, after a few moments, he 
added: “I have seen some men who survived being taken by the Corsais of Umbar, or the men of Harad, and who 
were freed by our soldiers later. They had nightmares, too.” He raised a brow. “I have seen no one, though, who 
escaped capture by the Orcs alive. You must have been lucky.”

The Elf looked away. He seemed unwilling to explain further.

Boromir began to feel frustrated. Still, he deemed it better to learn more about his unfamiliar companion, espe-
cially since the Elf seemed so close to that Ranger who claimed being the heir to Gondor's long vacant throne. So 
he patiently tried again:

“I did not know the Nazgûl harassed other countries, too,  until just recently. We have fought them in Gondor for 
nearly eighty years, but I did not know they roamed elsewhere ever since the evil realm of Angmar fell.”

Legolas looked at him.

“You've heard Estel's tale at the Council,” he said, “and the tale of the Dwarves! The Black Riders--”

Boromir raised a brow. “I meant, I did not know they roamed elsewhere before they started those activities. Estel 
– I suppose that's your Ranger?”

Legolas merely raised a brow. “'*My*' Ranger?” he returned. Inwardly he shivered. Had their deception already 
been found out?

Boromir rolled his eyes. “Come on, Master Elf, it is clear that the two of you are more than just comrades!” he 
said.

Legolas looked away.

“Maybe,” he said. “We have been... together for a long time.” 

Again he did not bother to elaborate. Let the Gondorian draw his own conclusions.

Boromir just nodded.

“Is that the reason why you defended him at the Council?” he asked. 

Legolas did not reply for a long moment Normally, he would not have hesitated. But as it was now...

“I defended him because he *deserved* it, Master Boromir,” he finally replied, although the words seemed bitter 
in his mouth. 

Boromir sighed. He had not planned to end up in another confrontation with the Elf so soon. He raised his hands 
in a placating way. “I did not mean to offend,” he offered. “So, Aragorn is Estel?”

Legolas was silent for a moment. It took some effort to let his sudden anger go. Yet to his surprise he found he 
*wanted* to continue the conversation. It served to distract him from his hurting body and his weariness  quite 
effectively, and it also served to keep the painful visions and images away.

“No offense has been taken,” he finally allowed. “Yes, Aragorn is Estel. It was a name the Elves gave to him in 
his youth. And he is also 'Strider', as the Hobbits call him, and he used to be known under a few other names be-
sides.”

Boromir snorted. “In Gondor, it would be seen as somewhat less than honorable to hide under different names,” 
he observed.

Legolas did not rise to the challenge. *Let Aragorn fight his own battles this once*! Aloud, he just mildly re-
minded: “Gandalf, whom we Elves call Mithrandir, is known under a lot of names, too.”

Boromir actually snorted. “Well parried, Master Elf,” he said. “Yes, I admit Mithrandir wears a lot of names, too. 
Not that this fact would serve to endear him to my father!”

He was silent for a while, then he decided to go back to his first question.

“So, the Nazgûl have attacked your home, too?”  he asked. 

Legolas looked to his feet again. *True, the man of Gondor could not know how painful this subject was. Still*...

“They have done so for a long time, now,” he said. “They were in the service of the Necromancer, who besieged 
my wood. In fact, when Dol-Guldur was first taken by evil, my people believed that the Necromancer was one of 
the Nine. Only later we learned it was Sauron himself who dwelt there. The Nazgûl have harassed us and led his 
creatures against us for centuries, until he fled to Mordor after Dol-Guldur was attacked eighty years ago. Then, 
shortly afterwards, he sent them back to retake his stronghold in our wood, and my people have fought his ser-
vants again ever since. We... know them well.”

It sounded very bitter, and it was the truth; he just left out that he himself had fought the Ringwraiths during the 
last eighty years only in Aragorn's company and rather in Gondor than in his own wood. But in a way, those were 
minor details. He remembered all too well how it felt to fight the terror of the *Ulairi* under the dark trees and 
endure their piercing scream, and how hard it was even for Elven warriors to shake off the shadow their closeness 
brought.

Boromir pursed his lips and regarded the Elf beside him with growing respect. “Then you come from a realm that 
is  encumbered by the shadow and constantly besieged by his creatures, too,” he stated. “We have more in com-
mon than I thought!”

Legolas looked at him. “How so?”

A bit exasperated, Boromir explained: “You, too, come from a realm besieged by Sauron's forces and losing war-
riors in the fight against him every day. You, too, are your father's heir--”

Legolas looked away. “I'm not my father's heir,” he said. He fought hard to keep the sudden bitterness out of his 
voice.

Boromir looked at him without comprehension.”But—you said--”

Legolas shook his head. How to explain this? After all, he could hardly tell the truth. Finally he said:

“I am only my father's youngest son. And he is immortal. I do not look forward to a time when I – or any of his 
heirs – would eventually need to take over his rule.”

Boromir raised his brows, struggling to understand the concept. “So, you don't *want* to rule yourself?” he 
asked.

Legolas stared blankly back at him. He could not say that he would never rule even if Thranduil and both of the 
King's older sons were to die. Finally he said somewhat coldly: “For me to come to take up my father's rule would 
mean that he and everyone who came before me in the line of heirs would be already dead, and if it came to that, 
my home probably would have been overrun or destroyed. *Of course* I do not wish to rule my father's realm 
myself!” 

Boromir was taken aback. The pain and bitterness of the Elf surprised him, and he felt unreasonably attacked. 
still, if the Elf put it that way...

Somewhat  coolly he answered: “There is no need to grow angry, Master Elf. I just have trouble grasping the con-
cept of being immortal. Of course I do not look forward to my father's death, but one day it will inevitably hap-
pen, and for me, it will be my honor as well as my duty then to take up his rule.”

Legolas held his gaze a moment, then he nodded in acknowledgment. “I see, Master Boromir,” he said. “Please 
forgive my harshness; it was uncalled for.”

Boromir raised a brow, but nodded back.

Finally he decided to shift the conversation to a less sensitive theme.

“You have older brothers?”

Legolas looked down. There was no way he could explain this to Boromir without giving himself away. 

So he merely said: “Yes, I have. Two of them to be precise.” He did not explain that he had never met the oldest  
one and the other one had been taken away from him and enslaved when Legolas was ten, a very early age for an 
Elf.

Boromir smiled. “I have a younger brother,” he said, “Faramir. He would give a lot to be in my place right now.”

Gratefully, Legolas accepted the distraction from his lingering bleak thoughts. “How so?” he asked curiously. 

Boromir grinned indulgently to himself. 

“Faramir is a born scholar! He is fascinated by all things elvish and by Elves, though he never met one. He would 
be delighted if he could spend the time of this Quest to pester you relentlessly about your people and your home.”

Legolas could not help himself; he snorted, genuinely amused. But suddenly, he misstepped as his foot got en-
tangled in a hole, and he had to shift and turn quite suddenly to regain his balance. The sudden movement let his 
quiver shift position on his back and strained numbed muscles, and he stopped and paled at the sudden pain that 
surged through his body.

For a moment, Legolas had to stop. He hissed and grimaced, fighting down the pain and his suddenly swimming 
vision. When he could see clearly again, he found Boromir's concerned gaze on his face. 

“So you are injured,” the man of Gondor said. “Now I understand Gimli's earlier words! How does it come about 
that you embark on such a Quest with a severe injury?”

Legolas gritted his teeth. ”It's a long story,” he said coolly. “But we Elves heal fast. I can assure you it will only 
take me a few days and won't even hamper me in a fight, should it come to that.”

Boromir regarded him with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “I have walked on injuries before,” he offered. 
“Sometimes, there simply is no other choice. Is that the reason why your Ranger insists on carrying both your 
packs and keeping you free of chores?”

Legolas just looked at him for a few moments. Then he just nodded, grateful for the Adan's simple acceptance. 

Boromir sighed. “I did not think that explanation with the bet was too convincing,” he said. “You did not look 
like someone who was gloating at your victory and your comrade's misfortune, but rather as if you desperately 
needed the relief. He must be very close to you indeed to do this for you.”

Legolas looked down. “He is,” he carefully said, “and were he the one injured I would not hesitate to do as much 
for him.”

It was the truth, in spite of everything. Even without the fact that his very life depended on Estel's health he would 
not think twice of doing everything in his power -- and indeed, *had done* everything in his power in the past – 
to ease his suffering. 

As Aragorn had always done for him, save at the very times when it was *him* who made Legolas suffer.

Legolas thought he would tear apart inside at his conflicting feelings. 

He looked up again. “Thank you, Master Boromir, for your acceptance. I was afraid you would react angrily,  as  
that Dwarf did when he learned that I am currently not at my best,” he said seriously. “But I would thank you not 
to tell the Hobbits. I do not wish for pity.”

Boromir snorted. “Too late for that,” he said, “the Halflings are very observant. They were the ones who gave  me 
the idea. But do not fear,” he continued quickly as he saw Legolas' dismay, “there is no-one here who will not 
gladly give you time to heal, except perhaps the Dwarf.”

Legolas took a deep sigh. Shaking his head he looked forward down their trail, saw that the others of their com-
pany had gained quite some distance, and gave the Adan a small nod to indicate they should start to walk again. 
Aloud, he simply offered: “Thank you. You are gracious.”

Boromir accepted his thanks with a simple nod and followed his example. 

While he walked on, he curiously asked: “What is it with you and the Dwarf, anyway? I admit I hadn't met either 
of your people before I came to Rivendell. Why are the two of you constantly at each other's throats like that?”

“Constantly?” Legolas asked back, “It was not *I*, who--”

Boromir merely raised a brow, and Legolas remembered that the Gondorian had come up on him and Gimli ready 
to draw weapons at each other just the other day.

“Our people do not get along too well,” he finally offered. 

Boromir snorted. “That much was evident!” he said with humor. “Yet what I do not really understand is *why* it 
would be so. The Dwarves seemed friendly enough with the Elves of Rivendell--”

Legolas' features darkened and he said nothing for a while.  Finally he forced himself to answer. The Gondorian 
could not know how painful this issue was, after all, and had meant no offense.

“The Elves of Rivendell are mostly Noldor. They like to craft gems and iron like the Dwarves. I am an Elf of the 
Woods. *We* appreciate living things,” he merely said. “The enmity between our people reaches far back.  A long 
time ago, in the First Age, Dwarves slew our greatest king. It's a long story.”

After a moment, he added reluctantly: “But in the case of that special Nogoth, there is also family history between 
us.”

Boromir looked at him, cocking his head. “How so?” he said.

Legolas raised a brow.

“My father imprisoned his father when he was trespassing in our woods,” he dryly said. “It was mentioned at the 
council when Gandalf told the story how the Ring was found. Don't you remember?”

Boromir looked a bit indignant, but also slightly sheepish.

“I am afraid I was preoccupied with other things,” he offered. “At least now I can understand why he does not like 
you.”

Legolas quirked a brow at him. “I noticed,” he offered wryly. Then he shook his head, looked down their trail  
and sighed. 

“Look,” he said, “the others have gained quite a headstart on us. As pleasant as this conversation is, I think that 
we should hurry to keep up.” 

Boromir looked shrewdly at him, then he nodded.  He could well imagine that the Elf was taxed a bit if he was 
injured. With some amusement he said:

“Then we should do so. I think it is another hour or two until we make camp. We may continue to talk in the eve-
ning, if you are willing.”

Legolas gave him a polite nod. He doubted very much that in the evening he would feel up to any more than a 
short meal and sleep, but he didn't say that.

Boromir nodded back at him. In mutual agreement, the Elf and the Adan walked on in fast strides and without 
further conversation.

______________________ o _____________________


In the evening, Legolas made good on his resolve to eat a greater portion of the meal the Hobbit Sam provided, 
and as he had assumed, his weariness caught up with him soon afterwards. He did not feel up to another conversa-
tion with Boromir or with any other member of the Fellowship. So he excused himself as soon as he could and 
retired to his bedding. It was later, when the light was less and most of the Fellowship had retired, that Aragorn 
shook him awake to tend to his injuries again.

While his master gently applied salve to his back and rear, he asked casually: “I saw you had quite a long talk 
with Boromir today.”

Legolas could not help it; he tensed up. Would he now be punished for this? Would Aragorn be jealous?

Aragorn felt his sudden tension under his touch and sighed. “You are *not* forbidden to speak here, Little Leaf,” 
he said. “We are not in Rivendell anymore. I have *never* forbidden you to speak without permission outside of  
Rivendell, or of Lothlorien, save at some rare, special occasions, and then with very good reason. You *know* 
that.”

Legolas bit his lips. Of course.  Still, he could not help fearing his master's mood might change.

Very carefully he said: “I'm sorry, Estel. Thank you.”

Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then he started to apply the salve again. Casually, he asked: “So, what did you 
tell him?”

He felt his slave shudder under his hands and bowed his head. This was harder than he had thought. He waited 
patiently. Finally, Legolas answered: “Not much. He had guessed I was injured, so I acknowledged that. And he 
had also guessed that we are.. lovers. So I acknowledged that, too.” 

Aragorn quirked a brow. “And that was all?” he asked.

Legolas shrugged, then stopped half-way through the movement and hissed. He felt his master's hand on him, 
giving him support through the pain, and felt a burst of warmth. Estel... then the warmth was swallowed up by 
bitterness,  and he wanted to scream.

“He wanted to know a lot about my home, and about Elves and Dwarves,” he offered. “I told him what I could, 
which is not much, anyway.”

Aragorn sighed. “I can imagine,” he said. “It is well that you try to become his friend. I think the best we can do is 
to knit this Fellowship fast and close together, so that if they ever learn the truth, it won't matter anymore. And 
they will probably learn the truth if we go through Lothlorien.”

Legolas flinched. “Do... will we have to do that?” he asked alarmed.

Aragorn hesitated again. “I do not know, Little Leaf,” he said. “Two days ago, I was counting on it. By now I'm 
not so sure. It was hard enough to get the Ring out of Rivendell again without Elrond taking it. Imagine what 
temptation it will be for the Lady of the Wood!”

Legolas trembled. “But... if we go that way.... the others will learn--”

Aragorn nodded. “Yes. But do not fear. I will talk to Gandalf tomorrow. Maybe I can convince him to take our 
chances with the Gap of Rohan,” he said. “And in any case, as soon as we come into a fight and have to stand 
together, your status won't matter anymore. We have seen it before among my Rangers.”

Legolas did not answer. He did not think he could bring out a sound through the lump he felt in his throat.

So he suffered through his master's gentle ministrations in silence and was grateful that Aragorn did not require 
him to say anything more.


____________________ o ______________


PART IV - Resolution


Aragorn walked the perimeter of the camp, looking around to make sure there weren't any dangers. They were just 
two days from Rivendell, but still they could hardly afford to lower their guard. The Fellowship was sleeping, and 
the small fire they had dared to build this close to Rivendell was nearly dead. There was no hint of anything 
amiss, no hint of danger. All was quiet, except the soft noises of the night and the deep breaths of his sleeping 
comrades and the soft but persistent snoring of the Dwarf.

Yet suddenly he heard a faint noise, small but as unsettling as persistent: a quiet, helpless whimper.

He looked at first to the Hobbits. He knew Frodo was haunted by nightmares; he had been ever since Aragorn met 
the four Halflings in Bree, and the close encounter at  Amon Sûl had just made it worse. But the Ring Bearer was 
not sleeping at all. He just sat up and Aragorn met his inquiring gaze.

Frodo slipped out of his bedding, careful not to wake Sam. The whimper continued, and Aragorn heard a few 
nearly unintelligible words in Sindarin amongst it. He cursed inwardly. *Legolas*! Within the whimper he could 
now  discern his own name: “*Estel*...”

He looked to his Elf and saw him toss around in his dreams. Legolas' eyes were closed. Healing sleep, Aragorn 
knew, although it still felt unsettling to him. 

Frodo was getting up, and quickly he shook his head at the Hobbit and went over to the sleeping Elf himself.

“I will take care of this,” he whispered to Frodo, “leave him to me!”

With that, he knelt quickly down beside his Elf and gathered Legolas carefully in his arms. “What is it, me-
lethron?” he whispered gently, although he could well imagine.

Legolas was deep in dreams, and he did not wake up. Aragorn took care not to touch his back, where he knew the 
whip marks were, or his rear or thighs, where the marks were worst; he cushioned the body carefully against his 
chest, petting the golden hair.

Legolas huddled against him, yet he still sobbed in his sleep, and now Aragorn could make out his words.

“*Saes... darech*(5)... please! Please stop! Please don't hurt me anymore, Estel! Please, I cannot bear it! Please...”

The sobbing ebbed off for a moment, then returned. ”Please, please! Estel--” the sentence ended in a soft, hope-
less whimpering.

Aragorn swallowed hard.

He bit his lips. Legolas was deep in Elven dreams. So deep that he did not even wake as his master touched him 
and petted him gently, although he somehow seemed to recognize the scent and touch of the one who held him.  
Yet he was not really conscious.  *This* was not the brave face the Elf used to show his master during their 
games, or even under severe torture  if Aragorn demanded it of him;  or at least the face he *tried* to show, until 
what his tormentor put him through finally became too much. 

*This* was what his Elf really felt when he subjected him to his cruel pleasure. 

The begging and despair Legolas normally swallowed since he was well aware his master did not wish to hear it, 
or even allow it. 

Yet it had been years since these sobs and the pain had last haunted his slave even in his dreams. Since he had  
last pushed Legolas so far that the Elf could not even control his dreams any more. And *that* had been quite 
early in their time together...

“Please, Estel,” the slave murmured in Sindarin, “please don't! Please stop! Please do not do that! No, no--”
Another sob. “Please do not hurt me anymore... please... Estel...” Again, the voice trailed off in a whimper. 

No 'master'. No 'My Lord'. *Estel*.

It broke Aragorn's heart.

True, he had been harsher that last time than he had ever been before. Yet he had not fully realized how deeply he 
had truly hurt his Elf, how close he had really come to breaking him.

And *that* was something he'd never intended.

Very carefully, he enfolded his Elf in his arms, anxious not to touch anywhere he would hurt him. He did not say 
anything at first, since he could hardly manage to find his voice; he just held him fast. His eyes burned with un-
shed tears. His heart hurt deep within his chest.

Briefly he debated what to do. He could try to wake Legolas up, yet the Elf desperately needed his sleep, since he 
was in such dire need of healing. Or he could just continue like this, and hold him, as he had so many nights be-
fore.

Of course, during those times, it had usually not been *him* who caused Legolas' nightmares.


Finally he managed to whisper with a raw, broken voice: “Shh, melethron... it's all right... don't cry...” He fought 
for words. After a moment he continued: “I won't hurt you again... not tonight... shh...”

His voice broke. Swallowing hard, he said hoarsely: “I'm sorry, Little Leaf! I'm so sorry!”

Then he felt his eyes well over and allowed his tears to flow freely at last. Quietly he promised: “I'll give you time 
to heal. I'll be gentle... as gentle as I can. Please don't cry anymore, Little Leaf! I'll try, I promise, I'll try to be gen-
tle with you next time, as much as I can, melethron...”

The sobbing of the body in his arms did not stop, but slowly it subsided to silent weeping. 

Aragorn continued to pet his Elf. He was at a loss what to do. He did not wish to leave him, yet he had to con-
tinue his watch, and he could not do this staying by Legolas' bedroll.

Finally, he gathered him up and rose. It took him alarmingly little effort; sadly he noticed that his Elf was still   
lighter than he should have been. *Well, Legolas had not eaten that much these last few weeks at all, had he*?  
Grimly, Aragorn carried him over to the watch post he had chosen earlier that night, a little above the camp, where 
he had a good look around. There he settled down again, placing Legolas beside him. He laid him carefully half 
on his side and half on his stomach, cradled the head of his Elf in his lap, and returned to petting  his slave's head 
and shoulders tenderly. Barely audibly he began to sing. It was the *Lay of Luthien*(6). He was all too aware of 
the grim irony.


He heard a sudden rustle and laid a hand to the hilt of his sword, but it was only Frodo who settled beside him.

“What ails him?” the Hobbit asked quietly in Common.

Aragorn was careful with the phrasing of his answer. He knew Frodo was fluent in Sindarin, and all too percep-
tive, too. 

Still, the first thing  that sprang to his mind, the bitter words: '*I* am what ails him, Master Hobbit!'-- were 
hardly anything he could confide to the Halfling. 

After a moment he merely said: “He has very bad dreams.” 

Frodo looked with sympathy at the Elf. Carefully he said: “I did not know Elves had bad dreams, too,”  and 
Aragorn suddenly asked himself how much Bilbo had told his nephew about him and Legolas or about Rivendell. 
*Did Frodo knew--?*

Of course he could not ask. So he said quietly: “This one has them sometimes.” 

Frodo looked at him. “The two of you are together?” he asked. 

Aragorn looked back at him. Wasn't that obvious? Carefully he answered: “We have been comrades for a long 
time.”

Frodo shook his head, obviously a bit irritated. He regarded him questioningly. “Just comrades?” he asked.

Aragorn shook his head. He couldn't answer.

Exasperated, Frodo specified his question. “The two of you are lovers?”

Aragorn looked at him, then at his Elf. “Yes. For a long time,” he finally replied.

In a fashion, it was true. In a fashion, it was heartbreakingly *close* to the truth – and yet as far apart from it as 
one could possibly get with that answer. 

And yet he called his Elf 'beloved' for a reason.

Frodo nodded solemnly. “Do you want me to take your watch?” he offered at last.

Aragorn looked at him inquiringly. Frodo looked right back. “So you can care for him,” he explained. “He needs 
you!” 

Aragorn seemed grateful, yet still reluctant. “Yet you also need your sleep,” he said. 

Frodo shrugged. “I cannot sleep,” he said. “I will take the watch for you.”

Aragorn looked at him for another moment, then he shook his head. “I will be grateful if you *share* it,” he said, 
“since as it is I cannot sleep now, either. I'll have to watch over him.”

Frodo smiled. “Then I will be over there and leave the two of you alone for a while,” he said, nodding to the other 
side of the camp. He stood up.

Aragorn smiled back at him. “Thank you, Master Hobbit. I owe you!” 

Frodo wandered off. Aragorn resumed his quiet and sorrowful caring for his Elf. He continued to pet Legolas' 
head, combing his fingers through the silken hair, and quietly singing to him.  Finally he trailed off, and finished 
with  his song.  There were still a few hours until morning, and he doubted his voice would serve that long. 
He decided to light his pipe. He filled it and lit it, then took a few, calming breaths.

Legolas in his lap had long ceased weeping under his touch and soothing voice and had finally slipped into a 
deeper sleep, apparently away from haunting dreams. But now, the Elf twitched a bit and gave a disgruntled mur-
mur of protest.

Aragorn jumped a bit, then he smiled at the familiar reaction. “I know you do not like my pipe, Little Leaf,” he 
said, “Yet I have to inform you that within this Fellowship, you are sadly in the minority with this. I believe only 
that man of Gondor does not enjoy the weed. I am afraid you will just have to suffer our habit. At least, it should 
serve nicely to drown out  the smell you complain so often about.”

The gentle teasing was sheer nonsense, of course. It had been long since Legolas last dared to complain about the 
pipe – or the smell – of his master. Not counting the one, small, hesitant teasing that day after Aragorn had re-
turned to Imladris with the Hobbits. 

That seemed to have happened an impossibly long time in the past right now.

To his relief and secret joy, however, the still half sleeping Elf now wrinkled his nose and replied: “*Nothing* 
could drown out the smell of delayed bathing, Adan! And you did not even change your bedroll after your last 
journey when we set out again this time. Nor your coat.”

Aragorn let out a quiet, delighted chuckle. “Nor my boots, nor my breeches, nor my gear,” he added wryly. “There 
simply was no time!”

He caressed the golden tresses of his Elf, glad that obviously, Legolas was better. “How long have you been 
awake, melethron?” he asked quietly. 

“Not long,” Legolas replied. “Your burning pipeweed woke me. Your watch is already over?”

Aragorn tenderly caressed his head and face. “No, melethron,” he said quietly. “Frodo took it over. You were 
crying in your sleep.”

To his dismay, the Elf turned to him, alarmed, and winced as his hurting back and rear came in contact with the 
ground. Realization dawned.

“I am sorry, ma-- *Estel*,” Legolas stammered, fearful and wary again. “I just--” He shrank a bit into himself, 
obviously in fear of new punishment. It made Aragorn's heart bleed.

Sadly, he shook his head and silenced his Elf by placing a finger to his lips. Carefully he traced over them. “No 
matter. You had very bad dreams,” he said. Then, even more quietly, he added: “Frodo knows. He guessed that we 
are... lovers.”

Legolas swallowed hard and looked even more appalled. His eyes held a clear, yet fearful question. Aragorn 
looked back at him with grief. 

“Just lovers,” he answered the unspoken question. He traced his fingers gently over the fair features. There was 
still so much fear in his slave's eyes...

Brokenly, he added: “Don't fear, melethron. I will give you time to heal before I... take you again. And I will try to 
be gentle. As much as I can.”

The Elf looked back at him questioningly. “I dreamed of you,” he stated, “didn't I?”

Aragorn bowed his head. “No matter,” he said bitterly. “It's not as if that wasn't enough to give you nightmares.” 

Then he added, a little more precisely: “Yes you did. But it was nothing I should not have expected.”

Quietly, he added: “I am so sorry, Little Leaf! I will try to be more gentle with you from now. I promise! I just--”

His voice broke.

The Elf swallowed. Suppressing a groan of pain, he rose to his knees, pried the pipe out of his master's hands  -- 
smiling a little at Aragorn's slightly alarmed look-- and set it aside on a stone. Then he took his master's face in 
both hands and kissed him.

“Thank you,” he said to his surprised master as he let him go and handed him his pipe again. “Thank you, Estel!”

It sounded genuinely relieved, and for the first time in days without fear. And with that, he stood up, gave the 
huddled form of the Ranger a last caress and made his way back to his bedroll. There he lay gingerly down again 
and slipped under his blanket. Soon he was deep in Elven dreams, and for the first time since that fateful night 
they were peaceful and undisturbed.

As Aragorn later woke the Dwarf for the third watch and settled down beside his Elf again, he found Legolas still 
deeply asleep. Yet as he recognized his master's scent, the Elf snuggled unconsciously closer until he could settle 
back into his arms again. Aragorn found sleep, cradling his Elf against his chest, and slept peacefully until the 
morning watch finally woke them.


_______________- o _______________


The following day was easier for Legolas. His back still hurt, and the quiver still chafed on the remaining welts 
and bruises, but he found he did not grow exhausted so fast anymore and was not as taxed by the simple task of 
trudging on. The undisturbed healing sleep had done much to restore his strength and speed up his body's heal-
ing. 

But even more his master's apology and tenderness had restored his strength.  Estel's  heartfelt apology and his 
promise to let him heal had finally silenced the doubts and bleak despair that had tormented Legolas so much and 
that had torn him inwardly apart. He was able to trust in his master again, and that, more than anything, gave his 
mind the peace and his body the strength he needed to heal. 

While the Elf walked on, he still was attacked by the occasional painful memory, but now he found it easier to 
block them out or to control them. And for the first time in days he found himself capable of paying attention to 
his surroundings again and found strength and healing in the signs of life around him, even subdued as they were 
by the approaching winter(7). The wild beauty of the living land soothed his nerves and restored his hope. Soon 
he was even capable of smiling again.

At the midday meal, Legolas made a point of getting himself back into the good graces of the Hobbits by accept-
ing and eating his share of Samwise's cooking and giving it some – well deserved – praise. He even exchanged 
some friendly words with Frodo. He found his master's eyes on him, and when he met Aragorn's gaze, he saw re-
lief. Still, Aragorn insisted on carrying his pack during the day, and made sure again the walk was not too long.


In the evening, Aragorn tended to Legolas' injuries again. He was surprised and pleased with the progress his Elf 
had made; while the flesh was still tender to the touch and bruised from the fading whip marks, it was already 
much, much better.  Briefly, his mind was flooded by the thought how it would feel to subject his slave to a round 
of rough love making now, while the Elf's rear and thighs and even his passage were still marked from the recent 
abuse and the flesh was still hurting at each pressure. He swallowed hard in sudden arousal.

He fought it down. Legolas needed to heal. And even more, he needed to know that he could trust in his master's 
promises again. As tempting as it was to make use of his slave's still sore state and relish forcing himself on the 
Elf's still hurting flesh, he could not do that. He had promised Legolas to let him heal before he took him again, 
and he would keep his word.

So he simply applied the healing salve, then placed a kiss on the shivering shoulder of his slave. 

“Your healing has sped up,” he said aloud, “I'm pleased! In a few days you will be well again, Little Leaf. You'll 
see!  It will get better now!”

He placed another kiss on the bare shoulder and then signaled his Elf with his touch to get up. Tenderly, he 
helped him to  dress again, then he directed the already nearly dreaming Elf back on his stomach and tucked the  
blanket around him. He placed another kiss on the golden head. 

“Sleep, melethron. Tomorrow it's your turn to take one of the watches, but tonight you may be undisturbed,” he 
said and got up.

His slave murmured a sleepy “Thank you, Estel,” before he slipped into Elven dreams. Relieved, Aragorn saw that 
he was finally sleeping with open eyes again.


The night was quiet. Aragorn had taken the first watch again, and as he walked the perimeter of the camp, he 
thought of his Elf.

He took a sharp breath at the sudden images. *Legolas writhing in his bonds, his shaking, fearful voice begging 
for the next blow...  the sore, bruised buttocks just begging to be squeezed and fondled; the marked thighs, still 
sore to the touch... And then the unwelcome, but tempting thought of how satisfying it would feel to force that 
hurting rear down on himself, breach the tight passage, make Legolas ride him, hear the Elf's sudden gasp of 
pain as his buttocks came in hard contact with the pelvis of his master... and again, and again, and again*...

Aragorn groaned and bit his lips at his suddenly too tight leggings. He shook his head in disgust and resisted the 
urge to reach down and give himself release. Damn it, Legolas was *healing*, and he had promised him to leave 
him alone until he was well again. And that was what he would do! All the Elf needed now was another broken 
promise of his master!

Yet deep in the back of his mind, a persistent voice whispered: 'He is your *slave*! It is his *duty* to serve your 
desires! He should be *pleased* that you want him again, *pleased* of the opportunity to serve you as you most 
desire him...'

Grimly, Aragorn shook his head free from the images and shoved the voice away. With determination, he took up 
his walk again,ignoring the uncomfortable bulge between his legs.

*And he had warned Legolas about the influence of the Ring only the other day*?

Oh yes! He had known what he had been talking about!

_________________ o ________________


-- End Chapter Four --


-- TBC --


Notes:

(1) Tharkun – Khuzdul (probably): the name the Dwarves used for Gandalf. 
(2) (Written with apologies to Gimli! They may learn to know and respect each other later, but not that early in 
this Quest, I'm afraid!)
(3) Mellon-- Sindarin: friend.
(4) Eryn Galen-- Sindarin: Greenwood. The old name of Mirkwood before it fell under the Shadow. Taur-Nu-Fuin (Sin-
darin: Forest under the Nightshade), is a Sindarin translation of the name Mirkwood.
(5) Saes darech-- Sindarin: please stop (dar - stop – in the second person singular, not the imperative, as in Daro!)
(6) Lay of Luthien: Song of Luthien,  the Elf princess in the First Age  who gave up her immortality to share the fate of 
Beren, her mortal lover.
(7) There is a little problem with the time-frame here, since in this matter book-canon and movie-canon are falling apart. 
Bookverse, the Fellowship began the journey two month after the Council, on December the 25'th. But Movieverse, they 
started directly after the council, at October the 26'th. Since this story is based loosely on the  Movieverse, the Fellowship 
starts the journey in autumn.