Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter V a – The Ring goes South, Part I-III 
   Author: Aislynn Crowdaughter 
   Author's Email: Aislynn.Crowdaughter@gmx.net 
   Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas (mainly), Boromir/Legolas , Gimli/Legolas, Others/Legolas.  
   Rating: NC (M) –strictly adults only. 
   Summary: AU. Legolas slave fic. Mirkwood is a subjected realm and must give hostages to the other Elven 
realms as slaves. Legolas is the slave of Aragorn, who is a sadist. And to keep Legolas loyal to the Ranger, he is 
bound by a cruel spell: the  
*Mael-Gûl*... This  story was inspired by BlueGolds story “Bound” which can be found here: 
http://www.libraryofmoria.com/legolasaragorn/boundbybluegold.txt
I use similar plot ideas here with her permission.
   *Warnings*: Slash, m/m, BDSM, *torture*, toys, d/s, hard stuff, *Non-con sexual situations* and *debatable 
consent*. Rape in later chapters (flashback, only). This chapter has also a non con situation that *can* qualify as 
a gang rape. *Very* graphic descriptions, both physical and mental; abuse both physical and sexual.  

   SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: *Gang Rape* Two men, a Dwarf, and one hapless Elf. I 
mean it! - The Gang rape happens in Part V, “Extending the Spell”.

   Disclaimer: Not mine. LOTR was created by J.R.R. Tolkien, who owns the characters, safe a few original char-
acters in side roles. Peter Jackson owns the Movies. I just borrow from them without permission.  The setting of 
the story is inspired by a plot bunny of Cheysuli and the story “Bound” by BlueGold, as mentioned in the sum-
mary and author's note. The idea of the *Mael-Gûl*, or *Rhach e-Maelangwedh* (Lust-Spell, Curse of Lust-
chain) however is entirely mine. In this chapter, I lift some sentences directly from Tolkien's book again (J.R.R. 
Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 1954, Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1995). Those sentences will be accord-
ingly credited with reference notes.
   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 V 	THE RING GOES SOUTH 
– Part I-II


PART I – Recovery


Legolas ran nimbly back the path he had scouted out the last couple of hours. It was a easy one. Had  he been 
alone in the wilds with Aragorn, he would  not have paid much attention to obstacles easily climbed or taken, like 
steep hills, small boulders or thick, thorny undergrowth. These things were nothing to an Woodelf used to the 
dangers of Mirkwood's dark and heavy foliage, nor to  an experienced Ranger weathered by many years of living 
in the wilds. But he could not ignore them now; he had the Halflings to consider. The four smaller members of 
the Fellowship would be hard taxed by climbs he and Aragorn would shrug off as easy, or undergrowth the taller 
members of the Fellowship could easily see above and navigate, while they with their bare feet would be caught 
and hindered by thorns and nettles with each step. And he could not lead them through fast running rivers or 
steep gaps and dangerous climbs. So he had gone ahead to scout a path manageable for them, since  the few seem-
ingly clear paths in this part of the country all too often lead to sheer falls or ended in treacherous swamps. 

Of course, finding a clear path for the Hobbits meant it would also be an easy walk for the Dwarf, but that small 
nuisance could hardly be helped.

No matter. He ran, enjoying the exercise of his finally pain free limbs, and the ease with which he jumped over 
boulders or bushes as well as the sureness with which his feet touched the ground. At last, his body was whole 
again. Life was good!

He also looked forward to the faces of the Hobbits when he would treat them with the edible, sweet berries he had 
found today, and the large stock of mushrooms he carried in his pouch. He had learned early after his recovery 
how much the Halflings liked mushrooms for dinner.

Shortly after the second night of their journey, he had developed a friendly, easy-going relationship with the four 
Hobbits, especially Sam and Frodo. Samwise with his fondness of growing things and his curiosity for all Elvish 
things, warmed his heart. The Perian had pestered him for songs and stories, as well as for words in Sindarin or 
even just the Elvish names for plants, until Legolas jokingly complained he was no gardener; but in truth he 
shared the love of the Hobbit for living things and was heartened by Sam's good care of the pony. The Hobbit had 
not only a real talent for cooking, he also has a natural affection for animals and plants that reminded Legolas of 
his own people. And Frodo with his quiet but observant manner and his warm and sympathetic heart had gained 
Legolas' respect and friendship, too. He was less close with Merry and Pippin; the two seemed more interested in 
learning weapon skills from Boromir and less fascinated with the Elf of the Fellowship, and they kept close com-
pany with the Gondorian. But he was friendly with them, too, and liked their cheering company. 

Yes, the Hobbits would be pleased with the addition he brought for dinner. His master and Boromir would 
probably be more delighted about the brace of geese he had managed to shoot. They would be a welcome diver-
sion from the dried meat and roasted sausages. Boromir had disclosed his longing for well roasted goose just the 
other day.

Legolas could not say he had grown really close with the Gondorian. After their conversation a few days ago they 
had not exchanged many more words, since soon afterwards Legolas had taken up his chores as member of the 
Fellowship with a vengeance and made up for the first three days with long scouting missions to find the best 
path. Or he would take over the first or second watch during the night and then just keep it until he woke the oth-
ers in the morning. It had earned him Boromir's respect, but not his friendship. But they were on much friendlier 
terms than directly after their confrontation in the Council. Legolas suspected that he was just too closely associ-
ated with Aragorn to become friends with the man of Gondor. Boromir and Aragorn had developed a truce of 
sorts between them, and even some mutual respect after their first sparring match a few days ago; and since that 
match, the Gondorian was even civil with his Would-Be-King. But he clearly still did not like him and was far 
from accepting Aragorn's claim as Isildur's heir to the throne of Gondor. And Legolas knew Aragorn's feelings for 
Denethor's son were not too friendly, either. 

But at least they respected each other.

That was more than one could say of Legolas and the Nogoth.  Even now, after Legolas was doing his share of 
duties to the Fellowship, the Dwarf had not ceased his mutterings about *weak Elven princelings too pampered 
to be of use on such a Quest*. Of course the Nogoth could not know how very far he was off the mark, and how 
painful and ignorant his jeerings truly were, but they still *stung*. 

But since Legolas could hardly explain the truth to him, and did not find much opportunity to retaliate except 
with the occasional jibe, he simply tried his best to ignore him. 

Legolas easily jumped over a small boulder and enjoyed the airborne moment. His thoughts turned to his master. 
He was glad they were away from Rivendell and Estel seemed to be himself again. 

Since the start of their journey, Estel had shown him nothing but concern and tenderness. And he had kept his 
word. He had not taken Legolas again, but allowed him to heal. Legolas knew Aragorn had denied himself to do 
that; he had seen the longing in his master's eyes, the dark desire... harshly held in check by Aragorn's determina-
tion to give his slave the chance to recover. Placing Legolas' needs before his own. 

It warmed Legolas heart. *Dear Estel!* Legolas found it easier now to stay in the present or to dwell on the good 
memories they shared, using them to counterbalance or block out the bad ones.

He also knew it could not last.

Legolas could feel it in his soul, in his whole body. The longing to feel Estel's touch, to please him, to be taken 
by his master was growing ever stronger. It took effort already to stay a pace or two apart when they walked near 
each other, and he was eager for every look, every single word, every simple touch, however brief. 

And he knew Aragorn felt it too, although for *him* it would translate merely as desire.

It wasn't strong yet. They were a week away from Rivendell, and it had been just a week since he had last been 
taken. By now, he felt only the first faint tendrils of the curse, and not the burning desire and ever increasing 
*need* that would grow relentlessly if it wasn't satisfied, until it nearly robbed him of his mind. Until all his 
being concentrated upon just one aim: being taken by the one who owned him. And he was still far away from 
true withdrawal, when his own body would become his enemy and poison him, eventually kill him, if his master 
did not stop the process first.

But he knew that it was time. The spell demanded to be fed again.

And to give him what he needed, Aragorn would have to cause him suffering again.

Biting his lips and trying very hard not to think about the coming night, Legolas ran on.

There was no point in wishing things were different. He knew his master had no choice, as little as he had 
himself. And besides, if he was lucky, Aragorn would not even have to do a lot to get ready for him. The 
memories of that fateful night in Rivendell were still very fresh; they should be enough to bring Aragorn to 
hardness simply by reminiscence. Maybe they would prove to be enough.

Legolas sighed. They were in the presence of the One Ring. 

He did not dare to trust their luck anymore.


__________________ o _______________


It was a merry evening meal. Although the two geese were not much to feed nine hungry mouths, they proved a 
welcome addition to the usual fare of the Fellowship, and the berries and mushrooms added nicely to the dinner. 
Even more, Aragorn managed to find some spicy herbs and onions to give more flavour to their meal, much to 
Sam's delight. All in all, the company ate better than they had in days. 

Afterwards, the Hobbits exchanged stories of the Shire and nonsense songs, and Aragorn let himself be goaded 
into telling a hilariously scary story of the Rangers. Then Boromir boasted a bit about his home in Gondor, and 
was soon pestered by Merry and Pippin to tell them more. 

Legolas dared to settle comfortably close to Aragorn and was content as he felt his master's hand settling on his 
back, petting him absentmindedly. Sam shared another funny song of the Shire, Boromir told more funny tales 
from Gondor, and until the watches were divided the company shared much merriment.

After the dividing of the watches – Merry took the first, Legolas the second and Boromir the third – the 
Fellowship settled in for the night. It was then that Aragorn stood and laid a hand on the shoulder of his slave.

“Come with me, Legolas,” he said, “let's have another look around to make sure this place is safe.”

Legolas looked up to him. He saw the desire in his master's eyes. Without another word, he nodded and got up to 
follow Aragorn into the surrounding bushes. While he walked, he shrugged back into his harness, fastening the 
straps of his quiver around his chest again. He noticed that Aragorn had kept his weapons, too.

They did not go far; just a few minutes away from the camp until they were sure they were out of sight and well 
out of earshot. Then Aragorn turned to his slave, grabbed him and drew him close. 

Legolas was surprised and pleased at his master's passion. He obediently opened up under Aragorn's kiss, then 
moaned as Aragorn bit his lips, then plundered his mouth thoroughly. He gasped as his master buried his hands in 
his hair and grasped it just a bit too tightly, and he gasped again when Aragorn's mouth left his own and wandered 
to his neck, then to his ear. Aragorn licked over the sensitive lobe, let his tongue caress and swirl around   the tip, 
then he bit down, hard. Legolas jerked and shivered. Aragorn's hands left his hair and clutched  his back. They 
squeezed his body hard enough to leave bruises. Legolas could feel the bulge between his master's legs, answered 
by the growing hardness between his own. Aragorn ground their groins together. He pressed Legolas against 
himself nearly hard enough to crush him. Legolas could hear his harsh breathing, answered by his own. 

Finally, Aragorn let go of his slave's ear and drew back a little. Gasping, he said: “It's been too long, Little Leaf! I 
thought I would go mad if I had to look at you one more hour without tasting you!”

Legolas closed his eyes and let himself be swept away by his own need and by his master's passion. Nearly 
inaudibly, since he was not sure if he was allowed to speak right now, he whispered: “*Estel!*” He swallowed. 
“*Take me, Estel!*”

It was hardly more than a movement of lips, but Aragorn heard him. His arousal surged and he gasped again. 
“Come!” he said, sitting down on a boulder and drawing Legolas down on his lap with him. “I want to feel you!”

Obediently, the Elf got down on his master's knees and straddled him. Aragorn buried his face in Legolas' neck 
again, nibbling along his jaw. His hands roamed over his slave's back, yet soon he found his exploration 
hampered by the quiver. Impatiently, he drew back and tugged at the straps of Legolas' harness. 

“Get out of that, Little Leaf!” he commanded, “and take down your leggings, too! Let me see you!” Hoarsely he 
added: “I *need* you, Little Leaf, I *need* you!”

Legolas shivered. Wordlessly, he got up and freed himself of his harness and his weapons, then he took off his 
belt with the pouch and hunting knife and got out of his leggings. With bared thighs and groin he knelt in the 
grass again, legs parted to let his master see him. He kept his head demurely bowed, yet he could sense his 
master's desire and felt his gaze like searing heat on his skin, even without seeing his face. He felt his own 
answering apprehension and excitement, mounting and ever rising, and shivered.

Aragorn looked at him, hunger in his eyes. He reached out his hand. “Give me your belt, Little Leaf!” he 
commanded. 

Legolas looked up, eyes wide with fear. Aragorn was breathing hard, and his eyes were dark with desire. 
Swallowing hard and trembling, the slave followed the command, freeing his belt from pouch and hunting knife 
and handing it to his master. 

Aragorn took it. He took both ends into his right hand, running the smooth but strong leather experimentally 
though the other hand. Then he slapped the leather lightly to the side of the boulder and patted his knee with his 
free hand.

“Get down here, Little Leaf. On your stomach!” he commanded harshly.

Legolas bit his lips. He tried to control his breathing, yet it came much too fast and betrayed his fear. Shivering,  
he obeyed and laid himself over his master's knee, his semi-erect member pressing hard against the *Adan's* raw 
leggings, his bare buttocks vulnerable to the whipping he was sure to come. He could feel Aragorn's hand trail 
teasingly over his yet unmarred flesh. Tensing up, he waited for the lash to fall. 

Yet to his surprise, Aragorn instead bowed a little down and caught his hand, yanking it up on his slave's back; 
then he grabbed Legolas' other arm. Realizing what his master wanted, the slave obediently let him put his wrists 
together, and Aragorn bound both hands tightly with the Elf's own belt. 

Completely helpless, but relieved that he would not be whipped with the belt after all, Legolas waited for his 
master's decision how to hurt him.

Aragorn took his time. He knew he could not draw this out too long, for they could not risk being missed by the 
others, but he could not help enjoying his slave's shivering, and he savoured the Elf's tense anticipation of the 
coming pain and Legolas' helpless acceptance of whatever he was about to do to him. For a few moments, he was 
content to stroke and pet the round, pale buttocks reverently and feel Legolas barely suppressed trembling. Then 
he raised his hand and let the first blow fall.

Legolas gave a little yelp, then he bit his lips and remained silent, save a few more gasps and whimpers. He could 
not suppress the occasional sob, although the spanking was far less brutal and painful than what he was used to 
from other occasions. Still, it hurt and stung, and when Aragorn finally stopped and stroked over his reddened 
cheeks again, his rear and thighs burnt and hurt with every touch. Under his stomach, he could feel the bulge in 
Aragorn's leggings, hard and needy. 
Then Aragorn's fingers breached him, teasing his entrance and pushing in, gently but firmly stretching his 
passage. He sighed in relief since he could feel his master had coated his fingers with oil and did not plan to take 
him unprepared. Aragorn's fingers stretched him, took him, owned him; then they found his sweet spot and he 
gasped at the sudden pleasure, mingling with the pain. His rear lurched up, and his master pressed down on him, 
stilling his movement again, then taking a moment to massage  him inside and kindling his desire to burning 
heights. 

Raspingly, Aragorn whispered: “You are beautiful like this, Little Leaf! You don't know what you do to me,  how 
much I desire you...”

The fingers left Legolas' passage. Harshly, Aragorn yanked his slave up and forced him to straddle him again, 
knowing well that it would hurt immensely to put weight on the freshly aggravated buttocks. Legolas obeyed, 
grimacing at the pain. Aragorn kissed him again, tasting him thoroughly and pressing him close. With his other 
hand, Aragorn freed his own straining erection from the confining cloth and leather. Then he let go of his slave's 
mouth and commanded: “Get down on it, Little Leaf! Ride me!” 

Legolas swallowed. He rose up a bit, bringing his rear to the head of his master's straining member. Since he was 
bound he could do nothing more, but Aragorn came to his aid. With his left hand steadying his slave, Aragorn 
guided his erection into the entrance of the Elf with his right. Then he grabbed Legolas' arms with both hands and 
forced his slave down on himself in one harsh move.

Legolas gasped at the sudden pain as he was impaled by  his master's hardness in one powerful thrust. Then he  
gave another sharp and surprised hiss, this time in pleasure, as Aragorn's member hit his prostate. He was echoed 
by Aragorn's own gasp. His master just held him immobile for a few moments, giving him time to adjust, and 
Legolas felt his passage relax around the intruding flesh, pleasure mingling with the pain and overriding it for a 
moment. Then Aragorn's hands on his arms tightened again and his master let him sink backwards. With  his 
bound hands, Legolas had no leverage and was kept from falling merely by Aragorn's grip. Aragorn held him fast, 
leaning back a little until they found a precarious balance and his member inside the Elf grazed directly over his 
slave's prostate. Legolas gasped again. All his weight now rested on his hurting rear and his equally sore thighs, 
which pressed hard against his master's legs and pelvis. He trembled under the strain of the awkward position, and 
breathing hard he waited for his master's next command.

Aragorn groaned as his member was tightly enclosed by the warm flesh of his elf. It was pure bliss, and the 
shivering apprehension of his slave just added to the pleasure. He waited a few moments, until the tight passage 
enclosing him relaxed a bit. Then, adjusting his own angle so he would hit the sweet spot of his slave with every 
new thrust, Aragorn hoarsely replied his command again. “Now! Ride me!” 

Gasping at his harsh tone, Legolas obeyed. Slowly, then ever faster, he began to move, sobbing slightly as his 
hurting thighs and rear slapped against his master's legs and pelvis with every down thrust and his thighs were 
aggravated by the pressure he needed to put on them to move upwards again. At the same time, his sweet spot was 
hit again and again, and pleasure exploded in his head, mingling with the pain. He breathed hard and deeply, 
riding the pain, and felt his pleasure building, amplifying that of his master. His Elfhood, having waned a bit 
under the first painful thrusts, was fully erect again and grazed against his master's stomach with every downward 
thrust, and soon he felt himself coming close to his peak. He bit his lips, remembering to keep quiet, and could 
see Aragorn fighting to remain silent too. Then Aragorn gave a harsh hiss and thrust upwards against him, and he 
could feel hot fluid filling him and giving him relief. Swallowing a shout, he spilled himself, gasping his  master's 
name: “*Estel!*...”

He heard Aragorn's answering whisper: “*Legolas! Oh my Little Leaf!*...” -- then his master drew him upwards 
again and enclosed him in his arms, pressing him against his chest and burying his face in his neck, still joined. 
Aragorn whispered a slow, sweet thread of endearments into his ear. “You are beautiful, melethron, I need you, 
you are so wonderful to have, a marvel, I am glad to have you...”

Legolas let himself be held, warmed by the afterglow, and savored the tenderness and the closeness of his master. 
'*Oh, Estel!*' -- he thought, deeply content in this precious stolen moment between them. He had not truly 
known how much he had missed this. He was grateful and delighted that Estel had kept his word, that he had 
been gentle and had not played any harsher games. And Estel had been considerate of his slave's pleasure. Glad to 
be safely in his master's arms, Legolas let himself drift in the reassuring feeling. Finally, Estel reached out and 
gently pried the knot of the belt apart, freeing his lover's wrists, and Legolas hands came up around his neck and 
settled on his shoulders. 

Aragorn reached up and caressed his slave's face. “Better?” he asked.

Legolas looked a moment back at him, then understanding dawned. He nodded. “Much! Though it wasn't bad 
yet.” 

Aragorn kissed him on the cheek. “And we do not want it to get bad again. I'm glad.” He kissed him deeply. “You 
were wonderful, Little Leaf. I was growing desperate to have you again.”

Legolas didn't reply for a moment. Then, very deliberately, he took his master's face into both hands and kissed 
him. “Thank you, Estel,”  he said. “Thank you for waiting.” 

Aragorn just continued to pet him.

“We need to go back,” he said after a moment. “The others will start to miss us soon.”

Legolas made to get up, but Aragorn stayed him. “Wait a moment, Little Leaf. There is one more thing...” 

He fished with his hand in his pouch for a moment, then he brought the small *taer cant* out. “I need you to 
wear this,” he said simply.

Legolas stared at the thing, wide eyed and dismayed. Their coupling had been so wonderful, in  spite of his 
hurting thighs and rear, and he had hoped...  but obviously he had hoped too much. Desperately, he dared to say: 
“But--”

Aragorn looked at him, then he shook his head, exasperated. “You do not need to wear it for long,” he said. “You 
can get it out again in half an hour, maybe even before we are back in the camp. But I cannot stay within you as 
long as I normally would, and so we need to make up for that. Now, will you get up and just obey?”

Shivering, harshly yanked out of his warm afterglow, Legolas obeyed. He rose up from his master's lap, separating 
their bodies, and stood while his master slipped the hard, unyielding *taer cant* into him. 

It did not hurt; his passage was widened and relaxed enough from their recent lovemaking,  and the pleasure staff 
was rather small and of lesser size than Aragorn's erect member. But it was much more uncomfortable than the hot 
column of flesh that had just filled him. And the thing was *cold*, though surprisingly enough not as cold as 
Legolas had feared. 

“Estel! It is... it isn't--” he stammered in surprise.

Aragorn smiled up at him.

“--Not cold?” he retorted. “Well, it shouldn't be. I wore it right under my tunic and close to my body half the day 
to warm it up.”

Legolas bowed his head and stood obediently still while Aragorn fastened the *taer  
cant's* straps around him. He told himself he should be grateful. His master had been thoughtful, after all. He had 
been gentle, and tender. Still...

Aragorn was done with the straps and guided him a step back with a gentle hand on his stomach. He got up and 
kissed him again. “Do not fret,” he said. “You can take it out again soon. But you need to wear it at least half an 
hour, so we can make sure that my essence in your body can take hold. You may take it out as soon as is 
convenient after that.”

His tone held a certain current of irritation, and Legolas knew he could not risk protesting further. After all, 
Aragorn could make him wear the thing the whole night, or even during the day's walk, if he was in the mood. 
Obediently, he bowed his head. “As you wish, master,” he replied. “May I... may I dress myself again?”

Aragorn nodded, while he covered himself again. “Yes, do so, Little Leaf,” he said. “We have to go back.”

Legolas did as he was commanded. It felt awkward to fasten his leggings over the end of the pleasure staff, and he 
knew it would hamper him in his walking, since his body tried to expel it. Unfortunately, it was an all too well 
known sensation. In bleak resignation he donned his belt and gear, then his quiver. Then he turned back to his 
master, who signaled him to start walking. They didn't exchange any further words. Mutely, mood dampened 
again, Legolas followed his master back to the camp.


_____________ o ____________


Most of the Fellowship had already settled in to sleep when they came back. Just Boromir and Merry, who had 
the first watch, were still up. Boromir sat near the fire, whetting his sword. He looked up as the Ranger and the 
Elf entered the camp from their so-called '*scouting mission*'.

Merry sat a little to the side of the camp and smoked a pipe. He looked up in alarm when the Ranger and the Elf 
emerged suddenly and noiselessly out of the bushes, and Aragorn laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Quietly, 
but anxiously, Merry asked if all was well and if they had found any traces of the enemy; Aragorn gave him a 
little smile and told him the camp was safe. They exchanged a few more, quiet words before Aragorn walked over 
to his bedroll. Legolas had gone ahead. Gingerly, the Elf knelt down beside his bedroll and fidgeted with the 
blanket. He seemed reluctant to shrug out of his quiver. Aragorn squatted down beside him. He exchanged a few 
quiet words with his companion in that strange, but melodic tongue of theirs, then the Ranger unfastened his belt 
and placed it - and with it his sword -in easy reach. Afterwards he discarded his own quiver and his other 
weapons and settled into his bedding. 

Legolas knelt beside him for a moment, then he said something inaudible, and after a nod of the Ranger he got up 
again. He walked back to the edge of the camp and disappeared in the foliage.

Boromir frowned.  He could well imagine what the '*scouting mission*' of these two had truly been about. But if 
Legolas and his Ranger had just stolen a moment of privacy to make love, why then was the Elf's demeanor so 
subdued? And why was he walking so stiffly, as if he were injured again? And what was that Ranger doing simply 
settling in for sleep when his Elf was clearly uneasy and not well? For days, that so-called heir of Isildur had 
done everything in his power to fuss over the Elf, and now he simply ignored that the Elf seemed in pain? Had the 
two of them quarreled out there?

Boromir drew his brows down. Something seemed not right here. He resolved to stay awake until Legolas came 
back; and in fact it took only about half an hour until the Elf finally reappeared. Now he was walking more 
easily, but he still didn't settled into his bedroll near his Ranger; instead he walked over to the Hobbit and 
exchanged a few words, and Merry smiled and got up, apparently relieved from his watch. Legolas did not settle 
down in  the place the Hobbit just had vacated, but stood like a young sapling under the cloudy sky, staring out 
into the night.
Boromir got up and strolled over to the Elf. ”Legolas,” he greeted quietly, and the Elf nodded. ”Are you well?”

The Elf looked at him, obviously astonished. “Yes I am, Master Boromir, thank you,” he said. “I merely need to  
think.” He seemed a bit startled at Boromir's concern.

Boromir sighed. “It is a quiet night,” he began.

Legolas gave him a  indecipherable look. He did not seem to like the prospect of a conversation. “So it is,” he 
finally said. ”So far we have been lucky. But we don't know how long or even if our luck will hold. You should 
sleep, Boromir of Gondor. We might need your strength very soon.”

Boromir made a face at the rebuke.

“Very well, Master Elf,” he said a bit coldly. “But do not forget again to wake me for my turn as you did last 
night! You need some sleep, too, you know!”

The Elf graced him with a smile, though it seemed subdued. “Much less than you humans,” the Elf offered. “But I 
will do so, if you wish.” 

Boromir raised a brow at him, then he resigned himself to the dismissal and went back to his bedroll. 

Who was he to pry any answers from an Elf who was just too arrogant to speak to him?

A bit grumpy, he settled down to sleep.

Still, he could not shake the irritating feeling that something was not right. Legolas had been all right when he 
followed Aragorn out of the camp this evening. When he came back, he was walking stiffly and gingerly, as he 
had those first few days of the Quest. And his mood had been subdued, not the easy, joyful one he had shown 
when they made camp.

Silently, Boromir resolved, when the Elf and the Ranger next left the camp together, to follow them. 


_____________ 0 ______________


Unbeknownst to them, they had another watcher. 

Gimli, son of Gloin had observed the changed demeanor of the Elf as well, and he had seen the possessive  
behavior of the Ranger when he told the Elf to follow him. Gimli had made it his task to watch  the Elf very 
closely, to see if he could find another weakness he could use against the flimsy creature. He had not found a lot 
that he could use, yet he had observed some things that, to his mind,  just did not add up.

The arrogant Elf was supposed to be a princeling, yet he was haughty only when he spoke to Gimli. To others, his 
demeanor always seemed wary, somewhat hesitant, with the possible exception of the Hobbits. And he showed a 
strange deference to the Ranger. While the black haired human seemed far too concerned with the Elf's health, he 
also showed a strange air of dominance toward the Elf. And Gimli had not missed the subdued and fearful way 
the Elf had acted the first few days around that human, and the wary way he still deferred to him most of the time. 

And yet the Elf had defended that very human in Elrond's council, and woke nearly every morning when it had 
not been his turn to take a watch cradled in the Ranger's arms. 

It was possible that the Elf was somehow bound to follow the Ranger's commands, but how and why that should 
be so, Gimli could not guess. And while he was certainly no expert concerning Elves, he did not have the 
impression that the Elf was acting as untroubled around the human with whom he obviously shared his bedding, 
as he acted, say, around the Hobbits.

And still, it was quite obvious that the two were lovers. 

Was the human the husband of the Elf? Gimli knew some Dwarves in other colonies than Erebor treated their 
partners nearly as possessions and would not allow them to even speak to others, although surely no stout 
Dwarven woman would suffer such treatment for long without fighting back(1). He did not know the customs of 
humans in this, and much less he did know the customs of Elves; nor did he want to. Maybe that Elf was just too 
frail to hold his own. Yet had that Hobbit friend of his father Gloin, Bilbo, not said that the Ranger was betrothed 
to some Elven Lady?

Gimli had no idea how to solve this puzzle, but he was certainly determined to solve it.  After all, it might hold 
the key to getting his revenge upon the Elf. He did not know a lot about Elves. Yet since he had to suffer the 
company of *this* one, and since he still had a slight to avenge, he was determined to learn about him what he 
could.

He would continue to watch the Elf and his interaction with the Ranger very closely, indeed.


_____________________ 0 _______________


PART II – Hide and Seek


In the morning, Aragorn woke with empty arms. A little dismayed, he rose up on his elbows and looked around 
for his Elf. Had Legolas skipped waking Boromir for his turn of the watch again? Surely he had not been so 
dismayed over the pleasure staff that he had avoided their bedroll all night?

To his surprise, he found the Elf sitting close, nearly touching his head. Legolas was busy combing his long, silky 
hair, and as he met Aragorn's gaze he smiled at him. “Good morning, Estel,” he greeted him, “did you sleep well?”

A bit astonished at the friendly tone, yet utterly delighted, Aragorn watched him a moment critically. Legolas 
seemed well, and apparently he had no problems sitting. Good! That meant their little bout of roughness yesterday 
had done no lingering harm! Yawning, then shaking off his sleepiness, Aragorn replied: “I did. Thank you!” Then 
he added inquiringly and a bit more quietly: “You seem up early, Little Leaf. Did you sleep at all  last night?”

The Elf ducked his head a bit guiltily, but still he smiled. “I did,” he answered, “Boromir refused to let me take 
his watch.” He smiled wryly. “It seems the man of Gondor thinks that even Elves need to sleep sometimes, as well 
as Humans.” He finished with his comb and began to braid his hair again swiftly and nimbly. 

Aragorn snorted and cocked his head at him. “And he would not be wrong in that!” he said. “It is well he did not 
allow you to take his watch again. You need some rest, too, sometimes, you know!” 
More gently and a little more quietly, he added in Silvain: “How fares your back?”

Legolas blushed – a quite becoming hue, Aragorn decided -  and ducked his head again, but his smile remained. 
“It is well again, My Lord,” he said, “you have been gentle!”

Then he suddenly and hesitantly reached out and touched Aragorn's head, almost tracing through his master's 
black hair. 

He drew back again immediately, as if he had been burned, and looked down again. Blushing harder, and very 
shyly, he said: “I'm sorry, I didn't mean...” he trailed off. 

Aragorn went very still. He knew precisely what had just happened. Normally, being his slave, it was not 
*Legolas'* place to initiate closeness and contact between them. He could *invite* it, or even *ask* for it; but 
normally, it was not *his* place to start touching his master, save when he had been ordered to do so, or if it was 
needed to help or aid him. 

Of course, when they were alone in the wilds, and far away from Rivendell, neither of them would place much 
weight on that bit of protocol. Yet now they were *not* alone, and apparently Legolas was not sure how openly 
he was allowed to display affection in front of the Fellowship. And obviously, the memory of Rivendell was still 
fresh enough in Legolas' mind to make him hesitate in breaking protocol even in this little matter.  Still... it had 
been some time since Legolas had been truly relaxed around his master, and dared to touch him without some 
kind of invitation, had it not?

Legolas' simple and unwary display of affection was something Aragorn missed keenly sometimes these days.

Reaching out and taking his slave's hand into his own, Aragorn brought it to his mouth and kissed the tapered 
fingers gently, then placed them against his cheek. “You're welcome to do that,” he said. “You are welcome to 
touch me, Little Leaf.”

Legolas looked at him, then he traced a moment over his face, blushing furiously. Carefully, he finally drew his 
hand back, but this time it was not in fear, just due to the fact they were not alone and the Fellowship was slowly 
rousing from sleep all around them.

Holding his gaze, the Elf said very solemnly: “Thank you! Thank you, Estel!” 

He did not elaborate. He did not need to. 

'*Thank you for being gentle. Thank you for letting me heal. Thank you for waiting this long with taking me 
again. Thank you for keeping your promise.'* 

It was heartbreaking in the way how basic these things truly were, and yet how much it meant to his slave that 
Aragorn had kept to them. 

Aragorn regarded him for a moment, the familiar slight grief in his eyes, but very tenderly. 

“You are welcome,” he reassured him again. Then he added quietly: “I thought I had you disappointed yesterday 
with that *taer cant*.”

Legolas looked down. “I am sorry! I didn't mean--” he said, then shook his head. Solemnly he looked up again 
and met his master's eyes. “I've had some time to think,” he said. “I was being stupid. I'm sorry, Estel. I should not 
have doubted your decision.” He swallowed hard. ”I-- I request--”

He could not quite bring himself to say it. Aragorn's finger found his mouth. His master laid his finger across his 
lips and stopped him.

“I am not angry, Little Leaf,” Aragorn said. “It is well. I know you don't like it.” He sighed. “It was not meant as 
punishment, or as a toy. Just a necessity.”

Legolas looked up at him, surprised and grateful. He kissed the finger on his lips. Then he murmured solemnly 
again: “Thank you, Estel. You are gracious!”

Aragorn briefly caressed his cheeks, then he drew his hand back. He yawned again. “Now, is there any chance for 
breakfast?” he asked in Common, deliberately breaking the mood and returning to their official roles of  
'comrades in the Fellowship', “and could I borrow your comb when you are done?”


Legolas drew back and regarded him with faked outrage, grateful for the lightening of the mood between them. 
“*My* comb?!” he answered in the same language, “in *your* hair?! When did you last wash it, scruffy human?”

Aragorn drew a grimace. “*Not that old taunt again!*” he protested. “I washed it at the same time as you did, 
prissy Elf! It is not my fault that your hair seems to keep silky by some strange magical means for much longer. 
Not fair, anyway, if you ask me...”

But he grinned broadly as he said it, to signal his slave he wasn't angry at the teasing, and he was delighted when 
Legolas snorted with feigned disgust and wrinkled his nose. 

“Go wash yourself,” the Elf said with a show of haughtiness, “then I will *think* about grooming your hair with 
my comb, and maybe help you shave that scruffy thing you call a beard into something more presentable,  too!”

They were taken from their cheerful exchange of insults by a sharp “*harrumph!*” behind them, and turned.

“If the two of you are quite finished,” the Dwarf said, looking down at them, “it is *your* turn today to get the 
water, Elf, if I recall correctly!”

Legolas glowered at him. “Didn't I take one of the watches, Master Dwarf?” he retorted, “I would think it was 
*your* turn--” 

“*I* got the water yesterday,” Gimli said with derision, “but if you regard yourself too *well-bred* to do simple 
chores, maybe one of the Hobbits--”

Legolas just glowered at him another moment, then he sighed and rose up. “I'll have to go, Estel,” he said, “lest 
the Nogoth accuses me of '*skipping my chores*' again. Even if I don't recall any agreement that made it *his* 
place  to decide who was doing what among the Fellowship.”

With that he stalked off. Aragorn rose, annoyed and angry.

“Legolas is right, Master Dwarf,” he said quietly, “I don't recall it was *your* place to decide who should do 
which chores, either. How comes it that you are suddenly the one to give out orders?”

The Dwarf shrugged. “It is not as if it wouldn't do that Elf some good to do some lowly chores,” he said, “instead 
of just watching and scouting. It's not as if he is anything better just because he is a haughty princeling.”

Aragorn glowered at him.

“You have *no idea* of what you speak,” he said quietly and angrily, “and it is certainly not my intention to cure 
you of your ignorance, son of Gloin. But Legolas has made an effort so far to keep the peace within this 
Fellowship, instead of reacting to your taunts, and so should you!” He glared at the Dwarf and added: “Or does 
this Quest means so little to you?”

Gimli straightened up. “You doubt my dedication to the Quest?!” he asked furiously.

“I doubt your willingness to *keep the peace*,” Aragorn said. “Or why didn't you ask *me* to get the water? *I* 
did not take any watches last night!”

The Dwarf shrugged. “Now that you mention it...” he said nonchalantly and quite unperturbed, “somehow it did 
not even *occur* to me to ask you.”

He bowed. “Now, if you would excuse me... I have some other things that need my attention.”

And he turned and stalked off to the fireplace, where he busied himself with lighting the fire.

Aragorn followed him with his gaze, then he fought down his anger. He had heard Gimli's mutterings too often 
now not to know his argument by heart.
 
*'It isn't *you* who has to make up for the first three days of laziness'*  were the words the Dwarf had not 
repeated just now, but had muttered often enough to anyone who would or wouldn't hear it,  a persistent 
commentary on  whatever Legolas did for them these last four days. And there was no way Aragorn could tell him 
how very far off the point and unfair that reasoning truly was.

Shaking his head in grim disgust, he knelt down to pack his and Legolas' bedrolls, then rose and stalked off to the 
stream to follow his Elf's suggestion about washing himself.


He missed the sharp and scrutinizing gaze which followed him. 

Gimli nodded to himself, quite satisfied with his little experiment.  *So, the Elf would be shy to touch the Ranger 
first, but the Ranger would not hesitate to touch the Elf? And at the taunt about getting the water, the Elf would 
not jump up and confront him over  his provocation, but rather avoid a direct contest, leaving the Ranger to 
protect him instead? *

Curious! The behavior of these two seemed more odd to him with every passing day! Gimli did not feel he knew 
enough to solve this puzzle. But while he pretended to go about his own business, he did not cease to watch these 
two closely the whole morning, and indeed during the following days, either. 


______________0 _______________


The Fellowship moved on. After a few more days, their luck changed. The terrain was now harder to move 
through, and the mountains were ever drawing nearer, and bent westwards, and about the feet of the main range 
there was a tumbled and ever wider land of bleak hills and deep valleys filled with turbulent waters(2). All too 
often their paths lead them to the edge of sheer falls, or down to treacherous swamps, or through unstable ground. 
It was on the tenth day since the start of their journey that Aragorn suddenly stopped and called to Gandalf. He 
also motioned to Legolas, who followed his gesture instantly.

The three of them squatted down together for a short, strained discussion.

“I do not like this,” Aragorn said, “the terrain seems much changed to me since Legolas and I traveled here last. 
And that was just about an year ago.”

Gandalf looked critically at the stony ground. “I agree,” he said, “there seems to have been a landslide.” 

“They happen often here,” Legolas offered. “The mountains are close, and in the spring the brooks carry much 
more water. Maybe--”

Aragorn drew a grimace. “Anyway, we cannot trust our memories any longer. We have to scout each leg of the 
path beforehand now, even if it means we have to slow down.” He shook his head. “We can not risk falling into 
some gaps that may have opened, or triggering another landslide.”

Gandalf looked up. “Very well. Then we will have to rest longer midday, and you and Legolas will have to scout 
ahead whenever possible. You two are the ones most familiar with this terrain,” he decided. “I'm sorry that this 
will leave little opportunity to rest for you!”

Aragorn grimaced again. “Even less I like the fact that it will slow us down,” he said, “but that cannot be helped 
now.”

Legolas said nothing. He did not regret the chance to spend more time solely with his master, although he liked 
the Hobbits. But Aragorn seemed much more relaxed towards him when they were alone. 

The Fellowship soon settled into the new routine. The Hobbits did not mind the longer midday rests, while 
Legolas or Aragorn, or sometimes both of them together, took swift scouting missions to decide the next part of 
the way. 

But Gandalf and Boromir were troubled by their slowed pace, although for different reasons. Boromir was eager 
to go home, since he wished to resume his post as captain in the war and feared for his men; and secretly, he 
harbored the thought that the current company carried the weapon that might just change Gondor's luck in this 
war for good. The sooner they were back in Minas Tirith, the better; he did not mind at all Gandalf's decision a 
few days ago  to travel through the Gap of Rohan. 

Gandalf on the other hand was nervous about the loss of time, since he feared Saruman might use it to build his 
army further, and Sauron's minions would  use it to regroup. The swifter the Fellowship would be, the better. He 
did not like the forced delay at all. And Gimli's openly voiced  doubts of the competence of the Elven member of 
the Fellowship to scout the ground for a sure path through landslides wasn't helping, either. The growing strain 
between the Elf and Dwarf was a matter of constant disquiet, especially since Aragorn seemed to take Gimli's 
attacks on his Elven companion personally. 

The wizard saw it with concern. The sooner they left this stage of the journey behind and reached Hollin, the 
better!


Unfortunately, Legolas' hopes that the time spent solely with his master would improve Aragorn's mood and his 
indulgence were in vain. Aragorn seemed in much distress these days, and more grim and terse than Legolas had 
seen him for some time. It did not help that their scouting missions proved to be taxing and treacherous indeed 
and there was hardly time even to steal a kiss or two while they searched for the best path for the company and for 
any signs of creatures of the enemy. They were swift, and concentrated on the task ahead, and so there was no 
opportunity to use the time alone to lie together or to feed the spell again. 

It didn't matter, though. There was still time until the necessity would arise again. Or so Legolas thought, at least.

Therefore he was surprised when after the second day of their scouting, his master commanded him to accompany 
him for another 'look around' after they made camp in the evening. 

Legolas obeyed, but with much apprehension. Aragorn had had an quiet, but heated exchange with Boromir that 
day. He did not look forward to what his master would do to him in such a mood.

Still, he had no choice but to follow his command.


They were barely out of earshot when Aragorn grabbed him and drew him into a crushing embrace, taking his 
mouth in a demanding kiss. Then, without further preliminaries, he buried his mouth in Legolas' neck and bit 
down, causing him to gasp.

It took long moments until Aragorn finally drew back again, yet he did not relent his bruising grip on this slave's 
arms. 

“Do you know how frustrating it is to be alone with you for hours without the chance for much of anything?” he 
asked. “I *want* you, Little Leaf, I want you *now*! Undress!!”

Legolas swallowed at the harsh command. Eyes wide as saucers, he dared to say: “But-- My Lord--the others--” 
He did not continue. Aragorn had to *know* the camp was far too close. They would risk to be interrupted by 
anyone going to relieve himself. Besides... “And it isn't bad yet,” he dared to protest. “Estel--”

Aragorn grabbed his hair, harshly, and yanked. The Elf stared at him in sudden pain and fear. He opened his 
mouth to say something more, then thought better of it and just swallowed. 

Aragorn held his hair uncompromisingly in his grip and stepped close. “*I did not give you leave to argue!*” he 
snarled. “You *will* obey! *Now*!”

Shivering, Legolas nodded – grimacing at the pain the nod caused due to his master's unyielding grip in his hair - 
and Aragorn let go of him and allowed him to take a step back. With glittering eyes, he watched as Legolas began 
to loosen the straps of his quiver -- 

-- but suddenly, the Elf stopped and whirled around, knives drawn in an instant. 

For a moment, Aragorn was just annoyed, then well-honed instinct took over, and he dropped into a fighting 
stance, drawing his sword. “What is it, Little Leaf?” he whispered.

Yet there was no need for Legolas to explain, for in the next moment, he could hear the noise himself, and it took 
only moments until the Dwarf emerged from he bushes.

“*Oh*,” Gimli made with faked surprise, “you are back already? That seems to have been a short scouting trip 
indeed!” He did not bother to hide his satisfaction that he had disturbed them.

For a moment, Legolas thought his master would strangle the Dwarf, or just run him through; but then Aragorn 
sheathed his sword again and rolled his eyes. “No, we were just starting, Master Dwarf,” he said. “Did you wish 
to join us?”

Legolas ducked his head while he sheathed his own weapons and fastened the straps of his harness again.  
*Having to endure the Dwarf stumbling around in their wake?! That was all they needed. But maybe Aragorn 
thought to lead him to that ledge...*

He shook his head and banished his treacherous thought. He would *not* kill any member of the Fellowship, not 
even the Dwarf. *He would not! Nor would Aragorn. *Even if the thought was really tempting...*

To his relief, Gimli shook his head. “*Me?*” he retorted, “No! I am just looking for firewood. The Hobbits 
decided we need more, and so I and Merry and Pippin volunteered to find some.” He smiled politely. “But don't 
be restrained by me. I'm sure you have yet much  ...*scouting*... left to do, tonight.”

Legolas saw his master's face and decided that maybe Aragorn *would* kill the Dwarf after all. There was no 
chance Aragorn could take Legolas tonight without having to fear that any of the Hobbits – or the Dwarf – would 
find an excuse to stumble over them. 

Still, Aragorn remained admirably calm. “As you say, Master Dwarf,” he said. “Legolas? Are you coming?”

Without a further look at the annoying Nogoth, Legolas followed. They were quite some distance away when 
Aragorn turned back to him. This time, his master's grip around his shoulders was more gentle, and he drew the  
slave in a tight embrace.

For a moment, Aragorn was content just to savor the feel of his slave against his body.

“Maybe it's good we were disturbed, Little Leaf,” he finally said. “I'm not sure I was entirely myself back there. 
And you were right; it was too close to the camp.”

Legolas sighed and returned the embrace, glad the moment of harshness had passed and equally glad of the shared 
closeness. “You mean-- the Ring--?” he dared to ask. 

Aragorn nodded. “I have *hungered* for you this whole day,” he said, “but that is no excuse. Even without 
Gimli's determination to pester us, we could have been discovered. I'm sorry.”

He fingered longingly through his slave's golden tresses. “It is just hard to be so close to you and not to have 
you,” he said. “I grow very frustrated.”

“Estel,” Legolas began, “we can't--”

Aragorn sighed. He kissed him. When he finished the kiss he said: ”I know! And I could *strangle* that Nogoth 
for that. But tomorrow is another night. Maybe we can find some time to sneak off, *then*.”

Legolas relaxed into his kiss, then let himself savor the tender petting. “It isn't bad yet,” he nevertheless dared to 
say. “There is still time...”

Aragorn's grip on his shoulder tightened a bit and he bowed his head. “I'm sorry, master,” he corrected himself. “I 
didn't mean--”

Aragorn tucked a braid out of the way and bit gently into his ear, starting to nibble, and Legolas had to stop and 
swallow a moan. He could feel Aragorn smile at his reaction.


Finally, his master let go of his ear and kissed his neck. “I think I *may* like to take you sometimes just for my 
*own pleasure*, Little Leaf,” he said, “even if the spell does not demand it.”

Legolas blushed and ducked his head. “I'm sorry, master,” he said, quite subdued. “I request--” 

Aragorn silenced him with a kiss. “Don't tempt me,” he warned then in  a good-natured growl. “I might take you 
up on it! But seriously, Little Leaf, the terrain is growing more dangerous by the day, and soon we might actually 
find  ourselves hunted by the enemy. I would prefer to take you often, so when we *do* find ourselves under 
strain and there is no more time to feed the spell, you won't be in need.”

Legolas nodded. He was glad that there would be no punishment tonight. And of course Aragorn's reasoning was 
sound enough. Still...

“Is *this* what had you so bothered these last few days?” he dared to ask. 

Aragorn drew a grimace. “Never mind,” he said. “*You* aren't the only one having trouble keeping the voice of 
*that thing* out of your head.”


But he did not elaborate. He shook his head and would not say more. Instead he withdrew and stepped back. 
“Now, let us go before our dear Master Dwarf just *happens* to stumble over us again,” he said. “I suggest you 
take the circle south around the camp, I take the circle north, and we meet back at the fire, later. And do not take 
one of the watches tonight,” he warned as an afterthought. “This day was taxing enough. You need your rest!”

Legolas gave his master a deep bow and then turned to take the way he was commanded. They met just half an 
hour later back in the camp, and by then the Dwarf wasn't back yet. It was with some satisfaction that Legolas 
heard Gimli finally return, muttering and cursing into his beard, nearly an hour later. Obviously, the Nogoth had 
got lost in his little pestering mission, and found himself hard pressed to retrace his tracks and make it back. 
Legolas could not say that he felt sorry for him. Shortly afterwards, he slipped into peaceful elven dreams.

But Aragorn's dreams that night were anything but peaceful. 

*The Fellowship hunted by the enemy; warg voices howling in the air, shadows circling over them, no time to 
rest, to stop, to sneak away at night or even by day just for a few minutes... Legolas, squirming in pain, in need, 
trembling, crying for his master... too weak to go on, grey in the face, the dark strains on his flesh ever growing, 
until they reach even his neck and face... the normally clear, blue eyes filmed over, unseeing... Gandalf, face 
laced in sorrow, telling him they'll have to leave the Elf behind...*

-- This time it was Aragorn's turn to wake up, swallowing a scream, trembling and sweating. He looked around. It 
was just two hours past midnight, there were still a few hours until morning. Beside him, Legolas rose up on his 
elbows and looked inquiringly at him.

He looked back at his reassuringly alive and healthy Elf for a moment, then he just shook his head and motioned 
him to snuggle close. Legolas returned his gaze with a clear question, but when no explanation was forthcoming 
he just nodded and obeyed. Aragorn enfolded him in his arms and held him fast. Slowly, his trembling ebbed.

It was a long time, though,  until he dared to slip into an uneasy sleep again, and much too soon afterwards dawn 
found them.


___________________ 0 __________________


The following night, their luck wasn't any better. This time, Aragorn chose to find a place well out of earshot and 
a good, healthy walk away from the camp. Still, before they had gone further than a few kisses and just as Legolas 
was  kneeling before his master and had discarded his quiver, the Elf froze  and turned in the direction of the 
camp. 

Aragorn froze too, eyes flashing in anger. ”*Please don't tell me*--” he began, but in the same moment he could 
hear the approaching noise himself. In an instant, Legolas was on his feet,  quiver buckled back on, and had 
unslung and strung his bow. Then he turned, arrow notched and trained on the very spot where mere seconds later 
the Dwarf emerged. 

The Nogoth stopped at the sight of the pointed arrow. Still, he had the considerable nerve to say with faked 
outrage: “*Oi*, Master Elf! It's just me! Take care who you point your arrow at!”

In the next moment, though, he swallowed hard and went very still as a sword suddenly rested against his throat.

“You were right, Legolas,” the flat voice of the Ranger said, “it was no Orc who was stumbling through the 
bushes here. Although it certainly made enough noise to be mistaken for one!” 

His voice sounded grim and distinctly annoyed, and Gimli began to get seriously nervous, the more since he could 
not *see* the Man. 

Paling and somewhat subdued, Gimli said: “Stay your sword, Master Ranger! I am no enemy, although that Elf 
seems to have trouble seeing the difference.”

Legolas merely raised a brow. Yet it was Aragorn who answered. “It may have to do something with your 
demeanor, Master Dwarf,” he said. “Now, what are you doing this far from the camp? Your noise would be 
enough to draw every enemy around upon us, if there are such lurking in the area. You *do* remember that this 
mission is firstly about secrecy?”

Gimli flushed. “I was merely looking to relieve myself,” he growled. “Now, if you *kindly* would remove that 
sword of yours--”

The sword did not leave his throat. It did not even waver. Instead, the flat voice of the Ranger asked: “This far 
from the camp? You took quite a walk just to hit the bushes, Master Dwarf!”

Gimli sputtered. Of course he could not openly admit he had been deliberately following them, albeit they knew 
as well as him  that this was precisely what he had been doing. Finally, he drawled:

“Merry and Pippin have this silly game of  '*accidentally*' stumbling over others who go for the bushes just to 
embarrass them. I thought if I went far enough away--” He stopped. “*Anyway*, I hardly believe I need to justify 
myself to *you*!” he added belligerently. “Now, either you remove your sword, or you take a step back and give 
me time to draw my axe so I can relieve you of it!”

The sword didn't move. “*Wrong*, Master Dwarf,” the Ranger grimly said. “If you endanger the others with your 
behaviour, you *will* find that I hold you accountable for it! And if you draw the enemy to us by stumbling 
through the dark, making such a racket, then *that* is exactly what you are doing!”

The sword pressed closer for a moment, and Gimli paled a bit more. 

Legolas, who was watching the proceedings, was undecided if Aragorn would finally give in to the temptation and 
relieve the Dwarf of his head, or not. His master looked every bit as if he was going to give in to the allurement.

Then Aragorn finally removed the sword and sheathed it. 

“*Come*, Legolas,” he said, “if there were any creatures of the enemy around, they would have certainly been  
upon us by now. Let us circle the camp and then return.” 

With that he turned. Legolas' arrow, which had been pointing to the ground during his master's lengthy discussion 
with the Dwarf, suddenly was trained on the Nogoth again.

Gimli considered his options. Every ounce of pride he possessed urged him to attack the Ranger. Still... there was 
the arrow of the Elf. And besides, the Ranger was a member of the Fellowship, and as little as Gimli liked him, he 
would not go as far as attacking him. Yet. So, he simply gave another noncommittal “*harrumph!” and waited 
until both the Ranger and the Elf disappeared into the bushes, before he turned and went back to their camp 
again.

Legolas followed his master's way through the terrain surrounding their camp. Aragorn's face was grim and dark 
with anger. Still, the Adan made no other attempt at intimacy. Obviously, the mood for that had been destroyed 
quite thoroughly, and besides, they could not be sure they would not be disturbed again. Finally, when they had 
made a full circle around the camp, Aragorn stopped and enfolded his Elf within his arms again.

“I nearly was about to kill that Dwarf,” he said. “*Legolas*--”

The Elf's arms came up around him. Legolas hugged him back. 

The Elf could feel his master tremble with harshly checked wrath. “I thought you would,” he dared to say. “My 
Lord--”

Aragorn shook his head, and Legolas trailed off.

“I know. We can't,” he said. “Not here, and not now.” He paused for a moment. “This is not working, Little Leaf. 
We'll have to find another way,” he added then. “I'll think of something.”

But he did not elaborate, and he did  not even steal another  kiss. Instead he simply let go of his slave and took a 
step back, then turned and went back to the camp. Legolas followed him. He did not dare to say another word. He 
was very subdued.

Aragorn was in a terrible mood tonight.

Legolas could not imagine that this fact boded well for the coming day.


_____________________ o ___________________


PART III - Discovery


Boromir of Gondor was not a happy man. Grimly he looked forward along the long file of the Fellowship to the 
lead where one of the sources of his discontent walked. Aragorn was in a quiet conference with the wizard. He 
was without his fairer shadow for once; the Elf was not in sight right now, since half an hour ago he had taken off 
again to scout ahead. So there was nothing around even to improve the scenery. And just behind him, Boromir 
could hear the constant grumbling of Gimli, the Dwarf.

Boromir scowled. It was not only that he find himself walking through a bleak, empty country, on a mission he 
considered sheer madness, while he was dearly needed in the war at home. But that mission was also set to 
destroy the *one* powerful weapon that might be just enough to change the luck of Gondor in that war for good, 
the very weapon he, Boromir, had been sent to secure by his father. A weapon that now was carried by a Halfling, 
whom he and the others had sworn to protect, since the Hobbit alone could hardly so much as protect himself 
from a wolf, should they ever meet one in this cursed barren land. 

Not that Boromir held any dislike towards the Hobbits. On the contrary, he liked them well. They just weren't 
anything like capable fighters. And to give something like that One Ring into the hand of such as they... It 
boggled his mind. 

So, not only did he find himself on a Quest whose very purpose contradicted everything he himself believed in, 
no! But he also had to do it in the company of a sour, grumpy Dwarf, four Halflings just too prone to mischief 
and unable to defend themselves should the company be attacked, an easily angered wizard his father Denethor 
had always regarded as ambitious and not to be trusted, and a dour, haughty, arrogant Ranger too ragged to 
command any true respect, who claimed to be Isildur's long lost heir and to have a lawful claim to Gondor's vacant 
throne. Not to mention an Elf who was too flighty and too aloof to grace a mere Man of Gondor like him with the 
pleasures of a longer conversation, let alone his company, albeit he had no such reservations toward the Hobbits. 
Nor toward that Ranger who happened to be his lover. 

And that was another part of this journey that rankled him. Those two were always sneaking off together to share 
what was probably some hot cuddling match, while the others of the Fellowship, like for example him, had 
nothing but their thoughts to warm themselves at night. *It just wasn't fair!*

Black jealousy clouded Boromir's mind and made him loathe the Ranger even more. He knew himself as an 
experienced soldier, and he was no stranger to prolonged abstinence, especially during warfare. He had endured 
worse hardships, and under much nastier conditions. Nor did it bother him that the Ranger and the Elf were 
males who shared their beds. Boromir had had his own share of lovers, both male and female, in the past, 
although presently he knew of no-one who would wait for him and miss him during the nights at home. 

No, it was the fact that these two did not even bother to *attempt* to set their love-life aside and concentrate on 
the task at hand on this Quest. Instead they even claimed to undertake noble '*scouting missions*', when, in 
truth, all they probably did during those trips was scout each other's arses. And then they even claimed to be *too 
exhausted* to take a turn of the watches! 

And what was that Ranger doing anyway, clutching this male Elf as his lover, while Boromir had heard the 
Hobbits chatting just the other day about the necklace the Ranger always wore, and that it meant he was betrothed 
to an Elven Lady?  Apparently he was the intended of the beautiful Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond himself. 
Boromir had just seen the lady from afar, but had to admit she was a prize indeed. And still, the Ranger 
entertained that dalliance with his lover?

Was *one Elf* not enough for the man? Did he have to claim *two*? And if he was supposed to be a future king 
of men, could he not find himself a nice woman of his own race to marry? Why did it have to be an Elf in the first 
place? 

Although, thinking of Elves, Boromir had to admit he could well see the attraction. Especially when it came to 
the one among their company on this forsaken Quest.

Indeed Legolas' company was one of the few assets Boromir could see in the current circumstances. From their 
unlucky start at the Council he had grown quite a bit fonder and more respectful of the Elf, although he had rarely 
found the opportunity to exchange more than a few words. But Legolas was definitely easy on the eyes, and most 
of the times when he *was* in their company, and was *not* walking too closely to the Ranger, but rather 
chatting with the Hobbits, he was even merry. 

In the evenings, especially when they had the time to sit and chat a bit, Legolas would open up a little and even 
grace the company occasionally with a melodic song. Only at night he would retreat to his place beside (or 
sometimes *in*) the bedding of the Ranger, and always when Boromir approached the Elf he found the watchful 
eyes of the other Man on him. He would not have minded, only Legolas had a tendency to clam up if the Dunadan 
gave the slightest indication of displeasure. 

In fact, Boromir could hardly understand why the Elf seemed so wary of the Man. Legolas was supposed to be a 
warrior, after all, even a prince, and he had clearly not shown any hesitation to confront Boromir when it came to 
defending Aragorn against him at the council. But at the slightest command of the Ranger he backed down and 
obeyed. 

He *always* did.

And since there had been hardly any chance for privacy with the elusive Elf, Boromir had not managed to come 
one bit  closer to solving this puzzle. 

But he resolved within his own mind that he would. 

Grimly, Boromir trudged on, determined to make another attempt at getting closer to Elf as soon as possible.


______________o ____________


Boromir's opportunity came at the midday rest. The Elf had returned an hour ago and had led them to this place,  
covered by some bushes, some gnarled trees, and with a little brook running in the vicinity. The Hobbits had 
decided to make camp at once. Ahead, the territory seemed to grow more unfriendly, with hills, rocky ground and 
large boulders blocking a longer view. 

The Ranger had taken his plate from Sam and sat now a little aside, quietly conferring with the wizard. The 
Hobbits chatted among themselves, and Gimli sat aside, enjoying his pipe. That left Legolas, thoughtfully looking 
at the sky, his plate forgotten beside him. Boromir took his chance and settled himself beside the Elf.

“You did a fine task of scouting again, finding us this place,” he began. 

Legolas turned his head from the sky and looked at him, a bit astonished and startled out of his thoughts. He 
smiled. “My thanks,” he said. “I hope we will find more of these in the territory ahead. We're nearing Hollin now, 
if I am not mistaken. The land should become easier with time.”

Boromir looked at him. “So you traveled here before? I wondered,” he said, “you seemed to know the territory 
well.”

Legolas blushed a bit. “I have traveled here before,” he acknowledged, although he did not elaborate further. “But 
the last few days, we could recognize little of the land, for it was much changed by landslides.” He reached for his 
plate again and took another bite. “Have *you* ever traveled here before?”

Boromir thought the blush of the Elf very becoming. He shook his head. 

“Never,” he said with regret. “The longest travel I have undertaken before this Quest has been my ride to 
Rivendell, and then I passed through lands further west and used the Green Way.” He shrugged. “The war in 
Minas Tirith does not leave much time for travel save to raise allies or partake in campaigns,” he explained. Then 
he looked appraisingly at the Elf. “You seem troubled by something,” he observed.

Legolas blushed again. “I am troubled by the weather,” he said quickly. “The sky is clouded, and has been for 
days. Not much opportunity to see the stars, or even the sun. I miss them!“

Boromir had the distinct impression that this wasn't all that troubled the Elf, but he was sure that he would get no 
further explanation. “If we make it to Minas Tirith,” he offered, “I will take you to the citadel and up the Tower 
of Ecthelion! It is a marvel, higher even than the Tower of Orthanc! From there you will have a wonderful view of 
the stars. You would really like it!”

Legolas smiled. He was a little amused at the Gondorian's eager invitation. In his mind, he wryly added: '*Oh, yes, 
and while I enjoyed the tower in your company, the rest of our Fellowship would probably get a prolonged and 
guided tour through the dungeons. Especially Aragorn and Frodo!*'-- But he took care not to say that aloud and 
not let any of these thoughts show on his face. Instead he offered: “I think I'd like that very much. I have heard a 
lot of good things about your city.”

'*And it was nice enough when I saw it before, although it could certainly use more greenery,*' he added in his 
thoughts. But suddenly he started and looked up  like a trapped animal at the approaching, unfamiliarly loud 
thread of his master.

Aragorn's face was clouded and stormy, and Legolas paled. 

“Legolas,” his master said harshly, “come along! The day does not get younger while we dally, and we have to 
scout the way ahead!”

Legolas saw his face and had no doubts he was in trouble. There was a palpable dark cloud looming over 
Aragorn's head. Swallowing, he managed to offer his master a polite nod and set his plate away. “Excuse me, 
Master Boromir,” he offered politely, “but duty calls!” 

And with that he rose and followed his master without further delay. 

Boromir stared after them, irritated and troubled. *What was it with this Ranger? Was he now jealous if someone 
else so much as *chatted* with his lover?* 

Pondering his options for a few moments, he finally reached a decision and rose himself. 

*Legolas had seemed quite displeased by the sudden 'call to duty', and quite a bit uneasy at following it. Maybe 
it was better he made sure there was no trouble waiting for the Elf!* 



______________ 0 ______________


If Legolas had feared a harsh inquiry about his chat with the Man of Gondor, his misgivings proved to be in vain. 
Instead, Aragorn walked on, grimly and wordlessly, until they had covered quite some ground away from the 
camp and reached a place among large boulders. There he suddenly turned around and stopped. 

Legolas watched him, eyes wide with apprehension. Aragorn's expression didn't bode well for him. 

“*Now*, Little Leaf, I finally have you for myself!” Aragorn said grimly. “*Here* we will not be disturbed by the 
Dwarf!”

Legolas looked around in alarm. They had walked well out of earshot, and they were covered in the direction of 
the camp not only by the boulders, but by the soft bulge of a hill that blocked the direct line of sight. Still, they 
were far too close to the others and far too exposed for his liking. It was bright day, and although the sky was 
clouded otherwise the air was clear, allowing far sight in all directions. From any angle that was not blocked by 
the boulders they would be in plain sight. If any of the others decided to follow them, or just took a little hike... 

And anyway, weren't they supposed --? 

“But,” he dared to object, “Aragorn-- the scouting--?”

Aragorn shook his head in mounting irritation. He stepped close. His face was harsh and determined, and Legolas 
could see a fey light in his eyes.

“The scouting isn't necessary anymore,” Aragorn said, “we left the area changed by the landslides behind 
yesterday. Didn't you notice? From now on, my memory will serve again.”

He was very close now and grabbed for his slave, drawing him to himself. 

“I have waited for a chance to take you undisturbed all day!” he said. “Now I will have you! Undress, Little Leaf! I 
want to take you!”

Legolas could feel him tremble with passion, and he could feel it jump over to himself and kindle his own. Still, 
he hesitated to obey. They were too exposed. They could not risk--

“But, My Lord!” Legolas dared to say, “The others--”

Aragorn silenced him with a harsh, demanding kiss. “I do not *care* about the others,” he then snarled in a tone 
that tolerated no further disobedience. “*Undress!*”

Legolas' hands came up by sheer instinct to follow the command, and Aragorn let him go and took a step back to 
enjoy the sight. 

Legolas eyes were wide with fear. He began to fumble with the straps holding his quiver, then he ceased. “But, 
My Lord,” he finally dared to object one last time, “we can't! It is bright day! Somebody might have followed us! 
We could be seen--”

Aragorn hit him. Hard, and full in the face.

Legolas rocked back under the impact; then he stood, staring stunned and mutely at his master. He saw his wrath 
and dropped to his knees, head bowed in submission.

“*I gave you an order!*” Aragorn snarled. “I did *not* give you leave to discuss it! Down with your leggings, 
*now*! You *will* obey me!”

Eyes wide with shock, Legolas obeyed. Quickly, he freed himself of his quiver and his belt, then he took down 
his boots and leggings and knelt down again, thighs bared and groin exposed to his master's sight. He bowed his 
head again. He knew he would not get away with a mere spanking *this* time.

“I am sorry, My Lord,” he  dared to say, “I have failed your command. I request punishment, if you would grace 
me with it.”

It was hard to utter the ritualistic words again, but he knew it was the only thing that might appease his master's 
anger now.

Aragorn nodded in dark satisfaction. “And punishment you shall receive,” he snarled. “It seems I have been too 
gentle with you during these last few days! *You forget your place*. You are my *slave*, bound to serve my 
pleasure whenever and however I demand it! I think you may need a reminder of that fact!”

Legolas said nothing. He had not been given leave to speak again. 

Besides, as much as his master's brutal words about his status and his duties hurt, they were still true. He *was* a 
slave, bound to serve Aragorn's pleasure. *Still... to hear these words from *Estel*...* 

And Aragorn did not seem himself. It was not like him to discard reason, and never before had he punished 
Legolas for giving warnings to him in the wilds. Legolas kept his head bowed. He wished his master would come 
out of it, would  shake off whatever was possessing him right now. But it was not to be. He would have to bear 
this. Maybe, his master would return to reason later...

He was ripped out of his musings when Aragorn stepped close to him and grabbed his hair, yanking it back and 
forcing his slave to look up at him.

“Do you understand?” the Ranger asked harshly.

Legolas swallowed at the pain of the tight grip in his hair, as well as at Aragorn's dark mood. “Yes, My Lord,” he 
said.

“Do you agree?”

The slave lowered his eyes submissively. “Yes, My Lord. I am sorry! I was out of place. I ask forgiveness.”

Aragorn nodded again. His gaze mellowed a little and his anger lost some of his sting. “Maybe I'll grant it after 
you have earned it,” he nevertheless said. “You earned yourself another whipping, Little Leaf. Today, you'll feel 
the lash again. Give me your belt.”

He let go of his slave's hair and took a step back again. Legolas bowed his head to him and took his belt, freeing 
it of pouch and knife and handing it to his master.

Aragorn took the belt and ran it experimentally through his other hand. He nodded with grim satisfaction. “Good. 
The straps of your quiver, too. I will tie you up for this!” he commanded.

Legolas swallowed again. As he had been commanded, he unfastened two of the straps of his harness and handed 
them over to his master.

Aragorn tested them with a sharp tug between his hands and nodded. Then he looked around, finding a smaller 
boulder nearby where he could sit. “Very well. Come! I want you draped over my knee for this!”

Wordlessly, Legolas got up and came over to his master, who sat down on the boulder and made him stand before 
him. 

Aragorn took a moment to trail the belt over Legolas' thighs and groin. Then he guided his slave to turn around 
and bound his wrists tightly with the quiver straps. Aragorn tested the bonds with another tug, then he nodded 
again with satisfaction. “Now,” he ordered, “get yourself down across my knee. And brace yourself! This time 
you will not only feel the lash, but the marks may last you for a while. And I think I will enjoy taking you 
tomorrow while you are still sore, without much  preparation!”

Legolas obeyed. His master took a moment to fondle his yet unmarred buttocks and thighs and tease his entrance. 
The manipulations were much gentler than Legolas had expected, given his master's mood, and he let out a 
relieved breath. He believed he understood.

*So it was not just Aragorn's black mood or a strange possession by the Ring which drove his master to this 
harshness. These last two days, Aragorn had seemed desperate, haunted by some dark vision or dream. He 
needed his slave in pain to take him, the curse demanded to be fed, and they had hardly found a moment of 
privacy, let alone enough to play long games. As much as this whipping would hurt, it certainly also would 
ensure that Aragorn could take him soon again without many  preliminaries. In truth, as angry as his master 
seemed, he had not ceased to care what he did to his slave or how much he hurt him. On the contrary, while this 
punishment would certainly serve Aragorn's pleasure, it was as much about serving Legolas' needs as well.*

Reassured, Legolas braced himself to be for Aragorn the brave, submissive lover he desired so much. 


Legolas could not help hissing sharply as the first blow fell and the lash bit into his flesh; but then he bit his 
tongue and refused to make another noise. Yet he could not prevent jerking under the pain. Aragorn delivered the 
blows with routine calm; he did not draw it out, seemingly more intent to reach his goal than to derive pleasure. 
Yet the blows were hard, and they would certainly leave marks that lasted at least to the next day. It took effort to 
endure them silently. Yet suddenly, he looked up, alarmed, and even with his Elven reflexes he was not fast 
enough to react in time.

Aragorn savored the resigned acceptance of his slave with dark satisfaction. His arousal surged at Legolas' quiet 
acquiescence and hopeless effort to stay calm; he felt desire burning in his gut and groin, and he was rapidly 
growing hard and ready. Pride and desire surged through his soul. *Brave Little Leaf*... But he had not yet let the 
fourth blow fall when Legolas suddenly began to wriggle in his lap and shouted a warning. 

“Aragorn! Stop! We are not alone!” the Elf shouted in Silvain.

For a heartbeat, Aragorn was just too irritated to react, but then long-established habits and well honed instincts 
took over. In an instant, he let go of the belt, rolled the Elf unceremoniously out of his lap and jumped up, 
reaching for his sword. 

Legolas hit the hard gravel in front of him with a hiss, but Aragorn paid him no attention. He knew as well as his 
slave that the first order of the moment was for Legolas to get out of the way so Aragorn could defend him; at 
least as long as the Elf was helpless in his still bound state. 

Yet he was too slow. Before he could do so much as draw his sword, he felt a blade at his own throat and 
Boromir's angry voice bellowed:

“*Get back, you fiend! Legolas, behind me!*”

So they were both intent on protecting the Elf. It would have been almost comical, had the situation not been so 
grave. 

Slowly, Aragorn let go of the hilt of his sword and raised his hands.

“Peace, Boromir! You don't understand!” he said warily, “You are making a mistake!”

Boromir's sword poked harder at his neck.

“What is there not to understand?!” the Man of Gondor growled. “You abused him! You attacked another 
member of the Fellowship! But I will stop you now!”

Aragorn grew nervous. All his instincts screamed at him to draw his sword and defend himself, but Boromir was 
far too close. A mere flick of the wrist by the Gondorian, and he would lose his head. At the very least,  he would 
risk being run through. 

And he could not risk that, for it would spell death not only for himself, but also for his Elf.

“Boromir,” he began again, but at that moment, Legolas himself came to his aid. Scrambling to his knees, then to 
his feet, the Elf rose up between them. 

“Boromir, do not do this!” he pleaded. “Please! You do not understand!”

Angry and irritated, the Gondorian took a step back. “*What do you mean*? I *rescued* you! It was *you* he 
was abusing!” he said. “Damn it, Legolas! Get out of the way and let me kill that bastard!”

The Elf, pale in spite of his deep embarrassment, and hands still bound behind his back, shook his head and 
remained exactly where he stood. Aragorn fought down the urge to use Legolas' cover and draw his sword. There 
was no point in allowing the situation to escalate even further. Instead, he carefully took a few steps to the side 
and out of Boromir's immediate reach, to give himself more room for movement, and kept his hands raised and in 
plain sight. 

“There is no need for the sword, Boromir,” he began, “Things are not as they seem. Let me explain...”

Boromir growled. He stepped aside and turned around to keep the sword trained at the other Man. He grew more 
irritated by the moment, since  the Elf would not step out of the way, but followed his movements and kept 
himself between him and the Dunadan.

“What is there to explain?” the man of Gondor raged. “I've seen enough! I will not let you hurt him anymore! 
*Out of the way, Legolas!*”

He raised his sword. The Elf grew desperate. He shook his head.

“Boromir, no! Don't hurt him! It is his *right*...”

“His *right?!*” the Man of Gondor raged, “How can it be *his right* to abuse you!?” He hesitated a moment, 
narrowing his eyes. “Do you *enjoy* being hurt?” he then demanded harshly with palpable derision.

Legolas shook his head. 

“I was disobedient,” he began in a small voice, pained by what he would have to reveal. 

Aragorn shook his head and stopped him with a fast command. 

“Stop it, Little Leaf,” he said, “let *me* explain this!”

Obediently, Legolas fell silent.

Boromir stared at the Elf for a moment, completely irritated, then he looked from him to Aragorn. “Well, then,” 
he snarled, “I suggest you be quick, for I am losing patience!”

Aragorn shook his head. “Not here and now,” he said. “I will not explain all this to you and then repeat it later, 
and I think I owe this explanation not only to you, but to all of the Fellowship.”

Legolas paled even more. “Estel!” he said in alarm.

Aragorn bowed his head. “It is all right, Little Leaf,” he said, “I think it is time we told them.”

Legolas looked at him in alarm, then he bowed his head, turned  to study the ground and blushed. His shoulders 
slumped in despair. 

Boromir watched him for a moment with growing vexation, then he turned his glare back to Aragorn.

“*Tell us what?!*” he demanded.

Aragorn sighed. “I will disclose everything,” he promised, “in time. Now, will you sheathe your sword and allow 
me to release Legolas so he can cover himself? The sooner we go back, the sooner you will get your explanation! I 
promise I will not attack you. Nor will he!”

Boromir stared at him another moment, then he looked at the Elf again. Very hesitantly, the Man of Gondor took 
a step back. But then he shook his head. 

“No,” he decided. “First, you will give up your weapon! Away with your belt! Then I'll allow you to release the 
Elf, and we'll go back!”

Warily, Legolas dared to say: “There is no need---”

--but he was stopped by a sharp Elvish command from the Ranger and fell silent. 

Aragorn locked his gaze with Boromir and nodded. “If I give up my weapons, will you allow me to untie the Elf 
and to go back to the camp?” he asked, “and will you be content to let me explain the situation to you and the 
others there?”

Boromir regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes. “If I agree will you  give up your sword and follow 
quietly?” he asked, “Without any attack or attempt to get away? And will you give a full recounting there and 
bow to our judgment?”

Aragorn hesitated a moment. The latter did not bode well and caused him disquiet. Still, there was hardly 
anything else he could do. 

“I will,” he said, “if it does not endanger my Elf.” Carefully he let his hands sink to his belt.

“*Your* Elf?!” Boromir sputtered, taken aback by the seeming sheer presumptuousness of the other Man. 

Aragorn just raised his hand again. “Peace, Boromir! I promised you to tell the whole tale later! Now, are we in 
agreement?” 

Warily, the man of Gondor nodded. 

Aragorn nodded back. He reached for his belt and unbuckled it, then he let it fall to the ground, sword, knife and 
all, and took a step back. 

Boromir nodded. “Now free the Elf!” he said.

Aragorn cocked his head. “Of course,” he said. “Come, Little Leaf. Let me release you. Then cover yourself again 
and pick up our weapons.”

Wordlessly, Legolas obeyed. Boromir watched as Aragorn unbuckled the straps that bound the wrists of the Elf  
with surprising gentleness. With a start he realized after a moment that these were the very straps of Legolas' own 
quiver, and the Ranger had obviously hurt the Elf with Legolas' own belt. His anger flared all  anew.

Finally, the Elf was free. Quickly, he went to fetch his belt, then he walked over to the place where he had 
discarded his leggings and his weapons and dressed himself again. Finally, he buckled his quiver back on. He 
exchanged a quick, nearly imperceptible glance with the Ranger, and at the equally subtle shake of the Adan's 
head, he gave a short nod and went to fetch Aragorn's belt with his weapons. 

Picking them up he turned back to Boromir again, ready to go.

But his hue was nearly crimson, now, and he looked persistently to the ground. Boromir narrowed his eyes. 
Suddenly he did not wish to have the Elf at his back when he brought the Ranger back to the camp as prisoner. 

“You go ahead,” he commanded, “Aragorn goes after you. If he tries to escape, you shoot him. Is that clear?”

“Estel will not try to escape,” the Elf said quietly. “He gave you his word. He will return to the camp and give an 
explanation.” 

But he did not look up, and during the walk back to the camp he looked as if he were about to face his own 
execution. 

__________________ 0 __________________


-- End of Chapter V a--


-- TBC in Chapter V b, Part IV - “Spilling the Beans”--



Notes:

(1) This has been completely made up by me. yet it is based on the sentence about Dwarf women in the Appendix A of 
LOTR: „For Dwarves take only one wife or husband each in their lives and are jealous, as in all matters of their rights.” 
(J.R.R. Tolkien, LOTR, 1955, Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1995, Page 1053. I think, the mentioned jealousy might just 
lead to some overzealous possessiveness in some Dwarves sometimes, as it does in humans. But I think Gimli still does not 
know a lot about humans, at this point.
(2) This sentence and the following – with a few changes necessary for my own purpose – are directly lifted from J.R.R. 
Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, 1954, Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1995, P. 275. The original quote reads: “South of 
Rivendell they (the mountains, A.C.) rose ever higher, and bent westwards; and about the feet of the main range there was 
tumbled and ever wider land of bleak hills and deep valleys filled with turbulent waters. Paths were few and winding, and let 
them often only to the edge of some sheer fall, or down into treacherous swamps.”