Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter V b – The Ring goes South, Part IV-VI 
   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 IV 	THE RING GOES SOUTH – Part IV-VI


PART IV – Spilling the Beans

It was a troubled company that sat around the fire, staring at the Ranger and the Elf in utter horror as they were 
listened to Boromir's accusations. Back in the camp, Boromir had at last agreed to give Aragorn back his weapons 
after the Ranger had promised to him again that he would not attack or try to flee, and would subject himself to 
the judgment of the company. But the return of the weapon was all the man of Gondor  had conceded. He had 
called the Fellowship together and told them of his discovery in angry tones and stark detail. Now he turned to 
Aragorn, who had settled himself close to the fire, Legolas beside him. The Ranger was sitting in grim silence, his 
hand   kept calmingly and reassuringly on the Elf's arm. Legolas himself had not uttered another word since they 
had reached the camps and avoided all gazes, staring at the ground in embarrassed silence.

Boromir was the only one still standing, like a prosecutor, and now he turned back to the Dunadan.


“So,” the man of Gondor challenged, “I don’t care much that the two of you are lovers. But how does it come 
about  that you treat him this way? And that this Elf just suffers your abuse and does your bidding? He’s not your 
slave! Are you in the habit of treating your people so? Because I tell you now, in Gondor they won’t suffer a king 
who can’t keep from abusing those under his command!”

Ever since the council Boromir had harboured a dislike of  the man they had told him was destined to be his king. 
And while he had come to like the Elf a little better, despite their unlucky start when Legolas had spoken for the 
man, he had not really become friends with the *Edhel*(1), either, since Legolas remained much too close to 
Aragorn for Boromir's taste. That the Ranger and the Elf were lovers was not an astonishment. Far more dumb-
founding was the discovery that the Elf who had defended his lover that strongly and then joined their quest suf-
fered physical abuse at the hands of the man whose bedding he shared.

They all stared at the Ranger. Aragorn fidgeted. The Elf at his side had lowered his head and seemed to find the 
ground utterly fascinating. He did not seem inclined to say anything for himself. Aragorn finally gave a deep sigh 
and shook his head. 

“There is no easy way to say this,” he said uncomfortably. “Actually, yes, he is my slave. He belongs to me in 
every way possible, and serves me as my companion, as well as with his body.” 

His hand still rested possessively on Legolas' arm.

The others stared at him. Gandalf closed his eyes. He alone of all the Fellowship had suspected as much, since he 
had encountered Legolas before in Rivendell and knew he was a slave. Yet as long as he had known them, when-
ever he had met them in the past, Aragorn had always treated the Elf more like a comrade...

Boromir seemed taken aback. He sat down on a root, still staring at the man. The Dwarf wrinkled his brows at 
this unexpected new development. The Hobbits seemed dumbfounded. They actually liked the Elf and had often 
delighted in his singing, and they greatly enjoyed his willingness to indulge them with some extra berries or 
mushrooms that he brought back from his frequent scouting trips, whenever he got the chance. Never had they 
suspected him anything else than Aragorn's comrade; surely under his command – that much was clear– but noth-
ing more.

It was Frodo who finally found his voice. He wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting!” he exclaimed. “I mean... I 
didn’t even know that Elves practiced slavery...”

Gimli the Dwarf looked smug. The more he got accustomed to the idea, the more he liked it that this disgusting 
Elf was of considerably lower status than himself. Boromir looked irate. He was angry that Aragorn had not told 
them of the Elf's low status, pretending he was an equal, even a prince. *And how much more of what the two had 
told the Fellowship had been a lie?*

Aragorn made a face. “They do, unfortunately. About three thousand years ago, the Mirkwood Elves were de-
feated and subjected to servitude by their brothers of the other Elven realms, and ever since they have been forced 
to give their best and most gifted away to serve as hostages and slaves to the victors. It was a punishment for their 
failure in the Last Alliance and their refusal to cooperate with the Noldor in the fight against the darkness, or so I 
have been told. Anyway, those given away from Mirkwood as tribute are bound into servitude, and given as slaves 
to Elves of noble status. I was given my own Elven slave when I came of age. Since then, we have hardly been 
separated.”

Frodo drew his brows together. “But... but you are no Elf! You are mortal!”

Aragorn nodded. Absentmindedly his hand, still resting on the Elf's arm, was slowly petting the blond, who still 
hung his head in shame. Finally, the Ranger replied:

“Yes, I am. But I am also the foster son of Lord Elrond. Legolas was given to me as a special favor. And he has 
been a faithful servant and companion ever since. I could not have asked for a better gift.”

The slave on his side ducked his head and swallowed. Gimli snorted, and Boromir  cursed softly. Aragorn sent a 
small smile to his companion. 

Boromir accused angrily: “You said he was a prince!”

Aragorn nodded once. “Because he is!” he said grimly. “He is the youngest son of Thranduil, who, albeit defeated 
and forced into submission, still rules the Mirkwood realm. The fact that the king had to give his son away and 
that son was enslaved does not change the fact that Legolas' blood is royal!” 

He locked stares with Boromir, who gave a derisive curse. Finally, Aragorn concluded: “Anyway, instead of only 
using him for my pleasure, I had him keep his arms and refine his hunting skills, and so Legolas has proven 
himself to be a worthy and loyal companion on all my travels. His skill with the bow is unmatched. He is a worthy 
companion on this Quest and will fulfill his duties as part of the Fellowship as well as if he were a free warrior. 
He has stood at my side in countless fights and he is fully capable of defending us.”

His slave gave him a small, grateful look, and Aragorn gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

At this point, Boromir snorted disdainfully. He had had enough of this upstart Ranger, and Aragorn's insistence 
that his slave still was a royal just was too much. Not enough that this strange beggar of a Dunadan claimed to be 
of the royal blood of Gondor himself and to have a claim to Gondor's throne, now even his slave should have a 
claim to royalty? Next he would be claiming royal heritage for Bill the Pony! Angrily he recalled all that Legolas 
had told him about his home. He had no idea how much of it, if any, had been true, and right now he was in no 
mood to ask, or to believe the answers, either.

“You said that this Elf is your pleasure toy! How can one mainly trained to serve you in your bed qualify to stand 
beside true warriors on the battlefield? He’s merely your *whore*! How can he be our equal?!”

Legolas' head came up sharply. Aragorn's brows drifted down. 

“Watch your tongue, Boromir! You know not of what you speak. Legolas is not my whore! He is my servant and 
he is bound to me to do my bidding, and also to give me pleasure in every way I want and see fit, but he is *not* 
bound to share himself, or to serve, or to be used by anybody else save with my explicit permission!”

Boromir's look, resting on the Elf who glared at him, suddenly turned speculative.  Legolas seemed to shrink a bit 
as he obviously realized what the man was thinking. He paled visibly.

Frodo shook his head.

“Anyway, on this quest he should be treated like everybody else! We can not afford to divide ourselves, and we 
should treat everyone of us as equals, be they servants or not!” he stated clearly. 

Sam beamed. Gandalf nodded his approval.

Boromir snorted.

“And since this is not the time for spending strength in idle trysts, pleasure-boy there should concentrate on his 
skills with the bow instead of those with his ass! If we are a Fellowship, then you have no call to spend your 
nights in his arms, taking pleasure with your slave while everyone else has to spend them lonely!”

Legolas' head shot up again and he cast Boromir a sharp and angry gaze, but Aragorn's hand tightened on his arm, 
giving him a warning squeeze, and the Ranger barked something in Sindarin. The Elf swallowed, and ducked his 
head again. His master was right. This was not the time to aggravate the Gondorian further. 
He even shrank a bit back into himself again. He feared he had just earned himself another punishment. 

Aragorn saw it and shook his head reassuringly. Then he sighed and turned his concentration back to the others.

“Unfortunately,” he said slowly, “this is not as easy as it sounds.”

Gandalf, who had said nothing so far, gave a sharp gasp. 

“He is bound to you by the *Mael-Gûl?!*” he exclaimed. “*Now* I understand...”

Aragorn gave a pained nod. Gandalf's face grew dark.

“That is an evil spell! Never had I thought you capable of using it, son of Arathorn!” he said with derision. 

Aragorn shook his head. “It wasn’t me who chose to put the spell on him!” he defended himself. “The blame 
belongs to Elrond, who put it on him when he was first enslaved.”

Gandalf gave him a sharp look. “They could not have bound him to you that way without your participation!” he 
said. “Do not try to lay blame on others that belongs to you!”

Aragorn sighed. '*You have known both of us for forty years, Mithrandir*;' he thought, '*and you never ever 
before noticed anything? How blind have you been?*' -- but he didn't say that. Instead he answered with grave 
dignity. 

“I do not,” he said, “and deeply I regret the day I agreed to that. I was but young and foolish and did not realize 
the full consequences at the time. But even if I *had*, they would never have agreed to allow Legolas to use arms 
and to accompany me on my travels and into the wilds had he not been bound to me by this.”

Gandalf snorted.

“Evil is this, and evil may come of it. I would not have trusted you as deeply as I have in the past, had I known of 
this!” he said. 

Legolas blushed. He sent a quick look to his master, asking him to be allowed to speak, but when Aragorn shook 
his head at him, he subsided. 

“I thank you for your loyalty, Little Leaf,” the Ranger said quietly in Sindarin, “but not now! Do not defend me  
for deeds for which I deserve blaming!”

Then he turned back at the wizard and said with dignity:

“Deeply cut your words, my old friend, and I do not deny that I deserve them. But the deed is done, and there is 
now no way to undo it. Unless you know a way to break the spell?”

Gandalf shook his head, his face laced in sorrow.

Aragorn nodded grimly. “Then we will have to live with it.” 

“What kind of spell is this?” Frodo asked, “The one you speak of?”

Aragorn face held a pained expression.

“It is a way to ensure a pleasure-slave who acts as warrior and accompanies his master on a campaign is bound to 
the one whom he serves,” he said. “In a... *most* personal way.” He swallowed. “It means...”

He finally shook his head and said flatly:

“Legolas needs to be taken. By me. At least once a week, if possible more often. If he is not, he will suffer and in 
time become ill. And finally, die. Quite painfully.”

Frodo stared at him in utter horror. Boromir looked at the Elf in horror and some mixture of disgust and awe. 
Gandalf looked grim. Merry and Pippin looked as if they had been slapped. Sam looked utterly dumbfounded. 
Gimli alone seemed to recover soon and he gave the Elf a speculative look, as if he considered the possibilities. 
Legolas himself was back at studying the ground and blushing deeply.

Finally Frodo found his voice. “But then...” he said, and Merry asked, paling: “...die?! if he is not...”

Aragorn shook his head.

“Not immediately. If he is separated from me for over a week, he will begin to suffer, and the suffering will 
continue to increase as long as the separation is prolonged, until he is gravely ill. But it will not become critical 
for at least a month. Of course, we have never willingly tried it.” He chose not to tell them they had found out as 
much the hard way several times without a willing attempt.

He sighed and stroked over the arm of his silent Elf.

“Anyway, you see that I can not live a chaste life for the time of the quest just to accommodate your wishes, for 
Legolas would grow ill and possibly even die on me.”

The face of the Elf at his side was crimson. He did not look at his companions. 

The silence seemed overwhelming. Yet it did not last for long.

“But answer me a question, Master Ranger!” the Dwarf suddenly said. “That spell may be a highly effective  way 
to keep that slave in line. But as Frodo stated earlier, you are mortal! What if you die on the quest? Or one day of 
old age? Is this Elf doomed to follow you to your grave, then?”

Aragorn gave him a hard stare for his obviously dispassionate view of the implication of the spell, but then he 
sighed.


“If I die, be it on this quest or in another fight, and Legolas can prove that he did all in his power to prevent my 
death, he can go back to Rivendell. There are four others who can give him what he needs, and who will do so if 
he can convince them that he did not kill me or cause my death through disloyalty or cowardice. He can also 
prolong the time he has if he allows himself to be taken by others; this is a side-effect of the spell. But only those 
four back in Rivendell can save him.”

He felt more than saw Legolas beside him pale and gave him an nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He knew 
only too well why that was not an option any longer, but this was neither the place nor the time to explain about 
*that*. And besides, there *were* other options... but he did not care to explain *those* to the Fellowship in 
detail, either. Seemingly dispassionately, he continued:

“So, if I am killed, Legolas will have to travel back to Rivendell and give himself into the care of Lord Elrond, or 
Glorfindel, or my brothers, and his life will be spared. The same is true when someday it is my time. I can send 
him back to them, or over the sea, if they have gone that way, if I do not choose to extend the spell to another 
person to whom I could bequeath him. This person would then become his new master.”

He felt the Elf's sudden shivering under his hand and added reassuringly: “But I don’t plan to do that!”

Legolas breathed easier.

Frodo looked appalled. “You know how to do this? To make... others--”

Aragorn nodded. “Yes. It was necessary as part of my training as a healer. Furthermore, it has allowed me to make 
sure that there were a few people to whom I could... entrust my Elf if I went into mortal danger and was likely to 
be killed, or if I had to go somewhere I could not take him with me. I live a dangerous life, and do not wish to be 
the cause of Legolas' death due to this... regrettable... arrangement.”

Legolas said very softly: “I do not regret it.”

He was punished for his troubles with another squeeze, and Aragorn gave him a censuring glare.

“Be silent!” he commanded quietly. “I told you not to defend me when I don’t deserve it. And you know that I am 
not proud of this!”

Legolas murmured a soft apology in Sindarin and Aragorn gave him a small, reassuring nod. The Elf fell silent 
again.

Boromir's face had turned speculative again, and now he gave a small nod.

“Very well. So you have to lie with this slave regularly lest he fall ill and be of no use to us. But it is not fair that 
you are the only one here on this quest who has somebody to warm your bedding, and we others do not. Also, if 
you are killed, it follows that we would not only lose you, but also this Elf, for he would need to leave to make it 
home in time,” he drawled. 

“I say, under the circumstances we would be better off if he left right now!” Gimli growled.

Boromir cocked his head. “Maybe. But then the Ranger says that he has considerable fighting skills, and we need 
his bow. And his keen senses.”

Aragorn gave him a dark look. “There is a hidden meaning to your words,” he said angrily. “It would be better if 
you would speak openly. What do you suggest?”

Boromir gave the Elf an admiring look-over. “I would suggest that you *share*,” he said simply. “You say your 
Elf needs to be taken, and if he was taken by others than yourself it would prolong the time until he needs you 
again. So you should share him with us. If you let him lie with us others he would be not as dependent on you.”  
He narrowed his eyes. Seemingly warming to his train of thought, he continued: “Even more, you say that you 
can... *extend* the number of people who can give him what he needs as well as you. So I would suggest you do 
so with all of the Fellowship, or at least with all of us who are willing. Then Legolas could continue to 
accompany us even if you were killed, and could fulfill his duty to the Ring Bearer in full.”

It was the first time since he had learned of Legolas' true status that he used the Elf's name. Legolas head had shot 
up in alarm at his words, and he looked both aghast and mortified. Gimli looked taken aback. Obviously, *this* 
was *not* what he had envisioned when he had started his train of thought.

Aragorn jumped up. He seemed ready to draw on the Gondorian or to kill him with his bare hands. Boromir 
jumped up also to meet the challenge. But Gandalf quickly rose and stepped between them.

*“This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves!”* he commanded. “And I think, as grave as these 
circumstances are, it is Legolas place to decide in this.” He turned directly to the Elf. “What do you say? Do you 
wish to return to Rivendell?”

He knew very well that Legolas could hardly go to *Rivendell*, but he suspected that among those *'others'* 
Aragorn had mentioned were some of his Rangers. Legolas would probably be safe among them. 

Legolas swallowed. “It... is for my master to decide, Mithrandir,” he said quietly.

The wizard shook his head. “It is *your* bow and *your* body that are in question,” he replied. “Aragorn has 
done quite enough in this. It is your choice to make: return to Rivendell or go on with this quest.” 

Legolas looked up and glanced first at Aragorn, then at Boromir. It was not the first time he had been forced to 
share his body  with others than the Ranger. And he did not wish to think about the consequences for his home 
and his people if he turned tail now. Elrond would certainly be pleased. 

“I have pledged my bow to Frodo,” he finally hesitantly said, “so if my master will allow it, I will go on.”

Gandalf sighed. He turned around again to face the man of Gondor. “Boromir of Gondor, it is a shameful bargain 
that you suggest!” he said angrily. “I would advise you to withdraw it!”

But he was contradicted. 

“It is not shameful!” Gimli suddenly piped up. “That Elf is a slave, after all, and accustomed to sharing his body 
with others at need, as we have heard. And Boromir is right. The more people who can give him what he needs to 
survive if Aragorn should fall, or even just is wounded on this quest, the more he can be of use to us if he is any 
good with this bow of his. I say we should heed Boromir's suggestion!”

Frodo shook his head. 

“I will take no part in this!” he exclaimed. “Nor I!” Sam added promptly. But he looked longingly at the Elf and 
studied him with newfound curiosity. Sam loved Elves, he admired everything Elvish, and now, for the very first 
time, he faced the real possibility not only to look from afar and ask a bunch of questions, but be allowed to 
touch! With all his loyalty to Frodo, it was hard for him to entirely decline the chance.

But while Sam's loyalty to Frodo won over his curiosity, Merry and Pippin did not join their vote, and Boromir 
smirked. Finally, Gandalf sighed, disgusted. “The darkness is nearer than I thought,” he said. “I, too, will have no 
part of this! But it is clear that the Fellowship is of a divided mind in this regard.”

Aragorn gave Gimli and Boromir a disgusted look. Then he looked down at Legolas. Finally, he sighed.
“Very well,” he said. “If Legolas is willing you may have a share of him. But we will have to see that he is not 
exhausted. And it will be *me* who will be the judge of that!” he angrily concluded.

The Elf paled visibly. But then, he merely lowered his head in defeated submission.

Turning back to Gimli and Boromir, Aragorn continued: “Also, I will make sure that you both can give him what 
is needed if some ill should befall me. You, too!” he said aggressively to the two Hobbits, but Merry and Pippin 
looked appalled and shook their heads. 

“I...  Maybe...  we just--” Merry sputtered, and Pippin chimed in: “It is not that, master Strider, if you don’t mind. 
I.. we would... maybe, if Legolas was willing... share a night with him... but not *like that*! We do not practice 
slavery in the Shire, and I do not want to have a personal slave for myself, Elven or otherwise!”

Legolas send him a veiled look and a small, grateful smile. Aragorn sighed.

“Very well. Just Boromir and Gimli, then. I suggest, we hurry, though. It is still a long day's travel until dark, and 
we need to find a protected place for the night to perform the... ceremony, if we want to broaden the spell.”

“So?” Boromir asked. “And what would be required for that?”

Aragorn gave him a dark look.

“It is required that you take him!” he said angrily and curtly.


_________________0_________________


It was close to nightfall when they finally made camp. Aragorn found a small, protected hill, surrounded by great 
boulders and some bushes, that could be easily guarded and protected, and also could be easily separated into two 
camps. Bushes and boulders formed two natural clearings in the middle of a circle, and Aragorn decided to use 
the bigger one for the main camp and the smaller for their other plans that night. There was no water near, but 
they had well filled their water skins at the brook near which they had spent the midday rest that day. Aragorn 
had made sure to fill his own water skin to the brink, although that meant he had to carry the full and heavy skin  
all day in addition to all his other gear. But he had insisted, and refused to let his slave share the load for a few 
hours, even though Legolas had dutifully offered to carry it for him. 

His master had sadly shaken his head at the offer. “You need your strength tonight, melethron,” he said. “Let me 
do this.” 

Legolas had not insisted, nor had he offered again.


The Elf had been very quiet the whole afternoon, and during the last few hours he had hardly left his master's 
side. He was obviously nervous. Aragorn looked carefully at him, judging his mood; then he shooed the Hobbits 
away to the bigger clearing between the boulders and touched his slave's arm, signaling him to stay close to him 
for a moment. 

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly in Sindarin. 

Legolas ducked his head. 

“It is not my place to choose what to do in this, master,” he said very quietly in the same language. Aragorn heard 
the reluctance and slight bitterness in his voice although the Elf kept his tone carefully neutral.

He seized the chin of his slave and tipped it slightly up, forcing the Elf to face him.

“I told you not to call me that,” he softly rebuked.

Legolas ducked his head again and refused to look at him.

*“But you are,”* he said, “It is not my place to choose what use you make of my body. Or what use the rest of 
the Fellowship will make of it.” The bitterness was now clearly palpable in his voice.

Aragorn hesitated, then placed a small kiss on the Elf's forehead.

“I know this is hard on you. And the Valar know I am not an easy master. But Boromir is right, you know. That 
cursed spell is a threat to your life, and to the success of the Quest should anything happen to me. It will be best 
if you are able to get relief and healing from other sources beside me. As we have done with Halbarad and 
Onogdir.”

Very hesitantly, Legolas looked up. “Halbarad and Onogdir are not cruel, Aragorn. They took good care of me for 
several months when you were in Harad, and afterwards when you traveled to Mordor alone, and they never hurt 
me once. And they never used me for their own amusement.”

Aragorn buried his hands in the golden tresses of his Elf and pulled him close. For a moment he just held him 
like this, burying his nose in his slave's hair and savoring its softness and well known scent; then his grip 
tightened just a bit too firmly, and Legolas gasped at its sudden harshness that held the mere whispers of 
promised pain. Aragorn placed a kiss on his Elf's head, then pulled back a bit so he could see the slave's face.

“Be careful what you call your betters, Little Leaf,” he warned. “Boromir is not cruel – or at least he is not 
intentionally so. As for Gimli, I will  not allow him to hurt you.”

Then he loosened his grip and looked away. “As for me--” He let go of his slave's hair and did not speak further.

Legolas dared to step closer. Very hesitantly, he began to speak, not sure if he would be allowed to do it. Aragorn 
seemed in a dark and brooding mood tonight and dangerous to upset. Still...

“Aragorn, with you it is different. I *belong* to you. And I know your needs. It... is your *right* to use me as you 
choose, and my duty to serve you, and I... can adjust to it. But... I fear the Dwarf.” He swallowed. “And that man 
of Gondor. They hate me!”

Aragorn did not rebuke him this time. He shook his head.

“They do not hate you,” he said. “Boromir is angry because of what he perceives as a slight to his pride and 
station. He is wroth because I did not tell him outright that you are my servant and therefore he has treated you as 
his equal. He will learn to respect you; he does not feel it beyond him to talk with Sam as an equal after all. And 
Gimli just does not trust Elves. He will learn to trust you in time, and will put his prejudices behind him.”

Legolas ducked his head.

“Sam is not a slave,” he pointed out hesitantly. “He may be Frodo's servant, but he's free. And the Dwarf will 
enjoy having an Elf to harass and torment.”

Aragorn straightened up, his face darkening, and Legolas braced himself for a blow. But the blow did not come.

“Maybe,” Aragorn said more harshly. “But as you said, it is not your place to choose, and it is your duty to deal 
with whatever use I choose to make of you. *So do it*! Go now and gather firewood, then prepare this place here 
for the ceremony. I will help the others to build camp on the other side of these boulders. We will extend the 
spell here, then join camp with the others. And hurry; it will be completely dark very soon!”

Legolas hung his head. He should have known that his luck – and Aragorn's indulgent mood – could not last. 
“Yes, My Lord,” he answered and made to slip away. But before he could go a hand sneaked out and held him in 
a tight grip. 

“I will *not* allow the Man or the Dwarf to hurt you,” Aragorn growled in a low voice. “At least not more than is 
necessary.” Legolas shivered but stayed obediently in his master's grip. Aragorn stepped close again and seized 
his chin. He took the mouth of his slave in a deep, demanding kiss. Legolas opened up to him obediently, and 
Aragorn tasted him thoroughly. Then he let him go.

“Trust me,” he said finally, then he sent his slave away with a small slap to his ass.

Legolas slipped away. He shivered again, and his heart hurt. He had rarely seen Aragorn – *Estel*! - this dark 
before, and this thoughtlessly cruel. Even in his worst mood and his most cruel games, Aragorn had usually at 
least been mindful and considerate of what he put his Elven slave through and what this slave might feel. *Until 
that last night in Rivendell*... but *that* had been about *survival*. 

Obviously, things had changed.

With this bleak thought, Legolas left the camp to do as he was ordered. Aragorn followed him a moment with his 
gaze, then he turned around. He found both Frodo and Gandalf watching him.

He shrugged at them and went around the boulders to the site of the main camp to help Sam unpack the pony.


______________ o _________________


It took them barely  an hour to set up camp, gather firewood, build a small fire, divide the watches and have Sam 
start to prepare some dinner. They were just a fortnight from Rivendell and had not yet met any hints of spies 
from the enemy, and so they deemed themselves reasonably safe, but it would never do to be unwary. Still, the 
first watches would belong to Gandalf and the Hobbits this night, for the warriors of their little group had other 
things to do.

While they prepared their bedrolls and their camp, Aragorn constantly felt Frodo's eyes on him. The Ring Bearer 
watched the Ranger with a mixture of new wariness and barely hidden horror.

Legolas turned up to add some more firewood to their small stock and take one of the blankets. Aragorn shook 
his head and said something in Sindarin, and the Elf looked up at him a bit startled, but then only bowed at him  
obediently. He took another blanket from the pack and vanished behind the bushes and the boulder that separated 
the two sites of the camp. 

Finally Frodo found his courage and approached the Ranger. 

“Do you really think it wise to separate the camps,  ...Strider?” he said carefully. “Two camps will be harder to 
guard.”

Aragorn was busy sorting through his medicine pack. He gave the Hobbit a veiled look. There was more to this, 
he knew, but he decided to wait until Frodo was ready. 

He shrugged. 

“It is just for the evening,” he said. “When we are finished with the ... *ceremony*, we will all come to this side.” 

Frodo flinched and looked down to his feet.

“It... *It's not right*!!” he finally blurted out. “I watched Legolas all day. He is scared! And to force him to offer 
himself like this... to people he doesn't want...  How can this be right!?”

Aragorn sighed. He left his pack alone and knelt beside the Hobbit. “Frodo,” he began, “I know this must seem  
horrible to you and must be quite a shock. But it is necessary for Legolas' protection. Boromir is right! I do not 
like it, and I hate to put Legolas through this, but he has a point. This is a dangerous quest. Legolas is bound to 
me. Should I die or be grievously wounded, his life would be in danger. It is important that his survival does not 
completely depend on me!”

He made a face. 

“Yet I regret deeply now that I did not do it sooner. I should have told all of you about a week or so after we left 
Rivendell, and after I made sure that Boromir and Legolas performed some sparring matches together and 
encountered each other as warriors. Then I could have told the Fellowship about Legolas' predicament without 
them ever learning that he is not only bound to me because he is a hostage and under the spell, but is indeed my 
slave and property as well. We could have pretended that aside of his dependence he submits himself to me and 
follows my command out of his own free will.”

Frodo wrinkled his brows. He frowned. “Why should you have wished to do that?” he asked. “Why did you wish 
to hide he is a slave?”

Aragorn gazed over to Boromir and Gimli. 

“Because of Boromir!” he said quietly. “He is all too taken with his pride and station. He has never seen Legolas 
fight, has never seen his fierce deadliness in any battle, and never came to owe him his life several times over, as 
do I. He just sees his beautiful face and his lithe body and desires him, and he just sees him as a slave and bed toy 
now. And he disdains him for that.” He shook his head. “And that Dwarf will not forsake any chance to harass 
and torment the Elf, now he knows him unable to fight back.”

Frodo's frown deepened. “Until now Legolas has not seemed helpless against Gimli's scorn and  attempts to 
harass him  to me,” he said. “I seem to remember him quite capable of holding his own.”

Aragorn snorted. “Yes, he was!” he said, “Because he knew the Dwarf had no call to harass him and I allowed 
him to fight back. But now? Now that Gimli knows Legolas is a slave he will no longer accept any words of 
disdain, any mocking or any retaliation by one whom he sees as being of considerably lower station than his own. 
He is a free Dwarven warrior, after all, and Legolas is but a slave who is permitted to carry weapons. That is the 
way he will see it now.”

He sighed bitterly. 

“*That* is the reason I decided to pretend that Legolas and I were only comrades and lovers when we began this 
quest, not a master and his slave. But now? Gandalf is right, this cursed spell is evil and nothing good will ever 
come of it. Yet Legolas is bound to it without escape, and I am bound to make sure he doesn't die from it. And 
since there is no way to set him free, I have to do anything in my power to ensure his survival, even if it means 
putting him through this accursed ... *ritual* ... again.”

He looked away. Without another word he turned back to his pack, gathered a few things and stood up. 

“Excuse me, Master Hobbit,” he said courteously and grimly, “it is time!” And with that he signaled Boromir and 
Gimli to follow him, took his heavy water skin and some cloth and left the main camp through the bushes to the 
smaller one.

___________________ o _________________


PART V – Extending the Spell


Legolas shivered. He waited for them in the other camp, kneeling on a blanket he had spread on the grassy 
ground. He had already discarded his weapons, which rested neatly some distance apart yet still in easy reach. A 
few steps away from the blanket he had built a small fire, with some firewood resting beside it, and  on one side 
of the blanket rested a small, empty bowl and a pestle. His head was bowed and he did not look up as his master 
and his two companions entered the clearing.

Aragorn stepped close and squatted down before him. Gently he touched his cheeks, his sensitive ears, then 
traced the neck down to his shoulders. Finally he tipped his chin up and kissed him.

“Don't be scared,” he whispered to him, “Trust me!”

Then he let him go and commanded a bit louder: “Undress.”

Swallowing, the Elf bowed his head again and began slowly to take off his clothes. The vambraces came first, 
then the tunic and shirt. All clothes were folded neatly and set beside his weapons. Finally, he slipped out of  his 
boots, leggings and the loincloth that he wore around his groin. Placing them on the neat bundle of his other 
clothes, he went back to the blanket and knelt down again in glorious nakedness, head bowed in shame. 

It was not Aragorn's presence that had him embarrassed. His master had seen him in every state of nakedness and 
arousal, and he *belonged* to him. But to be forced to present himself like this to this other Adan, the man of 
Gondor, who stood on one side of the fire and devoured him with hungry eyes full of desire, was something 
completely different. And on the other side of the small fire stood the Dwarf. He watched him with an unreadable 
expression. Hunger? Hate? Disdain? Legolas did not know and could not discern it. Shivering again, he waited 
for Aragorn to begin the ritual that would bind him to these two besides his master.

Aragorn stepped in front of him again. He had discarded his weapons and set them beside those of his Elf, and 
now he  carried the small, earthen bowl. He used the pestle to grind something within it. Legolas shuddered at the 
familiar and hated scent. 

*Eredh Saew'ador(2)!* The main component of the spell that caused his body to produce the deadly poison that 
would kill him if he was not taken by those who could provide the antidote with their essence. He wondered at 
the number of seeds Aragorn would use to renew the spell this time. The amount of the poison used would 
determine how regularly he needed to be taken to avoid growing ill.  It would not be less often; there was no way 
to unravel the tightness of the bond. Unfortunately, there also was no way to extend the spell to others who could 
give him what he needed without winding it more tightly, either. Whatever the amount of poison Aragorn would 
use, he would need him more often after this. He began to tremble in earnest.

Aragorn knelt down in front of him. “Shh, melethron,” he said in Sindarin, “I will wind it just barely tighter than 
it is. Trust me! I know this is hard on you, but you can do this, and it's for the best.”

Aloud and in Common speech he explained: “This is one of the main components of the spell. It is a plant that 
causes his body to need us. The number of seeds used will determine how often he needs us to take him.   I am 
using seven seeds. That means he will need to be taken by one of us at least once a week, and possibly more 
often, before he starts to go into withdrawal. One of us has to lie with him and to give him his essence at least 
once a week after this night.”

He set the little bowl aside, added a few drops of oil and mixed the components carefully to a smooth, bright red 
paste. 

Boromir watched him with interest. “One of us?” he asked, “Or all?”

The Dwarf added, a bit red in his face:  “And what do you mean by giving him his essence?”

Aragorn gave  him an ironical glance. *'A bit late to play the naive, Master Dwarf!'* he thought, but nevertheless 
he answered: “One of us once a week will be enough to keep Legolas alive after this night, but this is just what he 
will absolutely need to avoid withdrawal. If he is taken by more of us and more often it will be better for him and 
improve his health. That is the point of the ritual.”

“It causes the victim to get addicted to his master, who abuses him,” the Dwarf translated with awed disgust. 

Aragorn turned to him. “Exactly, Master Dwarf. And 'giving him your essence' means that you have to spill your 
seed. Within his body. Like you would take a women of your people.”

He knew his words were brutal and crude, but so was the whole ritual. Legolas was completely pale and stiff with 
fear and anticipation now and Aragorn set the bowl aside and placed a soothing hand on his slave's arm. 

Boromir snorted. Gimli was bright red. He muttered something indiscernible, that sounded like *“what would 
you know of our women”*, but Aragorn wasn't sure. It seemed to him the dear Master Dwarf was having second 
thoughts already. 

Boromir rescued Gimli by asking: “And how, pray, is this *ritual*  done?”

He nodded at the little bowl now resting beside the kneeling Elf.

Aragorn bowed his head. “First I will give Legolas a drug that contains the other component of the spell. Then I 
will have to insert this paste into his body, and finally, Boromir, we have to take him, one after the other, and give 
him our essence. This will complete the bond.” He gave the man of Gondor a hard stare. “Afterwards, Legolas 
will need us.”

He felt his slave shiver under his hand and said very quietly and in Sindarin: “Hush! Do not fear! This is for your 
good, Little Leaf. Trust me!”

Legolas held his head bowed and swallowed hard. He was breathing hard and fighting to compose himself, but 
with little success. Aragorn drew his brows together and started to pet him. Inwardly he cursed himself. He had 
not realized that Legolas would have such a hard time bearing this.

Behind him, Boromir asked dumbfounded: “That – is all there is to it?”

Distracted and a little annoyed Aragorn snapped: “Yes, Boromir, *that* is all there is to it, at least to an 
*extension* of the spell to others. I suppose there has to be more the first time it is cast! Anyway, this is what we 
will do. And it is much easier to do it when Legolas is aroused and not frozen and stiff with fear like now. So I 
suggest you come here and start to get familiar with him!” He felt his slave jerk a little and soothed again: “Shh. 
Be still. Don't fear! Let him do this!”

Legolas suppressed a sob. Behind him, Aragorn could hear Boromir gasp. “You mean... *really?*” The  Ranger 
just nodded, not breaking his concentration on his slave, and continued to speak quiet, soothing words in 
Sindarin. 


Boromir swallowed hard and stepped closer. Carefully he knelt down beside the naked Elf, an expression of raw 
hunger on his face. Astonishingly gently he began to touch the shuddering body, first the arms, then the 
shoulders, the face, the muscled, flat, well defined and hairless chest. He looked captured in wonder. Very softly 
his hands moved down at the side of Legolas' body, towards the slightly spread thighs, but he stopped short of the 
flat, lifeless Elfhood of the shivering slave. Carefully he trailed his hand back up to the bowed head and gently  
parted the blond mane that covered the face, small intricate braids and all, and tucked it back behind the Elf's 
shoulders and his ears. He discovered the Elf was weeping. Guilt kindled within his soul and nagged at his 
conscience. Obviously, the slave did not enjoy the experience. Yet some other part of him, located closer to his 
groin, was eagerly assuring him that everything was all right.  
*After all this Elf was just a pleasure slave and accustomed to sharing his body.  And Aragorn had offered, had 
he not?  And he had said the Elf may even need this... *

Boromir was a hard and proven warrior who was not shy to take what he felt was his due, but in bed he preferred 
gentleness. And yet he felt that by now it was far too late to back out again. So he decided to be as gentle as he 
could. 

“Shh, don't be afraid,” he said, “I won't hurt you!” He regretted he could not say it in Elvish, since Aragorn 
continued to murmur quietly in that tongue, but after all the Elf normally spoke and understood Common well 
enough.

Carefully wiping the tears away with his thumbs, he placed his lips on the enticing ones of his partner, kissing, 
then licking along them and tasting their softness. Under his lips, the slave obediently opened his mouth and 
Boromir tasted sweetness.  Meanwhile, his fingers explored the delicate, pointed ears and wondered at their form. 
He traced one of the ears, following the leaf-like shape, and felt how Legolas caught his breath and leaned into 
his touch. He grinned. So *this* was the secret of how one aroused an Elf! Experimentally, he petted the captured 
ear a bit more between his fingers and felt the lithe body react to his touch. He kissed the Elf once more, deep and 
demanding, then he let him up for air and moved on to the ear, licking and exploring it with his tongue, and 
finally he started to nibble. Legolas flinched, then he whimpered softly and started to stammer words in his own 
melodic Elven tongue which Boromir could not understand. But he understood the tone and it did not sound 
afraid or dismayed now, but rather begging for more.

Aragorn had long since moved away and left him the place in front of the Elf. Boromir used the opportunity to 
move close and hug the lithe body to himself. One of his hands trailed over the well defined shoulder blades and 
followed the curve of the spine down to the small of the back, finally exploring and massaging the tight muscled 
cheeks of the ass; the other hand trailed down at Legolas' front, followed the lines of his chest and found one of 
the delicate nipples. 

Boromir gave up  teasing the ear and licked down the slender neck of the Elf, kissing and nibbling along the way.  
He played with the nipple under his fingers, feeling it harden. Satisfied, he stopped caressing the sensitive body 
part and his hand trailed further down between Legolas' thighs and finally touched his groin. 

To his satisfaction, he found the slender member had stirred with arousal and was now at least half erect. Gently, 
but firmly, he began to touch and massage it. A word from Aragorn, who was by now standing beside the Elf, and 
the slave opened his thighs further apart, giving Boromir better access. Then Aragorn was at the other side of the 
Elf, concentrating his attentions on Legolas' other ear.

By now the Elf was again breathing hard, but now it was obviously with arousal. Boromir felt the slender member 
under his fingers slowly grow and fill out. He stole another kiss, and this time he was hungrily welcomed, finding 
the mouth and tongue of the slave eager to play.

Then Aragorn was beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him gently away. 

Aragorn took a small skin, uncorked it  and held it to Legolas' lips. “Drink!” he commanded quietly in Common 
Speech, “Three sips!”

Legolas was back to shivering again, but he obeyed. Aragorn counted, then he wound the mouth piece away and 
corked the skin up again. He set it aside, leaned close and kissed his Elf deeply. 

Legolas shrank back and tried to turn his mouth away, then he said something in Elvish and tried to escape  
Aragorn's grip of his face. Aragorn seized his chin and held him firmly in place. He shook his head and said 
something in the same language, then he claimed the Elf's mouth again with his own. Legolas gave up and opened 
for him obediently. 

Aragorn savored the kiss, then he signaled Boromir to continue his attentions and went back to lick and nibble at 
one of Legolas' ears. Boromir saw that he had seized the small bowl and brought it around to the Elf's backside. 
Aragorn coated one of his fingers with the paste and brought it to Legolas' entrance.

Legolas flinched and gasped as a finger with the burning paste touched his opening. His instinctive reaction   was 
stopped by a sharp bite to his ear and a hard hand on his shoulder. He gasped.

“Be still!” Aragorn commanded. “Lean forward!”

The Elf obeyed, but he was shuddering. Aragorn told Boromir: „Hold him fast. This will hurt!“

Boromir was stunned. „Hurt him? Why?“ he asked. “He is eager with desire, now!”

Aragorn looked grim. “The paste will burn,” he said, “and I have to place it deep inside. I will have to use my 
whole hand.”


Boromir's eyes widened. He took both shoulders of the Elf and pulled him gently, but determinedly to himself, 
hugging him close. Then he pressed Legolas' face to his own shoulder and began to mumble gentle nothings into 
the closest delicate ear, nibbling and kissing, while he held the shivering body firmly in his arms.  With morbid 
fascination he watched as Aragorn inserted first one, then a second finger into the opening of the Elf. 

Legolas whimpered and clutched himself to him. He cried with pain, trying to hold still as he had been ordered, 
but jerking involuntarily at the burning intrusion. 

Then suddenly the Dwarf was beside them and took one of the slender hands of the Elf, holding it firmly. His 
other hand petted gently over the golden hair and found the other ear. His callused fingers explored the delicate 
form carefully and obviously intrigued.


Legolas felt the familiar fingers of his master intruding into his body. The burning irritant hurt him immensely, 
but at the same time he was eager for every touch and caress, even for the pain, because of the *need* caused by 
the *sogo nen anira*(3) Aragorn had given him. This drug, the other component of the spell, caused the lasting 
addiction to his master's touch and the desperate *need* to be taken. Aragorn had given him three sips, because 
he was to be bound to three different males. But then Aragorn had kissed him while traces of the poison still 
lingered in his mouth. 

Legolas had tried to warn him, had tried to stop him, but to no avail. Aragorn had insisted. And that meant that he 
had bound himself to everything he would get of his slave this night: his fear, his lust, his pain, his desperation, 
his humiliation and his obedient acceptance. Aragorn would desire it all, more than before. *Again*.

His master would not *need* to take him to stay healthy or alive; *that* part of the spell belonged just to the 
slave. But he would desire the helpless submission and obedience of his Elven slave, his fear and pain, like the 
most potent drug. And in turn he would be content with no less. It had been Estel's mistake from the start. He had 
been eager to bind himself as tightly to his Elf as his slave was bound to him, and had never understood that 
Elrond used this eagerness to twist his desire and strengthen his slightly cruel streak to the point where he could 
not be satisfied without it.

*And now he had done it again*. Aragorn would need to be even more cruel to find pleasure in his slave after 
tonight. Legolas shuddered again, and not only from the pain that burned in his anus. He did not even find the 
strength to mourn the Estel he had once known - and loved - any more.

He swallowed and clutched himself to the other Adan. The paste burned, and worse yet he felt that Aragorn had 
kept his ring on when he entered him. The delicate metal of Barahir's ring scratched and sliced him open where it 
came into contact with his channel, leaving tiny wounds that were aggravated by the paste and burned even more. 
Legolas muffled his cries and sobs of pain in Boromir's shoulder. He knew it was not mere thoughtless cruelty of 
Aragorn; the small wounds were necessary to ensure the poison of the paste, and later the essence of the ones 
who took him, would take hold within the slave's body and blood and the spell would work. At least Aragorn was 
not using the hideous, specially prepared staff  Elrond preferred to use for this. But nevertheless it hurt and 
Legolas began to cry again. 

Then Aragorn withdrew only to enter him again with one more finger and a new amount of paste. Then Aragorn 
found the gland that was the center of both Legolas' pain and pleasure, and rubbed the burning paste methodically 
into his slave's sweet spot, slightly slicing it with one of his fingernails to make sure the poison could take hold. 
Pain and pleasure alike exploded in Legolas' head and he cried out again, then gasped and stiffened. He could 
hear Aragorn's hard breathing in response and understood. His master would not hurt him with his normal 
practices in front of the others. Aragorn did not wish them to believe pain was one of the things Legolas needed. 
But to take him Aragorn had to get aroused, and it was *this*, his pain and helpless wriggling, that caused his 
master's desire and arousal. 

Then Aragorn added the fourth finger and Legolas started to whimper and try to get  away. Boromir held him 
firmly, and Aragorn laid his hand on the small of his back and commanded hoarsely: “Stop it! Be still! Open up 
to me! This is necessary for the spell to work, and you know it!” 

Legolas gasped and tried to obey, but he couldn't. The ache was just too great, and he screamed as the Ranger 
drove deeper into him, stretching him and rubbing the burning paste into him as he went. Aragorn commanded 
harshly and in Sindarin: *“Be silent, or I have to gag you!”* 

Legolas stopped screaming instantly, but he whimpered in pain. Finally Boromir turned his face within his grip to 
his own and drank the Elf's constant whimpering in a kiss.


Meanwhile, Gimli's hands roamed down from Legolas' hair to his breast and explored the strange, hairless skin. 
This was the first time he had ever touched an Elf, especially a naked one, and he was curiously fascinated. He 
found the delicate nipples, hard with arousal, and toyed a bit with them, then he pinched them, hard. 

Legolas jerked and gasped, and Aragorn gasped in response. Gimli cast a sharp glance at the Ranger, but was 
distracted by Boromir, who kissed the whimpering Elf in his arms again and reassuringly petted his shoulders. 
Gimli's hands trailed down and explored the shivering torso of the Elf, his powerful thighs, and finally the space 
between them. Curious, he closed his fingers over the member of the Elf, feeling its texture. Legolas' Elfhood had 
waned a bit under Aragorn's torment, but was still half erect with arousal and need. Gimli explored it carefully. 
So slim, so different from his own! He squeezed a bit, experimentally, then slowly and carefully began to massage 
the slave, feeling the member wax again under his attentions. 

He did not give in to the brief temptation to cause pain. It was true, he had suggested all of this to humiliate the 
Elf, but it had turned out to be far more horrible than he ever had imagined. It was *one* thing to humiliate and 
harass an equally strong foe with  words and pranks, but to outright torment a helpless victim was another. And it 
was not as if the slave was able to fight back!  Yet it was too late for Gimli son of Gloin to back out now. He had 
brought this dishonor on himself and now he was bound to continue. All he could do was to try not to cause even 
more suffering, even if the Elf remained strange to him, the son of a hated foe of his family, and an unwanted 
companion. 

Still... the Elf felt curious to his touch, even if his body was hideously hairless and he had no beard. Far too slim 
and tall to be a beauty, too, to be sure. But he had very nice hair; Gimli admired the golden tresses. Maybe he 
could indulge a bit if the Elf was truly forced to share some of his nights with him from now.  He supposed he 
could grow to like trying out some new forms of braiding these golden tresses, and it would work to put the Elf 
into his place quite nicely if he had to wear his hair in Dwarven braiding, too. Gimli did not need to force him to 
share his body or let himself be raped again after this night.

Nor would he try to make this night's ignoble deed of group rape even more horrible for the victim, even though 
he was one of the rapists.


Boromir did not pay attention what the Dwarf was doing, although he could feel the shivering body in his arms 
stiffen a bit and then relax again as Gimli's hands reached the Elf's groin. He watched with horrified fascination as 
Aragorn withdrew his fingers slowly out of the Elf's body and reached for the last portion of the paste. He felt 
Legolas shiver in his arms. Boromir was already so hard he could barely move, and his still closed leggings were 
uncomfortably tight.  To his amusement he could see that he shared this state of arousal with his would-be king.


Aragorn swallowed hard. “It is well, melethron, it will soon be over, we are nearly there,” he soothed hoarsely in 
Sindarin, “you will just have to be brave for me another moment. Just a little more!”

Then he took the widened entrance of his Elf again with his fingers. But this time he did not stop but used the 
whole hand. Legolas gasped again and nearly screamed, but his cry of anguish was caught in Boromir's mouth. He 
jerked against the Man of Gondor, then gave in and stilled, allowing his master entrance. Aragorn gasped. He 
could feel the living sheath of his Elf's body closing around him, could feel him shiver and submit, and it made 
him giddy with desire. His head swam. Legolas' constant, quiet and helpless whimpering of pain and need, 
interrupted only when Boromir drank it with his kisses, drove Aragorn mad with need. He felt his manhood leak, 
so erect he feared he would come then and there. He disciplined himself. It would not do to come outside Legolas' 
body, not while they did this.

Carefully and mindful not to touch himself too much he used his other hand to free his leaking, erect member 
from the  constricting leggings  and coated it with oil. He did not use very much; Legolas' entrance was already 
slick  with blood and with the paste and widened enough that he would not hurt him with his member anyway. 
But still he wished to make this part pleasant for himself, and if possible, even for his slave. *This* part of the 
cruel ritual was supposed to be the part of healing.

“Shh,” he soothed again in Sindarin, voice hoarse with passion, “Shh, just a few more moments! Feel it! Yes, like 
this! Soon now, melethron, very soon... brace yourself.. *thats it! Now!*”

With that he slowly withdrew his hand, holding the body of his slave down with his other hand so he would not 
jerk, and wriggled out of the hurting and widened passage. 


Legolas sobbed and clutched himself to Boromir but tried to hold still. It hurt immensely as his passage was 
stretched wide again when the main part of his master's hand came out, but then it got better. Then he felt 
Aragorn's manhood entering him in one, fast thrust, and since he was stretched far beyond its size and the oil 
lessened the burning of the paste a bit, this brought not pain but relief.


Legolas' passage was far too widened due to  the recent abuse for Aragorn to feel much, but it was hardly 
necessary anymore. He had nearly reached completion anyway, and it took just a few more thrusts for him to 
come. He climaxed, gasping and shouting Legolas' name.  Normally he enjoyed staying within Legolas' body for 
some time after his climax, but this time he withdrew immediately. Stopping his essence with two fingers from 
running out, he commanded: *“Boromir! Your turn! Now!”*


The man of Gondor did not need  a second prompting. He let go of the Elven body in his arms, and left him to be 
supported by the Dwarf; who took over without any comment. Then he changed places with Aragorn. Quickly he 
freed his manhood of its constrictions and buried himself within the Elf, not even bothering to use any oil. 

It was not necessary, though; Legolas' passage was slick with blood, oil, and the paste, and still widened enough 
not to offer him  much resistance. Yet Elven bodies heal quickly, and so the channel had already receded a bit 
towards its usual size. So it enclosed Boromir a little more tightly than it had enclosed Aragorn, and Boromir felt 
bliss and the highest pleasure. He stayed his movements for a few moments and gave the passage some more time 
to adjust, holding his partner close and mumbling sweet nothings into one of his ears. Meanwhile, Aragorn had 
placed himself in front of Legolas again and took over the supporting part of Gimli, holding his Elf within his 
arms and murmured soothing endearments in Elvish. Legolas had stopped his whimpering,  and slowly he also 
stopped shivering.

Boromir took that as a good sign. Slowly and at first tenderly, he began to move within his partner's body, then he 
quickened his pace, mindful of his partner's reactions. He felt the Elf jerk and gasp as he obviously hit the hidden 
gland. He had had male partners before, not very often and hardly as intense, but enough to read the signs, and so 
he adjusted his own angle to make sure to give his partner the maximum amount of pleasure, too.


Legolas shouted in surprised pleasure, then his mouth was caught by Aragorn  who muffled his noise with a kiss. 
Aragorn tasted him thoroughly, plundering his mouth and enjoying Legolas' eager and instinctive reaction. 

When he finally stopped the kiss and abandoned  Legolas' mouth, he busied himself with one of his ears, then 
moved down to lick along the neck, tasting in his slave's sweat mixed pain and lust, desperation, hopeless 
submission, and combined trust and fear. It made him giddy and he felt himself  getting aroused again. His hands 
found Legolas' ears and started to massage them, and he could hear Legolas moan. Smiling, he trailed further 
down. His mouth found a nipple and he busied himself with giving it his full attention, licking, suckling, nibbling 
until it was hard and red and erect. Then he bit down a bit harder and heard Legolas gasp, but he was mindful not 
to draw blood. He soothed the offended body part again with his lips and tongue and moved on to the other one, 
repeating the process. Finally he let his hands trail down and found the Elf's fully erect member. Gently he guided 
the hand of the Dwarf away and signaled him to ready himself to change places with Boromir. Then he bowed 
down and took the member of his Elf into his mouth, sucking and teasing just the way he knew Legolas liked it. 
He concentrated himself fully on giving his Elven slave as much pleasure as he could manage.


Legolas gasped as Boromir climaxed within his body, at the same moment when he himself came within Estel's 
mouth. He shouted Estel's name and was rewarded when his master's head came up again and took his mouth in a 
gentle kiss, letting him taste his own essence.

His muddled, fuzzy mind was trying to tell him something, something important, but he could not discern what. 
He was too caught up in a heady mixture of arousal, hurt and pleasure. Estel let go of his mouth and was replaced 
by Boromir, who took him with a searing kiss. The man of Gondor finished the kiss, pulled back a little and 
whispered: “You are beautiful and a wonder. Thank you!”

Dizzy, Legolas wondered at Boromir's gentleness and tender words after his palpable disdain at the beginning of 
the night, but the thought floated away. The need of the drug still held him in his grip and it was hard for him to 
concentrate. Then Boromir found himself pushed away by small, callused but surprisingly gentle hands and 
Legolas felt another body at his back, this one stocky and compact and astonishingly hairy. 
Neither Boromir nor Estel had disrobed for him before they took him, and for a moment he was irritated. Then it 
dawned to him that it had to be the Dwarven beard that caressed his sensitive skin.

“Come, Master Elf,” the Dwarf's gravelly voice said, “it is my turn  to give you what you need.”

Then, without further ado, Legolas found himself seized by small callused hand on his shoulders and entered by a 
strangely thick and big, well oiled column of male flesh. 


Gimli grunted a bit as he buried himself within the bigger body. It was a little awkward, and he decided that if he 
was to do this again he would have the Elf lying on his stomach or maybe on his back to give him better access. 
Then he frowned at the thought, because he did not plan that there should be a next time anyway, didn't  he? Then 
his mind was flooded by intoxicating pleasure and he ceased to think completely and began to move. The last 
thought that crossed his mind was that he just hoped he would not let this Elf capture his heart.   

*Dwarves loved only once, and normally if they burned for one they never took another partner. But this was just 
about the body, and about humiliating a hated Elf, was it not?*      

His beard got in the way and he took the time to place it over his partner's shoulder. Then he felt slender hands 
burying themselves in it and holding fast.   His partner moved his rear up a  bit to meet him and give him better 
access. Instinct took over and he moved within the living sheath and lost all thought.    


Legolas gave himself over to this last coupling, grateful for his partner's gentleness and for Estel's presence, who 
knelt before him and just held him close. The combined essence of Boromir and his master had calmed the 
burning need caused by the drug a bit, and the oil and cum had worked together to soothe  the burning of the 
paste. Even more, his Elven body had adjusted and the pain of his overstretched passage had receded to an 
bearable amount again. So this last coupling was pure bliss. He was still too dizzy to think much and just allowed  
himself to be held and warmed by the reassuring presence of his master in thoughtless trust. Then the Dwarf 
climaxed and spent himself within him and this third essence closed the developing bond and brought relief to the 
burning need. It was done. The spell was renewed and extended. 

Gimli withdrew. Legolas fell forward into Estel's arms, completely exhausted. 

Slowly, the dizziness and fog of the afterglow left his mind and he realized again what they just had done, and 
what it meant. What Aragorn had done to him, and which bargain he had struck. And how the other two warriors 
of their group – no, how all  the Fellowship, with the possible exception of Mithrandir – would regard him now.    

Helplessly, he started to cry.


_________________________o ________________________



Aragorn caught his slumping slave within his arms and held him fast. Legolas' sudden return to weeping worried  
him, but he did not wonder at it much. He was all too aware what he had forced him through. So he just held him 
fast and supported him in his arms, hugged against his chest. Legolas cried, and Aragorn petted him and spoke 
quiet, soothing words in Sindarin. Legolas didn't answer. He only cried harder. 

Boromir came up beside him, still full of afterglow and puzzled and concerned at their partner's reaction. Gimli 
stood beside him, more solemn and not very surprised. 

Aragorn didn't move. He held Legolas patiently and gave both Boromir and Gimli a silent nod, asking them to 
leave. “Just leave us alone for a bit,” he quietly said in Common, “I will join you soon.”

Quietly, but still very troubled, Boromir adjusted his clothes and slipped through the bushes to the other part of 
the camp, where he found he had to endure five angry stares. Gimli adjusted his clothing too, but before he left he 
stepped silently beside the crying Elf and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It's all right, laddie,” he said gravely, 
“You won't have to do this with me anymore unless you direly need it, or if you should want it yourself.”

Giving the shivering shoulder under his hand a small squeeze, he left. Legolas uttered a small sob and buried his 
face in Aragorn's shoulder.

“Shhh,” Aragorn soothed. “It is all right, melethron, it is over. I did this for you.  There will be more of us now 
capable of giving you what you need. I would not have you die because of me. You are more safe now!”

When the crying didn't subside he sighed and placed a gentle kiss on the Elf's head. “It is all right, melethron. Cry 
as much as you have to. I am here for you. It is all right.” His voice broke. He was all too aware of the irony of his 
words.

It was long before Legolas finally stopped crying, but after nearly an hour, the sobs slowly subsided and the tears 
ceased to flow. Aragorn continued to pet him for some time, then he carefully disentangled himself and helped 
him to settle down on the soiled blanket. He took his water skin and the cloth he had brought and started 
carefully to wash the grime and fluids off his companion. 

“I hope we come across a bigger stream tomorrow,” he offered while he worked, “then you can take a bath and 
wash your hair. For now, I am afraid this will have to do, melethron. I am sorry.”

Legolas nodded. He remained silent. Aragorn sighed and finished his task. He rubbed his companion dry, then he 
took the carefully folded clothes of the Elf and handed them to him. “Dress,” he said gently, “Then unroll your  
bedding in the other camp. Tonight your watch is mine. I deem it better that you sleep.”

Legolas mumbled a muffled “Thank you, master.”

Aragorn took his face into his hands and kissed him gently. It was a chaste kiss for once, just to his forehead.

“Sleep, melethron. Tomorrow things will look better,” he said tenderly. “I am sorry that we had to do this. But I 
deem it for the best or I would never have agreed. Yet now you may sleep. We will deal with everything else in 
the morrow.”

Legolas mutely obeyed and dressed himself. Then he gave his master a respectful bow, rose and went over to the 
other camp.

Aragorn looked after him and sighed again. Then he took the cloth, cleansed himself and arranged his own 
clothes. He put his things away and eyed his blanket. It was completely soiled. He hoped that if they indeed came 
across a stream the next day he might be able to wash it there.

He had insisted that Legolas take his master's blanket, not his own, for this, because he knew how much the elf 
hated to sleep in soiled and reeking beddings. And this night his slave could not climb a tree to find his solace 
there. He needed to sleep on the ground. So Aragorn resigned himself to sleeping without a blanket tonight. He 
doubted very much that he would be welcome – or rather, that it would do his slave much good – if he tried to 
snuggle close to Legolas to share his warmth and bedding.

No, Legolas would not wish him close this night. And while this was normally nothing a slave would be given 
any leave to decide, in this case Aragorn was mindful of his needs. His slave needed to recover before he could 
dare to force himself on him again.

Rolling the soiled blanket neatly together, he picked it up, took his other gear and killed the fire. Then he left 
through the bushes into the main camp. 

He found Legolas already sleeping, huddled into his blanket as if it could protect him, well away from the point 
where Aragorn had earlier placed his pack. The others of the Fellowship were all sleeping as well, or at least they 
pretended to. Only Boromir sat quietly on one of the boulders, a bit away from the light of the fire so he could 
better watch the night.

Sighing, Aragorn left his gear and things beside his pack and went over to the Man of Gondor, climbing up onto 
his lookout and squatting down beside him.

“You have the first watch?” he asked quietly. Boromir nodded. Aragorn acknowledged it with a short nod. “Then 
I will take the second one. Legolas needs to sleep tonight.”

Boromir directed a long look to the sleeping Elf.

“He is so different,” he finally said, “I've had a few male lovers before, but this...” he shook his head. “He is a 
marvel,” he concluded his thought. “I am not sure if we did the right thing to force ourselves on him.”

Aragorn nearly snorted. *The Man of Gondor was asking himself that *now*? How *very* convenient!*

“Second thoughts already, Boromir?” he challenged. “Yet now it is too late. But do not fear. We *did* the right 
thing. You were right: I needed to make sure that he would not fall ill and die if anything should happen to me.”

He fell silent a moment. Then he added quietly but fiercely: “Legolas is dear to me, dearer than you can ever 
know. I will not have him die just because he is bound by that cruel spell. I will do anything in my power to 
prevent that! And if you are willing to offer your help in that regard, then I will take it. But be warned,” he added 
grimly. “I will hold you to your new responsibility, Boromir of Gondor! Should anything happen to me, should I 
fall ill or be wounded so Legolas is bereft of my care, and should he die because you choose to neglect your duty, 
I will see to it that you pay with your life if I am still around to do so! You do not get to lie with him for 
nothing!”

And with that he turned away, left the stunned Boromir alone and returned to his bedding. Ignoring his reeking 
blanket he rolled himself into his cloak. For once he chose a place well away from his Elf. Obviously he meant it 
when he said Legolas needed his sleep.


______________ o _____________



PART VI - Repercussions


The following day, Legolas stayed away from both Aragorn and Boromir, as well as from the Dwarf. He did not 
undertake any scouting either. Instead, he carefully kept all to himself, staying close to Bill the pony and Sam, 
whom he obviously regarded as the least possible threatening member of the Fellowship right now, since his other 
option, Mithrandir, walked at the head of the Fellowship and seemed deep in thought. Besides, while Sam was 
free and not a slave, at least he was a *servant*,  and therefore perhaps a bit more sympathetic to Legolas' 
situation, or so Legolas hoped. He did not listen to the chatter of the other Hobbits. He did not wish to hear their 
gossip about him, although his keen hearing would have easily allowed him to eavesdrop. All he could see was 
their occasional looks at him. He did not know what they were talking about, and he did not care.

It was easy enough to guess, after all. Obviously, they were discussing last night, and he did not wish to learn 
what they were thinking of him now. And what *could* they think, after all?  He was the whore of the Fellowship 
now, everyone's lay to take and savour at a whim. Aragorn had made sure of that.

Estel. His mind refused to linger on the thought.

Occasionally he saw one of the other warriors – Boromir, the Dwarf – giving him an assessing look, and 
shuddered. He refused to look behind him to the rear of the Fellowship at his master.


He was so caught up in his own thoughts, that he missed Frodo watching him closely and with a frown. Then the 
Ring Bearer gestured his two cousins close to him and held a short conversation. So Legolas missed the forming 
of a conspiracy directly under his nose.

He was soon confronted with its contents, however, when suddenly he found himself surrounded by all four 
Hobbits.

“Legolas,” Frodo said, “you are from Mirkwood, are you not? Uncle Bilbo told us a lot of his adventures there. 
Would you mind telling us about your home?”

Legolas looked at him, amazed at his friendly tone. He searched for some disdain or a trap, but he found none.

“Oh, yes, please,” Peregrin Took chimed in. “Tell us of the wood! Is it true that there are spiders as big as 
ponies?”  He shuddered visibly at the thought, but seemed eager with curiosity.

“And what about the enchanted River?” Merry asked. “Bilbo told us that anybody who falls into it sleeps a whole 
day. Is that true? And how did it come to be enchanted?”

“And tell us of your father's palace,” Sam Gamgee begged. “'Tis true that it's all underground, like a Hobbit-
Smial?”

Legolas looked down at them and gave a surprised laugh. “You wish me to tell you about my home?” he asked.

Four eager faces looked up at him and nodded.

Legolas contemplated them for a moment. He had not been forbidden to speak to other members of the 
Fellowship by Aragorn, and the questions of the Hobbits seemed sincere enough. Indeed they seemed intent on 
cheering him up... He paused a moment at this thought, then he felt himself overwhelmed with relief and 
gratitude. He decided to take them up on their offer of distraction. He laughed again - a joyful laugh this time, 
delighted and pleased. 

“Very well!” he said. “The first thing you should learn is that the name of my wood is not 'Mirkwood'. It was 
Greenwood, once, Eryn Galen in my tongue, and there are places in my father's realm where it still deserve that 
name.  My father's realm lies in the north of our wood. It is mainly the south of the wood which is encumbered  
with shadow, and the darkness grows ever worse the closer you come to Dol-Guldur, where the Necromancer took 
hold – the one we now call Sauron – and spread his malice and his dark creatures. We have fought him ever since 
he came to our wood, but could scarce hold him back, and his influence on our forest has grown sadly wide. 
Where he takes hold, the wood is dark and twisted. It is from these parts that our once beautiful wood has gotten 
the ill name people now know it by.”

He looked sad as he told of the darkening of his home. He was tempted to tell them of their long, costly fight, 
about the loss of warriors and children, about the sorrow of those taken hostage and enslaved, and of the grief of 
their families and loved ones who they left behind, but he did not wish to spoil their obvious attempt to cheer him 
up. Also he did not want their inevitable attempts at sympathy, which would only reopen old wounds for him and 
bring more pain and awkwardness. So he left those sad and painful tidbits out.

Instead he smiled again and said: “But in *our* realm, the wood is still a place of beauty! There are trees so old 
that even I feel young against them, since they are twice my age. And clearings full of flowers, and deer and 
squirrels, birds and other animals aplenty. We live a merry life most of the time!”

“Tell us of your father's halls!” demanded Pippin, and Merry insisted: “What about the river? The one that makes 
one sleep? Is that tale true? How did it come to be enchanted?”

Legolas grinned. “'Tis true,” he answered. “Indeed I had to rescue my sister from it once, and I am told my 
nephew...”

“You have siblings?” Frodo asked merrily. ”Tell us of them!”

Legolas laughed and told them of his last visit at his home in the company of his master, of Aragorn's predicament 
and unsuccessful attempts to escape the curiosity of a swarm of elflings eager to touch his beard, and of his own 
father's displeasure and stern look at his grandchildren's odd fascination with  a human ranger. In his tale he 
forgot for a moment the hurt and anger burning in his soul and the humiliation and betrayal he had felt last night. 
He even cast a mischievous look back at Estel and found him watching them bemused. He looked away and 
concentrated on his chat with the Hobbits.

“Estel?” Frodo asked at that moment, “I thought you... usually travel with Strider?”

Legolas discovered only then that, speaking of his home and their visit there, he had naturally fallen into calling 
Aragorn by the beloved familiar name he still used for the Dunadan who had once won  his love and who still 
owned his heart, although at the moment the thought hurt and brought rather grief and bitterness. He cocked his 
brow at the Hobbit's delicate wording of his status as Aragorn's slave.

There was hardly any sense in beating around the bushes anymore.

“Aragorn is my master,” he said mildly, “I was given to him when he came of age, and have belonged to him ever 
since. In his youth, he was called Estel; that name was given to him to hide his true identity, since the enemy 
searched for him, to kill him, and with him his line. In your tongue, the name means 'hope'. He was *Estel* to me 
long before I and he himself learned of his true name, and sometimes I call him still by the name I learned first to 
know him by.”

“You knew Estel – I mean, Strider – before you came to him?” Frodo asked.

Legolas nodded. His eyes were awash for a moment with longing and grief, then he shoved these feelings away.  
*'Twas no  use to linger on the past!* He tried to smooth his face and return his attention to the conversation.

But he was not fast enough to hide his sentiments from his companions.

Frodo looked at him with wise, searching eyes.

“Estel is dear to you, is he not?” he asked quietly.

Legolas looked down to his feet. He said nothing. The other Hobbits kept carefully quiet.

Frodo continued very hesitantly: “I know he has hurt you yesterday, he and... the others. But Estel... Aragorn told 
me that he did it to keep you safe. He is concerned for you, you know. I think.”

The face of the Elf closed up and went blank. 

“I am afraid it is not my part to judge the decisions of my master, Master Hobbit,” he said carefully and with 
obvious strain. “Now, if you will excuse me...” he began, looking for a way to end the conversation. 

Frodo looked unhappy and uncomfortable. So did Merry and Pippin. 

It was Sam who rescued the situation by a most surprising outburst.

“*Bollocks!* It was evil and selfish what he did, if you get my meaning! *Concern*, my feet! He gave in to that 
Gondorian brute like a flap of cloth!” the normally sweet-tempered Hobbit ranted. “He could easily have shown a 
little more resistance! That--”

“--*Sam*!” Frodo stopped his tirade, and Merry and Pippin, alarmed and concerned at Legolas' sad expression,  
looked around to see whether the two Men and the Dwarf had heard the conversation.

Sam blushed furiously and looked down.

“Sorry, master Frodo!” he said, chastised, “It just makes me so angry, is all!”

Legolas decided to come to his aid.

“I thank you for your concern, Master Hobbit,” he said carefully, “It is true that I have belonged to my master... 
Aragorn... for a long time. And he has my loyalty. Even... even if I may not always like... his decisions, and they 
are not always ...easy.. on me.”

He looked bleak.

Frodo shook his head. He decided to get to the point.

“I just want you to know, Master Elf, that we do not regard you differently after what happened last night. To us 
you are our comrade, one of the Fellowship and a trusted companion, and we are glad to have your company. It 
does not matter to us if you are free or not, and if you are Aragorn's servant. Sam here is my servant and is nothing 
less to me because of it, nor would we ever treat him less than as an equal. So we will treat you. I am glad you 
offered your bow to us, and my cousins and I will be glad for your company, your keen senses, and your songs, 
and would not like to lose you!”

The other Hobbits nodded.

“Nor I,” Merry said, and “-- nor I,” added Pippin.

”--And me neither,” Sam concluded. “Just tell me if you need a break from those stupid big people groping you! I 
will be glad to give them a piece of my mind, using a club!”

The image of Aragorn, or Boromir, helplessly trying to escape the attacks of the angry Hobbit while trying to 
avoid hurting him held such an amount of sheer absurdity and humor that Legolas could not help himself. He gave 
another pearly laugh.

“You have my thanks, oh my most valiant defender and gallant Hobbit,” he said merrily. “I doubt that it will have 
to come to that, for I hope Estel will keep all this to a point where I can cope, but if in need I shall remember your 
gallant offer and ask for your defense. I am glad to find such generous companions in you!” he concluded, 
addressing them all. 

Sam was still a bit red around the ears. The other Hobbits smiled.

“It is not just him, you know,” Merry said, “you can count on us, too. But if you were willing to indulge, we'd 
like to learn some more about your home.”

“And your other travels with Aragorn. Have you seen much of the world?” Pippin piped up.

Frodo gave him a censuring glare, but Legolas shrugged. “Much,” he answered. “I accompanied him nearly 
everywhere save when he went to Harad and Mordor alone, once. What do you wish to be told about first? Of my 
fair woods or about our travels?”

There was a short conference. The Hobbits decided to indulge in stories of the Wood for starters, and tales of 
Legolas' and Strider's travels later, and so the Elf patiently obliged and favored them with explanations of some 
details from Bilbo's tales and with his own stories of the forest. So deeply were they all involved in their merry 
chatter that they did not see at first that they had drawn some company of a less welcome kind.


____________ o _________________


Gimli had slowly ventured closer to the chattering group and had listened to Legolas' retelling of Bilbo's tale of 
his time in the Wood with growing anger. It rankled him how merrily that Elf told the tale of the slight done to 
Gimli's own father Gloin and Thorin's company! More and more his mind was engulfed by dark, boiling anger. 
*That Elf needed a lesson! After all he was merely a slave, was he not? – It was time, perhaps, to remind him of 
that fact, then!*

Finally, the Dwarf decided to make his presence known and put that insolent Elven slave back into his place!
He harrumphed. 

The Hobbits and the Elf all turned to him, visibly startled. Obviously they had not heard him come. The Dwarf 
smirked derisively.

“So much for your so-called *keen senses*,” he challenged the Elf, “*'The eyes and ears of the Fellowship'*, as 
you were praised! What a mockery! But then, we learned yesterday that you have mainly other talents, did we not? 
I suppose that is all right, then!”

Legolas paled. The Hobbits glared at the Dwarf. 

Gimli didn't relent. “Cease your idle chatter for a moment, *slave*,” he snarled. “I wish for a refreshment, and our 
main water supply rests on the back of our pony. Get it and hand me a drink, if you will!”

Legolas swallowed. *So it began*.

Merry was the first to lose his temper. 

“Why don't you go and get it for yourself?” he retorted angrily, “Or did you suddenly shrink in your sleep so you  
need help to reach it?!”

Legolas uttered a startled ”Merry!”, but the Halfling did not seem inclined to back down.  

The Dwarf glared at the challenging Hobbit. “Be glad that I don't make a habit of fighting those who are no 
warriors, Master Hobbit, except if they be vermin of the enemy,” he drawled, “or you would feel my axe. That Elf 
is a *slave*, is he not? Then let him fulfill his duties, as of now, to serve his betters!”

Merry made to round on him, but Legolas placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “It is all right,” he said quietly, 
“do not provoke him further.”

Then he reached over to the pony, took the water skin and a leather cup and filled a drink. Closing the skin and 
replacing it on the beast, he handed the cup to the Dwarf. 

“Here you go, Master Dwarf,” he said, “since you demand it. Yet until now I thought the rationing of our supplies 
in Master Gamgee's hands, and not at the whim of anyone who wanted a share of his own between meal times.”

The Dwarf drank. Then he dropped the cup and slapped at the Elf. Legolas danced out of the way. The Dwarf 
fumed.

“You have no call to contradict your betters, *slave*!” he snarled. “I believe you lost some of our equipment! 
Pick it up!” He hefted his axe, planning to hit the Elf with the dull side once he bowed down to fetch the cup.

Pippin prevented him by snatching the cup from the ground and handing it to Sam. The face of the normally 
patient gardener was bright red and dark with anger.

”It is all right, Master Legolas,” Samwise said, “we have enough water yet for the Master Dwarf to get an extra 
helping or two if he can't wait until the next rest like all the others.”

Gimli glared at him.  Thwarted for the moment in his attempt to humiliate and hurt the slave, he looked for 
another road to reach his goal.

“You know,”  he said to Legolas, ignoring Sam and the other Hobbits for the moment, “you have some talent as a 
servant. Not much to be sure, but I suppose you could be trained. Now, after last night you are not solely bound 
to Aragorn any longer. When we have finished this Quest, maybe I'll go back to Rivendell and ask Lord Elrond to 
give you to me. He has always been a good friend of my people. Maybe he will be inclined to bestow you on  me 
in payment for the slight your father did to mine!”

He saw the Elf pale even more and smiled. Malice and dark satisfaction clouded his thoughts, and he wished to 
*hurt*.

“Or maybe,” he mused, “if your master is unwilling to part with you, the Lord Elrond will give us some of your 
siblings. Perhaps that sister you talked about or some of these exciting nieces and nephews.  I deem with proper 
training they could be put to good use in our mines.”

He had no warning. All he had seen was Legolas' eyes widening in alarm. The very next moment he found himself 
flat on his back, straddled by the Elf, an Elven blade at his throat. 

The Hobbits shrieked in alarm. Gimli froze, not daring to breathe. From somewhere in the back of the Fellowship 
he heard a thundering voice shout “*Daro!* Legolas, stop! *Stop it, Little Leaf!!!*”


Aragorn was about ten paces away when he saw his Elf and the Dwarf tense in an angry exchange. He watched 
with dismay as the Elf served the Dwarf some water, obviously ordered, judging by Legolas' visible discomfort 
and the Dwarfs pompous demeanor. He started to get closer to defend Legolas at need, but was not fast enough; 
he had hardly caught up with Boromir, who had fallen behind the chatting cluster of Elf and Hobbits some time 
ago to watch them, when it happened. 

Aragorn shouted his command and started to run. He would never have been in time to stop Legolas from killing 
Gimli, but at least his order had the desired effect; sheer instinct and training of more than sixty years stayed 
Legolas' hand long enough for Aragorn to pass Boromir and get near them. Frantically, he began to talk 
pleadingly in Sindarin. 

“Legolas! Stop! Don't do it, Little Leaf! Please, whatever he said to you, do not do that! I promise we will deal 
with it, I promise I will *not* punish you, but *don't take his life!*”

He suppressed his first instinct to jump the Elf and seize the knife from him, because he knew that he would 
never be in time. The only way to keep Legolas from killing his opponent now was to keep up the flow of words  
and try to talk him out of it. He knew the Elf must have been provoked beyond his limits to got that far, and he 
must have had very good reasons to give in to the lure.

“Please, Legolas! Whatever it is he said to you, do not take his life. Think of your people! There would be dire 
consequences. I could not protect them!” he pleaded.

The furious Elf didn't budge. Without removing the knife or even flinching, he uttered an angry stream of 
Sindarin. Boromir was close, hand at his sword, and Aragorn gave him a warning glare and shook his head no. He 
moved carefully closer, answering his slave in the same language.

Legolas was deadly calm, albeit he was seething with anger. “Aragorn, he threatened to ask Lord Elrond to give 
him my sister. Or her children, as slaves for him and his people. Elrond would do it, too!” he said. “I cannot let 
him live to do that!”

Aragorn paled. Inwardly he cursed himself. *This was what he had brought down on them, then, with his 
stupidity!* Calmly and determinedly he said: “I *swear* to you, he won't! I will kill him myself before I'll let that 
that happen! I *swear*!! But please, leave him to me! Do *not* kill him yourself! *Please*, melethron! Elrond 
would avenge his death on all your people! He would torture you to death, and let them pay, and I could not 
protect you. Please, Legolas, I beg of you, *do not do this*!”

He was close. He knelt beside his Elf, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please! Let go of him. Leave off!”

Legolas hesitated, but did not yet remove the knife. “You swear, Estel?” he asked. “You swear you will stop him? 
You swear you will not let that happen?”

There was no submission in his voice at this moment, just deadly calm. 

Aragorn swallowed. 

*“I do!”* he said solemnly. “I swear on my name, my line, and on my life. I will not let him hurt your sister and 
your people. If necessary, I will kill him myself before he can. Now relent. Let go of him. Give me the knife!”

Beside them, he could hear Frodo gasp, but he had hardly a mind to pay attention to the Hobbit.

Another moment of hesitation, then the Elf relented. Disgusted, he lifted the knife and allowed Aragorn to pry his 
hand  away and pull him up.

The Dwarf scrambled to his feet and drew his axe. Aragorn shoved the Elf behind himself and drew his sword.

“Leave off!” he snarled. “You have done quite enough already, Master Dwarf!”

Gimli glared at him and held his axe higher. “Out of the way!” he growled. “Let me teach this Elf a lesson!” 

Behind Aragorn, Legolas spat: “Let me fight him, Estel!”

Aragorn shook his head. *“Daro!”*  he commanded sharply. “Be silent! Let me handle this!”

He made no move to stand aside, but stood firmly between the two, facing the Dwarf. Behind Gimli's back, he 
could see Boromir slowly coming closer, circling a little to the side to give him room to interfere at need. From 
behind he could hear the fast tread of Gandalf, who was hurrying back from the head of the Fellowship. 

He paid them no heed. He fixed his whole concentration on the Dwarf before him.

Gimli snarled: “Your *slave* needs a lesson, Master Ranger! He attacks his betters without provocation!” 

Legolas uttered a stream of Sindarin, most of it expletives and curses.  But it was Merry who yelled back at the 
Dwarf in outrage.

“*Without provocation?!*  You threatened his sister and his family! You said you'd ask Elrond to give them to 
you as your slaves, or slaves to your people! You call that '*without provocation'*?!” he cried.

Boromir's eyes widened a moment, then he looked irritated and disgusted at the Dwarf. He stopped his circling 
and leaned on his drawn sword. Behind him and to his  side Aragorn heard Mithrandir uttering a sharp question 
and receiving a brief retelling of the situation by the Hobbits, along with an angry stream of Sindarin by Legolas. 

Aragorn didn't listen to their words; he did not break his concentration on the Dwarf. 

“Merry is right, Master Dwarf,” he said coldly, “I would not call that *'without provocation'!* Under the 
circumstances the attack does not surprise me much. And Legolas has my permission to fight back and to defend 
himself; he received it early in the Quest. Besides, I don't recall I ever gave you leave to command him or harass 
him! He is bound to obey *my* orders, but not your's!”

The Dwarf glowered at him. “He is a slave, is he not?” he challenged, “And I was under the impression yesterday 
that you agreed to share!”

Aragorn didn't even blink. “Then you misunderstood,” he snarled. “I agreed to let you and Boromir help to feed 
the spell, but nothing more! You have no call to command, torment of harass him. Nor is he bound to obey you, 
or to be your servant or to do your chores!  If you try to abuse our agreement in this way, you will answer to me!”

The Dwarf snorted derisively. Boromir cocked a brow, but didn't comment. Aragorn paid him  no heed. 

Yet the Dwarf did not chose to pursue this specific argument. Instead,  he grasped his axe more tightly and 
growled with malice in his eyes:

“He has your permission to fight back? *Then let him do so!* Step aside so I can kill that insolent Elf myself!”

After a moment he added with narrowed eyes: “Or does he *need* to hide himself behind you in a battle?”

Behind him, Aragorn heard Legolas give an angry retort in Sindarin and a renewed plea to let him fight, but 
merely shook his head and bellowed sharply: “Nay! *Daro!*”

Pippin piped up from his other side – the one where he and Merry had placed themselves with Sam and Bill the 
pony: “You did not seem so much to have  the advantage just a few moments ago, Master Dwarf! Seemed to me 
the Ranger rescued you from Legolas, not Legolas from you!”

Frodo hissed: ”*Pippin*!”  Sam and Merry looked alarmed. But Aragorn smiled grimly.

“Pippin is right, Master Dwarf,” he said. “You would be dead right now had I allowed Legolas to kill you. And 
should I let him fight this battle, I do not doubt that you would lose. But I cannot do that.”

He narrowed his eyes, and his voice sharpened. “Legolas cannot be allowed to kill you, because the consequences 
would be dire not only for himself, but also for his people. Should he kill a member of the Fellowship, except to 
protect the Ring Bearer or me, and the tale made it back to Rivendell, Elrond would not only have him executed,  
but avenge his deed on the whole of Mirkwood, to the last innocent child. I cannot allow that.”

His eyes never left those of the Dwarf. “Does it please you, Master Dwarf, to threaten one who cannot fight back, 
because in doing so he would risk ruin not only for himself but all his people?”

Gimli just snorted. Aragorn did not relent. He raised his sword higher.

“However, if you are insisting on a fight, and would care for a foe who is not hampered like that, you are welcome 
to take your complaints up with me! I am a free warrior, and I do not have to answer to Elrond for killing you. 
And I will gladly do so, if you do not stop your harassment and abandon your threat!”

Gimli adjusted his fighting stance. “Then it appears that you are a threat to this Fellowship, as well as that Elf!” 
he growled. “Boromir, to my side! You heard that Ranger's threats! It its time we protected the Fellowship from 
him!”

Boromir raised his brows and shook his head. His face showed an odd mixture of annoyance and disgust.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Master Dwarf,” he said. “You brought this on yourself. If I were in Legolas' position 
and you voiced such a threat against my family, I would be out for your blood, too. Besides, we do not have 
slavery in Gondor, and I do not wish to establish it there. If you wish to stand for your claim, you will have to do 
it alone.”

Glaring at him, then at the Hobbits and at Aragorn, still poised for a fight, Gimli finally gave a huff and 
straightened up. He rested the shaft of his axe on the ground before him. “Very well,” he sneered heatedly, “Then 
it seems I have no business in this *'Fellowship'* any longer, since no-one is on my side in my complaint against 
this Elf's attack!”  He glowered at them and shrugged. “I will leave this Quest and go back to Rivendell. Maybe 
Lord Elrond will be more understanding to my case!”

Legolas gave an angry shout. Aragorn bellowed a short command in Sindarin, silencing him.

He took a step closer to Gimli.

“I am afraid I can not allow that, Master Dwarf,” he said with a cold voice. “For I gave Legolas my oath that I 
would rather kill you, than let you pursue your threat to his people, and I intend to keep it!”

He dropped back into a fighting stance and said with deadly calm: 
“So either you will swear here and now on your honor, your family and your line, and on everything you hold 
dear, that you give up your threat and will never ask Elrond, or any other Elf of Rivendell or of Lothlorien, to give 
you or your people any of Legolas siblings, or indeed any Mirkwood Elf as slave, nor have your people do such; 
or you face me here in combat so I can kill you and stop you thus myself!” 

His face was deadly grim and stern, and there was no doubt that he meant it.

Gimli dropped back into a fighting stance, raising his axe, and Aragorn raised his sword to meet him. The Hobbits 
looked with horror at the scene, shuddering at the impending bloodshed.

Then Gandalf chose to interfere. He stepped close, effectively forcing Aragorn to take a step back so he would not 
harm the wizard if he swung at the Dwarf.

“Gimli son of Gloin,” the wizard said, “do you really wish to turn yourself and your people into Elrond's pawn in 
this matter? Do you really wish to let him use you and your people to hurt an old enemy of his whom he hates and 
despises for reasons that have nothing whatsoever to do with you and whatever slight you perceive done to your 
line?” 

He took  another step closer. 

“Do you wish to turn yourself into an instrument in Elrond's war to harass and torment the Elves of Mirkwood 
and to spread the  corruption of this evil even more?”

He stopped, leaning on his staff. “For this is what would happen if you insisted on this plan of yours,” he 
concluded.

Gimli hesitated. He glared at Legolas. 

*That Elf was the son of a hated foe, was he not? A foe that had imprisoned and insulted Gimli's father, and his 
comrades, Thorin's whole company, and never ever paid for that slight! And afterwards he had come after them 
with his whole army, just to claim their jewels! He deserved – his whole people deserved – what was coming to 
them, did they not? Besides, Elrond had ever been a friend to Gimli's line and the Dwarves of Erebor. There 
was nothing wrong in supporting him in his pursuits, was there?*

And what was Tharkun(4) doing anyway, siding with that Ranger and the Elf against him?!

Hot tendrils of rage enclosed Gimli's mind, pushing him, urging him to attack --

-- then he frowned. 

Just yesterday he had been horrified at the extent of this spell, at the corruption it involved, at its cruelty against 
the slave; he had been ashamed at himself that he took part in the ignoble deed of raping another being, even a 
hated foe, all the while they did it. And now he suddenly thought  of taking Elven slaves himself? Or forcing them 
on his people?

What was happening to him?

He shook his head as if to clear it and creased his brows, trying to fight against the dark rage that still fogged his 
thoughts.

Gandalf took another step closer.

“Do you recall what you were told about the Battle of the Five Armies, Gimli? Do you recall that Thranduil's   
Elves fought side by side with your people and the men of Dale and Laketown against the Orcs?” he asked. 
“The Orcs came down on the North in great force after the death of Smaug, and they were defeated only by all 
three races standing together against them.  The Elves never hesitated to join the fray; in fact they were the first to 
attack the enemy. And they lost many of their warriors in that battle, too!” 

Gimli gritted his teeth. A voice in the back of his mind cried in rage, trying to drown out the wizard's voice. 

*The Elves had only gotten what was coming to them if they lost warriors, too. After all, they came to Erebor as 
enemies, to steal the treasures, and they never paid for that or for the slight against Thorin and Gloin and their 
company. They deserved everything that was coming to them, as well as their fate of slavery... Didn't they?*

*And Tharkun betrayed his friendship with the Dwarves of Erebor by siding with the Elves and against Gimli 
like this...  did he not?*

Somehow, the voice did not feel as if it was his own, anymore. 

Gandalf continued solemnly: “Do you recall what lies on Thorin's tomb in the depth of Erebor?”

Gimli didn't answer. He just nodded tersely.

Gandalf nodded, too. “Orcrist, the Elven blade Thorin found on his journey, twin of my blade Glamdring. It burns 
in blue light whenever enemies come close to the mountain,” he answered his own question. “Do you recall that it 
was Thranduil who placed the sword on Thorin's tomb, honoring him for his bravery in the Battle against the 
Orcs? He was noble enough to honor his fallen foe and bury all discord with the victory they had achieved 
together. Will you be less noble now, by pursuing your plan to avenge a slight long in the past in such a manner?”

Gimli hesitated again. Still, the voice in his head screamed in rage, trying to drown out the words of the wizard, 
but now it became ever weaker. Slowly, the hot tendrils of rage receded, and finally he managed to separate 
himself from them. He realized it then. Even with all the anger still burning within himself, these tendrils and that 
voice were something alien, something possessive. A malevolent influence.

*And nobody possessed a Dwarf*!

Angrily, he shook himself free and then he deliberately lowered his axe again, placed its shaft back on the ground 
and glared at the Ranger.

“Step aside, Ranger!” he growled. “There are words I have to say to that Elf, and they belong to him and not to 
you! I promise I will not attack him!”

Aragorn shook his head. ”I am afraid I cannot do that,” he said flatly. ”Swear to me first as I demanded, or face 
me in battle! I will not stand aside without your oath!”

Gimli glowered at him. But he was not about to let himself be pushed back into something he now knew as being 
alien by the Mans presumption. Grimly, he said:

“Well, then. I swear the oath you demand. I swear it on my honor, on my line and on my secret name. I will not 
ask Lord Elrond for your Elf, or any of that Elf's siblings, nor any of his people. Nor will I tell this tale to him or 
anyone, or tell my people of Mirkwood's true state, or of this whole ignoble business of slavery and of that spell. I 
will take that secret to my grave. I will have no part of this business of keeping Elves as slaves, nor will my people 
if I can prevent it. Not out of fear of *you*, but out of respect for Gandalf and because I do not wish myself  and 
my people to become pawns in Elven politics. I owe them better than that!”

He pursed his lips. Aragorn searched his eyes for any hint of deception and found nothing. “You swear?” he 
asked, still hesitant to step aside.

Gimli nodded solemnly, if angrily. He was nearly of a mind to kill the Ranger just for spite and for his insolence, 
but he was determined not to let himself be goaded again. “I swear,” he repeated. “Now step aside!”

Aragorn looked at him another moment, then he took a deep breath and stepped aside. He knew Legolas could 
hold his own against any attack, if it came to that; and if the Dwarf broke his word he could still interfere.

But the Dwarf surprised him, since he made no move to attack and just glared at the Elf for another moment. 
Then, Gimli bowed after the fashion of his people, deeply and without apparent derision. 

“My apologies to you, Master Elf,” he said. “I reassure you that I will not pursue this idea, or tell your secret to 
any of my people. I do not know what came over me when I first made my threat. I think I have not been entirely 
myself.”

Legolas looked at him, astonished and searchingly. Then he nodded and bowed with equally solemnity.

“Your apology is accepted, Master Dwarf,” he said in his melodic voice. “You are not the only one the thing 
Frodo bears is trying to prey on.”

The Dwarf harrumphed noncommittally, then just nodded. Legolas returned the nod. Then, as if nothing had ever 
happened,  Gimli hefted his axe over his shoulder again and began to march on. After a moment, Gandalf took a 
deep, relieved  breath and followed, smiling to himself. Soon he had regained the head of the Fellowship again.

The Hobbits, however, hesitated to follow. So did Legolas. He stood with apprehension, looking at his master. 

Aragorn just gave him a nod. “It is all right, Little Leaf. We'll talk about this later,” he said. Then he added:

“Well, I suggest we all start to move again. We still have to cover several leagues before dark.”

Legolas swallowed, then bowed. “Yes, my Lord. Thank you,” he said. Then, following his  master's command, he 
turned and trudged on. The Hobbits glared at the Ranger for another moment, then they turned too, placing 
themselves protectively around the Elf.

Aragorn looked after them. Then he turned around to Boromir.

The Man of Gondor looked at him with a puzzled, but somewhat amused expression. 

“So your little pleasure-toy has a sting,” he said, “and you are not hesitant to defend him.” He shrugged.  Not 
giving the Ranger time for a reply, he added:

“Very well. But I still expect you to keep our bargain!” 

And with that he trudged on.

Aragorn looked after him, boiling with anger. Then he looked down, the anger turning into bleak despair. 
Wordlessly, he resumed his place at the rear of the Fellowship and started to move.


*So this was what he had brought down upon them*.


________________ o ______________

-- End of Chapter V --


-- TBC --


Notes:

(1) Edhel – Sindarin: an Elf, one of the Eldar. 
(2) Sindarin, literally: Seeds (of) Poison-Prison.  
(3) Sogo nen anira –Sindarin: literally: drink (of) water (of) desire
(4) Tharkun: Khuzdul (Dwarwish) name for Gandalf