Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter VII a – Crossing The Mountains, Part I

   Author: Aislynn Crowdaughter

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

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

   Rating: NC (M) –strictly adults only.

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

   SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Drug Abuse (in Flashbacks
only). Also very disturbing thoughts.

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

Additionally, I wish to announce that in this chapter, again, I am
operating with flashback scenes. Here is a Guide:
// /flashback/ //; ************Time change within a
flashback***********

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

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


________________________


CHAPTER VII a 	Crossing The Mountains– Part I (1)


PART I – Finding Resolve

Boromir of Gondor stared sourly into the growing dawn. He was cold,
he was tired, and he felt unjustly treated. This was the third
night in a row that he'd had to take one of the watches. And even
though he normally wouldn't mind so much, and was completely
willing to do his fair share of duties for the Fellowship, he
wasn't prepared to do so just to give that Ranger and that Elf a
chance at an undisturbed romp in the bushes.

At least, Aragorn could have had the decency to take one of the
watches before he went and took his pleasure of his little bed-toy.
After all, this was what he had forced   *Boromir*  to do the night
before last. But no! The Ranger had insisted that he and his bed-
toy couldn't be inconvenienced by little things like that, and so
the Dunadan had simply left his share of the duty for the others.

Angrily, Boromir cast a look back at the camp to the two lumps he
knew to be the sleeping forms of the Elf and the Ranger.  At least
Legolas lay still now. From the beginning of Boromir's watch – and
maybe even before, probably since the two got back to the camp
earlier last night – the Elf had tossed and turned, sometimes even
quietly whimpered, so much that Boromir had wondered why it did not
wake the Dunadan the Elf lay nestled against. 

But the Northener had been obviously undisturbed by the Elf's
apparent nightmares. It seemed for all his claims to care, the
moment the other man got his pleasure, he could sleep like a stone. 

Once or twice during his watch Boromir had been close to waking the
Elf himself. But Legolas slept closely entwined in his master's
arms, and Boromir doubted very much his interference would be
welcome – neither to the Elf nor to his master.

Boromir himself had not slept well this night; in fact, he had
hardly found any rest at all. When Aragorn had left the camp with
his bed-toy the evening before, it was all he could do to force
himself not to follow them. Black jealousy had kept him awake and
tormented him with images of the Elf in the other man's arms, and
it didn't help that he knew the Ranger's attentions were more
welcome than his own. He had found no rest until the two were back,
two whole hours later; then he had turned around, determined to
ignore them and find sleep. But only shortly afterwards, he had
woken again when Legolas got up and left the camp, only to return
much later. And shortly afterwards, it had been Boromir's turn to
take the watch, anyway.

Boromir cast a last dark look at the entwined pair, then turned
around again. He resumed his brooding, staring into the slowly
growing light.

He did not understand that Elf at all. He recalled again the way he
had found him and Aragorn only five days ago – the Elf half-naked,
hands bound, splayed over his master's knees and being brutally
beaten. Of, course, the punishment of servants and subordinates was
quite a common thing, even in Gondor, and a beating, even a brutal
one, was well within the range of what Boromir was used to. There
had been times, once or twice and not that long in the past, when
his own father had given  him  such a beating. And Legolas was a
slave . That Aragorn subjected him to such harsh punishment was in
itself nothing to be alarmed about, although the Ranger never had
disclosed what the slave had done to warrant such harsh penance.
Still, the man's handling of the Elf had been brutal enough. And
the cruel ritual Aragorn had forced on his slave afterwards had
hardly been any better.

Legolas had been very subdued the following day, and even Aragorn's
noble gesture of defending him against the Dwarf had not managed to
raise his spirits. The following night, as far as Boromir could
tell, the Elf had avoided his master. And yet, just the day after
that he had followed him around like a small puppy dog again,
hoping for a pat. When Aragorn had sent his slave to Boromir that
night anyway, the Elf had clearly been subdued again and less than
happy to follow the command.

Boromir had been gentle. He had done his best to show the Elf that
there were alternatives to his cruel and abusive master; that if
Legolas would just come to him out of his own will, he would be
only too happy to protect him from that Ranger of the North. He had
even made it clear that he would be happy to keep Legolas
exclusively and not share him with anyone.

He had gone out of his way to make the Elf enjoy his touch and
desire him.

And yet, as soon as their bed-play was over, Legolas meekly kept to
himself and avoided him the whole following day. Of course, he had
avoided Aragorn, too, probably fearing the palpable anger and
jealousy of the man; but in the evening, the Ranger only had to
snap his fingers, and the Elf was back within his arms, happily
nestled against him, and Boromir was just so much empty air.

And yet, after he and his master got back from their romp, the
foolish Elven slut had nightmares, whatever the cause.

*Was this so-called 'heir of Isildur' so much preferable to him,
then, abusive as that excuse for a noble was, than the oldest son
of the ruling Steward of Gondor?* 

Angrily, Boromir looked back over his shoulder and narrowed his
eyes. He could see Legolas stir, then gently disentangle himself
and get up. Then the Elf bowed down again and tucked his still
sleeping master back under the blanket. Aragorn just grumbled
something unintelligible and burrowed himself deeper under the
cloth; despite his usual alertness, the Ranger stayed asleep.

Legolas straightened, saw Boromir watching him and gave the
Gondorian a nod. He grabbed his weapons and both his and his
master's water skin and left the camp in the direction of a water
hole the Fellowship had found the evening before. Apparently, it
was his task to get supplies for breakfast this morning.

Boromir pursed his lips. Then he got up and followed the Elf. He
did not go the whole way to the water hole, though, but lingered
just a few steps outside the camp.

He would not abandon his post; but it would be of best if not
everybody heard what he would have to say once the Elf got back.

 *Maybe it was time to remind that little slut that there was still
a bargain to keep, and that he would not get rid of Boromir so
easily.* 


_____________ o _____________


When Legolas returned to the camp, he found his path blocked by
Boromir. 

The man of Gondor lingered some ten steps outside the camp, a
little out
first, Legolas thought the  Adan  had sought his solitude to
relieve himself, so he just gave him a polite nod and meant to pass
him quickly; but instead of nodding back and letting him pass the
Gondorian stepped into his way. 

Legolas frowned.

The man of Gondor gave him a leer. “Good morning, little Elf,” the
Adan said, “did you have a good night?”

Legolas was taken aback. Even without the provocative and
belittling address, he wouldn't have liked the Adan's tone, and the
smile of the man and his whole posture was unsettling enough.
However, Boromir had not attacked him, yet, and while Aragorn had
allowed him to defend himself, Legolas did not believe that a
provocative posture alone counted as an excuse to fight the
Gondorian. So he forced himself to give a polite bow.

“Thank you and a good morning to you, too, My Lord,” he said. “I
cannot complain. And yourself? Did you have a good night?”

Behind the man, Legolas could hear the quiet noises of the
Fellowship slowly stirring and the camp waking. He was relieved.
Maybe, with some luck, he could end this before it got ugly...

Unfortunately, the man of Gondor had other ideas. 

Boromir narrowed his eyes.  *Did that Elven slut mean to mock him?!
*  He cocked his head and gave the Elf an unseemly   gaze. 

“Actually, no, because I spent it lonely,” he said. “I could have
done with someone to warm me up.”

Legolas did not know what to say. He stayed mute for a moment,
hoping the Gondorian would step away and let him pass. But of
course, that was too much to hope for.

The Elf's apparent lack of reaction rankled Boromir. He took a step
closer. 

“Well, I hope you enjoyed being in your master's arms last night,
little Elf,” he said. “But tonight, it will be my turn again. And
I'm looking forward to it!”

Legolas swallowed. He still didn't know what to say; after all, he
could hardly deny the man of Gondor! He bowed his head. Then he
looked up again, relieved, and in the same instant Boromir felt a
heavy hand settling on his shoulder.

“He will be with you again tomorrow night, Boromir,” Aragorn said
calmly. “Tonight he will have for himself.”

Angrily, Boromir spun around. “Oh?” he said, “And why, pray, should
that be? Did  *you*  wait another night before you took your Elf to
bed after he was with me?”

Legolas paled. Apparently, Boromir was not himself, too angry to
think clearly. If the two men started fighting over him, that fight
could easily end in bloodshed. And Aragorn was weaponless; he had
left his swordbelt in the camp.  Carefully, Legolas readied himself
to interfere. 

But Aragorn stayed calm. “I told you I would take care that Legolas
wasn't exhausted,” he said. “If we do this, giving him every third
night for himself sounds reasonable enough. But if you think we
should settle for a  less  frequent arrangement, I am willing to
listen.”

Boromir just stared at him angrily for another moment, then he
shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, “just remember to keep the bargain!”

And with that he stepped around Aragorn and walked back to the camp
without another word.

Aragorn took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped a bit. He
looked at his Elf.

Legolas bowed his head.

Aragorn sighed. “I'm sorry, Little Leaf,” he said. “I still think
that this bargain is for the best. And whatever Boromir thinks, we
should not plan too much ahead, anyway; soon enough, the Fellowship
may find themselves hunted, and who knows what will happen then?”

He hesitated a moment, reaching out and touching his Elf's
shoulder. He feared the reproachful look when Legolas raised his
eyes again. But when the Elf looked up at him, his expression was
remarkably calm.

“I know, my Lord,” he said. “You explained it to me, and I do
understand. Still, I do not enjoy it.”

Aragorn caressed his face. “I know, Little Leaf. Me neither,” he
said. “Did you sleep well?”


Regretfully, Legolas shook his head. He avoided his master's eyes.
“I'm afraid I will find not much rest for some time, Aragorn,” he
said. “I seem to be... haunted by bad dreams of late.”

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, then bowed his head. “I had hoped to
give you better ones, last night,  melethron ,” he said. “Do you
think it is the ring?”

It sounded oddly hopeful, and he seemed relieved when Legolas
nodded.

Then the Elf looked up and searched his eyes. He took his master's
hand between his own and kissed it. Looking at Aragorn, he said
very seriously:

“Last night, you gave me a great gift, My Lord. Thank you.”

Aragorn actually blushed. “It was my pleasure, Little Leaf,” he
said. “I just wished...” he didn't continue. His face looked
wistful.

Legolas kissed his fingers again. “I know, Estel,” he said gently,
“Thank you.” 

Then he let him go. “If you will excuse me, the Hobbits wait for
the water...”

And with a last respectful bow, he stepped around his master and
returned to the camp, leaving Aragorn where he stood, and somewhat
puzzled. 


_______________ o ________________


An enticing smell of roasted sausages  wafted over to Aragorn from
the little fire where Sam was making a meal. The smell mixed well
with the well refined smoke of pipeweed of Gandalf's and Frodo's
pipe, not to mention his own, and Aragorn felt his mouth water. He
stretched, relaxing and enjoying the shining sun and the peaceful
noises of the Fellowship around him.

Aragorn sat on one of the boulders, watching Boromir spar with
Merry and Pippin. Apparently, the Gondorian had been forgiven by
the Hobbits for his role in the humiliating bargain he and Aragorn
had struck concerning Legolas, for today, Merry and Pippin had
asked to take up their sword-fighting lessons again. Aragorn was
sure that this change of mind on the side of the Hobbits was
largely due to Legolas himself, who had quietly encouraged the
Hobbits to mend the gaps within the Fellowship. 

In any case, there had been another quiet conference between the
Hobbits and the Elf during their march this morning, and only
afterwards had the two Hobbits asked Boromir for more lessons with
the sword.  Aragorn was equally aware that  *he himself*  had *not*
yet been forgiven, for all four Halflings still treated him with
substantially more distance than they had done before his and
Legolas' secret came out.  He was sure that this hesitation was in
no way Legolas' doing; while the Elf had avoided him the day
before, today he had given the Hobbits no indication that he feared
or was trying to avoid his master. But apparently it wasn't enough.
Aragorn suspected that  nothing he or Legolas could say or do would
earn him back the trust the four Hobbits had shown him after their
first journey from Bree to Rivendell together. But then, it was
probably too soon to expect that much. He just hoped he could
regain their full trust with time.

He cast a quick look over his shoulder to the place where Sam and
Frodo quietly chatted with each other, apparently joking about
their eager cousins, eagerly exchanging blows with Boromir. Behind
them, watching out for the Fellowship, stood his Elf. Legolas
looked out over the plains around them, making sure no possible
threat could take them unawares. The Elf had volunteered for this
duty, and Aragorn suspected he had done so because this way he
could keep to himself.

Inwardly, Aragorn sighed. At least, Legolas did not seem as subdued
today anymore by Aragorn's  decision to keep to the bargain. He
seemed to have resigned himself to his master's logic, although he
still didn't like it. The Elf had kept to himself most of the day,
but he had not seemed as subdued or afraid to Aragorn as yesterday,
just deep in thought. Apparently whatever nightmare had been
haunting him last night was still troubling him. Briefly, Aragorn
mused  if there was anything he could do to cheer him up, but he
suspected it would be best if he just left him alone for a while.

Giving his Elf a last, tender look, Aragorn turned back and
concentrated on the events before him again. Pippin parried another
sequence of blows the way Boromir had taught him, and Aragorn felt
compelled to remind the Halfling shortly:  “Move your feet!(2)”

The Hobbit was so immersed in his training that he did not even
hesitate, he just complied. Merry, beside him, applauded. 

“You look good, Pippin!”

Pippin smiled. “Thank you!” 

Boromir turned to Merry and attacked. “Two, One, Five,” he
reminded, counting the blows and parries. He nodded appreciatively,
when the Hobbit caught all his blows with his little sword.
“Faster!” he commanded, and quickened his pace.

The Hobbits were eager to learn, Aragorn noticed, but they still
would take a long time before they could hope to defend themselves
in a real fight. He just hoped they would have that much time to
learn. He had an uneasy feeling about the near future, and it
strengthened with every night. He was astonished they had had that
much luck up until now.

From the place nearby where Gandalf sat on a boulder, enjoying his
pipe, he could hear the voice of the Dwarf:

“If anyone was to ask for *my* opinion, which I note they're *not*,
I'd say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass
through the mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal
welcome!”

His voice sounded somewhat petulant. Ever since the confrontation
with the Elf four days ago, Gimli had been mostly ignored by most
of the Fellowship, especially the Hobbits and Aragorn. Gandalf had
taken care to treat him fairly, and Boromir had exchanged a word or
two with him, but mostly he had been avoided. Legolas had taken
special care to be as far from the Dwarf as he could at all times.
So had the Hobbits. If Boromir – and to some extent, Aragorn – were
forgiven by the four Halflings for their treatment of the Elf,
clearly,  *Gimli*  was  *not*. At least not yet.

As for the Dwarf's suggestion...

Aragorn felt a chill run down his spine.  *Moria!*  He had none but
ill memories from his one and only venture into the abandoned
mines, and even though the Dwarves since then had sent an
expedition to recolonize that place, he could not shake the feeling
that their attempt had gone ill. His rangers had heard nothing of
the Dwarven colony, and Gimli's own company had told at the council
back in Rivendell that they had lost all contact with their kin in
Moria long ago. Even more, Aragorn could not shake an ill feeling
when he thought about taking that path. He just   *knew*   that if
they went that way, something would go terribly wrong.

*Great dark wings, made of shadow... the face of his Elf, white as
snow, paler than he had ever seen him, frozen in utter terror...
Fire and shadows reaching for them... the company, caught, no way
out, running for their lives... Certain death for one of them,
Gandalf's pale face, urging them to fly... He himself, for moments
unable to move, frozen in horror... the feeling of loss, so
overwhelming that he thought he would surely break... Boromir
shouting his name, urging him to move on, while he stood frozen...*  

Aragorn shook his head free of the images. He had no idea if they
were true foresight or images planted in his mind by his own fears.
He only knew that he was very sure he did  *not*  want to go
through Moria again. And Legolas...

He cast another quick look over his shoulder to his Elf. The first
time he had gone through Moria had been during one of the times
when he had left Legolas behind, securely in the care of his
rangers, namely Halbarad. It had been an ill trip, and he had been
lucky to escape the Black Pit alive at that time. He did not care
much for the memories. He could only imagine what the darkness of
the mines, together with the lack of every connection to living
nature, might do to his Elf.

To his relief, he heard Gandalf answer the Dwarf calmly: “No,
Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no
other choice.”

Aragorn saw Legolas' shoulders relax a bit and nodded to himself.
He concentrated back on Boromir and his eager students again. From
the corner of his eye, he noticed that Legolas changed his place,
taking a post at the other side of the camp; but before he could
look at him, he was distracted by a loud cry of pain.

Merry let his sword fall and shook his hand. Boromir exclaimed
alarmed: “Sorry!” 

Aragorn shrugged. Such things happened during training with
weapons; they would get used to it. He wasn't prepared  for the
Hobbit's reaction, though.

Without further warning, Merry kicked Boromir in the shins. Pippin
joined in with a loud “Get him!”, and in the next instant, the two
Hobbits were upon the surprised Gondorian, kicking his legs out
under him and holding him to the ground. There was a loud commotion
with yells of “For the Shire!” and “Hold him! Hold him down,
Merry!”

Boromir could probably have himself successfully defended against
the attack, except he was laughing so hard. So did the Hobbits.

Aragorn laughed, too. After all the pain and discord of the last
few days, it was like a deliverance to watch these three engaging
in their idle antics and carefree mock-fight. 

He took another pull on his pipe, then he finally decided to rescue
his fellow human. He stood up. “Gentlemen, that's enough!”  he
declared commandingly, stepping close and bowing down to pluck the
Halflings off Boromir. 
In the next moment, he felt his legs pulled out under him and fell
with a surprised yell, landing unceremoniously on his back. The
apples he had stored in the bags of his coat for later consumption
rolled about everywhere. The Hobbits gave a triumphant shout, and
Boromir was laughing.

Aragorn resigned himself to his fate and joined in their laughter.
For a moment he just lay there and let them gloat. He  nearly
expected his Elf to come help him up, amused at his master's
misfortune. When no help of the sort was forthcoming, he got up on
his elbows and looked, somewhat irritated, over to his slave.

Legolas was not looking at them. He stared intently at a dark patch
at the sky, something like smoke flying in the wind, except it
seemed rapidly to be getting closer. Aragorn was instantly alarmed.
His tension transferred itself to Boromir, who followed his gaze
and narrowed his eyes.

But it was Sam who asked: “What is that?”

Legolas didn't answer. He stared with drawn brows at the shape. 

The Dwarf gave the Elf a doubtful look and shrugged.  Casting an
uninterested gaze into the direction of the shape, he said:
“Nothing. It's just a wisp of cloud!” And he turned around.

But Boromir had gotten up now and objected: “It's moving fast.
Against the wind!”

Aragorn got up. “What is it, Little Leaf?” he asked quietly.

Then Legolas shouted: “Crebain, from Dunland!” and Aragorn felt
himself react instantly and before his mind even had time to
register. He grabbed his sword and his things, yelling “Hide!” and
was on the run for cover, gesturing to Boromir and yelling at him
to do the same, before he knew what he was doing. Without once
looking at him, Legolas did the same. They acted as they always had
in battle, as two parts of a whole. All around them, the Fellowship
followed their example, for once not questioning but just trusting
in their judgment. Boromir and his students found a cave to cover
them, and Sam killed the fire. Gandalf was already hidden, and so
was the pony. Aragorn made it under a overhanging rock with Frodo
and Sam, mere moments before the hateful beast passed over them
with terrible noise.

It lasted only moments, but these moments were like a small
eternity for Aragorn. He was reminded of his nightmares. 

* Dark wings, danger, the Fellowship hunted... urgency, no time to
rest or to take care of his Elf...* 

*'At least I have made sure Legolas will be safe!'*  he thought
grimly.  *It will not happen this way, now!'* 

Still, he rolled his eyes at their misfortune as the host of
villain birds passed over them. When the birds were gone, flying
back to the south, a very subdued company  scrambled back out of
their hide holes to gather around the wizard.

Gandalf's face was grim. “Spies of Saruman,” he stated grimly. “The
passage south is being watched!” He looked up to the mountain. “We
must take the pass of Caradhras!(3)”

Aragorn caught a glimpse of Legolas' face, where he stood behind
the wizard. It was pale and troubled. Aragorn sighed.  *Passing
over the mountains meant passing though the Golden Wood.*  And
after everything that had happened – including the near duel
between Legolas and Gimli -  *he*  was not very keen to take the
path through Lothlorien either.

But there were hardly any alternatives. At least, he mused, now
Legolas did not need to fear anymore that his and his master's
secret  would be revealed. Stoically, he shrugged and started to
pack his belongings for the long, hard march over the mountain
passes.

Boromir looked troubled. Finally he spoke up. “I would still advise
us to go south and stay west of the Misty Mountains,” he said, “and
take our chance with the Horse Lords on our way to my city. I do
not see why we have to take the mountain road just because of a
flock of birds, whether they be spies of Saruman or not. 
But if we have to go over the mountain, then I will add a word of
advice, if I may.”

He looked sceptically at the threatening heights, white and snowy
as they rose before them.

“I was born under the shadow of the White Mountains and know
something of journeys in the high places. We shall meet bitter
cold, if no worse, before we come down on the other side. It will
not help us to keep to secret if we are frozen to death. When we
leave here, where there are still a few trees and bushes, each of
us should carry a faggot of wood as large as he can bear(4).”

Sam looked at him approvingly, then he patted the pony. “And Bill
could take a bit more, too, I think,” he said. 

Gandalf looked at them grimly and sceptically. Then he shrugged.
“Very well,” he said. “But approve of it or not, from now on we
must take pains to keep secret. We must not use the wood – not
unless it is a choice between fire and death.(5)”

Boromir made a face at his comment, but then he merely shrugged and
turned around, wandering off to gather firewood. The others
followed. Soon enough the Fellowship was scattered, busy following
Boromir's advice.

It was there among the bushes that Boromir got the chance to
confront Legolas again.

“So,” he challenged, “it seems that now we will have to postpone my
next chance to be with you for a few days. Does that pleases you,
sir elf?” 

Legolas turned around to him watched him calmly. But instead of
showing fear or even some disgust, the Elf merely  met his gaze and
studied him. 

When he didn't reply, Boromir finally said: “Well? Have you nothing
to say for yourself?”

Legolas looked at him serenely. “What would you have me say, my
Lord?” he asked. “Two days ago I was first sent to you, and you
made it easy for  me by being gentle. It was a gift that you made
me and I was grateful. You gave me reason to hope that this would
be easier for me than I had first expected. Have I been mistaken?
Do you wish to take that gift back from me now?” 

Boromir stared at the Elf disbelievingly. “You do not wish to share
yourself,” he said, “and yet you agree to it so easily? or do you
look forward to it?” he asked, somewhat taken aback by the calm
reaction. “If your master truly cared about you, why would he agree
to share? If you were mine...”

Legolas took a step closer. *”Yet I am not,”* he said. “I belong to
my Lord Aragorn, and I am his to command. Would it truly please you
if I changed my loyalties that easily?”

The man narrowed his eyes, prepared for an attack. But the Elf just
shrugged.

Finally he said calmly: “My master has agreed to keep the bargain,
Boromir. He is a man of his word. Even if our next chance to be
together be delayed, you need not fear that you will be deprived of
me.”

It sounded bitter, though, and resigned, but calm nonetheless. 

Boromir shook his head. He reached out and touched the Elf's arm.

For a moment, he thought Legolas would avoid his touch again, and
truly the Elf shivered a bit, but this time he did not sidestep him
and simply endured it. Yet he quailed under the touch, and
frustrated by the lack of welcome, Boromir let his hand fall.

“I do not understand you,” he said hotly, “Nor this ranger of
yours!” He shook his head. “I desire you, and I look forward to
having you again, though I would like it even more if you would
come to me willingly!  But I will not pass up the opportunity to
have you anyway. You are too good a prize to pass up, and that
ranger of yours is a fool to share you! Even though his foolishness
will be my gain.”

Legolas studied him calmly. “It is not my place to judge my
master's decisions,” he said mildly, “and whatever his reasoning,
you will have me again as soon as opportunity allows. That was my
Lord Aragorn's decision. For now, My Lord Boromir, I suggest we
postpone this conversation and continue the gathering of wood,
since we need march on, soon.”

And with that, he gave Boromir a last, respectful bow and turned,
leaving the man standing where he stood, confused and seething. 

Boromir let him go. But his eyes followed the elf for a long time,
and when the Fellowship marched on in the afternoon, they hardly
left him.


___________________ o __________________


The Fellowship set out again. They made good speed at first; soon
they discovered the remains of the old trading path up the mountain
and to the pass, although it was largely covered with undergrowth
and hardly recognizable at some places.   Soon, though, the terrain
became steep and difficult, the path became winding and twisting,
and here and there large rocks had fallen from the mountain and had
made their way down the mountainside, ending up blocking the road.
Then they had to tortuously seek a way around them.

The company filed out around the terrain. Gandalf took the head,
searching the path, often accompanied by Gimli and also by Legolas,
who took it upon himself to scout ahead, search for a way around a
rock here, climb a height there and look out for the company. When
the Elf just walked with the others for some time, he stayed close
to the Hobbits and the pony. 

The Hobbits walked in their usual order: Frodo walked closest to
Gandalf, then followed Sam, always faithfully close to his master
and leading Bill, the pony;  behind them came Merry and Pippin,
always inseparable and chatting. When Legolas kept the Halflings
company, they took care to keep him in their middle as if to guard
him against the Dwarf and the two men.  But often enough, Legolas
sought his solitude, busying himself with watching out for the
spying birds or for other  enemies, scanning their surroundings as
well as the sky.

His actions weren't unobserved. Behind the Hobbits followed
Boromir, brooding, his eyes hardly straying from the Elf, following
Legolas' every move.

Aragorn took the rear. Since the path was long and winding he had
chances enough to see Boromir's face and see what the other man was
doing.

His eyes narrowed. Following Boromir's gaze to Legolas, he could
see that his Elf was only too aware of the constant scrutiny of the
man of Gondor, and quite uncomfortable about it. 


Aragorn stiffened and quickened his steps. *What was that arrogant
Southerner thinking?! Just because Aragorn had agreed to keep to
their arrangement, that did not give this insolent Steward's son
the right to harass his Elf!  Maybe it was time he told the other
man where to keep his leering eyes. He would place his fist in that
face, he would...*

Then Legolas looked around and met his master's gaze and Aragorn
could see his pale, troubled face, watching him with some alarm. 

He stopped and bowed his head, fighting to quell his jealousy.
Bitterly he reminded himself that it had been *his* decision, after
all, that had landed them all in this mess. And even more
unfortunately, Boromir wasn't the only one  Legolas had good
reasons to avoid.

Bitterly, Aragorn recalled how devastated Legolas had been last
night after their wondrous sharing of pleasure when he discovered
that all their tenderness, all the sweet caresses they had shared
had hardly made his partner stir. How he had then in his
desperation begged for his master's familiar cruelty, just to bring
Aragorn to completion. And how only then Aragorn's own, treacherous
body had finally reacted. 

Aragorn had been gentle. He had hardly done as much as what he
would usually subject Legolas to during his games. And yet... even
so, and as wonderful as their lovemaking had been before that sorry
end, Legolas still had had nightmares afterwards, even though – or
maybe, *because* – he spent  the night in the arms of his master.

Regretfully, Aragorn recalled that night a few weeks ago, early in
the Quest,  when he had found Legolas whimpering, deep in dreams,
begging him – begging *Estel!* -- not to hurt him anymore. How
guilty and stricken he had felt as he held his Elf in his arms. How
helpless he had felt when he had made his promise to be as gentle
as he could.

And yet. Even now his mind called up sweet  images of his slave,
bound, waiting submissively whatever torture his master would
choose to subject him to and whatever toy he would choose to use on
him this time. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a nasty little
voice reminded him that they were going to Lothlorien. *Well
guarded borders... comforts... and, most importantly, *privacy* to
use his Elf thoroughly, in any way he wished... They would be
undisturbed. They'd need not fear  interference of the Fellowship.
There would be toys... restraints... maybe, Galadriel and Celeborn
would offer them Aragorn's old, *special* talan...*

Aragorn's mouth went dry and he quickly shook his head as if he
could banish the images that way. He tried to take his mind from
them, tried to concentrate on his path. But they persisted.

Forcibly, he tried to recall last night. The wonderful tenderness
he and Legolas had shared. Legolas' adoration. His shining eyes...
*what a precious, unbelievable gift Legolas had given him!*

Then he recalled his little fantasy afterwards, of Legolas being
made to take him, but this time hurting from a thorough spanking,
wearing trappings that just allowed him to find completion when he
received permission to remove them, and   filled by a *carag...*
even now, those images sent heat through his body directly to his
loins and made him instantly, painfully hard.

Angry and disgusted, Aragorn  shook his head, forcibly banishing
the images from his mind. *He wouldn't do that!* He would never
take this incredible gift of love and trust his Elf had given him,
despite all odds, despite everything Aragorn had done to him, and
pervert and twist it in such a way! 

*Legolas deserved better.*

Keeping this resolve firmly in mind, Aragorn looked up and let his
gaze rest tenderly on the form of his Elf. Legolas had climbed a
steep height again and was intently looking around. Watching him,
Aragorn deliberately recalled the memories of their tender coupling
last night. 

*Legolas' shining eyes, the look of love and pure, unblemished joy
in his face when Aragorn had asked him to make love to him... his
sweet tenderness, the abandon with which he had dedicated himself
to the task of bringing his partner pleasure...* 

Suddenly he wished with nearly painful intensity that that it could
be always that way between them. That what they shared last night
would be enough for him and his traitorous body. That somehow  *he*
could give *Legolas* such tenderness, and that it would serve to
keep his Elf alive. 

But the bitter truth was that he couldn't, and for a moment that
thought filled him with overwhelming grief. He had tried, once, to
find a way to do that, a solution for their very different needs.
The Valar knew he had tried...

It had been in Gondor, in his time as 'Thorongil', and he had
believed he had found the perfect solution to all their problems.
And it even seemed to work so well, in the beginning...

// / It was  nightfall. The chamber Captain Thorongil, leader of a
significant part of Gondor's army, shared with his faithful shadow
– the beautiful servant  some soldiers jokingly called 'Thorongil's
Elf`' behind their captain's back – was glowing in the light of
many candles. 

Aragorn stood at the fireplace, carefully preparing a goblet of
wine with some potion from  a little vial. Finally he was done and
downed the goblet in one gulp.

He turned around. His Elf watched him apprehensively. 

“Estel.... what are you doing?” Legolas asked, confused. 

Aragorn smiled at him.

He stepped close and gathered him in his arms, petting him
tenderly. “I am preparing to take you,”, he teased, “Didn't you
notice?”

Satisfied at his Elf's complete confusion, he buried his nose in
Legolas neck, savoring his scent. 

Legolas shivered a bit under his attentions; he did not understand.
“But--”

Aragorn silenced him by gently biting into his ear and heard him
gasp. It was a tender bite, hardly causing pain, yet it sent hot
currents of arousal through his body and caused his slave to
shiver. He could feel himself harden rapidly, and smiled even
wider. It worked!

His hands went down his slave's back, made it under Legolas' tunic,
then the shirt,  and found bare skin. He stroked up the lithe back
and and felt goosebumps form under his touch. He could hear
Legolas' breath hitching in the Elf's throat, as he gently started
to nibble at the sensitive lobe under his lips, then lick the leaf-
formed flesh with intense concentration.

Aragorn closed his eyes. He savored the slight trembling – of
bemusement and arousal, not of fear, for a change – of the Elf in
his arms and luxuriated in his scent and feel. Letting go of the
ear under his teeth, he murmured: “You know, there is this woman,”
--his hands stroked down again, then he took the tunic of his Elf
and tugged upwards. Legolas obediently raised his arms and Aragorn
drew back a little and slipped the tunic over his Elf's  head. He
tossed the tunic aside and reached for his Elf again.

“The men swear on her skill; she's quite adept at herb lore,” he
continued, repeating the same with Legolas' shirt. Finally he had
it over his Elf's head and off, and the Elf stood before him  bare-
chested and glorious, his aroused nipples hardened to eager peaks,
his pale skin slightly flushed, his face still a bit confused.
Aragorn had to swallow hard at the sight and felt his mouth water
with desire. 

He stepped close again, grasping the Elf and pressing him hard
against himself. Kissing him deeply, he plundered the willing
mouth, while his hands roamed over the smooth, unmarred back. He
finished the kiss and let his mouth wander to the ear again while
his hands traveled downwards, stroking over still covered buttocks,
then wandering around to the front and making short work of the
bindings of Legolas leggings. The hands of the Elf came up around
his back, clutching to him, and Legolas moaned as Aragorn's hands
slipped under the cloth and touched hot, tumescent flesh. Legolas
shuddered under his touch.  

“She sold me a tonic,” the Adan continued his narration, while one
of his hands began to fondle the hardening length under his touch
and the other slipped behind and did the same to the tight buttocks
of the Elf, “with some rare ingredients from Harad. She swears it
can bring any man to hardness. Anytime.”

He paused to heighten the impact of his words. He felt Legolas jerk
against him, and brought his hand up from the buttocks to the back
of his Elf to still him and hold him close.

“I tried it out,” he stated the obvious. “It works.”

He drew back a bit and looked at the face of his lover. Legolas'
eyes were wide as saucers.

“But--” he stammered, “You--”-- then he caught himself. “Estel,”
the Elf finally dared to ask, “why would you do this?”

Aragorn smiled at him, enjoying his disbelief and surprise.

“Isn't it obvious, Little Leaf?” he asked. “So I can take you
without pain! I know you do not enjoy being hurt, and I wish to
give you what you need without having to hurt you.”

He saw the complete astonishment of the Elf and drew him close
again. His mouth found the delicately tipped ear again and he
nipped at it, tasting the skin. His hands traveled to Legolas' back
and tugged the leggings down; then they explored the now bare,
round globes of Legolas' rear. 

“Don't you see?” he whispered tenderly. “No more pain for you, no
more hurting, no more need to fear our time together. I can be
gentle. We can be together like you like it best. Maybe sometimes,
very rarely, you can indulge me, too, and we can play a bit –
nothing harsh, nothing you'd really need to fear, just something a
little rougher. But most of the times, we can make love as we once
did. Tender. Like you love it best.”

He heard Legolas' breath hitch, then there was a raw sob, then
Legolas' arms tightened  around his back, pressing him close. 

“You would do this-- for me?! Estel!--”

Then the Elf kissed him, nearly desperate in his desire, clearly
overwhelmed by gratitude, and his own arousal surged another notch.
He savored the fervent kiss, then bit and suckled at the pale
column of the Elf's neck, finally licking tenderly over every part
of flesh his teeth had grazed.

Finally, he let go and drew back a bit, grasping the half-way
discarded leggings of his Elf and yanking them down.

“Get out of that, Little Leaf,” he growled. “You have far too many
clothes on!”

Eagerly, the slave obeyed, for the first time in far too long a
time without apprehension, and Aragorn took the opportunity to
discard his own clothes, too. Then they stood before each other in
glorious nakedness, hard length to hard length, flushed and eager.
Legolas' eyes were shining with love and desire.

For this sight alone Estel would have taken thousands of these
tonics.

Reverently stepping close again, he enfolded the Elf in his arms.
“I love you,”he said. “I want you!” His hands began to roam the
body of his slave, and he felt Legolas' answering exploration of
his own. The gentle, yet passionate attentions were raising his
desire to new heights. Gently, he pressed forward, guiding his
slave backwards the short distance to their broad bed. “I need you,
Little Leaf,” he growled desperately, “and I want to have you!
Now!”

Legolas' calves reached the bed and he was pressed backwards,
tumbling into the sheets, drawing Estel on top of him.
He gave a surprised little yelp, but it sounded rather delighted.
“Estel,” he whispered reverently, “Estel!...”

It made Estel moan in desire.

He found his Elf's neck again and bit down, hard, hearing Legolas'
breath hitch. But instead of making the Elf squirm in pain and
displeasure, this time the rough handling heightened his desire, as
Estel immediately soothed the bite with his tongue and turned his
attentions to soft suckling and little licks. His hands roamed the
Elf under him, searching for all the places that made Legolas wild
with pleasure. Legolas'  hands roamed his body with unaccustomed
boldness in response.

Then Aragorn got up for a moment, reached for the night stand and
got the oil. Bereft of his lover's hands, Legolas moaned in
protest, but soon enough, Aragorn was back and knelt beside him. 

“Let's get more comfortable,” he said and guided his Elf from the
position across the bed to its length. Then he knelt between
Legolas' splayed legs and coated his fingers and his eager member
with the oil. He set the vial away and reached for the straining
member of the Elf, gently fondling, then wandering down to the soft
scrotum and the sacs until Legolas moaned and surged up for more.
His other hand found the cleft  between the muscled cheeks,
exploring it until his fingers reached the puckered hole. He smiled
at Legolas' sudden indrawn breath, He teased the opening a while
with light circling, then dipped one finger inside just a bit, but
withdrew immediately and returned to teasing. Meanwhile, his other
hand did the same with the Elf's shaft, fondling, teasing, but
denying a stronger massage or a rhythm.  

Legolas moaned in frustration. “Estel, please!” he begged, trying
to surge against the teasing hands to get more friction, “please,
more!”

Aragorn gasped at his tone. He bent down on the straining shaft of
his Elf and took it into his mouth. At the same time, his exploring
finger slipped inside, breaching the tight ring of muscles and
massaging the sheath of hot flesh from within.

Legolas gasped again, then pushed down against the intruding
finger. He made little, mewing sounds that drove his lover mad with
desire.  

Aragorn added a second finger, pushed deeper and found the little
nub that was the center of his lover's pleasure. Carefully, then
ever faster, paying attention to every little moan, every squirming
of his slave, he began to massage the gland, matching and
amplifying the rhythm with the swirling of his tongue and the the
sucking attentions his mouth gave to the Elf's hot flesh. He could
feel Legolas toss and squirm and pressed his other hand on the
Elf's flat stomach to keep him down. 

Finally, Legolas came, spilling himself into Estel's mouth,
shouting his name, And Aragorn swallowed the hot essence of his
slave, milking him to the last drop.   He didn't drink it all,
though; instead, letting go of the now limp member of his Elf and
slipping his fingers out, he got up and kissed Legolas deeply,
letting him taste his own essence. Then he straightened and slipped
his own knees under the pelvis of his partner. 

“And now, melethron,” he said breathlessly, “it is time to take
you!” 

And with that, he buried himself deep in the welcoming sheath of
his partner's flesh.


There was some resistance; Aragorn's erect member was thicker that
the two fingers he had used to stretch the opening, and Legolas
gave a little gasp of pain. But the Elf was relaxed from his recent
orgasm and Aragorn stopped instantly, giving the tight muscles time
to adjust and soothing his Elf with tender stroking of the stomach.
Then he felt the tight muscles relax around him, and Legolas moaned
a little and moved against Aragorn to meet him. 

Smiling at his eagerness, Aragorn began to move, and the Elf gasped
again, this time in obvious pleasure. His breath hitched, as
Aragorn hit his gland, and Aragorn readjusted his own angle so he
would stimulate his partner's sweet spot with every move. The hot,
living sheath around his flesh felt unbelievable, and his partner's
astonished and unguarded face, transfigured in pleasure, made him
hot with desire.

Legolas hands came up, grasping his arms, and the pelvis of the Elf
lurched up against him. “Estel!” Legolas moaned in deep desire,
“Estel! Please! More!!!--”

Aragorn gasped. He thrust forward. With every thrust, he hit his
lover's sweet spot, and felt him move eagerly against him.  He
heard his lover shout his name in bliss, and it spurred him on.
Soon, he was thrusting in abandon, taking Legolas hard, but still
taking care that he hit the gland of the Elf. His frantic movements
were answered with equal eagerness. The Elf was  nearly incoherent,
calling his name, asking him for more, faster, harder, begging for
completion. It drove Aragorn mad with lust.

When he finally spilled himself, deeply buried in his partner's
body, shouting Legolas' name, he felt Legolas' hot fluid against
his stomach, and heard his answering shout: “Estel!”

It sounded full of bliss.

In blessed exhaustion, still joined, Aragorn let himself collapse
over the body of his lover.

It was quite some time later – enough for his essence to take hold
in his lover's body – that he finally slipped out of him. Rolling
to the side so he would no longer crush him, he gathered Legolas in
his arms and kissed him again.

Legolas moaned. “That was wonderful, Estel,” he finally said,
“Thank you! Thank you!!!” He nearly cried with joy.

Aragorn kissed his eyes, then snuggled against him. “I'm glad,” he
said, “I'm glad!”

He rested his head on the chest of his Elf. 

“I love you, Little Leaf,” he said, “I love you so much! It will
get better now! You'll see! It will get better...!”

Petting his Elf's breast, feeling Legolas' answering caresses of
his head, he fell asleep while his Elf slipped into blessed
reverie. / //


____________________ o ___________________


Aragorn trudged on while the memories flooded him. He sent a tender
and wistful look in the direction of his Elf; then he quickly
looked down again and bowed his head.

He made a grimace.

Yes, it had been wonderful at first, and it had even stayed so for
a time. He had felt relieved, as if freed from a terrible pressure.
Of course he had sometimes missed his familiar games, and sometimes
he had even still played a little bit – nothing fancy, just a bit
of tying up and teasing, and maybe some toys, some spanking and a
little hot wax in the mix. It had not been often enough or harsh
enough to disturb their bliss. For several months, he and Legolas
had made love without any fear and pain, and Legolas had positively
bloomed. He had been completely and unquestionably happy.

Of course it had been too good to be true.

Aragorn recalled the first few signs of warning, signs that
something was amiss – his nervousness when he and his Elf had not
made love for a few days, his near panic when his supply of the
potion  threatened to run out and he couldn't get his hands on
another dose in time; the fact that after a while, he needed an
ever higher dosage to get the desired effect.

But he had ignored these signs and stubbornly went on, trying to
hide his discomfort from Legolas. The happiness and joy of his Elf
had been far too precious a thing to let it be disrupted by such
little problems as his body's changing reaction to the drug. Even
when he found himself bathed in sweat and his heart racing as if he
had just run several miles after he took a higher than normal
dosage, he had tried to hide it from his Elf. Of course, that
attempt hadn't been successful; it wasn't long until Legolas found
out.

At that point, Legolas had wanted him to stop. But Aragorn mulishly
had just shaken his head and told him he knew best what was good
for him, and he could handle the risk, and when that did not help
he had just *commanded* his Elf to shut up. It had remained a point
of discord between them, but finally, Legolas obeyed.

Until the day they paid the price for Aragorn's stubbornness.


_______________________________ o _______________________


// / It was another night, this one cold and unpleasant and in the
questionable comfort of a tent. The army stood at Pelagir,
preparing to set out with the fleet to attack Umbar the following
night. But the leader of said army knelt, naked and troubled,
before his equally naked slave and looked stricken.

“It isn't working, Little Leaf,” he said in despair. “I cannot get
hard. It doesn't work.”

He looked at his slave, who was shivering in sudden fear. “I tried.
I have taken more of the tonic than ever before. I nearly
overdosed. Still...”

He looked down at his manhood, which lay soft and dormant between
his legs. His heart felt as if it were trying to win a race, and
his skin was on fire, glistening with cold sweat. But his
treacherous maleness didn't even stir.

Hesitantly, he raised his gaze again and looked into the fearful
eyes of his slave. 

Legolas swallowed. He was well aware that he just had heard his
possible death sentence. On the other hand, Aragorn's obvious state
of distress concerned him. “It isn't bad yet, Estel,” he said.
“There is still some time...”

He reached out his hand. “Maybe...”

Aragorn evaded him. “You do not understand!” he said in despair.
“This isn't only about tonight. The tonic doesn't seem to work on
me anymore.” He swallowed dryly. “I... I...”

Legolas hesitated. He was not deeply in need yet. Still... he could
feel the pressure building in the back of his mind as clearly as he
knew what waited for him should Aragorn's concerns prove true. And
Aragorn was frantic. More importantly, he was due to set out
against Umbar the very next night. This might be their last chance
for some time to feed the spell, lest Legolas risk falling ill and
being of no use for his master. 

He swallowed again. “Maybe,” he warily began, “maybe if you... hurt
me again, My Lord...”

Yet he shuddered at the thought. The last few months had been so
wonderful, like a dream, and to have all this taken away again
now...

Aragorn looked at his Elf, lover and slave and swallowed hard. 

“I do not want to hurt you, Little Leaf,” he said raspingly, “I do
not...” - he bit his lips and looked away.

He swallowed again.

*'I do not want to hurt you'* – it sounded so well. It sounded
right. And yet... 

Somewhere in the back of his mind a nasty, all too familiar voice
told him how *great it would feel to see the sudden fear in the
eyes of his slave again, to hear him gasp in pain, to watch him
bite his lips, tremble – and then surrender to his master's choice
how to torment him obediently, in helpless resignation... The mere
thought sent hot currents to Aragorn's groin and made him stir
again. It had been so long since they'd last played some really
satisfying games... So long since he had last used his slave at
length... he felt his member harden between his legs and groaned. 

He swallowed again. “Legolas...”

Legolas had seen his stirring flesh. He bowed his head. *No other
choice, then!*

Noiselessly, he got up and scrambled close. Kneeling down before
his master, head submissively bowed, the Elf said: “Please, My
Lord! Let me serve your pleasure!” He swallowed again and cleared
his throat. After a moment, he added: “Do with me as you wish!
Please! Let me serve your needs!”

Aragorn's breath hitched. He looked back at his slave, feeling hot
desire surging through him, and his maleness twitched again,
although it was not fully erect yet.  Still, he did not act
immediately on his desire.

Hoarsely, fighting hard for his voice, he whispered:  “Are you
sure, Little Leaf?”

He did not ask more. He didn't need to.

Legolas merely nodded. Quietly he answered:

“Yes, My Lord! Let me serve your needs!”

In the next moment, he was enclosed in a crushing embrace and a
deep, demanding kiss. 

“You know it will hurt, do you not? You know you will have to
suffer thoroughly, tonight?” Aragorn asked harshly. 

Legolas swallowed a sob. For a moment Aragorn caught his look of
pain and despair, and it filled him with answering dismay and
grief. But at the same time he could feel his own flesh harden and
desire run through his veins. He couldn't go back now.

Then the slave obediently bowed his head and nodded. 

Aragorn gasped and grasped him hard. Falling into the mood came
naturally, like returning to a well-worn and familiar set of
clothes. “Well, then,” he growled, “get up and take yourself to the
trunk! Bring me the toys we kept. The whip, I think, the clamps,
and one of the paddles. And light a few more candles. I can't even
recall when I last coated you properly in wax...”

Shivering, the slave obeyed. Without further words, he retrieved
the commanded toys and spread them out for his master's use.
Wordlessly, he suffered his master fastening the clamps on him. Yet
when Aragorn commanded him to bring one of the carags and the
irritant, he could not help the tears escaping his eyes. 

Swallowing them as best as he was able, he did as he was commanded.
/ //


_______________________ o ____________________


Aragorn bit his lips, trying to shake his head free of the vivid
images. He wasn't successful. The memories persisted, flooding his
mind, demanding his attention. Reluctantly, he forced himself to
recall the rest of it.

It had been a long, hard night for Legolas, especially given the
fact that the Elf had grown unused to his master's abuse. Still, in
the end, it worked. But when Aragorn held his helplessly crying
slave in his arms after he had finally spilled himself in him, he
knew that their time in Gondor had ended.

Even with the return to his cruel games, it had barely been enough.
And they were about to go into battle. Legolas would not be at his
best after a night like this, and might be hampered by the recent
abuse... He could not risk this again. They needed to go home, back
to the rangers.

When they set out to Umbar the following night, Legolas' body had
nearly recuperated already, but the Elf's mind was troubled.
Legolas' mood was damp and bleak, and he was back to calling
Aragorn only *'master'* and *'My Lord'* again. Aragorn supposed the
sole good thing about the whole sordid business was the fact that
Legolas' mind had been too occupied by the unfortunate turn of
events for the Elf to be vulnerable to the temptation of the sea.
Legolas took the whole trip to Umbar, the attack on the pirate
fleet and the trip back to Pelagir without falling prey to the sea-
longing. Aragorn was grateful for that small grace, at least.

The stories said that after his victory over the pirate fleet in
Umbar, Captain Thorongil did not return to Minas Trith, where great
honor awaited him, but chose to leave the army  in Pelagir, alone
and unaccompanied, without  any disclosure about his plans or where
he was headed, and so returned to obscurity. They also said that
when Thorongil left, his face was turned to the Mountains of Shadow
(6).

The truth was somewhat less mysterious. Knowing that he could not
risk returning to Minas Tirith and being tied up in court matters
and ceremonies for indefinite time, Aragorn swore a few, trusted
confidants among his men to secrecy and bade them cove his tracks.
Then he left with Legolas and took the boat of a smuggler, who was
happy to sail them up the Anduin for a pretty sum without making
stops and without asking questions. They went as far as they could
go by boat, bought horses in Rohan and made their way back along
the Green Way as fast as the animals would go. Even so, it took
them well over three weeks to get back home, even though Aragorn
spurred them on until the horses nearly could not go on anymore.

Aragorn did not dare stop taking the potion during that time, lest
he risk succumbing to withdrawal; but nonetheless he did not manage
to take his slave even once the whole way. When they finally
reached Eriador and blessedly found their rangers' main camp,
Legolas was nearly delirious with need. 

Aragorn did not know what he would have done if Halbarad  - or even
Onogdir – had not been there. True, it was not that far to
Rivendell, and they could probably have made it in time for
Legolas, but for obvious reasons, Aragorn did not wish to lay his
problems and the whole story of how these problems came about in
the first place, at Elrond's feet. He feared his foster father
might decide to let Legolas die just to teach him a lesson. 

To his everlasting gratitude, his second in command among the
rangers was there, and after Halbarad had overcome this horror at
Aragorn's tale – and at Legolas' state of health – and after he was
done with calling his chieftain six kinds of a fool and a few less
flattering terms as well, he took Legolas to bed without further
ado. 

Aragorn recalled how relieved he had been when Legolas finally was
out of danger and up again, restored to health, a few days later.
And he recalled with a shudder what had followed – the long,
painful weeks of withdrawal when his own body was deprived of the
potion and slowly and reluctantly got rid of his need for the drug.
Legolas – safely in the care of a very angry and disgruntled
Halbarad - had nurtured him patiently through that time.  And when
Aragorn had finally  recovered, he shocked both his second in
command and his slave with the revelation that he had to leave.

He told them that he needed time alone to come to terms with
himself and the last traces of the addiction; and besides, there
had been rumors he had heard in Gondor about happenings in Harad
and possibly in Mordor he needed to investigate. He would leave
Legolas with Halbarad and go alone.

Of course, Legolas had argued. He had insisted on accompanying his
master and guarding his back. Aragorn told him Harad was not the
place for an Elf; the Haradrim knew nothing about his kind and
would be distrustful of his very appearance. Legolas countered  the
Haradrim kept slaves, and would think nothing of it if a stranger
went there with a slave in tow, even if said slave was pretty
exotic. Aragorn argued after the visit in Harad he was headed to
Mordor, and that was  an even worse a place for an Elf than Harad
would be. While a man might have a chance to pass into the Black
Land  unnoticed, an *Elf* certainly would not. Legolas protested
that Mordor was hardly the right place for *Isildur's heir*,
either, especially if he went there unguarded by a companion.

Finally, Aragorn ended the whole argument by simply *commanding*
his slave to stay behind, and to discourage any further discussion
he threatened to tie him up and have Halbarad keep him tied until
he could not hope to catch up with Aragorn again. And he did not
allow any further debate of the matter. 

When he finally set out again, on foot and leaving Legolas behind
to stay with Halbarad during his absence, however long that might
be, it had been a strange and unfamiliar experience for him at
first. For the first time since he could think he was alone for
more than a few weeks. But it had helped him to regain sight of who
he was. And when he finally reached Gondor again, carefully
guarding his anonymity, he was sure he had been cured of the last
traces of the drug and its grip on his mind. His mission in Harad
then had needed his full attention, all his abilities and senses
put to a thorough test, and he had needed all his ranger skills to
fit in, to stay undetected, to find and gather the information he
sought...

Nearly unnoticed, during these strenuous months, his body had
healed at last. How relieved he had been that night in Harad when
finally his flesh had stirred again for one hapless slave who had
been ordered to serve his needs for the night. Although it still
took some harshness and some cruelty for him to find completion.

Luckily, that had been exactly what that slave was used to and
expected. To Aragorn's surprise, he even seemed to enjoy his games.
Since the slave had been send to him to warm his bed (and possibly,
to spy on him) as long as he stayed in the tents of the Haradrim
Lord he had been visiting at the time, they had shared a short,
delicious affair, even though it had been Legolas' face that had
filled Aragorn's dreams during the nights.

When he left at last and headed on to Mordor, he had been confident
that he had healed and was no longer dependent on a drug to keep
his Elf alive, should he ever return home and reclaim him.

And then, nearly a year later, when he got back home at last, how
*overjoyed* Legolas had been when he had finally enclosed him in
his arms again – even though his slave knew only too well that
Aragorn's return also meant a return to his master's abuse and his
cruel needs... it had been a good thing that Aragorn was so
deprived of his slave – and in fact, of *any* physical closeness –
then that he was content with but little of his former cruel play
at first, and only slowly began to crave more again. Surely this
had helped Legolas a lot to adjust to his master's needs again...

Bitterly, Aragorn shook his head again and looked up, searching
Legolas with his eyes, lingering with grief and tenderness on the
familiar form. 

That had been his great attempt to give his slave an outlet from
his cruel needs. Luckily, they had both survived it, and in the end
they had even found their way back to a kind of delicate balance
together.

Nevertheless, Aragorn never risked the use of any stimulant again.
He would not succumb to the same kind of foolishness twice, and
Legolas' life was far too precious to him to risk it that way.

And he never again confessed his love to his slave, not even in the
throes of passion. Of course he still called him *'melethron(7)'*
now and then; but he never again told him outright that he loved
him.

How could he tell Legolas he loved him when he needed to hurt him
every time they made love? How could he confess his love to the one
he needed to abuse and of whom his own treacherous mind indulged in
fantasies of torture?

-- The bleak grief of  his thoughts was too much to endure, and
Aragorn shook his head once more to banish the memories and images.
Tenderly and full of grief he watched his slave trudging on,
chatting with the Hobbits.

His gaze found Boromir again, and he grimaced.

*'And you think that I just decided to let you take him on a whim,
Steward's son!'* he thought grimly. *'If you only knew!'*

He looked at Legolas again and thought sadly: *'At least, *he* will
not have to hurt you to keep you alive! I wish that I could do so
myself, Beloved, but I can't. This is the only way I can ensure
your safety, even though I know you hate it!...'*


-- The Elf's sudden movement ripped him out of his thoughts.
Legolas looked around again, and without any warning he suddenly
ran up the hill and climbed a rock, staring at the sky. Then he
dropped from the rock and shouted his warning:

“Crebain, again! They fly to the west!” 

Everybody stiffened and looked for cover. Yet there was none; they
were on a broad hillside with few bushes and only a few rocks and
boulders to provide cover, all of them far from their current spot.
Still, at Gandalf's signal, the Fellowship dropped to the ground,
trying to be as unobtrusive as they could. Aragorn looked out,
tensely watching the suspicious birds. They did not come closer.
But they circled over the country in the west for a while until
they finally turned and headed south again.

When they were gone, the Fellowship scrambled up and gathered
around Gandalf to take council again.

Gandalf's face was grim.

“I cannot say whether they have seen us or not,” he said, “however,
even if they have, that can't be helped now. All we can do is make
haste and cross the mountains swiftly. We must seek to reach
Lothlorien! Be swift. We have yet to cover quite some way until we
have to stop for nightfall. The higher path will be too dangerous
to cross at night.”

And with that he started to walk on again, and left them no choice
but to follow. 

Aragorn marched on, all memories driven away by their grim path.
However while he trudged on after Boromir and looked out for any
danger threatening the Fellowship, one thought remained and gained
ever more importance in his mind:

*He would need to speak to Gandalf. There *had* to be a way to
break the spell! Even if it meant he would deprived of his Elf
afterwards – and the mere thought filled his mind with overwhelming
loss and grief – that would be a *very* small price to pay if only
it could buy Legolas' freedom.*

*Legolas deserved happiness. Whatever the cost.*

Yes. He would speak with Gandalf as soon as he could.

With this resolve firmly in mind, Aragorn trudged on, determinedly
concentrating on the path and on the present and  ceasing all
thoughts of the past.   


____________________ o ________________


-- End of Chapter VII a--

-- To be continued in CHAPTER VII b - PART II - “Finding Resolve”


Notes:

 (1) In this chapter I am diverging from both Book-and Movie-canon
concerning the time frame. Bookverse, the Fellowship left Rivendell
on December the 25th, reached Eregion (or Hollin) on January the
8th, the Pass of Caradhras three days later on January the 11th and
the Walls of Moria   at January the 12th. They were traveling for
twenty days until they reached the mines.  Movieverse, the time
frame is the same, only happening two month earlier. But for my
purposes, I need the Fellowship a few days longer  in Eregion until
they try to pass Caradhras.  So they are abroad at least 25 days
until they reach the mines. Please bear with me!

Also, One of my reviewers has brought to my attention that I have
been less than clear about how long exactly Legolas has been
enslaved. I gave some hints about that in the fifth and sixth
chapter, but for the record, here goes: in this story, Legolas was
first enslaved shortly after the Battle of the Five Armies; this
means he was enslaved TA December 2941  or January 2942, probably
the latter. The exact date is unclear; but it must have happened
after Gandalf and Bilbo had arrived in  Beorn's Halls on December
the 30th TA 2941 on their return route from Erebor and Mirkwood,
and stayed there for the winter, because Bilbo was not aware of
anything amiss when he arrived in Rivendell again in Mai TA 2942,
and had not heard the tale. Legolas came to Rivendell probably in
March TA 2942. At this point in time, Aragorn, then called Estel
(born March the 1th in TA 2931) was just eleven years old. Legolas
was given to Aragorn as his slave nine years later, when Aragorn
came of age in March TA 2951. At the time of this story (TA 3018),
Legolas has been enslaved for 76 years and he has been in Aragorn's
exclusive possession for 67 of these. I apologize for the
confusion!

 (2) The following dialog – save Aragorn's address of Legolas a
little later - is directly lifted from Peter Jackson's movie „The
Fellowship of the Rings“, Extended Edition, Disc 2. But of course,
I added my own interpretation to the scene, here!

 (3) Here ends the direct quoting of the movie. 

 (4) This sentence is directly lifted from J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord
of the Rings, HarperCollinsPublishers, Paperback edition London
1995, page 280.

(5) Sam's and Gandalf's sentences here are lifted from the same
page, but adapted for my use. The original reads: “'And Bill could
take a bit more, couldn't you, lad?' said Sam. The Pony looked at
him mournfully. 

'Very well,' said Gandalf. 'But we must not use the wood – not
unless it is a choice between fire and death.'”

 (6) According to J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings (1954), Harper
Collins Edition 1995,  Appendix A, page 1030. The Ephel Duath or
Mountains of Shadow are bordering on Mordor.

 (7) *Melethron – Sindarin*: (male) beloved, lover