Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter VII b – Crossing The Mountains, Part
II

   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 b 	Crossing The Mountains– Part II


PART II - Temptation


It was a long, tiresome way up the mountain. Soon it grew colder,
and after a while they passed the snow line, which was
unaccustomedly low for this time of the year, especially as far
south as they already were. The snow wasn't deep yet, but it did
not make the walk more pleasant for any of them, especially since
it obscured quite effectively any holes and treacherous ridges that
might wait to catch an unsuspecting foot, or sudden patches of
slippery ice hidden under the smooth surface. Aragorn could see the
other members of the fellowship struggle with the deceptive surface
each in their own way; Boromir with dour determination and a grim
scowl that expressed his displeasure with their way, the Dwarf with
grim stoicism, and Gandalf with a frown, that only deepened when
the temperature seemed to drop around them. 

Aragorn knew what concerned him; the weather was all wrong. It
wasn't uncommon for Caradhas to hold snow, especially not in mid
November, of course, but that should have awaited them much higher
up the mountain, not as far down as here.  

The hardest troubled of them all of course, were the Hobbits. Not
only was the cold surface hard on their unprotected feet, they also
were more hindered by the shin-deep snow than the taller members of
their company. Aragorn watched with sympathy how the Halflings
struggled to move on, holding themselves admirably although they
grew considerably slower. It was anyone's guess how they would fare
if the snow grew deeper.

Caradhas seemed to be quite unfriendly to the Fellowship. 

*Or to all but one.* With envy, Aragorn cast look askance at
Legolas, who, of course, walked easily on the smooth white surface
as if it had been draped there especially to ease his way. It
didn't help that he knew the Elf simply couldn't  help it, and that
it was a natural advantage of his race. It still made him grouse at
the injustice that he, mere mortal, was  forced to trudge along
where his dear, subservient companion could walk and even run with
ease.

Of course, had they but known in advance that their path would lead
this way they could have brought – or made – some snow shoes for
the mortals of the company. But there had simply been no time. So
all Aragorn could do was force himself to bear the unjust natural
advantage of his slave with grace, and fight down his own familiar
envy.

Soon, the whiteness around them, the cold, blue sky and the
monotonous walking lulled the members of the company into a kind of
mindless trance.


Aragorn trudged through the snow, allowing his thoughts to wander.
He still held the rear of the fellowship, and therefore the most
vulnerable position, that also allowed for the most solitude. The
company was spread out on the wide, open mountainside. Since they
had passed the snow line and  walking had become somewhat harder,
especially for the Hobbits,  their original walking order had been
broken; while Gandalf still held the top of the line, Gimli had
dropped behind the Hobbits and Legolas, and the Hobbits themselves
were slowly abandoning their usual cluster in favor of a more
individual walking formation. 

Frodo, especially,  seemed to tire much sooner. The Ring Bearer had
dropped behind the other Hobbits and even behind Boromir; now he
walked about ten paces in front of the Ranger, clearly struggling
to keep on.

Aragorn cast him a sympathetic gaze. 'Twas no surprise to him that
of all four Halflings Frodo should be the one most affected. As
admirably as the Ring Bearer had borne himself so far given his
burden, not to mention the gruesome wound by the Morgul blade from
which he had recovered, it was plain that the Ring was eating at
his strength. And if the healer in Aragorn was any judge, the
farther they were coming south on this journey of theirs, the
heavier the burden seemed to become for the Halfing.

'Twas a desperate decision to leave so heavy and gruesome a burden
to one so innocent as that.

Of course, the Ring might have been too dangerous in the hands of
another with more power, but was this an excuse to endanger that
kind hearted Halfling instead of those who should take up
responsibility?

Not to mention that there were those among the Fellowship who
hardly needed to fear falling deeper into corruption than they
already were. Why not give the ring to such a one, who knew and was
aware of his own demons, instead of dumping it onto an innocent who
would just find himself twisted into some creature resembling
Gollum along the way? 

With a shudder Aragorn recalled that twisted creature, in Gandalf's
opinion the former possessor of the Ring. And during most of the
time the creature held it,  the Ring had obviously been asleep,
just half conscious. Not so now. Clearly the Ring had woken, and
had done what it could during their short journey from Bree to
Rivendell to draw the enemy to them. Their close encounter with the
Nazgul at Weathertop spoke for itself. 

How long, then, would it take that thing now to consume one
unfortunate Hobbit?

And Frodo and his people were by no means those who should have to
bear that burden. It had been *Isildur* who once had failed to
destroy the thing.

It was *Isildur's* line who were bound to the fate of the One Ring
ever since. 

Therefore it should be the responsibility of *Isildur's* heir to
bear that burden and see to its destruction now.

Shocked, Aragorn woke from his train of thoughts and shook his head
quickly in denial in a futile attempt to clear it. *How had *this*
come about?  Hadn't he already braced himself against this kind of
temptation?* Grimly he tried to ignore the voice inside his head
and banish the ideas. But his treacherous mind failed to obey him.
The thoughts persisted.

*You are Isildur's heir,* his mind told him. *The Ring is *your*
responsibility. And it should be your task to bear it. And besides,
who says that you would have to destroy it right away? You could
use it first, use it to overthrow the enemy and set you in his
stead. Isildur was weak. He had no idea how to use this ring. *You*
have been taught by Elrond. You have learned much. You are greater
then your forebears were. You could use it and bend it to your
power. And this is the Master Ring. All others answer to its power.
Think – with one move, you could subdue all the Elven realms. You
could subdue both Galadriel and Elrond. You could *force* Elrond to
give you his daughter. You could force him to free Mirkwood. With
one simple move, Legolas' people would be free. How he would adore
you for that!...*

The thought was so compelling, it made Aragorn gasp. He could see
it before his waking eyes, Legolas' face, full of wonder and
gratitude... He shook his head again. It did not help that he knew
the voice in his head was that of the Ring, that he *knew* its
promises to be sweet, but deadly lies. The voice persisted.

So did the images.

*'I cannot wield it,'* he dryly reminded himself. *'All it would do
was turn me in a Ringwraith as it did the Nine, and wouldn't *that*
appeal to Legolas!'*

But the voice in his mind wouldn't be silenced.

*'The Nine wear only lesser rings. This is the *One*. It would not
turn you into a wraith. You are stronger than that. Instead, it
would grant you the enemy's power. His magic powers as well as his
strength to force his subjects under his own will – and to subdue
the will of others. You need not fight the Nazgul and the Orcs,
they would obey you. On your command, they would turn against their
former master. Gondor would be safe. *Mirkwood* would be safe. You
would be king, and the whole war could be ended before it even
fully began.'*

Aragorn shuddered at the thought. *So easy – it would be so easy to
give in, to fall for that sweet lie...*

*'Oh yes,'* he muttered grimly to himself, *'and of course Boromir
would just stand by and let me do this!'* - but he knew the answer
to that one before it came. 

'Boromir only wants the ring to be used. He would not mind if it
was you who did it. He is half ready to follow you, if you would
only claim the One and declare that you intended to save Gondor'
the voice told him. 'And Legolas? The Elf is bound to you already
heart and soul. He would fight for you, especially if you reward
him with freedom for his people. Legolas has always cared more
about them than for himself.'

It did not help that Aragorn could not completely discount that,
although he imagined his sweet Elf would have quite a lot to say to
him if his master actually went so far as to betray his oaths. Even
if it would result in a gruesome punishment.

*Oh yes*. There was *that*.

*'I swore to protect Frodo'* he reminded himself. *'And *Legolas*
swore to serve me. And recently he also swore to Glorfindel to
protect Frodo and the free people from any harm. He swore to
protect the Ring Bearer with his life. So did I.'*

*'And doesn't the life and the freedom of the free people weigh
much more than that particular oath?'* the hateful voice retorted.
*'Besides, Legolas' *first* oath and first line of duty is to
*you*. Whatever you decide, he is bound to welcome, and will do so
as long as you do not turn against his own. He would be *glad* to
serve you and to follow you as long as you lived. Even more – with
the Ring you need not die. You would live on as did Bilbo. You need
not fear dragging Legolas and Arwen with you into mortality. You
would live, as long as you choose to, *and so would they*.'*

Aragorn swallowed dryly. Of all the tempting promises of the
hateful thing, that one was perhaps the most inconsequential, since
his first action if he ever had established peace again would of
course be to throw the thing into the fire where it belonged. *And
yet.* To save Legolas' life, that easily... to allow Arwen to be
with him and still keep the life of the Eldar...

Forcibly, he had to remind himself what such a life would mean for
his Elf.

Pain and torture, whenever his master chose to subject him to his
needs.

He shook his head, determined to banish the voice from his mind,
once and for all. 

*Legolas needed freedom.* Being subjected to an eternity of pain
was the last thing he'd like to give his Elf. At least if he could
help it.

*'You could make him like it!'* the thought came unbidden to his
mind. 

*'The One Ring's power can bend and affect the mind of others. You
could make Legolas *like* what you do to him. Make him truly enjoy
it. Like that slave in Harad. *Think*! He could be glad and happy
while he served your needs, and you could both live happily
together.'*

The thought was so intense and so compelling, the images
accompanying it were so convincing, they made Aragorn nearly stop
cold in his tracks. Vivid images flashed for a moment in his mind:
*Legolas in his bonds, but this time shivering not with dread and
fear at his master's actions, but with eagerness and
anticipation...*

Aragorn gasped. He could have screamed at the sudden, intense surge
of desire settling in his groin, at the intense yearning in his
soul, at the sudden longing for the warm, sweet body of his slave,
for his comforting and unquestioned submission...

Swallowing hard, he tried with all his strength to force his body
back under control, to clear his mind. 

Just at that moment, Frodo, walking some ten  paces before him,
slipped and tumbled down the mountain, rolling directly in front of
his feet.

For a moment, Aragorn was frozen. Then he shouted: “Frodo!” and
quickly bent to help the Halfling up. He helped him stand, grasping
him by his shoulders.

*'Right now!'* the voice unbidden whispered in his head. *'It would
be easy! Just a flick of your sword... he would be dead before he
knew it... do it, now!'* 

For a moment, he could actually see the image before his eyes, him,
drawing his sword, a quick, practiced swing, the head of the Hobbit
rolling away, leaving a red stain in the snow...

-- bile rose in his throat, and involuntarily he grabbed the
shoulders of the Halfling tighter. 

Just then, Frodo straightened in alarm and gripped his throat,
feeling under his tunic. For one terrible moment, Aragorn thought
the Hobbit had somehow actually read his thoughts, but then he saw
Frodo frantically looking around and followed his gaze.

To the place, ten paces before them, where the Halfling had walked
just moments before.

There, gleaming in the sunlight, lay the Ring, the chain that had
closed around the Hobbits neck inexplicably open.

And just at that moment, it was picked up by Boromir of Gondor.

Aragorn stiffened. 

*Did that thing mean to set the two of them up to fight for its
possession?*

As if on cue, the hated voice inside his head screamed at him:

*'He wants it for himself! He means to rob you! He will take your
throne, he'll take your Elf... kill him! Kill him!!!'*

Reflectively and nearly of its own volition, his hand wandered down
toward his sword.

Boromir raised the ring up to his face, holding it by its chain. He
seemed oblivious to everything around him and utterly fascinated.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and
doubt,” he began, and his other hand traveled up to the golden
band,  “over so small a thing.(1)” His other hand reached higher,
nearly touching.

“Such a little thing.”

Behind Boromir, Aragorn could see Gandalf turn around, then the
whole Fellowship coming to a halt and turning to watch them.
Legolas looked back, arms crossed before his breast, not yet ready
for action. 

*'He's waiting for your order'* the voice in Aragorn's head goaded.
*'One command and he will drop that Gondorian where he stands. Just
give the word. He will obey you...'*

Fighting the voice down, Aragorn spoke. He could hear his own
voice, oddly flat.

“Boromir,” he said. “Give the Ring to Frodo!”

Boromir looked up as if suddenly woken from a dream, and his gaze
met Aragorn's. Doubtless, he saw Aragorn's hand ready at his sword.

He hesitated.

*'He wants it for himself!'* the voice in Aragorn's head screamed
again. *'Kill him! Kill him now!!!'*

With all the considerable strength of his will, Aragorn ignored it.
He waited.

The moments seemed endless. Then, after what seemed like forever,
Boromir shrugged.

“As you wish,” he said. “I care not!”

And he stepped close and gave the Ring to Frodo, who took it
hastily and placed it back around his neck. As if in an
afterthought, the man of Gondor patronizingly stroked over the
Hobbit's curly locks.

Then he smiled and turned around, pretending not to see Frodo's
stiff posture at his demeaning joviality.

Frodo shuddered and stepped away from Aragorn, slowly starting to
walk again. 

Aragorn watched him go. It was a long time until he could convince
his hand to leave the hilt of his sword.


__________________ o ____________________


Boromir trudged on, face set in a scowl. Did that Ranger believe he
had not seen the threatening hand at the sword-hilt? What did that
so-called heir of Isildur take him for? A thief?

And when he turned he had seen the posture of the others, uneasy,
watching, as if they were waiting for the two men among them to
fight it out among themselves. Especially that Elf, standing with
his arms crossed, as if he was waiting to see which who of the two
men would win the competition... 

Angrily, Boromir shook his head to banish the stupid thought.
*There was no competition*. Not over the Ring, anyway. He had not
intended to take it, nor had the Ranger...

And yet. Even now he could see the enticing golden band, flashing
before his eyes, could feel the pull of power, the promise of might
and victory...

How strange that this little thing should hold such power, that
something that small should be the source of all their dread, and
should hold the Enemy's most potent powers.

And if it did, how foolish of them all to carry it all the way to
his doorstep, instead of using it against him and to overthrow the
threat he posed. That small thing could be the answer to the
prayers of his people! 

And his companions and the so-called 'wise', all of them, feared to
make use of that. 

None of them could understand his people's desperate need. They all
sat safely far away, secured by Gondor's forces. Sure, that little
Elf had told him of the battles of his own Elven woodland realm
against a stronghold of the Enemy; but after what they had learned
about him, now, Boromir asked himself how much of that was true.
And if it was, then Legolas should be the first among the
fellowship to understand Boromir's plight.


It was foolish beyond belief to throw the Ring away. If it truly
held such power, the only course of action was to take it for
themselves and use it against the Enemy! With that golden band,
Sauron could be overthrown and Gondor's people could be spared!

And yet this company was on their way through the wilderness,
facing whatever dangers, in a fool's errand to throw the thing
away. In an open invitation to whatever force the Enemy might send
to kill them, one by one, as easily as one might pick some berries
from a plate.

Frustration coiled again in Boromir's stomach, impotent anger at
the cowardice and foolishness, the questionable wisdom of Elrond's
council, and of the other members of the Fellowship – namely the
wizard and the Ranger. 

Again the memory of the golden band flashed before his eyes.

*If he just could have touched it!*

Again Boromir recalled the warning glitter in Aragorn's eyes, and
again he scowled. What did they think, that he would fall into
mindless possession if he but touched the thing? Then why did they
allow that privilege to Frodo?

Besides. 'Twas true that Aragorn had said none of them could wield
the Ring, that the thing only answered to the enemy, and would not
obey another master. 

But that might be true for *wizards*, and for *Elves*! It might
even be true for *Aragorn*, since he was of the line of Isildur,
and obviously that line had been thoroughly corrupted. That man had
even fallen to the point where he kept *slaves*, for Eru's sake! He
had been hiding in the wilds, associated with a corrupt race of
Elves who enslaved their own kin, and his whole line was long
bereft of kingship.

But surely it would be different for a strong man of Gondor! He,
Boromir, was of the line of Hurin, a strong, long line of Stewards
who had held Gondor against all comers without the presence of a
king for nigh one thousand years!

Surely, *he* or his father would have the power and the strength to
use the Ring according to their need...

But how could he convince the others of the Fellowship to let him
try? He had seen the distrust in their eyes. His so-called comrades
would rather fight him, than admit that they might be wrong!

Frustrated at the foolishness of his companions, Boromir trudged
on.  His thoughts returned to Legolas and to the expectant posture
of the Elf when he had watched him.

*Legolas had the least to gain by destroying the ring, and the most
– beside Boromir himself – if they would use it. To throw the thing
away would hardly free his people. But if Boromir *took* the ring
and used it to free Gondor from the threat of Sauron,  then he
could maybe afterwards also use it to overthrow the other Elven
realms, or at least humble them into submission. Mayhaps he could
even use it to break their hold over Legolas' realm...* 

*And wouldn't that appeal to the little Elf? He would be grateful,
and he would leave that abusive master of his and stay with Bomomir
as new protector. Boromir would have his loyalty and gratitude, and
the pleasure of him  sharing his nights willingly...* All Boromir
needed to do was convince the Elf that he would be a *better
choice* for a protector than the Dunadan.  Maybe that was the way
to go. Maybe he could convince Legolas to follow him. Merry and
Pippin, too... the Halflings would surely rather stay in safety in
Gondor than fight the Enemy on his own ground...

Boromir shook his head again, mockingly smiling at himself. *What
was he thinking?* He did not even knew if half of what the Elf had
told him about himself was true, or if all of it was a lie. 

*And did he truly believe he could turn that little bed-toy from
his master to act in his favor, and even more, convince the Hobbits
to act against the wizard  and against that Ranger whom they had at
first liked so much?*

Well, at least they did not seem to trust the  Dunadan that much
anymore, now...

Sighing and banishing his thoughts, Boromir set his brooding aside
for now and adjusted the shield on his back. He could hardly do
anything right now. 

But he reconsidered the plans he had for tonight. 

*Oh yes. It was definitely time to ask the little Elf some
questions!*

Then he blinked, as a wet sensation hit his face, and stared around
in disbelief. 

As if by magic, the blue sky of only half an hour ago had
disappeared. Great clouds were gathering over them, and it began to
snow anew.

*'Oh, great,'* the man of Gondor dryly thought. *'And now, we have
to deal with the weather, too!'*


___________________ 0 ______________


Not three hours later, Boromir's mood was even worse. It was now
nearly so dark that they were not sure if it was already night, and
they had to turn back after their way was blocked  both by a raging
snow storm and by an avalanche of snow and rocks set loose by a
bolt of lightning, that had nearly thrown Gandalf down the cliff if
not for the quick reflexes of the Elf, and had then buried them in
snow.

They could not hope to overcome that obstacle; of all of them, only
Legolas could walk atop the snow, and the others would be in danger
of losing the path and just go down with another avalanche  if they
did not freeze first. And the Hobbits were nearly frozen to death
already, anyway. Boromir had tried again then to talk the others
into risking the path west of the mountains, down to Minas Tirith,
but again he had been overruled. The company instead decided to go
through Moria, wherever that might be. That was, if they could
survive the night and make it down at all. They had found cover
under a small ledge of rock, not much to keep the wind away, but at
least enough to protect them from falling stones; but the
temperature was freezing, and none of them had been able to start a
fire. 

Neither Boromir himself nor the Dunadan, nor the Hobbits or the
Elf, and not even that Dwarf, had succeeded in getting any of the
wet faggots of wood they had brought to burn. The members of the
company were desperate. Starting a fire was no matter of secrecy or
risk of discovery anymore, but a matter of sheer survival.

At last, reluctantly, Gandalf himself took a hand. Picking up a
faggot he held it aloft for a moment, and then with a word of
command, *naur an edraith ammen!* he thrust the end of his staff
into the midst of it. At once a great spout of green and blue flame
sprang out, and the wood flared and sputtered.

“If here are any to see, then I at least am revealed to them,” he
said. “I have written *Gandalf is here* in signs that that all can
read from Rivendell to the mouth of Anduin.(2)”

Aragorn shrugged. “At least hopefully we will be still *alive*
tomorrow to be concerned if we have been seen,” he said grimly, “if
we are lucky.” He looked around. “Legolas, I believe it is your
turn to take the first watch.”

The Elf gave him an obedient nod, and the Ranger made as if to
settle down beside the fire, near Gandalf, but Boromir shook his
head.

“Oh, no!” he growled. “You agreed that Legolas and you should take
the watch tonight. So you can take the first. You may take comfort
of the fire soon enough, but first leave it to the Hobbits!”

Aragorn turned around to him, and they glared at each other. 

After a moment, though, the Ranger averted his eyes and bowed his
head.

“All right,” he relented, “if you insist. I will leave Legolas the
second watch, then.”

And without another word, he trudged off to the edge of the camp,
gesturing to his Elf with a short sign to stay behind. 

Puzzled, Legolas obeyed.

Gandalf stared at them, drawing his eyebrows down. “What was all
this about, Son of Denethor?” he demanded.

But Boromir wouldn't relent. “Just the matter of a promise,” he
said. “He *did* offer yesterday evening, after all.”

Gandalf still stared at him, but then he relented. Soon, he and the
Hobbits were settled around the fire, and Gimli placed himself as
close to them as he could get while leaving them the best places.

Boromir turned to the Elf, who stood a bit aside. “Legolas, if you
don't mind, I would have words with you.”

He saw the startled look of the Elf and nearly scowled. “Come,
Master Elf, since we are to leave the fire to the Hobbits, we can
as well share warmth. I will not bite,” he said.

He placed his bedroll on the ground and sat on it, patting the
place beside himself invitingly. “Are you coming?”

The Elf hesitated. But then, after a moment and a quick look at the
back of his master, who stared obliviously out into the storm, he
relented. Reluctantly, he sat down beside the other Adan, and at
Boromir's unmistakable gesture, he settled against him.

Disbelievingly, he whispered: “You would have me *here*?!”

Boromir snorted. “I crave the pleasure of your company again, Sir
Elf, but I want to enjoy it, not to freeze myself! No, I just mean
to share a little warmth, and to ask you some questions.”

He paused to settle his coat – and one of his blankets – around
them as comfortably as he could. “I believe, you owe me some
explanations.”

Reluctantly, but obediently, the Elf suffered the man to wrap the
blanket around them. He could not yet bring himself to snuggle
against him, as he would have done with Aragorn; but he stayed
close enough that indeed their bodies had the chance to share some
warmth.

“What would you wish to know?” he finally asked carefully.

Boromir sighed.

“I would wish you to tell me the truth,” he said. “How much of it
was true? Of what you told me?”

Legolas stared at him uncomprehendingly. “About what?” he asked.

Boromir scowled. “About you!” he said. “What you told me about your
home, about yourself, a  fortnight ago. Soon after this quest
started.”

Legolas bowed his head. That seemed an eternity in the past, now.

Looking up again and meeting the Gondorian's eyes, he said quietly:
“Everything was true, Master Boromir. I just left out a few
things.”

Boromir made a face. “Like the fact that you are a slave.”

Legolas looked away. He fought down his bitterness and swallowed
his dismay and his anger. “Among other things,” he replied.

*He had known that this conversation was coming. So why did he feel
such disappointment, now?*

“Or that your realm is a subjected realm and you haven't been there
for a long time,” Boromir added cruelly.

Legolas was silent for some time. He could have tried to explain
this  to the Adan, but why bother?

Finally, he said: “You heard my master. I am a hostage, Boromir. Do
you not have the custom of giving and taking hostages from
subjected realms in Gondor?”

*There had been none, he knew, when he and Aragorn had been there,
because at that time Gondor mainly fought wars with Mordor and with
the Pirates of Umbar, and with both enemies there would be no
giving in or any exchange of hostages. But he also knew that there
had been such exchanges in Gondor's past, and maybe they had
renewed that custom now, in recent times, in the many small
skirmishes Gondor had with Harad(3)...*

Boromir stared at him incredulously. “Of course we do,” he began,
“but...”

After a moment, his mouth became a thin line. *“Not like this!”* he
said then. “You're not a hostage, you're a slave. And Aragorn said
you belong to him as property.”

Legolas sighed. “I was given to his foster-father as a hostage,” he
said tiredly. “And ...Elrond... later gave me to my master as a
slave. My realm is subjected, Boromir. That doesn't mean my people
do not fight the Darkness as well as yours do.”

Boromir looked at him sceptically. “So, how long have you been in
Aragorn's possession?” he asked.

“I've been in my master's possession for sixty-seven of your
years,” Legolas replied. He felt tired and drained. “Aragorn told
you they gave me to him when he came of age.”

Boromir stared. He had not known the other man – the Ranger - was
that old. “Then Aragorn must be-” he began, quickly doing the math.

“He's Dunadan,” Legolas replied. “They are graced with long life.”

Boromir pursed his lips. So the Ranger probably *was* of Isildur's
line. Only the pure Dunedain had such a long life span, and there
were few of those left in the South. Even his own line was not that
long-lived anymore.

But that was neither here nor there.

“And how long had you been a slave before that?” he demanded
harshly, to confirm his suspicion that the Elf could hardly have
been present for much of the fighting he had claimed his people to
have done.

Legolas was taken aback by his harshness. 

“I have been enslaved for seventy-six of your years,” he
nevertheless replied carefully.

Boromir stared at him. “And you haven't been to your home for all
that time?” he asked. 

*So much for the Elf's claim to be a warrior of his people and to
have fought the Nazgul!*

Legolas looked away. “I... have been... there a few times, since,”
he replied quietly.

*Four times. Four times he had he seen his father, his people, his
family again. What an incredibly precious and at the same time
painful gift that had been! And given to him by Estel just because
his master had wanted to do him a favor...*

Very quietly, sensing Boromir's incredulous silence, he added: “My
master took me there.”

Boromir stared at him. “*He took you there*? A *hostage*? Just like
that? And your people let you go again? They didn't keep you?”

Legolas shrugged and looked back at him. “I'm bound to him by the
spell,” he reminded coolly, “I'm bound to my master with my very
life. I can hardly simply run away. Nor am I the only hostage. Did
you hear nothing of what Aragorn has said? If I rebel, or if my
people had kept me at their home, it would spell death to the
others. Do you think I would risk that?”

Less sharply he added: “And besides, I am bound by oath to serve my
master. Do you not honor an oath in Gondor?”

Boromir still just stared at him. “Bound to serve him as a
*whore*,” he then said incredulously, “and under a spell that
threatens your very life if you refuse. And you would call this
'honor'?!”

For a moment he looked as if he would recoil from the Elf's body
with disgust.

Finally, he added in disbelief: “And your people agreed to give
their own into slavery like this? Are you truly a son of a king?!”

He seemed horrified and disgusted.

Legolas looked away again. “They didn't give me away,” he said
bitterly. “I  offered to go myself. There was no other choice.”

Boromir stared at him, for a few moments stunned into silence. Then
he asked: “You *offered* yourself?! For that?!”

This time he *did* recoil, let go of the Elf's body and sat a back
a little to bring space between them.

“How could your father, could your people ever agree to terms like
*that*?! I would have rather died to subject myself to that! And so
would my city!”

Legolas had stared out into the snow. Now he whipped around to him
again. “Even if it meant the death  of all your people?! To the
last warrior, woman and child?!” he asked bitterly. “Would you
refuse even then?!”

Boromir answered without hesitation. “Even then we would rather
make a stand. Gondor would never  submit to such terms. Nor would
my father!”

In truth, he was not completely sure if Denethor would not agree to
send a few of his nobles into slavery to save his city – that he
not even would send Faramir as hostage, if that was required – and
then happily abandon all the hostages given as soon as Gondor could
hope to fight back again. To be precise, he was not sure if not his
little brother, under such conditions, would also offer himself up.
But he was very sure that *he*, Boromir, would never let that
happen, as long as he lived!(4) 

Legolas retorted angrily: *“Then obviously, we do not see eye to
eye in this!”*

And with that, he was gone, jumping up and stalking off into the
night in the direction of the edge of the camp, probably to relieve
the Ranger from his turn of watch.

Boromir remained seated, staring a little puzzled at his retreating
back.

*'He can't be much of a fighter,' he mused. 'His people must be
weak if they agreed to such terms. And so is he! And he has
precious little reason to be that grateful to this Ranger who lends
him out to others at a whim and abuses him whenever he thinks his
bed-toy did something wrong... Well, maybe all I must do is show
him that I am stronger than the Dunadan, and that it is in his best
interest to turn to me. If anything, he of all people should
understand my wish to use the Ring....'*

With new found resolve, he planned how he could turn the Elven
slave away from his current master.

Neither him nor Legolas noticed the shrewd and unreadable eyes of
the Dwarf watching their exchange. Looking first after the
retreating Elf, then at Boromir, Gimli turned around and busied
himself with preparing his pipe.


_____________ o ________________


Aragorn was somewhat astonished when he found himself approached by
his slave long before his watch was over. The Elf seemed edgy, but
determined. 

“Please, My Lord,” he said, “'Tis much too cold for you to stand
alone far from the fire. Let me relieve you.”

Hesitantly, Aragorn turned to him and gave him a questioning look.
“I agreed last evening to take the first watch tonight,” he
reminded his slave mildly, “Boromir is right in this. And you need
your rest as much as anybody else, Little Leaf.”

He cast a concerned look at the tired, tight face of his Elf. *Last
night when they returned to the camp Legolas was nearly dreaming on
his feet. And if Aragorn recalled correctly, the Elf had not found
peaceful dreams  afterwards, either.*

Legolas looked down, then he met his master's gaze again. “I doubt
that anyone of us will find much rest, tonight,” he said, “and
sleep may bring the danger of freezing. But nonetheless I am much
more resistant to the cold than you. Please, My Lord, let me take
over. You are in need of the warmth of the fire more than I.”

Aragorn looked at him and narrowed his eyes. He could tell that his
slave was hiding something; something was troubling the Elf's mind.
But he knew he would probably not get an answer if he asked, at
least not willingly; and right now, he was loath to force the
matter. And in truth, Legolas' reasoning was right, although
normally Aragorn would not  have skirted his duty willingly. But he
had other reasons to wish for an early relief from his watch.

There were some questions he wanted to ask the wizard. And he would
prefer it if Legolas did not hear that conversation.

So, after a moment, he nodded and briefly touched his slave's arm.

“All right,” he said quietly. “You may take over now. But remind me
that I owe you for this.”

Legolas just nodded and gave him a bow. 

Troubled and concerned, but determined not to lose his opportunity,
Aragorn decided to let it lie for now.

He gave Legolas a last, quick pat on the shoulder and stepped
around him to walk the few paces to the fire, leaving the Elf
staring motionlessly out into the night.


_________________ o _____________


Gandalf looked up when Aragorn settled beside him near the fire.
His brows knitted. 

“Your watch is over already?” he asked with some disapproval.

Aragorn just shrugged. “Legolas relieved me,” he said simply. “He
insisted.” Then he added in Silvain: “I would have words with you.”

Gandalf watched him under his bushy brows and assessed him long and
carefully. Finally he moved to get a more comfortable position. He
took out his pipe.

“It took you long enough to seek my counsel, son of Arathorn,” he
drawled in the same language, “especially since I   assume this is
not about the way our company should take on the morrow.”

Aragorn held his gaze. “No, it is not,” he said. “I need to talk to
you about my Elf.”

Gandalf's eyes seemed to pierce through him. “I thought so,” he
said. “What is it that you wish to ask of me? You have  seemed
pretty determined so far to hand him around, involving everyone
else, .but never seeking my counsel.”

Aragorn flinched. But then, he squared his shoulders and countered
the gaze of the wizard with one of his own.

“Do you really mean to tell me,” he challenged, “you didn't know
Legolas was under the Mael-Gûl?”

Gandalf's face crumbled and lost some of the sharp expression.

“I knew of course he was a Mirkwood-hostage,” he said, “and that he
was under the spell. The event when Elrond put him under it was
infamous enough, after all! But I thought that he was only bound to
Elrond, and maybe his sons, and that the bond wasn't wound very
tightly, so it needed renewal only every few decades. I thought
Elrond had given him into your care, to serve you between the...
feeding of the spell, and would renew the spell himself, as he does
with quite a few Mirkwood hostages. And that this was the reason
why you and Legolas returned to Rivendell at least every few
decades.”

He bowed his head and concentrated on his pipe. “I truly did not
realize that he was bound to you.” Grimacing, he added:
“Apparently, I have been a fool. And worse, a blind and deaf fool,
at that.”

Aragorn stared at him sceptically. “You want me to believe...” he
began.

Gandalf looked up at him again and caught him with his gaze.

“What do you wish to hear?” he asked sharply. “You always treated
him more as your comrade than your slave, at least when the three
of us were together. I knew of course that the two of you were
lovers. But Legolas seemed quite happy while he was with you. I
simply thought that the Mirkwood prince had been very lucky that
Elrond decided to give him into your care.”

Aragorn flinched again. He could not withstand the wizard's gaze
any longer and looked away. Gandalf wondered at the sudden pain on
the Ranger's face.

“And so thought he, at the start,” Aragorn said tonelessly, “and so
thought I.” It seemed as if he wanted to say more, but he merely
stopped speaking. He took a deep breath. 

Gandalf still stared at him. “You mean to tell me, son of Arathorn,
that you agreed to bind the one you loved with so tightly a bond?”
he asked carefully and with an underlying sharpness, “even if you
knew that it would endanger your lover's life whenever you were
merely delayed in feeding the curse you helped to lay on him?!”

For a moment, Aragorn's face was sad and forlorn. Then it turned
grim.

“I was a fool,” he admitted. “At that time, we were very much in
love. We shared each other every chance we got. What bad could
there be if that would also serve to feed the spell? What harm
could come of it?” 

He shook his head. “I claim no excuse for my foolishness, except
that I was very young and did not think with my head alone. And
when I learned what I had done, it was too late.” He stopped.

Gandalf prepared his pipe. Slowly and thoughtfully, he said: “I
think, he still loved you, you know. At least until you decided to
share him with whoever asked for him the other night.”

Aragorn flinched anew. “I deserved that,” he said after a moment,
grimly. Then, finally, he looked up again and met Gandalf's gaze.

“I did not mean to speak to you about deeds in the past,” he
confessed. “I mean to ask you if there's any way you know or can
conceive to break this accursed spell?”

Gandalf raised his brows. He stared back at the Dunadan in apparent
surprise.

“You would do that?” he asked, “If there was a chance? You would
have me set him free, even if it meant that he might choose to
leave you?”

Aragorn grimaced again. He looked miserable. Still, he managed to
say with quiet determination: “Yes. I would have you do it even
then. I...” He stopped. He  looked down and swallowed, hard.
Finally, he looked up again and met Gandalf's gaze. 

“Legolas is very dear to me. I... I want him to be happy. Even if
that means that he may seek his happiness elsewhere and leave me. I
would have him free to choose again, if it can be done.”

Gandalf looked at him shrewdly. “And you think he would leave you
if he had the choice?” he asked.

Aragorn had to look away again. “How could he not?” he asked, then
he trailed off. Finally, after a long pause, he admitted: “I would
be happy beyond measure if he would choose to stay with me, but I
fear that will not happen. He has been my slave for far too long.
I... do not think he would... want to be bound to me... if he was
free to go.”

Finally, he looked back at the wizard. “Anyway, he needs to be free
to have the choice. So, will you look into it? Will you try to find
a way?”

Gandalf looked back at him, appraising and deep in thought. 'So you
are not completely lost yet, king-of-men' he thought. *'Well, well,
well. Isn't that interesting. It seems that there is still some
hope left here for men. And you are so sure that if he was freed
your Elf would run away. The Mirkwood prince might yet surprise
you. Still...'*

Aloud he said: “I will. Although we will have to tread with care,
since we can't risk stirring the wrath of the two Elven realms too
soon; this must be done in secrecy, until we can hope to tread more
openly. But do not raise your hopes too high,” he warned at
Aragorn's intent expression, “From all I know about that spell, it
was conceived with the help of one of the great Rings. It may well
be that it can't be unmade as long as their power lasts. Maybe this
very Quest we undertake will be our best hope to see the curse
broken.”

Aragorn perked up. “How so?”

Gandalf leaned forward, took a splint from the fire and lit his
pipe.

“Well, you see,” he said, “the wise are not completely sure what
will happen to the Three when the One is unmade. But most think
that the power of the Three will fade, and all their works will
come undone. It may not vanish all at once; it may take decades or
even centuries for their works to unravel. But in the end, all that
the Three enforced, may fade. So, if the spell was made with the
help of one of the Three, then once the One is unmade it will
probably begin to fade and lose its power.”

Aragorn let out a long breath. “So if we succeed in this Quest,
Legolas and all his people will be free?” he asked.

Gandalf shook his head. “I warned you not to raise your hopes too
high,” he said. “I hope so, yes, but we don't know for sure. And in
any case we don't know how fast it will happen. As I said, it may
take decades or even centuries for the last tendrils of that evil
curse to fade completely.”

The hope in Aragorn's eyes dimmed. “Centuries,” he said slowly.
“That would be too slow for Legolas. Unless I could convince him to
go to Glorfindel, or choose another Elf to whom the spell could be
extended when I die.”

Gandalf looked at him musingly.

“You assume too much,” he warned. “If the curse can indeed be
broken, the effect may not be entirely what you hope. It may well
be that Legolas, and all the other Elves under the curse, may not
survive when the curse is broken.”

Aragorn looked at him startled and alarmed. “But – why?!” he asked,
“Why should that happen?”

Gandalf took a puff at his pipe. He looked troubled.

“Well, summarize the effects of the spell for me once more, would
you?” he invited.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. Reluctantly, he said: “It makes the...
victim dependent on the attentions of his master. The victim has to
be... taken regularly, or he will fall ill and die.”

Gandalf grimaced, face laced in sorrow. “Yes, and that is bad
enough,” he said, “and yet that is not all, is it?”

Aragorn looked at him, brows drawn.

Gandalf took a few more puffs of his pipe. “You know, of course,
what usually happens if an Elf is forced to endure a physical
union?” he asked, “Against the victim's will and own desire?”

Aragorn made a face again. “Rape, you mean,” he said. “Yes, of
course. An Elf who is raped will die, except under the spell. The
spell prevents it.” 

His eyes widened in sudden understanding.

Gandalf looked at him, waiting.

Aragorn stared back at him. He paled. “The spell prevents an Elf
from dying of grief, of rape or a disturbed bond...” he quoted what
he once had been told by Elrond. He trailed off. “You cannot
mean...”

Gandalf shrugged. “The spell prevents the Elves subjected to the
curse from dying from an enforced union, he said, “but to cast the
spell, the victim must be taken by force by the one who cast it.
And the very essence of the spell means that that abuse must be
repeated again and again. So, when the spell is broken, I deem
there is a distinct possibility that most Elves who were subjected
to it will simply fade.”

For a moment, Aragorn stared back at him, dumbfounded. Then he
shook his head. 

“No,” he said, “I do not think so. Legolas is strong. If there was
any chance that he would die of grief, or of the rape, it would
have been shortly after he was enslaved. But that was decades in
the past. Since then, he has not been raped again, at least not
while he was in my care and I did not have to share him with my
brothers. He will survive, I am sure of it.”

He thought a moment.

“And a lot of the other Elves under the spell will survive, too, I
think,” he concluded, but then he trailed off and did not explain
himself further.

Gandalf looked back at the man he had long thought of as the 'Hope
of men'.

“What you, Gimli and Boromir did to Legolas just a few nights ago
does not count as forced?” he asked.

Aragorn looked away. “I don't think that this will kill him,” he
said. “And anyway, if we succeed, by whatever means, that night
will have taken place  weeks in the past. It will not kill him.”

He was clearly convinced and reassured by his own reasoning.

Gandalf sighed. “Just do not blame me if it does not turn out the
way you hope,” he warned. “And there is still a distinct
possibility that Legolas will choose to go to Mandos if he has a
choice.”

Aragorn bit his lips. “I know,” he said. “But I don't think he
will.”

Gandalf looked at him thoughtfully. 

“I hope you are right, son of Arathorn,” he said, “though for many
Elves under that evil curse the way through Mandos may mean the way
to healing. But answer me this. Even if all your hopes come true
and the spell can indeed be broken, and Legolas survives and
chooses to stay, what then? You will still have to marry
eventually. You need an heir. You cannot bond to Legolas. And he
might well die of grief then, anyway.”

Aragorn looked back at him, completely startled.

“I doubt that Legolas, if he had but the choice, would choose to
stay,” he finally said very carefully. Again, there was pain in his
voice, and Gandalf wondered at the source. “But if he did, I would
be very happy, and I would hold him dear and cherish him to the end
of my days.”

There was an odd kind of desperate hope as he said the latter.
Still, his voice was laced with pain.

Yet his answer left Gandalf puzzled. “What about Arwen?” he asked.

Aragorn let out a deep breath. “I let Arwen go,” he confessed. “I
broke our betrothal before we departed for the Quest. Elrond
demanded it of me. Arwen will pass over the sea and be safe from
pain and harm there.” 

There was deep pain in his voice and face, and Gandalf looked at
him with sympathy. 

*'So, you acted on your feelings rather than on what foresight told
you was the right thing to do, Elrond Halfelven' he thought. 'Where
else did you try to avert fate? And will it help, I wonder?'*

Still this did not answer his question. So he asked simply: “And if
she chose to stay?”

Aragorn's face lit up at the prospect. Then he narrowed his eyes. 

“If Arwen stayed, and Legolas chose to stay, too, I am sure we can
find an arrangement together. And if she is gone, and I find
another wife, the same was true for her. But I do not see what this
question has to do with anything.”

Gandalf's face darkened. “You would subject Elrond's daughter, or a
noble lady of Gondor or Rohan, to this humiliation – to suffer you
to have a lover on the side? You would break the laws of the Valar
that easily, son of Arathorn?!”

For a moment, he seemed greater than his earthly form, and there
was a hint of power surrounding him. 

But Aragorn held his gaze, and he, too, seemed greater for a
moment, the royal blood of Númenor shining through him. 

“Never will I believe,” he said quietly and sharply, “that you or
the Valar would deny a whole people's chance at freedom just
because those people won't fit into the laws afterwards. But should
I see myself be forced to break the laws of the Valar in this one
point, and take what may count as two consorts instead of one, so
be it. I will *never* deny Legolas.  I once swore this to his
father. And I will never let him go, unless it were his own choice.
The Valar have tolerated the casting of that spell, and the
enslavement of the Mirkwood Elves,  so I think they are bound to
tolerate a bit of *untidiness* once the spell is broken.”

Gandalf's eyes flashed with anger. The surge of power surrounding
him became more apparent for a moment, and the other members of the
Fellowship, who had not followed the conversation since it was held
in Silvain, flinched and started. 

“Take care of what you speak, son of Arathorn,” the wizard said
sharply, “and do not tempt the powers you may yet need. If any of
your hopes should come to pass, and if our mission succeeds, it
will be only due to the grace of the Valar!”

Aragorn held his gaze. “I am aware of that,” he said. “Still – do
you mean to tell me, that you would make the attempt to break that
spell dependent on how I choose to conduct my love life?”

Gandalf stared at him for another moment, then the power
surrounding him seemed to disappear as if it had never been, and he
seemed again the familiar old man with whom the Fellowship had
traveled so long. 

Aragorn, too, seemed to change back to the weathered, grim man they
knew. 

Gandalf let his shoulders slump a bit. “Of course not,” he said,
“still, you had better take care not to anger the Valar, son of
Arathorn. Something tells me that you will dearly need their help
before this quest is over.”

He sighed and took another pull at his pipe, but it had gone out.
So he leaned forward and got a new splint from the fire to light it
again. “Anyway, “ he said, “of course I will try. None of us knows
what the future may hold. We will see what it will bring us.”

He took a few puffs at his lightened pipe, then he looked up again.
“Your request honors you. Just do not be too grieved if the outcome
is not what you hope for. There are greater forces at work in this
world, with greater wisdom than we may fathom, and some ends that
may seem sad for us may indeed prove to be for the better. And
anyway, it isn't sure yet that I will succeed. You realize, of
course, that others before me have already tried to break that
spell, and none have yet succeeded.”

Aragorn looked at him expectantly, but Gandalf just shook his head.
He merely added: “So do not set your hopes too high. I may yet
fail.”

Aragorn let out a deep breath. “All I ask is that you try,” he
said. “And I will always be in your debt if you do.”

Gandalf looked at him, musingly. “Very well,” he finally said. “Now
go and relieve that Elf of his watch, will you? Even the Eldar are
not immune to the cold, and you both need your rest. I will take
the last watch for the night myself.” When Aragorn seemed to
hesitate, he made a shooing motion. 

Obediently. Aragorn gave a little bow and rose. Standing, he bowed
his head another time to the old wizard, revently and deeply.
“Thank you, Gandalf” he said in Westron, “I am in your debt.”

And with that he turned and walked away.

Gandalf stared after him, deep in thought. *'So you are not
completely  lost yet, Dúnadan,'* he mused, *'but you are far along
the road to darkness. The laws of the Valar mean little to you
compared to your own heart. I wonder if that will prove your
downfall, or if it will indeed be your salvation. But in any case,
I greatly fear for your heart before the end.'*

And for the rest of the night, he smoked on and would say no more.


____________________ o ________________


-- End of Chapter VII b--

-- To be continued in CHAPTER VII c - PART III - “The Tempest”


Notes:

 (1) This and the following lines of dialog are again directly
lifted from the movie (The Fellowship of the Ring, directed by
Peter Jackson, New Line Cinema, DVD extended edition). I changed
the context, of course.

 (2) This paragraph and the one before are again directly lifted
from the book: J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of The Rings, 1954-1955,
Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1995, Page 283.

(3) I am aware that the Appendix B of LOTR with the count of years
knows of no such skirmishes, but the, the 'Count of Years'
obviously shows only the greatest threats. So, in *my* time line, I
assume there were a few smaller skirmishes, rather raids really,
between Gondor and Harad. Boromir referred to those actually in an
earlier chapter of my tale. Please bear with me!

(4) I remind everyone that this is *movie-Denethor* we talk about
here: mad as a batshit and hating Faramir with a passion.
*Bookverse* Denethor would probably also have offered the nobles
up, and then happily abandoned them – but hardly his own son, even
the one influenced by Mithrandir!