Title: Mael-Gûl – Chapter VII c – Crossing The Mountains, Part
III

   Author: Aislynn Crowdaughter

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

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

   Rating: NC (M) –strictly adults only.

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

   SPECIAL WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: 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 from Peter Jackson's
movie “The Fellowship of the Rings (Extended Edition) and quote
extensively 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 VIIc 	Crossing The Mountains– Part III


PART III – The Tempest


Legolas stood at the edge of the camp, well out of earshot of the
others, and stared unseeing out into the night. For everyone
looking at him it must have seemed as if he was intently listening
and gazing out into the storm; but in truth, he hardly listened to
the howling wind or saw the moving shapes of flying snow. It would
have been pointless, anyway, for every noise was swallowed by the
tempest out there after just a few paces, and any shape would have
been hardly recognizable until it was already on top of them. 

Yet he doubted he would have heard anything, even had the night
been completely silent. Boromir's words were resonating in his
ears: *“How could your father, could your people ever agree to
terms like *that*?! I would have rather died than subject myself to
that! And so would my city!”*  

In his mind formed images he had not recalled but deliberately left
sleeping for a long time.

// /”No! Don't do that, please! Not for me!(1)”

He heard his own, desperate voice, pleading to get past the grim
anger and determination of his father. 

Thranduil just went on with his preparations. Drawing lines on the
map on his great desk table, he went on: “Mitharas, you take the
contingent at the left flank. Hide them well! Belldoron, you hide
your warriors deeper in the forest and wait for our signal to come
out. And you, Laeghador(2), you will take the right flank and hide
there. This time, we will give him an unwelcome surprise.”

The warriors surrounding him looked pale and troubled, but
determined. They knew this was to be their last stand, and that it
would probably end in disaster. But there was not one who thought
to protest.

Except their prince.

Legolas tried again. “Please, father, hear me! Stop this! This is
suicide. We cannot do this and survive. Not now!”

Finally, Thranduil looked up at him.

“Stop interfering, Legolas! This has gone on long enough. This time
we make our stand!”

Legolas shook his head in desperation. “Please, father, no! This is
madness! We've lost too many warriors in that  battle out at Dale.
Too many of the others are wounded! We wouldn't stand a chance!” He
held his father's gaze, and could read the pain and the desperation
in them. Intently, he tried again: 

“Would you risk us all, all your people, after all this time? We
are outnumbered. You heard our scouts! That Noldo bastard has his
whole host down in the south at Dol Guldur, where he battled the
Necromancer, and all the forces of Lothlorien. If he brings them
here, we do not stand a chance! Wait at least until our warriors
are recovered...”

Thranduil's face was grim. “There is no time! The date he has set
is now! And in any case, I have not that time, either. I cannot
wait until they are recovered!”

His gaze rested on Legolas with anger and despair. “Don't you
understand? You are my last remaining son and heir. I cannot allow
Elrond to take you, too!”

Legolas bit his lips and shook his head. 

“I am not worth that,” he said. “Not your death, nor that of our
people.  Please, cease this madness. Do not do this. Not for me!”

Thranduil's gaze, grim as it was, lingered on him, and after a
moment, it softened.

“When, if not now?” he asked. “My warriors agree with me on this. I
cannot let him take you, too.”

He took a deep breath. “Do not fear. We will give them a costly
fight. And in these halls, our people will hold out for a long
time. Here he can not besiege you. Not during the winter, anyway.”

He sighed and came around the table to stand before his son. “The
Orcs in the north are overthrown. Smaug is gone. You will make a
good king, Legolas. If you can only hold out until spring...”

Legolas shook his head. “And if Elrond burns the wood, as he has
threatened to do? Then our people starve. We have shared too much
of what we had with Laketown. Elrond just needs to set a guard to
stop us coming out and trading for   more supplies. Then he can
wait and take  the last of us  one by one when we need to come out
in spring. He has threatened to put all Mirkwood to the sword if
you refuse his demands,” he reminded him.

Holding his father's gaze, he took a deep breath. “Please, Adar!
One more century may see us strong enough to throw off their yoke.
For good. If our people are led by an *experienced* leader. Under
*your* rule. Not mine.”

Thranduil clenched his jaw. “Legolas...”

For long moments, they faced each other. Behind them, one of the
advisors cleared his throat. He said hesitantly:
“Maybe it will not come to that. That Noldor bastard has accepted
our refuse to hand over the prince before. He may do so again. And
we have just done those Noldorim a favor, after all, by decimating
the Orcs here in the north. That must count for something! Even
Mithrandir said so when he came, and he had been at Elrond's camp
before...”

Thranduil's face was grim. “Mithrandir won't be there! He has
already left for the mountain passes with that Hobbit. And I ceased
to trust in Elrond's sense of justice long ago.”

One of the generals spoke up. “At least, we could try to play for
time.  If we had a just few more weeks to get supplies...”

Thranduil cast him an unreadable gaze, then he turned around and
grabbed the desk. He bowed his head and supported himself. They
could all see him slightly trembling, holding himself in check with
all of his remarkable strength of will.

“I do not have a few more weeks, I fear,” he said. “I doubt I have
a month.”

Legolas closed his eyes. 

“Please, Adar, let me go,” he said. “*You* are the one our people
need and who can give them hope. They need their king experienced
and strong. Not me.”

Thranduil turned back to him. “You are my heir,” he said. “I cannot
let them take you, too! What hope would there remain for us if I
let Elrond take my last remaining heir unchallenged?” The nobles in
the room flinched under the palpable pain and despair in his voice.

Legolas shook his head. “You have other heirs,” he pointed out.
“Silivren's oldest son will be a good king, if it comes to that.
And with any luck, before the end of the next yen, we may yet be
strong enough to make a stand.” He opened his eyes again. “Please.
Let me do this.”

Some of the Sindar nobles in the room looked at him with raised
brows. Normally, kingship did not run in the female line, although
the house of Oropher itself descended from Elmo, Elu Thingol's
brother, through the female line, and founded quite some part of
their claim to kingship on that very line of ancestry. But then,
most of Thranduil's Silvain subjects looked at things somewhat
differently and recognized the noble heritage and claim to
leadership of Legolas' and Silivren's late mother, herself one of
the highest Silvain nobles of the former Greenwood; a marriage that
had been made for love, and had yet considerately  strengthened
Oropher's rule at the time, even though it had been Thranduil, his
son, who linked the families together(3).

Yet none of the present nobles dared to comment on Legolas words.
They barely dared to breathe.

Thranduil bowed his head. “Legolas...” he croaked, and again the
assembled nobles flinched under his voice.

The prince went down on one knee before his father.

“Please, my Lord. I am your son and under your command, but I do
know my duty to the realm. I cannot let my king and father die for
me, nor can I let this happen to my people. Please, let me do
this.”

Thranduil closed his eyes. They could see him tremble, fighting a
silent, painful battle with himself.

Finally, he nodded.

“So be it,” he croaked out, nearly tonelessly. Then he raised his
voice and looked around.

“Leave me alone!” he commanded. “Legolas, you stay. I... I need to
take my leave of you, ion(4).” His voice died.


Silently, the nobles filed out of the room, leaving the king and
their prince alone./ //


______________ o ________________


Legolas continued staring blindly into the howling night. He had
never doubted the wisdom of his decisions then, before, although he
had, for a long time, known that he had completely overestimated
his own strength to bear all that Elrond might have in store for
him, and had known himself for a fool and worse that he had ever
thought himself strong enough  to deal with it. Without Glorfindel,
and Estel, he would have lost his mind and gone stark raving mad
quite soon after his enslavement.

But always he had been sure he had done the right thing.

Now, Boromir's words resonated in his head.

*'Fool!'* a cynical, hateful voice hissed in his mind, *'Your
father was ready to end it then and there! Your warriors were ready
to  make a stand, and you denied them!  You are your father's son,
he counted on you as his last remaining heir – and you refused him!
Refused to do your duty, make a stand, lead your people in the
last, desperate battle – and for what? Another yen's worth of
humiliation(5)? Coward! You are not worthy to be called your
people's prince, your father's son! Was it so much easier, then, to
give in and let yourself be enslaved, than to accept your
responsibility?'*

Inwardly, Legolas cringed under the sudden accusation. *'We didn't
have a chance,'* he tried to convince himself, *'we would have
died! They would have died – all our people; men, women and
children. Elrond was ready to kill them all. He would have done so!
He would have burned our wood to the ground!'*

But the voice inside his head sneered at him. *'They were ready to
take the risk;'* it sneered, *'they were ready to choose death if
that was the only way to freedom! You were your father's heir –
they would have followed you, they would have put up a fight! And
you have let them down. By your refusal, you convinced your father
to give in, bear the burden another yen – and for what? Next yen,
Elrond will demand Silivren, or maybe her son – and then your
father won't have a son to take over after the unfed spell has
killed him. But you were too much of a coward to follow his
command. Instead you gave yourself to slavery!'*

Legolas bit his lips. *'They live,'* he tried to convince himself,
*'they live and they are safe. They would have died. We were
outnumbered. It would have been suicide. It was the only way.'*

But the voice replied: *'Your warriors were ready, then. Who says
they will have the same chance again? And whose fault was it that
you were outnumbered? Had your father gone through with his plan,
you could have given Elrond and his minions a costly fight! But no,
you had to convince him to give in, force him to bow his head again
and doom your people to another yen of slavery, with your '*noble
sacrifice*'....'*

And with a flash, the memories unfolded in his mind, took him back
to that fateful day, forced him to remember.

// / In the end, they had settled on a compromise: Legolas would
come along to the yen ceremony, and Thranduil would not bring his
host to force a last, de
hand his son over, either. They would try to get Elrond and his
allies to give up on his demand to take Thranduil's last remaining
son in light of the recent support the Mirkwood Elves had given to
the people of Laketown and Dale and to the Dwarves in the Battle of
the Five Armies, a battle that helped to put an end to the threat
of Orcs in the north for a long time. 

It had been a foolish hope, and it had ended in disaster. As it
turned out, Elrond had urged his host on relentlessly and so he had
indeed brought the combined troops of Rivendell and Lothlorien up
from Dol Guldur  in full force and in much less time than expected.
He really was ready to burn the woods if he was denied. And it was
clear that he just waited for an excuse to do so. Indeed, far from
being pleased that Thranduil had taken care of his responsibility
as ruler in the north and brought his army up to Laketown and
Erebor to intervene as needed, Elrond accused Thranduil of
partaking in that war without his permission and just to ensure a
part of the dragon treasure for himself. And he insisted that there
needed to be 'punishment' for that.

To this day, Legolas could recall the Noldo's sneering face, when
Elrond turned to his father.

“I should deny you,” the hated Elflord spat, “and let you die, and
put your people to the sword and let you watch while your woods are
burning!” He sneered “I wonder how long it would take you to die
while the spell remains unfed. I think you may yet last long enough
at least to watch the spectacle....”

Outnumbered and frozen, Thranduil had stood, face pale and defiant,
fists balled, and fought the impulse to end it by attacking Elrond
then and there. They were at surrounded and at arrow's-point; he
would probably not have been fast enough to even reach he Peredhel
before the  arrows pierced his heart, but he was nearly beyond
caring.

Just then, a noble, silver haired Elf of Elrond's entourage spoke
up. 

“Elrond,” he said, “that would be most unwise. Thranduil is still
needed to fight the shadow here, and it would be foolish to let him
die. He can be of much better use to us while he is alive.”

Elrond hardly looked around. He fixed his hateful gaze on the
Mirkwood king.

“You would say that, Celeborn,” he sneered, “he is your kinsman
after all! But I hardly think we need him anymore.  We have just
taken care of the Necromancer. Dol Guldur is free and left
deserted. And the dragon is gone and the Orcs here in the north are
decimated.  We can keep balance without Thranduil and his little
kingdom well enough. In fact, I wonder if it would not be better if
we did.”

The silver-haired noble – Celeborn of Lothlorien, Legolas
registered – shook his head. “We do still need him,” he replied
with unshaken calm, “the Necromancer will be back. He was not
conquered; he just left Dol Guldur without a fight and withdrew to
parts unknown, leaving us to deal with his creatures. And we got
far too few of his Orcs as well. 
Doubtless, he will  return again or send his minions back to that
stronghold soon.” He sighed and concluded   calmly: “Therefore it
would be foolish to let Thranduil die. I would advise you find
another way of punishment.” 

Elrond whipped around to him, annoyed, and for a few moments the
two Elf lords just stared at each other. Then another Lord of
Elrond's entourage, with golden hair, said quietly: “He is right,
my Lord. Please! Do let Thranduil live.”

Elrond gave him a sour look, as if he wanted to say: 'You, too,
defy me then?' - but then he merely turned to the Mirkwood Elves
again and fixed Thranduil with his baleful glare.

“Very well, Mirkwood king. So I will feed the spell. But as a
punishment for your disloyalty, you will have to give me your last
free son. I told you already that I would demand him. Now I see
that I will dearly need such as him as a hostage to ensure your
doubtful loyalty.”

He saw the paling of his adversary's face, the sudden flash of
pain, and his face held dark triumph. Clearly and deliberately he
went on: “You will hand him over, and he will be put under the
spell. If you do not, we'll burn the wood and kill all Mirkwood
Elves, and you'll be left to die. For if you deny us in this, it is
clear that you have planned treachery and it is better to take care
of you once and for all!”

Celeborn intervened anew. “Elrond!“ he began, paling, “You
cannot...”

But Elrond was adamant. “No,” he spat. “I have already told him
that before. It is no news to him that he was to give us his son.
If he gives him to us now, then I will relent and I will ask no
more. But if he does not, we cannot trust him and he would be of no
more use to us, anyway!”

Pushed beyond caring and boiling with anger, Thranduil tensed for
attack. He was angry and desperate enough to throw all care to the
wind and risk a fight, although he had come there only with a small
entourage and none of the warriors he brought would survive it.

Not even his own son.

At that point, Legolas could not take it anymore. Standing forth,
he knelt again before his father and asked him not to sacrifice
their people, but to allow him to go and  offer himself up.

Thranduil was choked with grief, and for a long moment, he nearly
couldn't answer.

But then, bereft of any true alternatives – because if he refused,
they would both die, and Mirkwood's people would soon follow, too –
he relented.

Legolas stood and turned to Elrond, suffering the guard taking hold
of him.

Elrond regarded him maliciously. “Ah,  here you are, little...
prince,” he said. “I should just take you and deny your father
anyway. “

Legolas paled. But the silver haired Elf and the other, blond one
both spoke up. “Nay Elrond,” Celeborn intervened again, “You gave
your word, remember? You said if you got Legolas, there would be no
other punishment.” 

The golden headed Noldo  added: “Please, my liege. Let it not be
said you went back on your word.” 

Elrond scowled and glared at Legolas. Then, finally, he nodded.
“Very well, Mirkwood spawn” he said tersely, “so your father and
your wood will live.” He made a pause. “*This* time!”

Then he gave his guards a sign to drag Legolas away and prepare for
the ceremony.

But later, when he put Legolas under the spell, he forced Thranduil
to watch the rape and enslavement of his only remaining son./ //


Back in the present, Legolas shivered, inwardly cringing under the
assault of the images in his head and the cold, renewed horror they
brought. 

But the memories assaulting him were not the worst.

*'Because of you'* the hateful voice accused, *'he went there
without his warriors! Because of *you*, he walked into the trap.
Instead of making a last, desperate stand and leading your people
into freedom, even if it be in death, you forced him to witness the
rape of yet another child – a useless son, who would not live up to
his duty as his father's heir when it was needed. And you didn't
even manage to protect your people, as you so '*bravely*' declared,
did you? Do you recall that elleth?'*

Cringing, gasping, Legolas tried to bring his mind under control,
to banish the voice from his head. He feared he would go mad.

*'But you can make it up to them'* the thought suddenly sprang into
his head. *'You cannot change the past, but you can act now,
reverse your mistake, secure the freedom of your people! Take the
ring! Bring it to them! Your father is strong enough to wield its
power, force it under his will... He would take it for himself and
he could end this war at once. Force the Nazgul under his will,
send them against Lothlorien, together with their Orcs! Take the
warriors to Rivendell, make Elrond cringe and pay for all he's
done... Estel took you yesterday. You have three weeks until it
gets bad. You can cross the mountain in just one day. The cold does
not faze you. The storm does not hinder you. You can run on the
snow where others have to trudge through it! You can pass over the
mountains like a ghost!'*

Shell-shocked and wide eyed, Legolas jerked up, staring into the
storm. The voice felt alien inside his mind but he could not close
his thoughts to it. The voice went on: *'You could skirt
Lothlorien, run up along the Anduin, find one of the settlements of
woodmen there, steal or buy a horse... You are fast, and you would
not be hindered by any companions. Three weeks would be enough to
make it to your father's halls...'*

Legolas nearly snorted. *'We are two weeks south from Rivendell.
And on the other side of the Misties, there are the  Gladden
Fields, and the Carrocks, too. I'd hardly make it,'*  he reminded
himself. 

But the voice in his head screamed: *'*Fool*! *Coward*! What other
excuses will you find to skirt your duty to your people? You could
make it! You could have made the whole way up from Rivendell
without the Hobbits and the other mortals in much less time! A
determined Elf, with an urgent goal, could find a way...'*

Legolas shook his head, tried to banish the tempting voice from his
mind, but the voice  wasn't done.

*'It would be easy,'* it seduced. *'Estel trusts you implicitly. He
loves to have you close to him at night. Just a flick of your
knife... he would be dead before he knew it.  That man of Gondor
would let you get close to him for a kiss. Just pretend that you
have changed your mind, offer him a taste – you can kill him before
he is any wiser. The Hobbits trust you. You can take care of them
before they have a chance to scream or raise the alarm. Just shoot
the Dwarf, and the wizard...'*

Legolas shook. He could see it before his waking eyes – the images
filled his mind, as much as he tried to close himself to them: *the
quick flick of the knife over Estel's throat, the short, desperate
buckling of the body when the other blade found his master's heart
– the look of shock and hurt betrayal in the eyes before they went
dull and sightless... the man of Gondor, slumping when the blade
found his heart, his scream drowning in the treacherous mouth that
closed over his own... the Hobbits, without unaware of any danger,
quickly dying in their sleep before they even knew what happened...
Blood on the snow... Two quick shots to take care of the Dwarf and
the wizard...* 

Bile rose in his throat and he wrapped his arms around himself as
if to fend off the images and gather his own strength. 

*“I swore an oath,”* he reminded himself, “*an oath*!... To protect
the Ring Bearer and all free people with my life – to follow and
serve Estel faithfully, under whatever circumstances...”

*'Estel betrayed you. He hurt you! You owe him nothing!' the voice
hissed. 'And the life of the Hobbit, and whatever promise you gave
to him, can't hold weight against the need of your people!...'*

Legolas had had enough. Breathing hard, he gathered all his
strength, all his considerable will, to force the hateful voice
away. For a few moments, he felt as if his knees would buckle, then
he regained control and straightened himself. He could not afford
to let himself be weakened! He knew his duty, to his master, to the
free people, and he knew the promises of the voice for lies. And
yet, still the images assaulted him. He pierced his nails into the
his palm to try and focus on the pain. If he could have done so
without noticing of the others, he would have used one of his
blades to cut himself. But they were out in the wilds and he could
not afford to let himself be weakened. 

Trembling, but determined he stared out into the raging storm.

It was going to be a long night.


______________ 0 _____________


When Aragorn approached his Elf and carefully touched his shoulder,
he was not prepared for Legolas' reaction. The Elf whipped around
to him, wild-eyed, hands going to his knives. When he realized it
was his master who approached him, he blushed and let go of his
knives, then bowed his head. Aragorn actually took a step back and
raised his hands, palms open. 

“*Careful*, Little Leaf,” he said, “you are supposed to *defend* us
from attacks, not the other way round.”

Legolas swallowed. “I am sorry, I...” he began, but trailed off. 

Aragorn took in his posture and the tension in his body. He
narrowed his eyes. He had a very good idea what was happening, but
he still carefully took a step closer and took the Elf by an arm.
Carefully turning his slave around so Legolas' face was away from
the camp, he leaned against him. “What is it, Little Leaf?” he
asked quietly.

Legolas swallowed hard. The closeness of his master made him
nervous. He could hear the hated voice scream in his head, urging
him to move. So easy – it would be so easy... just a flick with his
knife, a movement, too quick for the human to avoid – *'what are
you waiting for?!'* the voice screamed at him, *'you can't allow
him to grow suspicious! Just do it! *Do it now*!!!'*

With all his strength, he fought the voice down. Shivering, he
choked out: “It... is the Ring, Aragorn, it... tempts me...”

*'Fool!'* the voice cried at him, *'*Coward*! Now you have given it
away! He will kill you now, take away your weapons!...'*

But instead, Aragorn just grabbed him tighter and bowed his head. 

“Aye,” the Adan nodded, bitterly and grimly. “Me, too.” 

Legolas looked at him, somewhat startled. But his master didn't
elaborate; he just shook his head. “Listen,” Aragorn said then,
determinedly and quietly, “whatever this thing offers you, do not
believe it! It will offer you everything your heart desires, but it
will lie. And you cannot gain as much as you would if it is
destroyed.”

Legolas looked away. For a moment, the thought flickered through
his mind to ask what the Ring might have offered Aragorn, but then
he decided he didn't want to know. Still, he could not conquer his
own pain. Bitterly, nearly too quietly to hear, he choked out: “How
would you know?”

He tensed in anticipation of a blow, but Aragorn didn't move. He
just looked at him, apparently all too well capable of guessing his
Elf's thoughts. 

“Listen,” Aragorn began again, tiredly and quietly, “I spoke with
Gandalf. He thinks that this very quest may be the way to break the
spell. He thinks the spell will fade once the One is destroyed.”

Legolas looked up at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, and Aragorn
had to look down. “He isn't sure, though. But it is a chance. And
if he is right, that is better than everything that thing can offer
you.”

*'How would you know?'* Legolas thought. The voice screamed in his
head: *'He lies! Do not listen to him! It is just another of his
many promises, one of the many he has broken...'* - but he paid it
no heed. Aloud he asked: “And if he is wrong?”

Aragorn took a deep breath and met his eyes again. He chose not to
tell Legolas the whole of his conversation with Gandalf. *Better
not raise his hopes too high only to have them crushed.*

“If he is wrong, and the spell remains unbroken, you  remain bound
to me. But I promise you this: if this Quest succeeds, and if I
truly should fulfill my fate, then I will do everything in my power
to help you free your people. You recall what Glorfindel said back
in Rivendell? And Gandalf? The Quest may be the way to change their
fate. Don't throw away this chance by listening to that cursed
piece of jewelry.”

Legolas stared at him, dumbfounded. “Estel,” he said, “you...”

Then he paled. “*You cannot offer this!* What about Arwen? You
would be forced...” he trailed off. The thought that Aragorn would
actually think to fight his future father-in-law was staggering. 

Then another thought came to his mind, and he paled even more. “And
what about the Lady?” he carefully asked. “We are passing through
the Golden Wood. She can read minds...”

Aragorn nodded bitterly. “Arwen will pass over the sea,” he said.
“I broke our troth before we departed at Elrond's request. And
anyway, it is not as if Elrond and Galadriel didn't know this. It
was Gandalf and Glorfindel, after all who brought it up, and before
we departed. I do not think my thoughts will reveal anything new to
her.”

He sighed. “But you are right. We should speak about all this no
more. Just remember that whatever that thing may tell you, it will
lie, and there are other ways to gain that which you hope for.”

Legolas stared at him for long moments, too stunned to reply. Then,
finally, he asked very carefully: “Estel... why would you do this?”

*'He'll lie to you!'* the voice cried in his mind, *'Do not believe
him! It is all false promises, all lies!...'*

He paid it no heed and concentrated instead on his master.

Aragorn bowed his head. *'Isn't it obvious, Little Leaf?'* he
thought. But he did not say that. 

Instead he looked up and very carefully touched his longtime-
companion's face. “Because I owe you, Little Leaf,” he said.
“Because I owe you that much.”

He trailed off and would say no more. After a long moment, he
sighed and drew a deep breath.

“Come,” he said, “Gandalf sent me to relieve you from the watch. He
says that he'll take over. It is cold, and there are few hours left
until morning. Let us go back to the fire and seek what rest we may
find. It will be a long, hard day, tomorrow.”

Legolas bowed to him and obeyed. He followed his master to the fire
and settled beside him, and they did not speak another word for the
rest of the night. After a while, exhaustion got the better of
Aragorn and he drifted off into sleep. The Elf at his side did not
wake him. Only once did Legolas rouse, and in the flickering
firelight gazed thoughtfully at the sleeping Aragorn's exposed
throat, drawing a gentle finger across it. Then he sighed, snuggled
back against his master's shoulder, and after a while he, too,
dropped into reverie. The voice in his head was not entirely gone,
but at least, for a little while,  it was easier to ignore it(6).


____________________ o __________________


It was a dim, grey dawn, although the storm had settled, and
finally the snow stopped altogether. The Fellowship woke slowly and
to greyness. Shortly before, the last faggot of wood had been
thrown on the fire, and now they stared glumly at the last glowing
embers of the dying fire. 

Very slowly, the dim light grew stronger and revealed a silent,
shrouded world. 

Below the refuge the Fellowship had found were white lumps and
domes and shapeless deeps beneath which the path they had trodden
was altogether lost; but the heights above were hidden in great
clouds still heavy with the threat of snow.

Gimli looked up and shook his head. “Caradhras has not forgiven
us,” he said. “He has more snow yet to fling at us, if we go on.
The sooner we go back and down the better.”(7)

Aragorn made a face. “I doubt that it was merely Caradhras which
flung those stones at us,” he said. “And I doubt very much we could
go on over the rocks now blocking our path. There was more than
snow coming down with that avalanche.”


Gandalf looked grim. “It wasn't Caradhras alone,” he said, “and we
have no choice but to go down. There is no other path we can take
now.”

Boromir looked sourly at the shrouded, white slope below. 

Only a few paces from the ashes of their fire, the snow lay many
feet deep, higher than the heads of the Hobbits; in places it had
scooped and piled by the wind into great drifts against the cliff.
(8)

“If we *can* find a path to go back down,” he said. “Now it would
really convenient if we all could run atop the snow like some.” And
he cast a pointed look at the Elf, who was standing pale and
somewhat aloof at the side.

Legolas looked at him tiredly. He was cold, he was exhausted, and
somewhere in the back of his mind he could still feel the whispers
of the hated voice inside his head. He was troubled and he had
enough of the constant jabbing of the man of Gondor. 

Faking a cheerfulness he did not feel he offered: “If Gandalf would
go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you.”(9)

Boromir gave him an askance look, trying to judge if he had been
slighted, but before he could reply, he was cut off by the wizard.

Gandalf made a face. 

“If Elves could fly over mountains, they could fetch the sun to
save us,” he answered. “But I must have something to work on. I
cannot burn snow.”

Boromir shrugged. “Well,” he said, “when heads are at a loss,
bodies must serve; as we say in my country. The strongest of us
must seek a way. See! Though all is now snow-clad, our path, as we
came up, turned about shoulder of rock down yonder. If we could
reach hat point, maybe it would prove easier beyond. It is no more
than a furlong off , I guess.”

“Then let us force a path thither, you and I!” said Aragorn.(10)

Turning to his Elf, he added: “And Legolas, of course. If you start
out behind...”

Legolas bowed to him and took a step to join the men. But Boromir
protested.

“Nay,” he said, shaking his head, “this is a work for men of
strength! I do not see how that flimsy Elf could aid us here.
Better let him run ahead and see how far we have to burrow, and
find us the right way so that we may not come too close to the
cliff in our toil.”  

Legolas straightened and clenched his jaw. Aragorn whirled around
to Boromir, glaring, a sharp reply on his tongue. But then he
hesitated. He swallowed was he was about to say and turned back to
his Elf. He narrowed his eyes. 

Legolas looked troubled. He was far too pale and the normally so
untouched face bore deep shadows that spoke of exhaustion. Legolas
could not have found many restful dreams last night. *Again.*

Aragorn made his decision. It would be better if he could grant
Legolas some time alone. And besides, as long as his Elf was out of
earshot, he might have the chance to exchange a few choice words
with Boromir.

So, after a moment, he just shrugged. “All right,” he said,
seemingly indifferently, “just you and me, then.”

He saw Legolas' eyes widen with sudden hurt, and shook his head
nearly imperceptibly. *'Not now, Little Leaf,'* he thought, *'Just
trust me!'*

Aragorn didn't know if his slave had caught the unspoken message,
for Legolas nearly immediately lowered his eyes and did not meet
his gaze. Aloud, he said: “Actually, Boromir's idea is sound. Will
you scout ahead and tell us how far we have to go? And what path
best to take, if there is any doubt?”

He tried to convey his reasoning in his voice. Finally, it seemed
that his silent message registered, because Legolas  raised his
head again and met his gaze, giving him the slightest nod, before
he bowed a second time to him to acknowledge the command he had
been given.

Then the Elf straightened again and sprang forth nimbly.
“Farewell,” he cried, forcing a cheerful smile, and turning to
Gandalf he added: “I go to find the Sun!”

Then swift as a runner over firm sand he shot away, and quickly he
sped into the distance and vanished round the rocky turn.(11)

Aragorn turned back to Boromir and raised his brows. “Shall we?” he
invited.

Wordlessly, the two men began to burrow their way through the deep
and tightly packed snow.


_____________ o ______________


Legolas ran. For once  without the restricting need to pay
attention to the mortals, he flew across the snow as if he was one
of his own arrows, loosened from the restraining string to find its
mark elsewhere. After the oppressing darkness he had endured last
night, after the doubts and the tormenting memories, running like
that was like a refreshing breath, and the speed and solitude
helped him to clear his mind. Finally, his troubled thoughts calmed
down, and at last his mind went  clear again.

After just a few hundred yards,  he found that the snow grew less,
and after just two furlongs it was only shin-deep, and he had
reached the long slope where Frodo had lost the ring the day
before. The man of Gondor had been right; if the men could burrow a
path through the short depth blocking their way, the rest of the
way down would be much easier. It was as if the barrier of snow
around the camp had been laid out specifically with the intent to
trap them and hinder their escape.

Legolas didn't stop immediately. Running on on the smooth surface
just because he could and for the pure joy of it, he soon reached
the snow line and the snow grew thin and sparse, and finally ended
altogether. Slowed in his  speed, Legolas sprang a few more yards
over the bare rocks for the pure joy of it, then he ran atop a big
boulder and came to a halt, looking around. 

From his vantage point, he could see far down the land, to the path
they had come the previous day and beyond, far to the west and
north, and also to the plains further down the south, down to the
lines of the two rivers that had their source in the very mountains
the Fellowship had tried to brave just now: the Sirannon, which
started  directly under Caradhras and at the very doors of Moria,
and further south the Glanduin, which had its source in the
mountain Celebdil.  Even further away he could see the shapes of
the far hills of Dunland. There, far away in the south, he could
see one or two beams of the sun breaking through the greyish shroud
covering the sky, but when he turned around and looked back to the
east, he saw the sky shrouded in thick, dark clouds promising more
bad weather should the Fellowship indeed dare to go that way. The
passage over the pass would be indeed impossible for their company.

Or to all but one.

Legolas flinched as the hateful voice of the ring he had thought he
left behind suddenly was back in his thoughts and attacked his mind
with a vengeance.

*'You could do it!' it urged. 'The snow is your friend, not your
foe! See how it serves to ease your way? And there is more to come!
You need not fear the storm! It will cover your tracks! You can be
over that mountain in a day, get down the pass beyond, skirt
Lorien... as long as the snow lasts, you can be fast. Take the
supplies of the Fellowship, run up the Anduin. It can't be more
than five hundred miles to your father's halls. You can do it!'*

*'Yes, of course,' Legolas dryly thought, 'and as soon as I am on
the other side, that thing will probably try to tell me that my
father's halls actually lie in the direction of Dol Guldur!'*

But at the same time, and to his own dismay, he found himself
calculating rationally and coolly whether there was indeed a way to
undertake this journey and succeed. He shivered. 

The very thought of doing such a thing – breaking his oaths,
killing his companions, bringing death to the other hostages and
war to his people – made his stomach churn and bile rise in his
throat. *And yet.* 

*Just the thought what his success if he did this, and the
possession of the ring, could mean for his father, for his
people.... To use it to stop the threat of Dol Guldur, send the
Orcs and Nazgul against Lothlorien, take Rivendell, make Elrond
cringe and beg for mercy on his knees.... wasn't it his very duty
to his people to try this?*

Legolas sighed. Realizing that he would find no peace if he did not
allow himself to think it through, he sat down on his haunches and
weighed his chances as calmly as he could.

Recalling his memories of the two or three times he made the
journey north up the Anduin and back to his home together with
Estel, he tried to estimate the distance and the time it would take
him if he had nothing to lose and no one to slow him down. He had
seen a map of the lands east of the Misty Mountains once or twice,
but more importantly he and Aragorn had walked that very way just a
few months ago when they escorted the creature Gollum. Placing the
wretched thing in the care and under the guard of his father,
Thranduil, had been Gandalf's idea. Legolas had not understood the
Istar's intention at the time, but now he suspected that Gandalf
thought the former bearer of the One too great a temptation to
place him in the care of the Lady Galadriel. Or of the Lord Elrond.

Not that it had brought any benefit to Legolas' people.

Bitterly and calmly, he tried to estimate the time it would take
him to make the way alone, without a mortal at his side, and if he
did not plan to be alive much longer after he reached his
destination. 

He did not doubt that he could get over Caradhras in one or two
days, especially with the snow lying thick and deep on the mountain
pass as it did now. Over the smooth surface, he could easily race
along where the mortals of their company would have needed to
trudge on arduously and climb over any obstacles. The real problem
would be to get down on the other side and through the valley there
without running into a patrol from Lothlorien. He did not doubt
that the Lady of the Wood would know it if the Fellowship was
killed and possibly she would see it in her Mirror if Legolas tried
to bring the ring to Northern Mirkwood; at the very least she would
send scouts to investigate. Those he would need to avoid, and that
would cost him time. But provided he managed to elude or to kill
them, and escaped, could he do it?

He estimated that it was at least four hundred miles from his
current point to his father's halls, as the crow flies, and maybe
half a hundred more if he allowed for obstacles on the way he had
to either surmount or circumvent. 
He would need to make it to the shores of the Anduin, far enough
north of Lothlorien so he would not get caught; then he could use
the old trading path there. And  there were settlements along the
river of Woodmen and other people. Some of them had horses. He
could buy or steal a couple, and move on even faster. Without the
company of any mortals he estimated that he could make between
fifty and sixty miles a day(12), especially if he did not take rest
or made long stops along the way. If he could get a horse or two,
he could be even faster. Given the need to skirt around Lothlorien,
which would considerably slow him down, he estimated that he could
make the journey in three weeks, and if he went with past
experience he had that time until the need and the withdrawal got
so bad that it would weaken his body too much to go on. That was,
assuming that  the recent new extension of the spell had not
tightened the bond much  further and shortened the time he had
left, and that he did not run into a troop of Orcs or worse along
the way. And of course assuming that he even succeeded in taking
his companions unaware and did not get himself killed or badly
wounded during the fight.

So, the answer was: yes, if it came down just to chances of
success, he *could* do it. It would be a close call, but he would
probably succeed.

But the other and more important question was: did he *want* to do
this? And could he bring himself to go that far? 

Estel's face appeared before his eyes. The beautiful boy he had
known in the past who had, without any effort, conquered his heart.
The troubled, fierce, noble, guilt-stricken, abusive and yet caring
man who was now his master. He recalled again Aragorn's face during
their last tender coupling just two nights ago, full of tenderness
and plain, unguarded love  as Legolas made love to him, the grief
at Legolas' disappointment when Legolas found out that all their
tender sharing had not succeeded in bringing his partner to
hardness, much less fulfillment. And yet Aragorn would have been
completely content to leave it at that. 

He recalled the fierce and unhesitating promise the man had given
him just a few days ago to protect him and his people from the
Dwarf, and the harsh confrontation Aragorn had sought with Gimli
afterwards, because he knew that unlike Legolas, *he* could do so
without endangering Legolas' people.  He saw again Aragorn's stoic
and stubborn expression as Elrond scolded him for taking Legolas
with him to Mirkwood for the first, and then again for the second
and the third and again the fourth time. The horrifying, and yet
mind-staggering moment when Estel, with an expression of triumph,
gulped down the potion that would doom them both in an act of
defiance and love and with the fierce intent to bind himself as
tightly to Legolas as Legolas was bound to him. To ensure their
equality in their bond.

This last image was like a bleeding wound, because that one
misguided act had hurt them both so much and it had destroyed and
twisted the one he, Legolas loved, which hurt in itself even more
than the pain Aragorn was now forced to inflict on him whenever he
took him.

And finally he recalled the unbelievable promise the man had made
him just last night.

*“But I promise you this: if this Quest succeeds, and if I truly
should fulfill my fate, then I will do everything in my power to
help you free your people. You recall what Glorfindel said back in
Rivendell? And Gandalf? The Quest may be the way to change their
fate. Don't throw away this chance by listening to that cursed
piece of jewelry.”*

He heard his master's voice again, saw the expression of grief, of
guilt and of sincerity on the Adan's face. 

He shook his head. *Dear Estel!* That the man would promise this
was still staggering and filled him with disbelief and wonder. He
could hardly wrap his mind around it. 

In the back of his head, the voice of the ring screamed. *'Don't
believe him!'* it cried. *'It is all false promises, all lies! He
lied to you! Just as he lied these other times, remember?  His word
means nothing!...'*

But this time, Legolas was prepared for the hateful voice. So, he
just shook his head to clear it and banished the hateful screaming
from his mind.

Aragorn would not break this promise, he realized. The man had
given him his word. He had explicitly promised. And Estel had never
broken his promises, except that one time back in Rivendell, and
there he had been very likely under the influence of the very thing
that now tried to get Legolas to kill him.

Whatever had urged his master to this step, Legolas knew that
Aragorn had bound himself as uncompromisingly as if he had sworn an
oath to the Valar. And he would keep it.

The thought filled him with warmth and gratitude. Again he recalled
the vivid images of the last time they had made love. Aragorn's
open face, his joy at his partner's touches, the grief in the
Adan's eyes when what they did could not bring his flesh to
hardness. His plea to Legolas to ignore that fact and to go on
anyway.

Then he envisioned the image changing. Recalling the vision of last
night, he saw his knife flicking over the beloved throat, the grey
eyes widening in sudden pain and betrayal, then going dull, blood
covering the well known, familiar features... the flushed skin
greying in death...

He choked at the sudden pain that filled him. Bile rose in his
throat and he had to fight down  his churning stomach.  Weakened,
he thought further of the Hobbits, so trusting, who had never done
him anything but good – and forced himself to imagine the
treacherous knife, wielded by his own hands, slaughtering the ones
who trusted him. 

This time, the bile and upheaval of his stomach was nearly too
much, and it took all his strength to fight it down. Did he really
want to do this? Did he want to darken his hands with their blood?
Breaking his oath and forsaking all then honor he ever had
possessed just for a vague promise of a treacherous piece of
jewelry?

No. He could no more kill Estel, than he could cut out his own
heart. He would rather die than do that, as long as there was any
other way left for the two of them. He would *die* for this man, in
spite of everything; he could no more kill him than he could kill
his own siblings. And even less he could kill the ones who trusted
him and had shown him nothing but friendliness. 

And even further – given he forced himself to do that, anyway, and
given he succeeded in this quest – what then? Did he really want to
throw that burden on his father? Did he really wish to force him to
take the Ring, to forsake his immortal feá and command it to
darkness, become worse and lower than their hated enemies, just on
the mere chance to free their people – an unsure chance, because
the rest of Middle Earth would burn and fall, and in the end Sauron
might still  regain his Ring. And even if Sauron was destroyed,
would that not mean that he then only would be replaced by him who
had once been Thranduil?

For if Legolas took the ring and brought it there, there was no
going back. Thranduil would have no choice but to take the ring.
And he would be further burdened with the knowledge that to force
that choice on him, his only remaining son had forsaken his own
honor, broken every oath he had ever sworn, and darkened his hands
with the blood of innocents. To do this to his father, Legolas
would first have to condemn himself as well.

Did he really want to do this to his father?

In his mind's eye he recalled his father's face, that first time
when Estel had visited Mirkwood and taken Legolas along. 

// / He saw them again, both walking into the big round frontyard
before his father's doors, escorted by a group of guards who were
all baffled by his presence. Word had spread quickly and from the
huts and flets everywhere people gathered to watch. Never before
had any of the hostages come back. There was much wonder and
whispering, especially because he came in the company of an Adan.
And there, finally, at the entrance of the cave palace, he was -
Thranduil, summoned by runners and the general rumor raised by the
two travelers' arrival, disbelieving and irritated enough to come
out and greet them himself(13).

Legolas could see his face, that beloved, well-known face he had
not seen for years, transform in utter surprise and disbelieving
joy. Could see his father's lips form his name, tonelessly – then
the king gave up all dignity, and in the very next moment Legolas
felt himself embraced in strong arms and a hug strong enough that
it pressed all breath from him. It took long moments for his father
to bring himself enough under control again to draw back and hold
him off a bit. “Legolas!-” he asked, “How? How is this possible?”

Legolas was all too aware of Estel, standing half behind him,
grinning, all too pleased with himself. He was not sure if his
companion was fully aware of the danger he was in and he knew that
he had to act quickly if he was to save the beloved fool's life –
and by default his own. 

He went down on one knee before his king, to present Aragorn to
him, and saw the face of his father darken in sudden
understanding.../ //

Legolas shook himself out of the memories. It had taken all his
skill and every ounce of persuasiveness he possessed to convince
Thranduil to not only let Aragorn live but also to later let the
two of them go again; and he recalled all too well the mix of pain
and sorrow on his father's face as he realized that Legolas was not
miraculously free, but bound to an *Adan*, a mortal, of all people,
and that he could not keep them there. Still, Aragorn had conducted
himself admirably and had managed to gain if not Thranduil's
approval, at least his reluctant respect and trust. And he had
promised to return with Legolas, and had kept that promise, as
often as they had been capable of doing so. Each time had been both
bittersweet and wondrous, mixing pain with joy. Now, though...

If Legolas really took the ring and brought it home, he imagined
that this time his welcome would be quite different.

*He saw himself, dragging his dying body into the round frontyard,
grimly holding on to his waning strength to take these last few
steps. Thranduil was there again, summoned by the news, awaiting
him. He could see his father's concerned, shocked and still joyful,
disbelieving face at seeing him again. He could see himself,
kneeling and holding out the Ring to his father. Could see Thanduil
going pale and recoiling from him in sudden realization, horror and
despair transforming his face, heard the beloved voice ask, nearly
tonelessly: 'what have you done?!' -- and then, the face of his
father changed again, grew hard, grim and determined. He took the
Ring and rose. Putting it on his finger, he opened himself to its
power, claiming it, knowingly dooming himself, since bringing it,
Legolas had left him no other choice. And while Legolas watched, he
could see the strong glow of his father's very feá darken, changing
into something terrible, could see the fierce, noble, gentle,
formidable man he had grown up to admire and love twist and die
before his very eyes, changed into an abomination -- *

Legolas gasped. This time the upheaval of his innards *did*
overwhelm him and he dropped forward to his knees, being violently
sick. 

The cramps lasted only a moment – he had not eaten anything, after
all, and his stomach was empty anyway. Shaking, shivering
desperately, he waited a few moments for the cramps to cease and
for his insides to calm down. Finally, he shook his head,
forcefully banishing the images from his mind. 

He still trembled. The thought of his father, forsaking all that
had been good in him to become something along the lines of
*Elrond*, was just too much. That would be much too high a price to
pay, even for the prospect of revenge and freedom for their people.

*No. He could not do that.*

Shivering, shaking, he brought his stomach back under control and
rose, his face determined.

Whatever happened, he would see this quest to the end, and he would
serve Estel until Aragorn fulfilled his destiny and hopefully truly
became king. 

Then he would call in the man's promise. And if Estel then broke
his word, there was still time enough to kill him.

But Legolas did not think the man would do that. As a rule, Aragorn
was a man of his word, and aside from that one time in Rivendell,
he had always kept it.

It was one of the reasons why Legolas still loved him.

Decision made, Legolas calmed himself. Feeling as if a great burden
had been lifted from his shoulders, he turned back in the direction
of the Fellowship. It was time to report to the company what he had
found.


____________ o _______________


Aragorn worked wordlessly through the deep snow, burrowing with all
his strength, pressing forward, broadening the way and pushing the
thick, cold, wet mass to the side and out of their way.  It was
hard, trying work. At some places, the snow was breast-high, and
while Boromir walked before him, parting the dense, white mass with
great, swimming movements and taking the harder task, even walking
behind him Aragorn soon found himself soon drenched in sweat and
breathing hard. His hands, unlike Boromir's without protecting
gloves, burned and hurt from the cold, and his clothes soon became
uncomfortably dank. Grimly, he concluded that in the wet clothes
freezing would be a real danger for the Fellowship, even if they
made it down the mountain and to the walls of Moria before
Nightfall. With the Hobbits in tow, though, that was rather
unlikely.

The man of Gondor walked silently before him. Boromir had made
another envious remark when Legolas had vanished lightly round the
turn the two  men were now toiling so hard to reach, but when
Aragorn did not react, the Gondorian had ceased all further
attempts at conversation. And truly, the work was arduous, and they
had hardly any breath to spare. Still, the face of the Gondorian,
whenever he paused to look around, was sour and drawn, and he
attacked the snow before him a little too fiercely. He was probably
well aware of the simmering anger of his companion.

Both men were all too aware of the palpable tension between them. 

But they were also still in plain sight of the rest of the
Fellowship, and there was no way Aragorn would seek a confrontation
where the Hobbits and Gandalf could see them. So he worked on,
seething, grimly laboring onwards to the bend that was still before
them. 

It took them nearly half an hour to reach that point, and another
fifteen minutes to get around it and out of the sight of the others
of the Fellowship. Behind the bend, the snow was more than head-
high and surrounded them like a wall; pushing through it for
another mile would be an excruciating task, and the mere prospect
of having to do so was disheartening. 

But the question of if and how they could escape through that
barrier was not the foremost thing on Aragorn's mind  right now. 

As soon as he was sure that they were out of sight and earshot of
the Fellowship, Aragorn rounded on Boromir.

“What did you mean,” he demanded angrily, glaring at the sour face
of the other man, “with that remark you made to Legolas?!”

Boromir scowled. He squared his shoulders and pursed his lips.

“What do you mean?” he said, “I merely observed that he was
probably less suited to assist in this work that he might be for
other ...pastimes.”

Aragorn balled his fists, but stopped himself at the last moment.
*It would not do to drive his fists in the other man's smirking
face. As tempting as that was, it would solve nothing.* Forcing
himself to remain calm, he said harshly and quietly: “I never gave
you leave to harass him. If you insist on doing so, the bargain is
off! And if you have anything to complain about, I suggest you take
it up with me!”

Boromir actually found himself tempted to take a step back. He was
very aware that the man before him looked ready to fight, and
readied his stance to prepare for the attack.

But he was not about to just cow down. It was time to get some
answers!

“Is he so weak, then, that he cannot stand up for himself even
against some unfriendly words, and you have to defend him?” he
sneered. “Does he need you to protect him at every turn?”

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. “Whatever gave you the impression he was
weak?!” he asked. “He nearly matches me in strength, and very
likely that applies also to you. Except that he is much, much
faster.”

He straightened and shrugged. “I deem he would have been of great
help to us in this feat here if you had not been so stupid as to
decline his help. We might have reached this point much sooner.”

Boromir snorted sceptically. “Then why did you send him off in the
first place?” he demanded.

Aragorn shrugged. “I send him ahead to scout because I wanted to
have words with you,” he said, “and also because I deemed he could
use some time alone. Not to mention that you did not seem eager to
accept his help anyway.”

Then he took a step forward. “So tell me! What is it that you think
gives you the right to harass him? I don't recall I ever gave you
leave for that, or that he has ever given you any reason either!
What ails you?”

Boromir just scowled at him. “Why?” he challenged. “If your little
elf is as strong as you claim, then why doesn't he defend himself?
Why does he need you to protect him?”

Aragorn felt the strong compulsion to just flatten the other man
and be done with it. But he was very aware that this would serve
nothing, and worse, in his current mood it might end in bloodshed.
So, instead, he willingly reined his temper in and retorted icily
and sharply:

“Because, Boromir, at the moment Legolas is somewhat confused
whether he is *allowed* to do so. I have given him leave to defend
himself against an open attack, but he is unsure if that applies to
mere insults and demeaning remarks as well. In fact, due to the
bargain we made, he is treating you in part as he would me. I will
be happy to tell him that he is free to retaliate against your
harassment, be it in body or in words, and as soon as I have done
so I advise you to curb your tongue. Because I assure you it would
be an inconvenience to have to treat you for a broken jaw.”

Boromir scowled again. “Oh? And who would give me that? You?” he
challenged.

Aragorn smiled grimly. “Me? No, I would be the one who added the
black eye and broken nose to it,” he said. “For as soon as I have
given him leave to do so, you will find that Legolas is quite
capable of defending himself.”

Boromir didn't budge. He narrowed his eyes. “Is that the reason why
he never fights back against you?” he challenged, “Why he even is
even willing to take your abuse?”

Aragorn flinched. He froze, then he took a step back. “What do
you--” he began, then he recalled how the Gondorian had come across
him and Legolas a few days ago. He took a deep breath.

“Actually, yes,” he said bitterly. “Legolas is bound by oath to
defer to me. And he is, by law of Rivendell, my slave.”

He bowed his head.  

“Not only is he bound by that accursed oath – which means that
should I die, so would he; that part is bad enough. But even if he
wanted to fight back, he would not dare for fear of endangering his
people. Of course, as far as I am concerned, I would  never hold
their fate against him, nor use them to enforce his obedience. He
knows this; at least I hope he does! But others might, if they'd
learned of his actions. What part of the explanation you were given
of his situation escaped you?” 

Boromir hesitated. “He was ready enough to attack the Dwarf the
other day...” he observed, irritated. “I hardly see...”

Aragorn made a face. 

“The Dwarf threatened his family and his people,” he said angrily.
“Didn't you listen? That is exactly what it would take to goad
Legolas to attack, in spite of the possible repercussions. He does
not fear anything for himself. Whatever gave you the  impression he
was less than able to defend himself?”

Boromir was puzzled. He simply did not understand this man, or his
relationship to the Elf.

“And what about that punishment?” he demanded, “when I came across
you?”

Aragorn actually looked away. “He disobeyed me,” he said quietly,
“and also I fear I was not entirely myself. And that is all I will
say to you about this. Leave it at that.”

He looked back at the other man, face drawn. “In any case, the
reason why I agreed to that bargain was because I wanted to ensure
that if anything happened to me, Legolas would still have a chance
to live. Because if I died, three weeks from now, Legolas would be
of  no help to anyone anymore, and too weak to go on. His only
chance would be if there was another man to feed the spell. To
ensure this I had counted on you. Did I judge incorrectly?” 

He took a deep breath. “What shall it be, Boromir? Do I need to
take the bargain back, or will you behave yourself from now on?
Because the last thing I want for Legolas is you hurting him--”

He stopped. Boromir could have sworn he had been about to say
another thing, something in the lines of *'you hurting him too'*. 

He was still puzzled at the Ranger's behavior and body language.
Before he had a chance to utter an reply, though,   their face-off
suddenly was interrupted by a clear, familiar voice, somewhat
muffled, coming  from the wall of snow before them.

*“My Lord?”*

Aragorn flinched. He turned. “Legolas?” he shouted.

The voice answered, now much closer and louder.

“I'm here, My Lord. How far have you come?”

They heard some burrowing noises on the other  side, then the noise
ceased. A few minutes later, Legolas appeared above them, easily
standing on the snow and looking down. His face wore an irritating
little smile.

“I see, My Lord, you have performed a great feat while I was gone.
You nearly burrowed through the whole mountain-slope  here!”

Aragorn looked up to him askance, raising a brow at his remark. He
quickly took in his Elf's posture and expression, the light tone of
his voice. He could tell that something was amiss; apparently,
something was still eating at Legolas, but the Elf tried to hide it
by playing light.

Well, that made two of them. For the moment, he decided to just let
it go. There was no way he would try to find out what troubled his
Elf in front of Boromir. He just hoped Legolas had not heard their
conversation. 

“So,” he challenged instead, “have you found the sun?”

Legolas smirked down at him. “No, My Lord,” he said. “I have not
brought the Sun. She is walking in the blue fields of the South,
and a little wreath of snow on this Redhorn hillock troubles her
not at all(14). But I can offer you a gleam of hope for those who
are doomed to go on feet; for the wall you see before you, that you
have despaired to brave, is just a few feet deep, not much wider
than a wall, and on the other side, the snow suddenly grows less
and is much easier to overcome. So, do not despair; the greatest
part of your toil  is done and just a little left.”

Aragorn cocked his head. “Can you tell us then, oh walker-on-snow,
how far these poor men have to toil on until we may breach the wall
you describe?”

Legolas laughed – a breathless laugh, not too convincing, Aragorn
thought – and turned. “I will do better, My Lord,” he replied over
his shoulder, “I'll show you!”

And he vanished. Boromir looked at Aragorn, drawing his brows down. 

“What was that?” he asked.

Aragorn looked back at him and shrugged. “Did you never met a
cheerful Woodelf before ?” he asked mildly, then turned around to
the wall of snow. “Well, if we are to break through that, we'd
better start, hadn't we?”

At the same time, they could hear the burrowing noises on the other
side return, and quickly, the two men joined the work from their
side.

Soon, they saw Legolas' hands breaking through. Boromir gave a
relieved sigh, just glad that they had finally made it. But Aragorn
had other plans. In a  sudden move, he grabbed the hands of the Elf
and pulled him through the remaining snow to Legolas' surprised
yelp, then pushed him to the ground and straddled him.

Grabbing a handful of snow and rubbing it into his companion's
face, he exclaimed: “I have been waiting to do that the whole day!
What was that remark about those who are doomed to walk on foot?”

To his dismay he felt Legolas instantly freezing under him. Instead
of wriggling and struggling against him, as Aragorn had hoped,
Legolas tensed up and Aragorn could see fear and dismay flashing
through his eyes, together with a shadow he could not discern; he
got the feeling of imminent danger. Momentarily stopping and
freezing himself, he quickly shook his head. “Oh, for Eru's sake,”
he hissed, bringing his mouth close to one pointed ear, “I am just
joking! Can't you tell?”

In the very next moment he found himself on his back and straddled.
“In that case, My Lord,” Legolas cried a little too cheerfully, “I
think you need this wash-up more urgently than I,” and he proceeded
to rub snow into the face of a sputtering and wriggling Aragorn.

Boromir watched them for a few moments, baffled at their antics. He
did not understand what had just happened. What was going on
between these two?

After a moment, though, he abandoned his musing and joined in the
kerfuffle. He was not completely sure  if he intended to help
Aragorn or the Elf, but when he grabbed Legolas and tried to pull
him off the Ranger, he found himself suddenly pulled forward and
thrown over the Elf's shoulder. He landed in the snow, bereft of
all leverage, sputtering, trying to figure out what had just
happened – only to find himself straddled by an seemingly enraged
Elf who rubbed snow in his face to Aragorn's delighted laughter. He
found himself wriggling and yelping,  trying to avoid the cold,
burning mass without success. He was still trying to break free
when suddenly the fragile walls of the snowy passage they had made,
and the remaining arch of snow on top, descended on them and buried
them in a wet, white mass.

It took them only seconds to burrow free and look at the debacle.

After a moment of stunned silence, Boromir snorted. “So, I guess we
have to toil through that a second time,” he stated dryly. “We
better get started then.”

And he bowed down to do just that. After a few moments he was
joined by the Elf and Ranger, now working eagerly and without
further antics.

It took them only a few minutes to clear the passage together, much
less time than the two men would have needed had they worked alone.
Finished, they could finally see what Legolas had meant: on the
other side, the snow was considerately less deep and not an
obstacle at all.

Boromir sighed. He turned to his companions. “So,” he said, “I
guess we go and get the others then.”

Legolas nodded at him and ran ahead, and Aragorn sighed and turned
back to Boromir. He raised a brow.

“Didn't you say something earlier today about flimsy Elves?” he
asked dryly.

Boromir frowned. But he had no opportunity to reply, for Aragorn
had turned already and slowly followed Legolas up the slope.

Boromir followed slowly. He had much to think about.


____________ o ___________


-- End of Chapter VII c--

-- To be continued in CHAPTER VIId - PART IV - “Of Wargs And
Wizards”


Notes:

 (1) I owe this scene, and some of the arguments provided therein,
mainly to my reviewer Randy, who suggested that if Elrond had asked
for Legolas to attend at that last yen ceremony and to be handed
over, Thranduil would have planned to fight even to the death of
all their people rather than handing over his last remaining son.
Randy also provided some of the arguments Legolas uses here  to
talk his father out of this collective suicide, namely the one
about the experienced ruler. Thank you!

 (2) Sindarin names: Laeghador – Keen Thrower of Spears. Mitharas -
Grey Deer. Belldoron - Strong Oak. (OC Names).

 (3) All of this is completely made up by me. Tolkien gives no
information about the origins of the house of Oropher, except that
Oropher was Sindar, the father of Thranduil and king before him
(J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales (edited by Christopher Tolkien),
Allen & Uwin 1980, Harper Collins Paperback Edition 1998, PP.
333ff). So Oropher must have been the founder of the Elven kingdom
of Greenwood the Great at the beginning of the Second Age, and we
may safely assume that he was a survivor of Doriath and likely had
belonged to the late Sindar king Elu Thingol's court. We have no
information about his wife, though, or about Thranduil's wife
(Legolas' mother), nor any evidence for kinship between him and the
royal house of the Sindar (nor do we know anything about the
customs of the Silvain Elves).



However, Celeborn calls Legolas 'kindred' when he meets him in
Lothlorien in LOTR p. 346, and while he could have spoken
generally, I choose to go with the interpretation that he indeed
meant blood kin. Celeborn's ancestry as grandson of Elmo is given
in UT pp. 302f. If Oropher was indeed from Elmo's line, and thus
part of the royal house of the Sindar, this could have given his
claim to kingship in Greenwood some added foundation. The idea that
Elven kingship normally does not run in the female line was
borrowed from the great story  at
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1832074/1/ : 'The Wisdom of Isildur' by
Marnie, whose Celeborn-stories are canonically  well founded (well,
if there is clear  'canon' in this case, considered how often
Tolkien rewrote the story of Celeborn and Galadriel) - and
absolutely to die for!

 (4) ion – Sindarin: son 

 (5) Yen – Sindarin: the Elven year, counting 144 human years. In
this story, Mirkwood had to give hostages to Rivendell and
Lothlorien every yen.

 (6) That last image was suggested by my wonderful beta, the
amazing Surreysmum. Thank you!

 (7) 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 284. In the following
text, passages and sentences lifted of the book will be referenced
like this: LOTR, 1954-55, 1995, P. xxx. Please bear with me!

 (8) This sentence again directly lifted from LOTR, 1954-55, 1995,
Page 284.

 (9) Legolas' words and Gandalf's reply are again directly lifted
from LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, P. 284.  However, I completely changed
the context, since in the book the exchange is meant to show the
Elf as the only member of the fellowship untroubled by the snow.
Please bear with me!

(10) This sentence  and the paragraph  before directly lifted from
LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, P. 284. 

(11) This passage is adapted and changed from the original context
from the scene in the book: LOTR, 1954-1955, 1995, P. 284. I
changed the context of the scene completely to suit my purposes.
Also, since this fic is based mainly on movieverse, and we have
seen Legolas wearing boots on screen, in this fic he wears them,
too.

(12) The distance as well as the estimation how far Legolas could
go alone in a day are made in reference of the maps in the “Atlas
of Middle Earth, revised Edition” by Karen Wynn Fonstad, Boston
1991, translated to German by Hans. J. Schütz, Stuttgart 1994. I
refer to the pages 80/81 (giving the land east and west of the
Misty Mountains) and to the pages 172/ 173 that give the miles the
three hunters made per day in Rohan; the first day, they made fifty
miles, and there Legolas was slowed down by the company of Aragorn
and Gimli. Special thanks go to Randy, with whom I discussed the
possibility of Legolas' success and who pointed me at the example
of the Three Hunter's feat in Rohan. Thank you, and yes, I still
intend to write that grim AU-version of this story you are waiting
for! But not in this tale.

(13) The image of the round 'frontyard' before the entrance doors
to Tranduil's halls is directly taken from the drawing in J.R.R.
Tolkien, “The Hobbit”, Allen&Unwin, 1937, Unwin Paperback Edition
1979, pages 166; the drawing differs slightly from the description
in the text, page 167, but I chose to go with the picture, here.
The huts and flets  are mentioned in the same book, page 162.

(14) This passage is again adapted from the book: LOTR, 1954-1955,
1995, Page 285. I changed the original wording and, of course, the
context, though. In the book, Legolas runs back to the waiting
Fellowship and says his famous sentence to Gandalf. The original
reads:  “'Well,' Legolas cried as he ran up, 'I have not brought
the Sun. She is walking in the blue fields of the South, and a
little wreath of snow on this Redhorn hillock troubles her not at
all. But I have brought back a gleam of good hope for those who are
doomed to go on feet. There is the greatest wind-drift of all, just
beyond the turn, and there our Strong Men were almost buried. They
despaired, until I returned and told them that the drift was little
wider than a wall. And on the other side the snow suddenly grows
less, while further down it is no more than a white coverlet to
cool a hobbit's toes.'”