Fic: Night Becomes You Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas Author: Peaceangel Email: Earthdanser@verizon.net Feedback is always a gift for which I am grateful. Un-Bated, so thanks for your indulgence. Disclaimer: Not mine, none of them, …only in my dreams. Rating: NC-17 The company trudged up the sloping leaf strewn ground, grateful for the shade of the tall trees in the noonday sun. They were weary, both in mind and spirit. Two full months had passed and still the way to Mordor was considerably longer before them then was the distance to Rivendell at their backs. Aragorn signaled the Fellowship to stop. “Is it time for lunch?” inquired one of the Hobbits. “We will take some rest, I think,” stated the Ranger. The shire folk wasted no time to set upon their meal preparations. Gimli threw himself into a pile of leaves without complaint and sighed heavily. “Is this wise?” asked the Gondorian with narrowed eyes cast upward into the trees. Their knurled branches looked like long fingered hands stretched over the unsuspecting Fellowship. Nervousness tripped down his spine, as it had on and off since the start of this ill begotten adventure. Aragorn placed his pack on the ground and sighed wearily. Boromir rarely missed an opportunity to question him on their course of action, be it so simple a thing as which bush to piss behind. Before the Ranger could respond to the son of Denethor, a honeyed voice drifted to them on the softness of the breeze. “Peace, Son of Gondor, this forest is old but not altogether unfriendly.” Unearthly sapphire eyes traveled up to the loamy green canopy above. “The trees speak of a longing for our company. We bring a light, they say, that has been sorely missed. Tis strange.” The Archer’s voice held a special awe and his telescopic gaze grew distant as he strained to listen to the songs only a Wood Elf could hear. What light did the ancient arboreal mind of the forest perceive when the very Heart of Shadow traveled with them in the keeping of a Hobbit? Boromir turned incredulous eyes upon the alien beauty of the Prince. The Gondorian’s brief visit with the elves of Imladris was not sufficient to open the Man’s mind to the twilight realms so frequently walked by the Fair Folk. And if the expression of Elvish pre-eminence borne by the stoic inhabitants of Rivendell failed to impress him, Boromir’s human mind could not even begin to wrap around the nuances of the ephemeral creature that now stood poised before him. This Elf was Sindar. It was said they carried magic and walked a fine line, delicately balanced as it were, with one foot in the physical world and one in the etheric. Such insubstantial stuff made Boromir uneasy. Still the son of Denethor studied the Elf’s misty expression with interest. His brother Faramir was a great appreciator of the finer things in life. He imagined his brother’s reaction to this Elf. The beauty of the heavenly face, made sharp by the flawless confluence of planes and angles seen only in the greatest and most ancient works of art, softened as the Archer listened. His starry blue eyes reminded Boromir of the fabled Mists of Valinor that were said to be as ambrosia to the souls of valiant departed warriors that traveled heavenward. But as he fell deeper into the sparkling ocean depths, Boromir wondered if the fable didn’t also warn of souls who lost their way, seduced by a boundless beauty beyond their ken. Behind them, the hobbits talked gaily, somehow immune to the darkness around them. Frodo’s weak voice carried to the Gondorian’s ears as he refused Sam’s offer for a second plate of tomatoes. Once again, the foolishness of their mission crashed upon his senses like cold water. Boromir shook his head as if to shake loose of the momentary trance that had gripped him. He tore his eyes away from the Elf, aware suddenly of the other man in their company and of the Dúnadan’s observant gaze upon him. Anger and irritation boiled up within him yet again. He was at war with himself. He could not allow himself to become so easily seduced. The Archer was as deceptively innocent as the very Ring, which hung about the halfling’s neck. Never trust an elf. Wood Elves in particular tended to keep their secrets and this one, for some misguided reason, was loyal to the Ranger. Suspicion hardened the slack jawed expression of the Steward’s son into one of challenge. Seeing the storm clouds gather in the soldier’s glare, Aragorn insinuated himself between the two before whatever sharp retort Boromir had intended would fly from his mouth. The Ranger could not afford to let the company’s mood be dragged down by yet another confrontation. Irritation and acidic commentary had marked too many of their exchanges of late. “Thank you, Legolas. I would feel better, Mellon, if you would scan our perimeter? Your elf eyes are best suited to the task.” Clarity had returned to the Elf’s expression and Legolas took his now sharply heated gaze off the Gondorian. The soldier’s obvious disrespect was plain on the expression of his bearded face. The Prince let his displeasure flicker only briefly over the Ranger for daring to intervene when the honor of the First Born was once again about to be questioned by a mortal. “As you wish,” responded the Prince in a barely audible tone. He would not publicly challenge the Aden who was their captain on this mission. His pointed chin tipped higher and the Elf took to the trees in a single graceful arc. The Gondorian watched the lithe form acrobatically balance on the slender branches, climbing ever skyward. Boromir’s clenched jaw quivered and a begrudging smirk played upon his mouth. He could not but admire the illusory strength possessed by those shapely long limbs. He had thought all the elves to be but so much fluff. Within moments the Elf was completely obscured among the foliage, reminding Boromir of a great predatory cat. Although Boromir’s eyes had trouble picking out the lithesome form among the leaves he had no doubt that the Elf could see him perfectly well. The thought irritated him and he pushed his broad chest out a little more. Why should he be so put out by one elf was a mystery to him. And yet… This Elf was different from his cool tempered kin of Rivendell. The flaxen haired beauty had emotions. There was passion beneath the haunting alien eyes. Boromir’s eyes vigorously searched the treetops with a certain gleam. Heat seemed to be rising from the damp earth and Boromir wiped at his brow, as his thoughts stumbled over themselves. In times past, the Elf Prince would have been considered a fair prize indeed. Spoils of war. Perhaps such times would come again when great men like Boromir would receive their due. The Ranger next to him stirred impatiently, drawing the Son of Gondor out of his reverie. Aragorn did not look well pleased. “The hobbits need to rest, Boromir,” stated the Dúnadan, who had apparently decided to stay upon safer subject matter. “Why do you not do the same? We have a long way to go before nightfall.” Boromir frowned. The Evenstar hung about the Man’s throat yet by his manner the Ranger seemed to issue a warning. Boromir was annoyed but unimpressed. Gondor needed no King. This Ranger of the North would soon realize that fact. Boromir would bide his time. Soon enough their path would lead them to the White City. And he would enter past the soaring white gates with a mighty gift for Denethor. His prize, he decided with sudden clarity, he’d claim on the way. The two men stared at each other, silently measuring one another. “Do you not plan to look for shelter?” asked the Gondorian, before the Ranger could turn away. “Despite what the elf says on the matter, I do not like the looks of these trees.” Aragorn gritted his teeth. The Man was starting to get on his nerves. Aragorn realized it was his turn to be rescued before he snapped out some comment. It would only give the Gondorian the opening he was looking for to engage in another open debate. By now the Elf would have flattened the Gondorian. Now it was Aragorn who felt his fist clench in irritation. “Boromir,” Gandalf called from some distance away, “I would appreciate your assistance in setting these traps. If our luck holds we will have fowl for dinner.” Aragorn took the opportunity to slip away. He walked aimlessly for a short time, his tracker’s eyes and ears telling him they were unobserved and for the time being out of danger. Pausing by the stump of an old tree he reached into his pocket and with a tired sigh pulled out his pipe. The touch of a cool hand upon the back of his neck made him drop the thing from his mouth, spilling the pipe weed onto the leafy ground, as he whirled with his sword in his hand. The crystal sound of Elvish laughter reached his ears and stayed his hand. He frowned at the sight of the Elf, hanging upside down from the branch above the Ranger’s head. Aragorn sighed and wavered for a moment, captivated by the shining tresses that swayed enticingly in the dazzling sunshine. The Elf smiled sweetly at the Man’s slightly abashed look. Aragorn scowled and quickly hid the flustered moment by scanning for his dropped pipe. The twins always said Legolas was a bit of a tease. The Ranger stooped, with an oath on his lips, to pick up the pipe and precious bits of longbottom leaf as the Prince leapt with ease from the high tree limb to land in front of the Dúnadan. “I take it, Prince, that your antics are proof that we are in no immediate danger of attack?” said the Man, in a tone of long suffering as he patted the loose leaves back into his pipe. He was bantering, of course, with the Elf that he’d come to love as dearly as his own family. Legolas was young by Elvish standards and could be by turns mirthful and at other times almost mercurial in his ire. Elladan and Elrohir were the only other elves known to Aragorn to be as passionate and playful. Of course, they were somewhat of a kind for the three had grown up together. Being a Man, even one of Numinorien blood, Aragorn had grown rather quickly into what seemed like an austere and all too serious adulthood, while his recalcitrant immortal brothers still maintained aspects of their adolescent fire. He knew his ‘transformation’ was something of a mystery to the twins and probably to the Elf who now accompanied him on this dangerous journey. Aragorn puffed on his pipe as his mind meandered over the years that had passed, almost in the blink of an eye, and how he and the son of Thranduil came to be friends. Even as a small boy he had been instantly enchanted by the fair haired Elf who visited from Mirkwood. The Forest of Terror was even then overgrown by Shadow and Legolas often seemed so sad upon his arrival to Rivendell. Aragorn recalled with a smirk how the twins wasted no time in helping their fair cousin forget his woes for a time. While a child among his foster family, Aragorn had stumbled upon many private moments and witnessed many ‘games’ between the Perehdril and the fair Prince. All by ‘accident,’ of course, he thought with a private smile. And an unbidden memory of Elrond’s mortified face swam suddenly before the Man’s eyes, as he recalled being caught in one such incident of spying. His foster father thought very poorly of his brothers’ uncultivated actions and lectured endlessly on the antics of the three Elflings and their poor example for a young adolescent human. The young boy however felt his father’s stern disciplinary actions where unjustified. The vision of three beautiful Elves enjoying natures bounties had been illuminating. The pleasant memories left him feeling a little tingly. Aragon inhaled deeply from his pipe with a satisfied sigh and was brought suddenly back to the present with a guilty jolt. He watched the blond Elf gracefully sit on the ground at his feet and Aragorn tried not to look lustfully over the seated form and give away the course of his wayward thoughts. Despite his unrepentant involvement with the twins, the Prince had somehow managed to retain a certain innocence that confused Aragorn and kept the Man off balance. Aragorn couldn’t help but smile slightly around the reed in his mouth when the object of his contemplations looked up at him with wide blue eyes. The mirth in the crystalline depths was obvious and, not for the first time, Aragorn wondered if Legolas could read his mind. The Elf patted the ground next to him expectantly with only a hint of a pout on rosy hued lips. It was a perfectly honed manipulation and one that usually worked even on a man of his advanced age. Aragorn tried to give the Elf a stern look, reminding him that these were serious times, but then slowly gave in and sat with his back to the tree next to the Archer. Legolas smiled in satisfaction. Aragorn puffed silently for a time, feeling his aching limbs slowly relax in the afternoon sun. The heat on his shoulders felt very good and he realized what a luxury it had become to simply rest. It was several peaceful moments later when he realized the Elf was humming pleasantly to himself as he brought out his arrows and worked on them one at a time. The song gently conspired with the fresh air and warm sun to relax the man completely. They sat in companionable silence as only those with long acquaintance could do. Aragorn opened his eyes, realizing he had dozed for a few moments and turned his head to study the long tapered fingers of his companion as they worked with almost blinding speed and precision. The white hands of the elf where smooth and unblemished despite the harsh tasks of their journey. How unlike his own leathery cracked knuckles and scarred flesh, thought Aragorn as he rested his hands upon his bent knees. Instantly, almost as if reading the thought, a powder white hand closed gently over the Ranger’s large brown one. Aragorn turned a questioning stare upon the Elf. There was no teasing in the sea foam gaze this time. Aragorn recognized the Elf’s gentle support in the gesture. The support of a friend. Aragorn smiled, and noted with some disdain that his heart tripped giddily at the soft touch. “You were about to fight with Boromir again, Mellon,” said the Man in a light tone, even as he rubbed the milky flesh of the hand whose fingers now entwined with his own. “Aye, and he would have had it coming if you had not interfered,” responded the Elf in a blithe tone that did not hide a certain surliness. “The Gondorian is meddlesome and insulting.” Aragorn smiled broadly now at the obvious pout on the Princely features. Legolas’s beauty was always thrown into sharp relief when the Elf was angry or being a ‘brat’ as the twins were want to call him. Aragorn continued to draw small circles on the Elf’s skin and ignored the familiar stirrings within his body when the Elf leaned against him with a contented sigh. There was nothing sexual in the touch. At least not for the Prince, as far as Aragorn could tell. Elladan and Elrohir had conveyed very early on in their acquaintance that the human in their care was off limits. Aragorn was certain this was not out of the goodness of their brotherly hearts. In no uncertain terms, the dictate came from the Lord of Imladris himself. Elrond would see to it that nothing should interfere with the Man’s destiny. What a pity, Aragorn thought with surprising savageness. The bitter taste of swallowed rebellion made his throat clench. He was startled when a blond head fell sleepily upon his shoulder. “I do not trust him, Aragorn,” came the Prince’s tired voice as if from a great distance. Legolas was, of course, speaking of the other human in their company. Aragorn smiled, and the age-old anger at Elrond and Arathorn was pushed once more deep inside him. He lifted his arm around the slim shoulders of the Prince and drew the supple body closer against him. “I know, Mellon. I do not trust him either. Rest now,” said the Man softly as he guided the blond head to his chest. Legolas nodded and snuggled around his human friend as they had so often done in Imladris, when the Man was but a youth. Memories washed through the elf’s mind of vigorous frolicking with those degenerate twins after which the four would land in a tangled heap upon the heather and sleep. Legolas had been protective of the boy child back in those days. Although it was inevitable that the curious youth would spy some stolen caresses, as the twins were incorrigible and persistent in their pursuit of carnal pleasure. They were so intent at making the fair skinned Prince blush beneath their ministrations. Bless them! It was always a bit of a wonder how the human child had managed to retain his supremely kind and gentle nature while growing up around those two hellions. Legolas eyes misted over as he slowly gave himself into reverie. He was tired. So very tired. And at Aragorn’s invitation, he would allow himself this small respite. The embrace signaled safety and protection: feelings which the Elf rarely indulged in, since the shadow had grown to engulf not only his home but almost all of Middle-earth. Only in Imladris could he ever truly relax. Even under Elrond’s pinched suspicious stares, he had found friendship with the twins and safety in Rivendell. And now, oddly enough, he found it here on the way to Mordor, in the arms of Elrond’s foster son. The boy he always sought to protect now offered his own strength. It was something of a wonder how humans changed so dramatically in so short a time. Yes, he thought hazily as sleep took him, Aragorn had grown into a fine man. He would one day make a fine King. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Night had descended and the Elf Prince yearned to be far from the distracting emotions of the company. He leapt into the trees and let their gentle swaying calm his own ignited anger. He detested how that Gondorian challenged Aragorn. He knew this was but one test of many that the human had to deal with on his own and Legolas had to remove himself so not to give in to the temptation to defend his friend. Aragorn was no longer a child and could well deal with the Steward’s son. Still, Boromir’s manner chafed and Legolas had to remove himself. In Thranduil’s court the man’s first such challenge would have been his last. Higher and higher he climbed, enjoying the long stretch of legs and arms. After a time of vigorous climbing, the tight muscles of pelvis and shoulders released and the burning sensation in his over exerted limbs became pleasant. Legolas pushed himself higher, opening his mouth to breathe in the cool night air. His anger finally spent, he slowed his pace and suddenly felt the warm embrace of the forest surround him like a blanket. He sighed. The trees sang a low song of welcome. He swung his leg over a thick tree limb and settled himself midway up on one of the tallest of the forest. Leaning his back against the bark, Legolas let his eyes close and he allowed himself to sink deeper into the song. It rolled through the leaves as a breeze ruffled the Elf’s long blond hair. He rested his head on the rough bark and began to hum. The song carried him ever deeper, lower, into a strong cadence that seemed to surround everything. It rocked him slightly as the beat took up residence in his heart. It played its way over his flesh in seductive tingles. The Elf sighed and began to sway his hips to the primal rhythm. How had he missed this before? It was so strong now and it beckoned him. Only in Mirkwood, in years past, could he lose himself to this deep primordial beat. It burned its way into his body and his blood began to boil. Trancelike, he began to free himself of the confines of his clothing. His skin needed the night air! With eyes still closed the Elf stood on the knurled branch and breathed in the drumming that filled his body from curling toes to the ends of his silver tresses. Hips swaying, arms drifting upward as if they were wings, the Elf moved to the silent music. His body undulated and rippled to the pulsing melody. He felt himself burst free from the boundaries of simple flesh. He felt expanded, spirit with a body that wanted to dance. It was dark and haunting but the bewitched Elf could not worry about that now. All Legolas wanted to do was to surrender to the song. It consumed him and his arms drifted above his head with the fluid grace of a swan. He gave himself to the dance. The trees around him sang in delight and the drunken melody seeped into all the souls in the forest. It was freeing, some unleashed to soar the heights of wonder and others to sink into deeper waters of desire. Down on the ground it was the Mage who noticed the change that came so rapidly over the forest. While the hobbits and the dwarf lounged around the fire, and the men still debated in forced whispers, Gandalf slowly climbed to his feet. His ice blue eyes peered into the darkness and with a frown looked up at the trees. Dark ominous shapes swayed over their heads as the wind moved the leafy branches back and forth. Gandalf suppressed a shiver and moved over to where the Ranger stood. The two men of the company stopped their bickering abruptly at the approach of the wizard. Gandalf motioned them to silence and in a quiet voice said, “Something is wrong. I sense a change in the wind.” Aragorn and Boromir exchanged worried glances and without further speech moved at once. Boromir went to stand protectively over the hobbits with hand firmly on his sword. Aragorn and Gandalf began to walk the perimeter of their encampment. “Where is Legolas?” asked the Ranger in an urgent whisper. “ I don’t see him,” said the Wizard, who still gazed intently at the woods around them. “What is it, Gandalf? What do you sense?” asked the Man, but his eyes bounced nervously around them and up at the trees scanning for the Elf. “A dark malice, an invitation…a door opening for good or ill…” said the Mage, mysteriously. “I can hear it on the wind. It’s …compelling.” Aragorn could swear he heard the Mage’s voice shake, and this did not reassure him. “Can’t you hear it?” Gandalf asked with an almost glassy expression misting over his eyes and a faint smile on his lips. Aragorn shook his head as he grasped the old man by the shoulder. “No, but if you can hear it so compellingly …” the Man began. “Then an Elf would be able to hear it much better,” finished Gandalf, shaking himself slightly. “It is very strong, Aragorn. For Legolas, I fear, it could be …overpowering.” The Wizard didn’t have to say any more. Aragorn moved with greater urgency, eyes now scanning fiercely over the trees for a quarry that could be practically invisible in these surroundings. He strained eyes and ears as his tracker’s instincts pulled him down a certain path. A lumbering body pushed itself almost thunderously through the foliage behind them distracting Aragorn from his hunt. The annoying voice of the Gondorian filled his ears with the soldier’s typical brashness. “What are you two doing out here?” the Gondorian demanded to know. Aragorn turned a molten steel gaze upon the man. “Stay with the hobbits, Boromir. Gandalf and I need to find Legolas. He may be in trouble out here.” Boromir bristled at the Ranger’s dismissive tone. He detected no danger. There were no signs of orc pursuit or other hostile creatures. As far as he could see, they were alone in this dank somewhat depressing forest. “The Elf in trouble?” he remarked with a bit of a smirk. Aragorn squared himself in front of the man, unable to tolerate his insufferable insubordinate attitude for one more minute. But a hand placed warningly on his arm stopped him. “Don’t Aragorn. The trees…or what now inhabits them is fed by your discord. They drink in strong emotion…” again the Mage had a far off misty quality to his voice. Boromir snorted. “You sound like an Elf,” but Boromir’s eyes now flickered nervously as well. “Where is our Princeling, anyway?” Before anger could take hold of him again, Aragorn turned on his heel and retraced his steps before Boromir’s arrival had distracted him from the scent. His quarry was one whose passage would normally be undetectable. But tonight, in the cool starless night, Aragorn found he could tell where the Elf had passed. Like a magnet, some invisible sense pulled him forward until the trail ended at a majestic tree, so tall that its top seemed to reach directly up to Valinor. “This is it Aragorn!” cried the old Mage. Gandalf pointed up above their heads at the dizzying peak. Aragorn at first didn’t see him. And then as if willing his eyes to find the golden trophy hidden among the trees sheltering leaves, the Ranger saw him. Boromir saw him too and gasped at the unexpected sight. The Elf stood naked upon the slender bow. Bathed in nothing but the moonlight, the Elf’s translucent skin seemed to glow with an inner fire. The three men watched, transfixed, as the willowy form of their companion performed an unimaginable dance of infinite grace and balance upon the swaying branches of the tree. Lost in his trance, the Prince spun on tiptoes, long legs somehow keeping him poised on bows that seemed barely steady enough to support the weight of a sparrow. Arms glided in slow sweeps and fingers danced as if symbols of great importance flew from their gyrations. Aragorn, recovering from his surprise, inhaled to call out to the Archer but a hand stopped him. Gandalf pierced him with a warning look. “He is enchanted by the trees, Aragorn. If you should startle him…” The Ranger nodded his understanding. “I’m going up after him,” he stated as he began to remove his long coat, lest it hinder his movements. The hated voice of Boromir now drifted over his shoulder. “Can you climb, Ranger? I am very good at climbing. I can go up for the Prince.” Aragorn glanced at the man next to him, something beyond the man’s words alerting him to a deeper threat. The Gondorian’s shining face was turned skyward and the lustful stare into the tree above could not be hidden from the revealing light of the moon. Gandalf’s hand seemed to burn through Aragorn’s clothing as it fell with a silent warning on his shoulder. “The night grows perilous,” whispered the Wizard. “The enchantment grows, soon it will overtake us all. You must hurry!” Aragorn nodded with clenched teeth and began to climb. “See to Frodo,” he shouted over his shoulder as he hauled himself up into the tree. The vines swayed and wiggled in delight at the sublime dancer who graced the tree with his beauty. The golden figure of the Elf was poetry in motion. Long fingered hands grasped tender branches and twirled delicate limbs in sinuous caress around green shoots. Sun kissed strands of hair showered over a pale shoulder as the dancer flung himself over thick branches and cat-like crawled into a hollow. The tree shivered with excitement at its new occupant. Wood elves were unknown to this forest but the tree knew it had been gifted with a great treasure. Possessively, the branches of the great tree curled around the little nest, gathering the Silvan closer. Several meters below another visitor struggled to hold on as the wind picked up force and the rough bark and branches seemed to snap at his fingers. The branches shook under his booted feet, threatening to topple him from the dizzying height. Stray bows whipped in the wind, slashing at his face and nearly poking an eye out in the process. Aragorn cursed under his breath. The wind howled and branches thrashed wildly around him. They ripped his clothes and snagged at his hair. He almost imagined the mind of this tree was conspiring to throw him to the ground, so intent did forces around him seem to keep him from progressing towards the Archer. Aragorn paused as the gale and the dangerously stabbing force of the branches around him almost dislodged him completely. He secured himself with one hand and his legs wrapped tightly around the trunk as he shielded his eyes with his other hand and peered into the darkness above him. It began to rain suddenly and cold drops pelted the leaves around him with a steadily increasing staccato beat. He could see nothing of the Elf. “Legolas!” he cried out, in desperation. A quick desperate look down told him the others had retreated to camp. He hoped they were alright, thinking of Frodo. The look on Boromir’s face had told him that the Gondorian was closer to crumbling than he had previously thought. Aragorn now worried for the safety of the Hobbit. Gandalf, at least, was aware of what they were up against and Gimli was loyal if not particularly perceptive. He feared this was some attempt by the Shadow to separate them and leave the Hobbit unprotected. Aragorn looked up again and began to climb, blindly, but determined none the less to find his companion. Some evil was at work here and it had ensnared the most pure and precious of their company in its clutches. He suddenly recalled the Archer’s earlier comments that the forest was glad for they had brought a light with them into it’s darkness. ”You are the light, Legolas,” he whispered under his breath against the driving rain that now drenched him completely and ran down his face. “I won’t leave here without you, my friend.” The tree seemed to heave against him as his words left his lips. The Man remained undaunted and continued in his perilous climb. Once he thought he heard a voice around him and looked down, startled, almost losing his footing entirely. The branch slipped from beneath his feet and his quick grasp on the vines above saved him from a terrible fall that would have surely ended his life. Swinging from the tree, Aragorn grunted as he slowly hefted himself up to the branches above his head. He clung for a few precious moments, gathering his wits and regaining his breath. He peered down into the darkness below, feeling certain something had moved beneath him. Only the jagged swaying branches moved to and fro in the wind. But Legolas was above him and so without further delay, heart pounding from fear and exhaustion, the Ranger continued his journey upward. Images danced before his mind’s eye, of Arwen, of the twins,…Lord Elrond’s austere looks which always seemed to lay such a burden on the Man in his youth. He thought of the Fellowship and all they had come to mean to each other in such a short time. He thought, as he climbed, of the gentle Archer who could take down a troll single handedly or fight Uruk hai with only his bow and arrows. Growing up, as Estel, he had looked upon the visiting royal Prince with awe. Such beauty was rare even among Elfkind, but the Prince had an allure that even Elrond seemed to fear. Did his foster father doubt his resolve to not stray from the promised hand of Arwen Undomiel? In those days Legolas had always seemed so like Arwen, soft and lovely…but the Archer, sweet natured as he was, was no delicate flower. Aragorn knew better. None the less, he worried for the Archer now. His bleeding hands grasped at the whipping branches that thinned above his head. It was getting harder and harder to find places to stand and not being an Elf, they began to bend beneath his weight. Gasping for breath, Aragorn caught sight, by some miracle, of a golden glimmer deep in the bower of entwined vines and bows. Careful to not lose his grip on the slippery foliage and topple from this far up in the ancient tree, he inched his way to the tiny enclosure, unsure if it would bear him up. Nestled within was the Elf, seemingly asleep. Aragorn took a deep breath and made the small leap to the thicket of branches and leaves. It swayed dizzyingly but held. Beneath him lay a golden vision, all aglow from moonlight and magic. The Elf Prince, more lovely than ever to the Man’s mind, lay sprawled before him. Befuddled, perhaps from enchantment or perhaps from exhaustion, Aragorn sat clumsily next to the supine figure and with trembling fingers slowly reached to touch the dewy skin on a perfectly shaped cheek. Before his fingers could quite take in the softness of the tender flesh beneath them, a growl issued harshly from a Human throat but two feet away. Aragorn gasped and reared back as Boromir’s drenched figure lunged at him from the swaying branches outside the tiny enclosure. Miraculously the bundled nest did not collapse beneath the added weight. Aragorn scrambled to protect himself from the charging Gondorian. Madness seemed to light the soldier’s eyes with an eerie flame. Boromir’s fingers dug into Aragorn’s throat and the Ranger was crushed beneath the other’s weight as he was brought to the floor of the swinging nest. Black spots danced before his eyes as his brain was deprived of needed oxygen. Suddenly the thick Man’s weight went slack above him, pinning him to the ground but no longer a force of murderous frenzy. Aragorn slowly pried the Man off of him and rolled Boromir to the side to see the Elf kneeling at a distance, the hilt of Boromir’s weapon bloody from where Legolas had hit him. The Elf wore that misty expression Aragorn had seen cross over the Wizard’s features earlier. “Legolas!” gasped the Ranger, as he blinked to clear the fuzziness from his own mind. He spared the unconscious Gondorian a brief look of disgust before turning his attention back to the wild creature before him. The Elf was not in his right mind, for he shrank away from his Human friend as Boromir’s sword dropped from his slack fingers. Legolas retreated as if Aragorn was some predator to be feared. The thought sent strange tendrils of desire sparking down Aragorn’s body, even as he tried again to shake the confusion from his thoughts. Legolas had no reason to fear him. Yet the Ranger’s body seemed to thrum with sudden energy as he slowly pulled free of the Gondorian’s tangled limbs and moved cautiously towards the slender Elf. “Legolas,” he said again, his voice thick and slow. “Don’t be afraid, …You know me…” But the Elf, whether out of fear or confusion, shrank further into the shadows of the leafy bower. “Come here Legolas,” said the Man. He tried for a cajoling tone but wondered at the slight command that was there also. Aragorn could not help but be distracted by the loveliness of the naked body before him. The Elf’s golden curtain of hair hung, unbraided and disheveled, nearly down to his waist and a gentle curve of hip peeked from beneath the ends of the long tresses as the figure crouched against the tree trunk. Aragorn’s eyes roamed glassily over the vision of his friend. Such loveliness, he thought disjointedly, it was torture to be denied such loveliness. Of it’s own accord his hand drifted up to the shrinking figure to caress the sweet cheek once more. The Elf’s breath seemed to catch as the touch grew bolder, and the Man’s hand trailed down the supple length of his throat to skim beneath the curtain of hair. Aragorn’s fingers tightened on the back of the Elf’s head and with steady strength drew the figure out of the shadows to him. The Elf’s eyes were indigo spheres, and the sultry lips were parted, the corners turned down in a slight frown. It was a look of adorable confusion, but Aragorn’s addled brain could detect a stray spark of desire in the fathomless depths as he pulled the unresisting being slowly towards him. They were both caught, he realized distantly, in some magically web, some enchantment. But he didn’t care. As his arms came around the now pliant body that melted against him, he honestly could say he didn’t care why or how this was happening. Thoughts of the Fellowship, of their journey, of Arwen, or Elrond all flew from his mind as he captured the beautiful face of Legolas Greenleaf between his hands and for the first time in their long acquaintance drew those lips to his own. It was a strange experience to be granted one’s hidden desire after so many years of neglecting it, almost to the point of denying its very existence. Like a drowning Man who is suddenly gifted with the cool fresh air again, Aragorn gulped it in, the sensations of that honeyed mouth opening to him for the first time. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of and it was nothing like he’d ever thought. Somehow that mouth, soft and pliant, beneath his own was more incredible than all his wildest sexual fantasies. His tongue plunged into the moist slick interior and his desire hit a new zenith to feel its counterpart dance back to greet him. Slender white hands clutched at his clothing pulling him closer with deceptive strength. Aragorn’s mind registered the soft moans that escaped the Elf who writhed in his arms in obvious desire and he heard himself growl in response. This was a part of him he rarely acknowledged. But the tiger had slipped free of its leash and there was no going backward. He pressed their bodies together as they knelt upon the knurled floor, and his hands roamed over the soft planes and curves that yielded to the growing frenzy of his touch. Growling again in mounting excitement Aragorn suddenly pushed the Elf to the floor and covered the quivering being with his own body. Legolas moaned loudly, and almost drew Aragorn from his intoxicated ardor enough to pause in doubt. But the Elf had not been protesting and the Man’s enflamed state of desire quickly took him back into the deep waters of sexual lust. He tore off the remainder of his cloths and parted the Elf’s white thighs in blunt urgency. Their eyes met in brief awareness of the magnitude of what was about to happen but just as quickly the desire swelled over them again. Their mouths meshed together, tongues searching out each other’s depths, and Man and Elf pressed against each other in unhinged need. Legolas lifted his knees in obvious invitation, his pelvis creating a cradle for the Man’s body. The Ranger spared no time, the need for completion was so great there was no time for tender moments of preparation. The Elf’s passion darkened eyes begged him to waste no time. He plunged into the velvet depths passed the tight ring of muscle that guarded the entrance to the Elf’s sweet body. Legolas cried out in both pain and pleasure at the abrupt coupling. Once buried deep within him, the Man stilled and waited for the fullness to settle deeply within the captured body beneath him. All the while, he licked at the Elf’s ear and sprinkled kisses across the beautiful face that turned up to him. Tender endearments he’d never thought to utter to Arwen now flowed from his lips into the pointed ear which he captured again in sultry kisses. Legolas moaned and writhed beneath him, long fingered hands tangled in his brown hair and pulled him down for a much longed for kiss. Aragorn enthusiastically took the sweet mouth again, plunging his tongue into the hot moist interior and slowly began to move his hips. Legolas moaned beneath him and rocked wantonly, hissing as he drew the Man deeper inside with every tiny rhythmic move. Aragorn fought for control, almost erupting then and there from the almost unbearable pleasure. He detached from the hungry mouth just barely to draw in air and then after a moment of reasserting his dominance, he slowly withdraw, almost to the tip and as the Elf gasped he plunged back in. At the same time, he recaptured the swollen lips and sent his tongue soaring back into the inviting mouth as he took up a slow rhythmic thrusting into the pliant golden body. The wave swelled beneath them, carrying them to higher and higher peaks of desire. Aragorn lifted the Elf’s long slender legs over his shoulders and gripped the hips firmly, unable to hold out any longer. He picked up an unrelenting beat of forceful thrusting into the captured and secured beauty within his grasp. It was not long before they both overflowed and exploded into shards of rapture. Vibrating from the force of his release, Aragorn clung to the still convulsing body of the Elf until slowly, with gradual deepening breath, he enfolded the relaxing Archer into his arms. He cradled the pale treasure gently, and bestowed a tender kiss on the white blond hair in fleeting wonder. This should never have happened and yet he was so tremendously glad that it had. Light filtered into the tiny bower as morning brought a new state of calm to the forest around them. Long moments passed as heartbeats began to steady and finally the golden head stirred from its resting place in the crook of the Man’s arm. Blue eyes, now clear and surprisingly alert looked up at Aragorn in trepidation. Aragorn lifted his head but deliberately left his limbs tangled lazily with those of his lover. His hand trailed lovingly down the curve of a smooth cheek even as his eyes acknowledged wordlessly that what was done could not be undone. Legolas stirred again, eyes dropping to some distant point, before returning almost guiltily to the Man that he had known since he was but a boy. Aragorn could read the self-recrimination in the blue gaze before whatever ill conceived thoughts behind it took full form. He took the Elf’s chin in a steel grip but his words were soft. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “I am not a child, Legolas, and you are not my keeper.” To illustrate the point, Aragorn bent and took the mouth again into a deep and satisfyingly thorough kiss. The Elf was sufficiently winded by the time he was released and he looked up at the Man who would be King with appropriate respect. Aragorn smirked. “I trust there are no questions, Prince?” Legolas smiled, shyly, a deep blush staining his cheeks and for the moment settled on a nod. He was too overwhelmed to think clearly about what had happened between himself and Elrond’s fosterling. The issue would have to be revisited but not while they were still naked and entangled in each other’s arms. Aragorn seemed determined to view this as an acceptable situation. Seeing the look of happiness on his friend’s face, Legolas decided not to visit the cold winds of reality upon them too rapidly. He allowed himself to settle into the warm embrace with an indulgent smile and tried not to reflect on how completely wonderful it felt. “I do have one question, Aragorn,” he said, allowing a playful twinkle to mask deeper concerns. “How will we get him down from here?” he asked as he gestured toward the still unconscious and gently snoring Gondorian. Aragorn smiled broadly. “I know what you are thinking,” he chided. “But seeing as the ‘spell’ seems to have lifted I don’t think Gandalf will believe that ‘dropping him’ was an accident.” Aragorn was rewarded with what the Ranger decided was the sweetest pout he’d ever seen and bent to kiss and nip at the plump lip with proprietary ardor. Legolas gasped and found himself giving in to the Man’s possessive embrace all too willingly. He knew they’d have to sort this out eventually. But for now, Legolas Greenleaf decided to follow his Captain in this as in all things …to the bitter end. The End.