Title: Release of Care Author: Druìs Author's Email: aunt_deen@yahoo.com Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas Rating: NC17 Summary: Legolas seeks comfort with Aragorn after the Battle of Helms Deep. Set in the same universe as “Finding Rest” and “Solace” but can easily be read on its own. Author’s Note – This is a Christmas present for Heather. (*smooch*) I decided I wanted Aragorn and Legolas to speak only Elvish in this one, and braved the online dictionaries. Would you believe that Elvish has a word for “lick frequently” but nothing for “yes” or “please?” Pervy little buggers, aren’t they? Anyway, the story should make sense even if the reader isn’t fluent in Elvish, but translations are at the end of the story. Feedback makes me frolic, cavort, and otherwise make a spectacle of myself. You won’t see it through the computer, of course, but rest assured it’s happening. Each body had to be unearthed from the gruesome corpses that covered it. Thick arrows, bristling cruelly, pulled from smooth flesh. Black blood cleaned from fine-boned faces and delicately etched armor. And when one still form had been freed from the carnage, when as much dignity had been restored to it as was possible, the next awaited. Legolas worked silently, although the voices of his kinsmen laboring beside him lifted in a sorrowful lament . A scant two-score of elves remained of the three hundred that had marched into Helms Deep. Many of the Rohirrim, relatively fresh compared to the exhausted warriors who had fought the whole siege, respectfully offered to perform this task for them but were quietly refused. Death was a rarity among elfkind, but it was known to them. The rites and rituals needed to be performed. Shifting yet another Uruk to reach the filthy green cloak beneath it, Legolas stopped short at the sight of Haldir, whose eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky. The pride and strength that had marked his features had vanished and his hair was dark with filth. Legolas nearly wept aloud as he gently smoothed the eyelids down to cover the glassy gaze. Then the numb grief that had deadened his senses for the past hours was pierced by a shaft of rage, and he choked on the fury that would have disrupted the song around him. He blindly untangled Haldir’s limbs from the foul flesh that surrounded him and lifted him. A few of the mournful voices faltered momentarily as Legolas bore the cloak-wrapped body of the Marchwarden down the crumbling wall and over to the row of his fallen brothers. He set the lifeless form on the ground, wiped the gore from his cold features, rose and walked away, pushing through elves and men alike, passing through the splintered doors of the Hornburg. Within the crowded hall he saw King Theoden, deep in conference with Gandalf, Eomer, and Gamling, and in a corner, Eowyn standing close at Aragorn’s side, face upturned to him as he spoke quietly. Legolas stopped where he was and Aragorn turned toward him as if he had spoken. Whatever Aragorn read in his face, it made him speak a hasty word of farewell and move toward him, Eowyn’s wistful gaze unfelt. “Legolas.” Aragorn spoke softly, then glanced warily at the humans within earshot, many glancing curiously at Legolas. “Mani naa ta?” When Legolas did not answer, Aragorn took his arm in a gentle grasp and led him quickly through the knots of Theoden’s subjects, all busy with one task or another, down a quieter hallway and into the room that had been allotted to the two of them and Gimli. The door shut behind them and abruptly Legolas moved. He pushed Aragorn roughly against the wall and took his mouth without gentleness or care, swallowing Aragorn’s gasp and pressing aggressively with teeth and tongue. Aragorn had not taken the time for more than a cursory wash since the battle, nor had Legolas, and in their kiss Legolas could taste the foulness that was the blood of their enemies. His inhaled breath brought to him the fetid odors of the butchery they had wrought, and he had to fight not to gag and pull away. But underneath he could smell Aragorn’s clean sweat, taste the familiar tang that was his friend and he pressed closer. Aragorn’s arms closed around him strongly, hands sliding up into his hair, equal parts passion and comfort, and they feverishly devoured each others mouths. Indistinctly, Legolas could hear voices and footsteps moving through the keep, men and women and children going about the business of rebuilding the walls, hauling out debris and bodies, tending to the wounded, but all he could hear in this room was his own panting breath mingled with that of Aragorn, the wet, hungry sounds of their mouths meeting again and again. Desperately, he pulled at Aragorn’s clothing and Aragorn, thankfully perceptive, did not try to slow their encounter, but instead moved to help bare his skin to Legolas’s greedy hands. Legolas knew that a number of his elvish brethren were doubtless joining together to seek the solace of physical fulfillment and he could easily have found comfort and ease with one of them. Perhaps that would have been more fitting, that he should assuage his grief with those who most shared it. But the delicate ecstasy of an elvish union was not what he craved. He desired the hunger, the honest lust and untamed passion that in his long life he had only found with humans. Aragorn shoved away from the wall, pushing Legolas back toward the pile of blankets in the corner that served as his bed. He hastily finished divesting himself of his own garments as Legolas did the same and finally they were free to meet skin with skin and tumble down to the bed. "Lle naa vanima," Aragorn whispered reverently, as he slid his hands across the smooth alabaster skin beneath him, miraculously unmarred by battle. Legolas could only moan in response and pull Aragorn down more firmly against him. Their mouths fused greedily again, Aragorn taking control and sweeping long, deep strokes of his tongue through Legolas's mouth. Legolas relaxed his jaw helplessly and accepted the kiss, but satisfied his own hunger to touch, skimming his hands over the damp surface of Aragorn’s back, stroking downward through his chest hair, past the taut muscles of his abdomen, and worked his hand between their bodies to grasp Aragorn's shaft, already hard and ready. Aragorn gasped against his mouth and pushed forward. Legolas twisted his mouth free of the kiss. "Sanamin," he pleaded, and Aragorn immediately reached down and freed himself from the encircling hand. Legolas closed his eyes and focused his complete attention on his physical self. The bristle of Aragorn's beard scratched against his neck as his ear was laved by a hot, slippery tongue. Battle-roughened hands slid down his torso to cup his buttocks, pulling rhythmically, as the wet heat of Aragorn’s mouth moved to suck firmly on a nipple. Legolas arched his back with a gasp and writhed with impatience. One of Aragorn’s hands left him and he heard the sounds of distracted fumbling in the pack alongside the bed, followed by the sweet, sharp scent of oil. He spread his knees apart, and reached to grasp Aragorn’s slippery fingers and guide them downward to probe gently at his entrance. Legolas shifted his hips restlessly as the finger breached him, seeking deeper penetration, and Aragorn responded with the addition of a second finger. Legolas closed his eyes tightly at the first sense of stretching, burning, almost-pain and inhaled a shaky breath. He reached out blindly and found the vial of oil, thumbed out the cork and tipped it, ignoring the muffled curse in his ear as the entire contents spilled over his hand and onto the bedding. His dripping hand found Aragorn’s rigid shaft and coated it thoroughly. Aragorn hissed at the sensation, but still hesitated. “Lle desiel?” he whispered uncertainly. Legolas’s only reply was a wordless growl of frustration. Without further delay, Aragorn positioned himself and entered Legolas’s body in one smooth thrust. Legolas moaned softly through clenched teeth. Their preparation had been insufficient and he felt ready to split in two as his body struggled to stretch and accommodate Aragorn’s girth. Aragorn uttered a soft oath and cupped Legolas’s face soothingly. “Amin hiraetha,” he breathed. “Amin anta,” Legolas managed in reply, hips moving needfully. Aragorn pulled out infinitesimally and nudged back in, gradually working to gentle thrusts. But gentle was not what Legolas wanted. He hooked his legs behind Aragorn’s knees and clamped tight with his internal muscles. He was rewarded instantly as Aragorn gasped harshly and began to quicken his pace, plunging forcefully into Legolas with each drive of his hips. His body welcomed Aragorn’s thrusts now, and Legolas moaned in relief as the hard knot of grief inside him began to ease as he was filled and emptied over and over again. Every few thrusts, Aragorn struck the spot within him that sent shivery jolts of pleasure throughout him, spreading warmth from his belly into limbs he hadn’t realized were cold. He looked up at Aragorn, at glittering eyes framed by lank tendrils of sweat-darkened hair, at the strength of his jaw softened by the bite of beard, looked up at his friend who sweated and strained above him, and with a soft exclamation of surprise, tipped into ecstasy. His back arched and his thighs clamped tight on Aragorn’s hips as his orgasm rushed through him. He let out one wailing cry as liquid heat splashed across his belly and Aragorn groaned in response, snapping his hips forward even harder, lunging frantically against Legolas in search of his own release. Aragorn’s shaft continued to strike glancing blows against the sensitive nub within him and Legolas felt his muscles stiffen in painful bliss as his orgasm magnified, extending until his vision began to sparkle and blur at the edges. One last breathless moan and he collapsed bonelessly against the blankets beneath him. Aragorn’s eyes were squeezed shut and his hands gripped Legolas to the point of pain. His delirious thrusts into Legolas’s passive and sated body were beginning to falter in their rhythm, and finally with a strangled shout he shoved violently forward and Legolas felt a surge of heat inside himself. Aragorn fell, gasping, onto Legolas, his hips still thrusting weakly, grinding in until his shaft was completely spent. Legolas raised heavy arms and pulled him closer, burying his face into the damp curve between shoulder and neck, inhaling the combined scents of their seed and sweat. Slowly, their heartbeats returned to normal, and their quickened breath slowed. Aragorn lifted his head and kissed Legolas gently on the temple. “Lle tyava quel, Legolas?” “Li qualin,” Legolas whispered and Aragorn’s arms tightened around him. “Amin sinta.” Aragorn rolled to one side, pulling Legolas to rest upon his chest, and gently stroked his hair. “Quel esta, mellonamin.” END Mani naa ta? – What is it? Lle naa vanima. – You are beautiful. Sanamin . – Take me. Lle desiel? – Are you ready? Amin haraetha – I’m sorry. Amin anta – I need this. Lle tyava quel? – Are you well? Li qualin – So many dead. Amin sinta – I know. Quel esta, mellonamin – Rest well, my friend.