Fic: Tears for Medusa Author: Peaceangel Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas, Legolas/otc Rating: Adult “R” for nonconsensual sex. No infringement intended. Please give feedback to earthdanser@verizon.net or peaceangel12000@yahoo.com. Thanks! PRELUDE: STONE Still as stone. Silent as death. Nay. I can still feel. I can still…love. No. I am not dead. I stand and cast my unseeing gaze eternally into the night and dream. His beauty haunts me and sustains me. It was the last thing that I should ever see. Blue eyes flashed…desperate with love and dawning fear …for me. I saw the horror reflected in their crystal depths before everything went black. How could I not look? He begged me not to, of course. But how could I promise to never again gaze upon the unsurpassed beauty of his face; …the endearing eloquence of elven brow, …the sculpted symmetry of rosy colored cheeks? To never look upon the heartbreaking innocence of oceanic blue eyes;…and their brilliance when they would look upon me with desire? How could I be denied to gaze upon that which had fed my soul for so long, even in my silence? Better to be denied the very air I breathed than that! Nay! I would die a thousand deaths to live eternally in the memory of that moment when I dared look upon perfection. And so I live, eternally, in this marble tomb of bones and flesh. And I have only one regret… I feel him when he draws near. My Greenleaf. Somehow, sense yet remains, although I do not know why. And I can tell that he comes to me, weeping. He touches me although I cannot feel it. Bittersweet. His shuddering breath frosts the cold midnight air. The ice crystals of his tears roll off me with no effect. I would say to him: “Weep not my love, for I dwell in the perfect memory of your eyes.” But, alas it remains my bitter regret. I cannot console him. Long years have passed, although the passage of time is naught to me, and still I feel him weep. How can I tell you what this does to me? It would break my heart had it long since not been frozen in its marble casing. How can I tell you what his weeping does to me when I stand mutely and rejoice in the balm of his love? I would have thought the Valar would guide our souls out of this darkness. But me thinks many centuries have passed and I fear perhaps even the gods have long since crumbled and turned to ash. But stop, let go of dark thoughts now. My love approaches. I knew he would return. Yes, truly, I did not doubt that he would come back to me. Once, … long ago, an entire season had passed between his visits. Let me not remember that winter! (…Madness…) My friend, let me tell you “madness” is too weak a word to express my terror. I was … alone. Unloved. And madness seemed a thing far worse than death. He cried then, when his footsteps finally brought him back to me. Long and hard, he cried. A full turn of Arda did those tears wet my unfeeling flesh. I cried too, though none would know it. Bitter tears, …tears of terror and, (I feel ashamed to admit it) tears of joy. My love had returned to me! Now he comes almost daily. Soon his pale long fingers will touch my face and although I cannot feel, nor see, …(guilt be damned) I will sing! Sing! And, if my heart could still beat it would hammer madly against its cage at his approach and swell and burst free from the sheer joy of his presence. His love sets me free! My poor Greenleaf… If only I could tell him, …there are worse things than being turned to stone. Fic: Tears for Medusa Author: Peaceangel Chapter One The three warriors dashed through the pelting rain into the shelter of the cave. Aragorn peeled off his long coat and shook water from his brown hair. “Oof,” groaned the Dwarf, “That came on fast. I am soaked to the bone!” “Tis the season for such storms, Master Dwarf,” said the Man as he took off his wet shirt and fanned it uselessly as if this might dry it faster. He glanced at the form of the Archer silhouetted by the cave’s entrance In the moonlight, the Elf’s skin glowed with the supernatural aura so strangely typical of wood elves. His silver hair clung to his pale skin. Water droplets glistened like diamonds within the brilliant tresses. One traveled down the slope of an errant lock. The Man’s eyes followed its progress jealously as the droplet escaped from the Elf’s hair to caress the curve of a sensuous cheek. The Man cleared his throat and the Elf looked over at him. Aragorn gestured to him good-naturedly. “We cannot travel in this storm. Let us take rest while we can.” Blue eyes turned away from the darkening forest reluctantly to survey the rock shelter. They settled on the Man who stood bare- chested before him. Like a moth to the flame, the vision drew the Elf a few more feet into the cave. Legolas’s sharp eyes riveted to the muscled chest and his tongue almost darted out past trembling lips, as if to taste that salty sun-kissed skin just above the Man’s collarbone. He could almost taste it, came the dizzying thought, and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, halted his progress. That dip, the little hollow at the Man’s throat glistened with moisture. He dare not take another step. The cave was small and the Man’s arms too inviting. His musky scent already filled Legolas’s mind with potent images of coupling. He dare not move. Yet he could not help but let his eyes roam over the downy chest, tight abdomen and below to the wet clinging leather trousers. Aragorn’s grim visage contorted in the pale light, caught between two powerful forces. It was an odd expression that would have been comical had it not been born of pain. It spoke of desire and of warning all at once. So they both stood, transfixed in the strange alchemy of the moment, aware yet unwilling to confess to the torment which ensnared them. Several seconds passed. The low ripping sound that slowly rumbled into their awareness might have been the sound of someone’s heart finally breaking beneath the weight of so much denial and forsaken love. But it was none of these. Gimli heard the groan in the rock long before either of his two preoccupied companions could register shock at what was about to happen. “Legolas!” the Dwarf yelled over his shoulder as he grabbed Aragorn by the arm and flung the Ranger into the deeper safety of the cave. The Sindar froze and turned astonished blue eyes above their heads. Soft lips parted in an “O” of disbelief. Somehow, he always knew something like this would happen! What insanity compelled people of intelligence to seek safety inside the earth? The wall above their tiny cave groaned again and stones rained down upon them. The massive rock shuddered with a load crack as it broke in half. The walls heaved in both directions and then the world itself splintered and thundered around the three warriors. The Ranger lifted his head from the ground as the rumble of falling rocks threatened to deafen him. “Legolas!” he screamed. But the dust plumed like smoke in the air and blocked out what light was left. “Stay down, Aragorn!” warned the Dwarf. His thick, gloved fingers bore painfully into the Man’s arm to halt his attempts to go to their companion. Gimli knew his actions would anger the Dúnadan. But one didn’t need to be a Dwarf to know not to run head on into the cataclysm of a cave-in. Still Gimli couldn’t help but pick his own head up and search with his eyes into the sudden maelstrom that filled the cave. His own fear for the Elf cut with the precision of dwarven steel into his heart. His fingers continued to clamp down on the Ranger “Let me go to him, Gimli!” cried Aragorn as the hail of stones began to thin. They both rose from their crouched position and squinted through the thick dust laden air. A tiny shaft of light filtered into the almost pitch black cave from a small aperture in the tumble of fallen rocks. Gimli’s heart soared to see it. They would be able to get out! “Legolas! Where are you?” called out the Ranger with a cough. Gimli turned in a small circle, anxiety welling up in his breast as the Man’s question was met with silence. “Where is he?” whispered Aragorn as he realized the Elf was not with them. He ran to the tumble of rocks and put his hands up against the newly formed wall. “Legolas!” he yelled, pressing his ear against the stone and holding his breath for a response from the other side. “Legolas?” yelled the Dwarf as he too pressed his head against the freshly fallen stones. “No,” whispered the Man beside him in a spasm of despair. “Come, Gimli, help me to move these rocks.” The Dúnadan shouldered rocks that would have given even a Dwarf pause. Gimli could not blame him. Their Elf was …precious. Not that he’d ever say it aloud. The fierce Archer would likely see Gimli hanging from a tree limb for the imagined insult. When had he started to feel this way for one of Elven Kind? Gimli did not know. He was no longer even shocked with the direction of his own thoughts on the subject. Yet, somewhere between Moria and Helm’s Deep the Dwarf’s appraisal of the Elvan warrior slowly and disturbingly drifted beyond such things as skill in battle. Gimli found his gaze instead to linger upon the smoothness of translucent skin, …the depth of sapphire blue eyes, and, by mithril… the petal softness of lips! Nay, Gimli would deserve to find his Dwarfish hide thrown off the steepest cliff in Moria for such thoughts! Yet, friends they were and friends they would remain. His Elf comrade was as dear to him as one of his own kin. He glanced at the Man next to him who worked feverishly to clear the barrier between them and the Elf. There was no pretense now. Only fear made desperate by love shone in the steel eyes. Gimli had watched for many months now as the Dúnadan labored to not come under the spell, which threatened to consume him. It was, of course, hopeless. Nay, t’was not the Ring, which posed such ‘danger,’ as Aragorn would call it. It was desire. Yes, perhaps it was danger of a sort for it threatened plans, and plans were important to men. The ‘danger,’ if one insisted on calling it that, came with the soft fragrance of clean Elven flesh, … an accidental brush of pale finger tips against one’s arm, … the glint of sunlit hair, spun of the softest spider silk. And a smile, sweet and fleeting as quicksilver. Ah! Gimli could well imagine the Man’s torment. Long ago had this paradox, this confounding creature of strength and softness, pride and mirth, slip past his defenses and lain siege to Gimli’s heart. Galadriel’s grace had lifted the veil from the Dwarf’s eyes and before him Gimli found beauty where he’d never before dare to look! The Archer was…lovely. But Aragorn resisted. The Man was stubborn and the sharp need which emanated from the Ranger was almost painful to behold. He fought it daily, as surely as the Hobbit fought the burden of Isildur’s Bane. Grimly, Aragorn fought to not fall more deeply into forbidden love. But the pain in the Elf’s blue eyes was getting harder to mask; harder to ignore. Gimli found it troubling. In the earth, certain elements were fashioned by nature to be drawn to each other. The Dwarves learned to respect nature’s wisdom and discovered the beauty and strength, which came from such unexpected alloys. When sapphire eyes drifted to the Man and lingered upon the Ranger’s hunched frame with indigo fire, Gimli could not help but feel regret and a touch of fear. The Dwarves had learned not to tamper with what nature designed to bring together. To do so could have severe, even explosive, results. Yet the Dúnadan, reared though he was among the wisdom of the Elves, seemed to have inherited none. At least not in matters of the heart. More peculiar still was the proud Elven Prince who apparently would support the Man’s decision, regardless of the consequences. So Ranger and Elf resisted what seemed a most potent, natural and evident truth…that they belonged together. Gimli privately cursed them for their stupidity and wondered what repercussions would come of it. He’d watch them fuss over each other’s smallest taking of wounds,… hands would clasp shoulders, …faces flushed, heads bowed close…as if magnetized towards one another, then though awakening from a slumber, abruptly turn away. At night they would verbally spar over who would take first watch so the other could sleep, and Gimli would grumble at their foolishness. And the Dwarf would drift off… to dream fitfully of sapphire eyes turned upon him …and the dancing light of their indigo flame would scorch his flesh. Even in his sleep, Gimli knew one truth: he was out of the Elf’s sphere. Few could dare to grasp the sun and not be burned by it. But Nature was wise. Anor’s brilliance had a counterpoint in the silvery fire of the Moon and the Elvan Prince had his in the Future King of Men. Aye, there was danger here. To thwart Nature’s balance could be cataclysmic. Could the man not see even the sun could burn itself out for want of love? In retrospect, Gimli realized, the cave-in was inevitable. Chapter Two The hole in the wall grew wider with their efforts and a breeze from the outside gladdened the Dwarf’s heart. If the cave-in was not too deep then there was a chance the Elf had escaped being sealed beneath it. But why was Legolas not answering their pleas? Gimli hastened to lift away rock after rock as their tiny window to the world outside yawned open and a howling wind entered the tiny cave. The rain at least had stopped. Aragorn flung his upper body through the hole as soon as he could wedge his frame into it. “Legolas, where are you?” He peered into the darkness. Stars filtered their light down into the rocky terrain. He could neither see nor hear any sign of the Mirkwood Prince. Pulling himself back in, he and the Dwarf labored with rapidity to free themselves from the barricade of fallen stone. As soon as their newly created door could permit, the two warriors wedged themselves through the portal to the outside evening air. But their Elf was nowhere to be seen. Aragorn examined the area by the light of the moon while the Dwarf continued to plow through fallen rocks and debris, fearful of what he might find. The darkness of the cave seemed to whisper words of doom. “He must be here somewhere,” grunted the Dwarf in growing alarm. As if in response to his words, the wind whistled eerily into the hollow of the cave. It was a mocking sound and the Dwarf felt a chill run down his spine. He could not recall when he ever experienced the familiar jagged embrace of rock and stone to give him such a feeling of disquiet. Beside him, the Man was relentlessly pulling rocks away from the opening. Aragorn paused and examined the cave walls again. “Gimli, does this look different to you from when we first entered?” The Dwarf stepped inside and surveyed the cleared area. “It is possible,” he said slowly, “that there were tunnels here which were concealed from us before the cave in. It does seem wider.” He turned excitedly to the Man. Aragorn followed his thoughts. “If the cave opened into a tunnel before more rocks fell to seal it again, then Legolas could be…” “Inside the rock!” cried the Dwarf, both hopeful and with a renewed dread. His people knew well, from times of old conflict between their two races, that Elves faired very poorly when cut off from their precious trees. An Elf locked behind stone might literally go mad long before he’d die from lack of air. Gimli pulled out his hammer and began to hack at the wall. Aragorn, frantic at the thought of the golden Elf locked inside stone, worked with bared and bloodied hands. The wind whistled shrilly of evil in their midst and invisible fingers of dread filled their minds with the horrible image of the Elf’s dead body. _____________________________________________________ Legolas scraped his hands against the jagged stone floor as he struggled to rise to his knees in the blackness. He did not know how long he had lain unconscious. Slowly awareness and memory returned to him as he awoke in the dark. His mind reeled at what his senses told him. He was locked somewhere in the very earth itself. There was no light to guide him, no breeze to refresh his flesh and he feared to raise his hands lest he discover that there was no room to move. Panic threatened to well up within him at the thought of being so enclosed. With deep steadying breaths, he fought it down, just barely. Listen, he told himself, as he kneeled on the hard ground with hands upon the dirt. Breathe, and listen. But any hopes of rescue were met with disappointment. He could hear no voices or sounds from his companions that might suggest they were looking for him. Worry suddenly drowned out all other thoughts when he contemplated that perhaps the Man and the Dwarf where also entombed somewhere, injured or possibly even dead. A sob broke from him then and his head hung down between his arms in dejection. The sound reverberated pitifully against the stone but that sound was enough to tell him that he was not sealed in a small hole after all. His Elven ears could detect the echo for some distance. He was in some kind of subterranean chamber. A small ember of hope flared in his heart and gave him the courage to try to stand. Slowly, with trembling limbs and arms outstretched the Elf carefully stood to his full height. Relief was short lived however, when he attempted to step in one direction and walked immediately into a wall. With a pained whimper, Legolas stood perfectly still, and clung to the cool wall as a wave of fear threatened to bring him back to his knees. Even in Moria he had not felt such fear. With another long breath, he stretched out his other arm and a few inches past his hand encountered yet another wall. His heart began to hammer loudly in his ears and sweat sprang to his brow. Breathe, he told himself. He closed his eyes against the darkness and thought of Aragorn. If the Man was looking for him he’d be very worried now. Slowly control returned to Legolas, and he tentatively trailed one hand over the wall. He’d have to follow it in the direction which he thought might lead him back toward his companions. Replaying the rapid events of the cave-in he began to recall the memory of the solid wall opening before him like a doorway. In fact, it was as if he melted directly through the stone just as the ceiling was coming down all around him. Of course such a thing was impossible and just an example of what the mind could conjure to fill in gaps. He groped a short distance, somehow becoming oddly attuned to the rocky surroundings in the dark. It’s just a tunnel, he told himself reassuringly, as he slowly inched forward. As if another sense was awakening within him, he felt the rock wall before him before he actually touched it. His natural luminosity reasserted itself with his courage and Legolas realized it did not actually help him to see in the dark as much as it helped him to feel his way through. His musings on this new bit of self-discovery came to an abrupt halt as the tunnel he’d been following came to a dead end. The tumble of rocks told him this was where he had fallen through. Legolas put both hands against the wall and pushed in hopes that it would yield. “Aragorn!” he called into the rock. The sound bounced around him mockingly and Legolas could well hear the fear in his own voice. Such panic did not suit an Archer of Mirkwood. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Gimli?” Softer and more controlled this time, but the anxiety in his heart only increased as the truth of his situation sank in. No one could hear him. Legolas pressed his forehead against the cool stone for a moment and sucked air in through his nose, forcing himself to calm down. Slowly he collected his thoughts. This way did not lead anywhere. He’d have to turn around and go deeper into the chamber. Deeper. Now that word was never a welcomed one when paired with ‘cave’ or ‘tunnel,’ yet there was no other option. He remembered Gandalf once saying if all else failed: follow one’s nose. There was a slight breeze and it came from somewhere. So Legolas Thranduilion turned into the darkness and began to extend all his latent homing abilities to guide him deeper into the earth. As he moved, his breathing seemed to echo off the walls all around him. His Elven ears followed the echoed sound and allowed it to guide his steps. He continued to inhale deeply, reassuring himself that he would not asphyxiate down here. If there was air circulating then there was some avenue toward escape. There had to be, he told himself fervently, refusing to give in to the panic. His growing confidence in his ability to maneuver in total darkness was short lived, however, when his foot hit an unexpected obstacle. “X&#!!!” The Elvish oath exploded past his lips as he grabbed at his stubbed toe. This was followed with some inventive oaths in the languages of men, elves and orcs all aimed inexplicably towards Dwarves and their ridiculous insistence on crawling into holes in the dirt. As his tirade came to a halt the sound of his voice bounced ahead of him. It might have made the Archer smile to think of Gimli’s reaction to the echoing expletives heaped so artfully upon his race … had he not been quite so afraid. Slowly, Legolas began to walk again, determined to be reunited with his friends, when the final echo died out to be replaced with a soft chuckling. Legolas froze, his hand instantly going for his weapons. Had he imagined the sound or … “Such language…” came a faintly amused voice from very far away. Chapter Three “Aha!” exclaimed the Dwarf in excitement as the wall crumbled to reveal a hidden opening in the ground beneath their feet. “A tunnel!” said the Dwarf in triumph as he bent to peer down into the hole. “This must lead us to the Elf.” Aragorn instantly dropped to his knees and peered into the underground chamber. “Legolas!” the Ranger called out in desperation. The sound of the Human’s own voice reverberated back to them. The Man sat back on his hunches with a defeated exhale. Gimli turned his hopeful eyes to the Ranger. Aragorn’s face was set into a dark scowl as his eyes continued their ceaseless exploration of the area. “We’ll need light Gimli. Fashion us torches from what ever has remained dry from our packs, while I explore this opening. I don’t see signs of an Elf having passed here.” Gimli busied himself with the task of making fire as he spoke over his shoulder. “And what signs would you look for on bare rock? An Elf is a difficult quarry to track under any conditions. I say we follow it, Aragorn.” Aragorn did not respond. He focused on the dirt ground and what he could see of the tunnel below. The drop was about twelve feet. He tried not to linger on the horrible image of the Archer crushed under mounds of rocks, and silently damned the moment he agreed to seek shelter in the cave. It was his responsibility to keep them safe. If anything happened to his Greenleaf… Aragorn’s breath hitched in his throat at the endearment. By what right, he wondered, did he make such claims? Yet, if the Elf was not ‘his’ then who was? Arwen? The Man started as a heavy gloved hand landed on his forearm. He looked into the knowing brown gaze of the Dwarf. The warrior’s burly features were illuminated by the soft glow of the fire Gimli had managed to create out of their spare cloths, wrapped tightly to the end of a branch. “Come on, Aragorn,” he said as he thrust a torch into the Man’s hand. “You know that stubborn Elf. He’s too proud to die in a manner unbecomin’ a Prince o’ the Greenwood.” The Dwarf smiled as he stuck his nose in the air and tried to imitate their Elf’s occasional tendency toward royal snootiness. It managed to bring a smile to the Man’s sullen expression and Gimli winked. The Dwarf gestured toward the tunnel entrance. “He must be alive and he would have had no choice but to follow this path. We will find him.” Aragorn responded with a curt nod. He followed Gimli down into the dark, lost in his own thoughts. How could his stout friend know of the demons Aragorn fought nightly when he laid his head down to sleep. Voices of responsibility battled with those of need. And the Ranger hated himself for it. Weakness, temptation, desire…all things connecting him to Isildur. Now those things threatened to overthrow him as they mingled into one bewitching form: the fair Elven Prince. He had actually thought it the work of the Ring, at first, …until that convenient excuse departed from their midst. Nay. Aragorn could not evade the truth any longer. The flaw rested within him. He wanted Legolas. ‘Legolas could never know,’ he had told himself over and over again. But, now, as he followed the faint glow of the fire-light down an unknown rocky trail, with blackness surrounding them on all sides, he could only think of one thing: the slender form of the Elf Prince safe in his arms. That thought gave way to an even more compelling one: …the feel of that golden body pressed beneath him, and the light of twin indigo flames turned upon him in passion. By the Stars, he wanted Legolas… Yearning and fear twisted his insides and Aragorn sent a silent prayer to the Valar: Please let him be safe…and if courage doesn’t fail me, give us another chance. Legolas froze. He strained to hear but the voice no longer spoke. Yet he was sure he had heard it. “Who is there?” he called out, tentatively in a soft voice. Damn, but he sounded afraid. This would never do. He paused and listened for a reply. Nothing. Legolas pursed his lips in concentration. He had not imagined it. He was certain, yet…what kind of creature lived within the dark bowels of the earth? He had heard of Elven warriors, held captive by Dwarves long ago, who would sometimes go insane in the endless dark of their mountain tunnels. But Legolas did not feel his mind to be so weak a thing as to succumb to such fancies. He was afraid but even the venerable Marchwarden of Lothlorien would be somewhat disgruntled in this place. Nay, he was not losing his mind. So that left one other possibility…what he’d heard was real. The Elf paused, swallowing hard at the prospect of meeting something that made its home in the ground. A Dwarf would be a welcomed sight, he realized, as his imagination began to supply him with less hospitable possibilities. The silence stretched before him in the dark. After standing rooted to the spot for an uncomfortably long time he took another hesitant step forward with a glance into the darkness at his back. He knew there was no exit from that direction. He had to keep moving forward. He was a warrior, he reminded himself, as the unusual sensation of fear trickled down his spine. Very carefully and as quietly as possible Legolas took another step. All his senses now strained painfully to make sense of his invisible surroundings. The ground beneath his feet sloped gently down hill taking the weary Elf deeper into the earth. His body thrummed with alertness as he tentatively stepped forward into the shadows. With arms outstretched in front of him, he progressed slowly down the black cavern. His ears were filled with the thunderous noise of his own heartbeat. How he longed for the presence of his companions in this abysmal place! Fear made his mouth dry and he licked his lips as he panted for breath. ‘Never again,’ he promised himself, ‘never again would he set foot in another cave and let the Dwarf be damned!’ It was a complete surprise when the ground suddenly disappeared out from under him and Legolas plummeted with a surprised shriek down a subterranean chute. He frantically stretched out his arms in hopes to slow his maddening slide down the steep incline. Landing jarringly onto the rocky ground some twenty feet below, his head impacted sharply with the hard surface. Stars danced before his eyes and it took several minutes to blink them away. A pale greenish glow filtered into his vision and Legolas realized after several minutes that it was not the result of hitting his head. He waved his hand in front of his face and was able to finally make out it’s silhouette. Gingerly, he stood up only to almost immediately collapse against the stone wall. He cursed softly. “Damn!” His right ankle was badly wrenched, possibly broken, he realized as he attempted to put some weight on it and instantly regretted it. “Damn,” he said again “when I get my hands on Gimli…” He trailed off sadly, fearing he may never see his Dwarf friend again. This was followed by an even more painful image of the Dúnadan, leaving the Elf weak with despair. Legolas lowered himself gingerly to the ground, his ankle shooting jolts of pain up his leg. Tears of frustration stung his eyes. Could this situation get any worse? Almost immediately, as if in answer to the mental question, came a soft scraping noise from several feet directly in front of him. Legolas immediately notched an arrow to his bowstring and aimed into the darkness. Dimly he thought he could make out the outline of something moving. It may have been as large as an Uruk-hai and that thought made the Archer grip his weapon all the harder. That blow to the head, he realized must have compromised his vision, however, because it seemed that the hoary tendrils of the thing’s head had a life of their own. Legolas blinked to make the squirmy optical illusion cease lest he spoil his shot and miss the target. Most likely he would not get another chance. The voice that spoke, however, was not the guttural filthy speech of Sauron’s creations. It was, in fact, melodic and somewhat pleasing to the ear. “If you could only kill me, young one, I would greet your arrow with anticipation. Alas, it seems an eternal life of loneliness is my fate.” Legolas froze but did not lower his weapon as he strained to see in the darkness. The voice was no longer a faint whisper but up close. He did not miss the forlorn tone, but could not fathom the cloud of whispers that accompanied it like a hidden chorus. The Prince straightened his shoulders, suspecting that this underworld denizen could see him perfectly well. “I have no wish to kill you,” he said softly. “Who are you? How come you to dwell were even Dwarves would not choose to tarry?” The breeze of displaced air by his face made the Archer stiffen and cold fingers landed to stroke tentatively down his cheek. “I am not a Dwarf,” said the bemused, melancholic voice. Legolas fought the instinct to strike out, even as the pounding of his heart seemed to fill the chamber with its mad drumming. The circumstances for a successful fight were not in his favor. Aragorn would advise diplomacy. “Shhhh. Be not afraid, my young friend. I would not hurt you.” Whispered the voice, “ You are the most beautiful thing to grace this dank place for many thousands of years. Wont you stay and …keep company with me awhile?” Cold hands now trailed down the Elf’s trembling arms, lowering his weapon to the ground. “What do you seek of me?” Legolas asked in a tight voice, dismayed to find his weapons had been smoothly lifted from his slackened grasp. The form moved behind him as cool hands traveled lightly across his tense shoulders and fingers reached to stroke his hair. “Only to know you,” it responded after a time of softly combing the Elf’s silky mane. “Do you not wish to learn of what mysteries exist in the bowels of the earth?” “I …I do not belong here,” whispered the Elf, with increasing unease at the creature’s attentions. “Who are you?” he tried again, “Can you lead me out?” The Being shifted to lean into the Elf’s back, arms circling Legolas from behind. “Nay, dear one, alas I cannot lead you out…t’would be your death.” Legolas stiffened at the words, while the Creature’s hands played relentlessly over his chest and down his arms. The Archer peered into the greenish darkness, desperately searching for his weapons. Sensing the Elf’s tension, the Being spoke into a pointed ear, “I would lead you out if I could…but the curse, it prevents me from leaving…” “Curse?” asked the Archer, suspicion mixed with curiosity. The Being behind him nodded and a strange cloud of frenzied movement accompanied the motion. Legolas turned back with apprehension to get a better look at his captor, for there was little doubt in the Elf’s mind that he was not a guest but a prisoner. “Yes, my beloved one, it brought you to me…” The Being moved further into the darkness, evading the Elf’s searching eyes. “No,” Legolas shook his head faintly in denial and growing panic. “I fell…there was a cave in…” “Yes, we are of a kind. That is why the Earth Mother brought you to me.” Legolas tried to pull free of the unwelcomed embrace. “Nay,” said the Elf again, “it was an accident. The rock fell…” The Being behind him nodded sympathetically and little murmurs filled the Elf’s ears, hinting of unearthly music. The Elf found it strangely soothing. “Your leg is injured. Let me help you, young one. Then we may talk of such unpleasant things that bind us to our fates.” Deceptively strong arms wrapped around his back to lift him off the hard ground and carry him further into the cave. “Please,” said the Archer, trying again to sound reasonable. “Elves do not live underground.” But the Being did not speak. He was encircled in a steel embrace, and Legolas could swear something else moved close by, there and then not there. Tentative little touches flickered against his cheek, then darted away even as he raised a trembling hand to ward off the gossamer wisps. Fear trickled down his spine. He tried again to brush away what tantalized his flesh around his throat and ear. A tiny prick on his finger made him gasp and pull his hand away. “What… what are you?” he finally asked in a hushed tone, as he brought his bloodied finger to his lips. For it was becoming increasingly evident to him that this being was naught of man nor elven-kind. He doubted in fact that the creature was one ever seen in the world of light above. “Alas, dear one,” said the hushed voice, as it set him down on a surprisingly soft and yielding surface. “I am cursed. Once, long ago I was deemed the fairest of my kind. But thwarted in love, what once was full of promise turned into the worst kind of curse. The dark powers that inhabit this land turned my beauty into that which would destroy all who would seek me out.” Legolas felt mesmerized by the deeply sad tones of the melodic voice next to his ear. His instincts told him to fight the spell of melancholy that slowly drowned out thoughts of immediate escape. But the Being’s sadness was contagious. Had he not harbored similar sentiments of late? Could he not see the desire in the Ranger’s eyes when they roamed over his body. The Man tried to hide it, always looking away with a guilty start if Legolas should catch him staring. But the desire was like a heavy perfume that permeated the Ranger’s flesh. Yet Legolas wanted more than passion. He wanted love. He needed it. The voice droned on, as if embellishing on an old inner monologue. “Perhaps it was their own inability to love that killed them. I cannot say, after even so long a time, why it should be that none who desire me can bare to look upon me.” Legolas gasped softly. Aragorn was torn, he reflected with sudden clarity. The Ranger could not look upon the Elf without feeling forbidden desire and yet he could also not look away. Would this impasse eventually do harm to the Man? Legolas already suspected that his own fate was sealed. He had given his heart to Aragorn long ago. And for a time he had been content to fight alongside the Ranger, to share in the dangers and the triumphs. Legolas only half listened to the voice of his captor as it recited a woeful tale. The Elf’s thoughts continued to return to the Man who would be King; …to the King who would eventually have to take a Queen. Would Legolas sail then? That path held no appeal. When the quest was over could Legolas return to Mirkwood and live forever within the closed borders of Thranduil’s Kingdom? Legolas allowed himself to be pushed back onto the soft cushions with a deep sigh. His thoughts took him down familiar pathways, all leading to grief. The Being’s voice filtered back to him as if from a great distance. “I became the weapon that evil would use to kill my friends, my family and …even my dearest love. All those that I loved would have succumbed to the fate of the curse, had I not removed myself from their world.” Legolas could tell the face of the Creature now looked down on him and in the darkness he could make out the eerie light of the eyes which held his as if to impart some meaning. “To love them,” the voice whispered, “I had to let them go.” Legolas felt a chill of premonition run over his body. He peered fruitlessly into the dark face that now dipped close to his own. He shook his head mutely, too stunned to speak. ‘Escape’ his mind whispered, but to what avail? There was nothing for him at the end of the quest. Perhaps it would be better for all of them this way. “I have dwelled in darkness for uncounted millennia, bereft of friendship … of love.” The voice no longer sounded remote and unfeeling. Its echo trembled with the tears that Legolas guessed now flowed from the Being’s eyes. “Yours is the first hand, the first soft touch, I have felt in a very long time,” it whispered quietly. The fingers that clasped the Elf’s hand were cool and tentative. “Then feel my hand,” said the Elf, finally finding his voice, as tears wet his own cheeks. Aragorn could never be his. Legolas knew that now. He was truly alone. And so was this poor Creature. He may as well offer what comfort he could. Courageously, Legolas raised his hand, led by the Being’s touch to place his fingers on what turned out to be a smooth cheek. Breathing with relief, he trailed it slowly to trace the shape of full lips that turned up in a smile. Legolas smiled too. His boldness grew and brought his other hand up to cup the pleasing face between his palms. The Being brought its body closer, and shuddered in pleasure as the face leaned into the Elf’s hand. A soft breath escaped the lips to moisten the Elf’s palm. With some trepidation, Legolas moved his fingers from the firm line of the jaw, in exploration of rounded ears and the gentle slope of a high brow, finally to edge toward the writhing tangle of hair. He stopped at the warning touch at his wrists. Instead, his hands were guided lower, to slide down a long graceful neck and firm muscled shoulders. Vaguely, Legolas became aware that the exploration was no longer one sided and hands were become increasingly familiar with the sinuous curves and valleys of the Archer’s sweet body. “You are fair, so fair…” whispered the voice, almost forlornly. “Will you join with me, young one? Free me from my torment?” “I would free you if I could,” whispered the Elf in a daze, as the hands grew bolder upon his heated flesh. Fingers now tugged more demandingly at the folds of his clothing, shedding leggings and tunic into the blackness that surrounded their little nest. “But,” he struggled to clear his thoughts, almost wondering if he was coming under a spell, “you said a curse?” “Nay, fear not. So long as you do not gaze upon me, you are safe. But should you free me from my long captivity I would remember you always.” “How?” asked the bewildered Elf. His head was spinning as hands pressed him deeper into the softly feathered cushions upon the bower. “How can I free you?” “Let me love you.” Lips moved down the Elf’s throat, nibbling at the flesh as they worked down to suckle on a nipple. The Elf moaned into the darkness and an expert tongue darted over his flesh as feather light wisps trailed across his chest and abdomen placing little love bites everywhere they went. Chapter Four Gimli burst forward in excitement. “Did you hear that, Aragorn?” The tunnel the two warriors had first followed opened up to a series of catacombs. Legolas could have wandered, in the darkness, into any one of them. Despairing, the Ranger and the Dwarf chose the widest one, wide enough for two men to walk side by side, and made their way with the poor light of their torch. A low slithering sound came from somewhere up ahead. Thoughts of their companion, possibly injured and laying on the ground in need of rescue, made the two warriors bolt down the twisting passage. It narrowed and they were forced to travel single file, but there was no sight of the Archer. Aragorn gripped the Dwarf’s shoulder in front of him to signal for them to stop, as he cocked his head to listen. “There it is again,” whispered the Man. An agitated rustling, like the sound of the husky leaves of the mallorns, rubbing against each other during a blistery rain, came to their ears. It was faint and the direction it came from seemed mysteriously obscure, at times from up ahead and at others, seemingly, from all around them. “Legolas!” yelled the Man into the darkness ahead. The scraping ceased. Man and Dwarf glanced at each other in trepidation as they looked around them. Again came the chafing noise, this time as if from the direction they had just passed through. Taking a few steps forward, Gimli frowned as he strained to listen. “If its him, why doesn’t he answer?” asked the Dwarf, over his shoulder, in a hushed voice. They were clearly not the only living things down here and Gimli did not know how to feel about that. If it wasn’t the Elf then what was down here? So focused was his concentration on listening for sounds of the Elf, that Gimli was not aware of the Man’s approach until the weight of a hand landed on his shoulder. Turning slowly to face the look of fear he knew he’d see on the Ranger’s face, Gimli bellowed in fright at the black thing that stared at him. He shrieked loudly as it wrapped itself around his arm with shocking speed, cutting off his circulation in seconds. “What?!” yelled Aragorn as he jumped up from his examination of the tunnel to see the frantically gesticulating Dwarf. “Get it off!” cried the Dwarf as the serpent twirled its body around his flailing arm. Aragorn gasped and leaped to the Dwarf’s aid. He gripped the thing from behind the squared snout. Yellow, pupil-less eyes stared up at him, unseeingly. As the Ranger yanked at the thing, it looped relentlessly around Gimli’s struggling form. A coil made its way dangerously about the Dwarf’s neck and began to squeeze mercilessly. Gimli gasped for breath as he clawed ferociously at the slimy black body pressing itself deeper into the folds of his neck and against his windpipe. “Hold still,” cried the Ranger, as he unsheathed his sword in one fluid arc. The Dwarf’s eyes bulged in his head as Anduril’s descending blade glistened in the pale light of the fire. Gimli collapsed against the rock beside him as Aragorn untangled the lifeless body of the serpent to toss it to the ground next to its severed head. “Are you all right?” asked the Ranger as he re-sheathed his sword. “Aye,” grunted the Dwarf, rubbing at his neck in shock. “Where did that come from?” Before either could ponder on the question a menacing chorus of whispers grew louder around the pair. The two warriors searched around them agitatedly, and then with a look of dread passing between them, both looked above their heads into the blackness of the shadowed ceiling. Aragorn raised his torch into the air and blinked at the undulating mass of black bodies coiled around the stony catacombs above them. “There must be…thousands!” gasped the stunned Dwarf. As if on cue, a thunderous noise cut through their amazement and the ground began to shake beneath them. Slithering black bodies fell from their secure nest to squirm around their feet. “Its another cave in!” cried the Dwarf, whose eyes remained frozen on the serpents that began to rain down upon them. Snakes! He hated the creatures. Aragorn grabbed at the dazed Dwarf, flinging off another black body, more than twice as long as the first one, from around Gimli’s shoulders. “Run!” cried the Man. The narrowed passage showered stones and black bodies down around them as the walls shuddered and heaved. The two ran frantically through its narrow twisting corridor trying to avoid the falling serpents and pieces of ceiling. As the tunnel began to branch off into even smaller chambers Aragorn pitched himself and his companion, with a mighty heave, through an opening into another blackened channel. They continued to run blindly as the ceiling behind them crashed in on itself, sealing them off from the way they had come. They two finally paused, leaning against each other in exhaustion, and gazed back at what surely would have been their deaths. The meager light of the two torches provided little comfort in the surrounding blackness. Finally catching his breath, Aragorn looked at his disgruntled friend. “Gimli, do you get the feeling luck is not on our side this day?” The Dwarf grunted, “We are still alive. It may be that something is not on our side but I still wager you are the luckiest Man I know.” Aragorn smiled, tiredly. “You are right, my friend. And we wont give up until we find Legolas.” The rock walls around them groaned threateningly, and Man and Dwarf gave each other worried looks as they began to pick their way through the rubble of their new tunnel. They did not speak, perhaps fearing to sound childishly paranoid that the very rocks around them now seemed to listen to their words and conspire to block their progress. The silence was starting to become overpoweringly depressing for Gimli, when the Man cried out and leaped forward. “What?” yelled the Dwarf fearfully, now clutching his axe and casting his eyes about nervously. “More loathsome serpents?” “Nay,” said the Man quietly, and Gimli swore he heard tears in the Human’s voice. The Dwarf approached the hunched figure of the Ranger, apprehensively, fearing what the light of his fire would reveal. But instead of the body of their beloved Elf, Gimli’s eyes fell upon one broken yellow arrow. The feathers will perfectly symmetrically aligned, just the way the meticulous Archer liked them. Gimli felt his own vision blur as he wiped at the sudden dampness that threatened to spill upon his cheeks. Aragorn spared him a quick smile before launching off with renewed vigor. “Yes!” growled the Dwarf in satisfaction. Gimli sprinted after him, feeling a triumphant smile tug at his own lips. That stubborn Elf had been here! Once again, the Man’s uncanny luck seemed to be holding out. No matter what this confounded, accursed mine wanted to throw at them, Gimli now felt certain they would find the errant Prince. And when they found him, came the dizzying thought, Gimli had half a mind to give the upstart Prince a kiss directly on those lovely pouting lips of his, as compensation for all their trouble. Although judging by the Man’s sharpened resolve to get to their lost companion, Gimli might have to wait his turn to gently remonstrate their Elf for wondering so far a field. The black tunnel twisted and turned, fortunately with no sign of cave-in. A faint touch of cool air against their over-heated faces was a good indication that somewhere there was a passage to the surface. Yes, Gimli’s spirits were on the rise. They would find the Archer and be out of this terrible place. For once, even he would prefer the woods, and open air to rock and stone. Gimli’s thoughts came to a halt when the tunnel abruptly closed before them. “What now?” groused the Dwarf, as Aragorn bent toward this latest barricade. The light of the Man’s torch revealed a narrow fissure, which opened, yet again into another chamber. It was narrow enough to let an Elf pass through but the two had to labor to widen it. How did the Elf, without benefit of light, navigate through this treacherous labyrinth? Neither was prepared for what lay past this new juncture. The circle of their firelight broke upon a grisly sight. The tunnel opened into a subterranean vault. Their torches cast shadows that at first made it look like a room full of people. Soon the frightening reality of their discovery became apparent in the dimness and Gimli realized his thoughts of immanent rescue of their friend were premature. This place had a way of confounding them at every turn. The Ranger stood up from his inspection of the fallen soldier whose face was still frozen in horror. The soldier’s arms were out stretched in supplication from his kneeling stance. It was as though the man would speak to them at any second, but the eyes remained vacant, unseeing in a look that could only recount the moment of his death. They stood in a chamber littered, it seemed, with eerie statuary that looked to be the ghastly monuments of some long forgotten battle. Soldiers and men of various races all preserved in marble lined the corridor. Some were kneeling upon the ground with beatific smiles upon their faces, as though the angel of death took them without their knowing. Others stood frozen in place, mouths still open for oration of some great import, now forever silenced. Others levied weapons in an impotent pantomime of threat. Statues they were and yet too real to be anything less than men. The Dwarf and the Ranger walked silently among the silent graveyard, glancing at each other, and wondering what could do such a thing; fearing what it could mean for Legolas and for themselves. Aragorn raised his torch high above the gruesome sight, and threaded his way quietly passed the ghost-like sentinels. He froze suddenly, stomach clenching in fear, as the unmistakable sound of his Elf’s moans drifted to his ears. “Legolas!” he cried, as he vaulted through the throng of the standing dead, ignoring the warning in their baleful stares. Chapter Five -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tiny pinpricks of pain and pleasure assaulted the Elf’s senses as his chest was lavished with attention. His nipples ached from the hungry mouth that worked on him feverishly. First one, then the other was taken into the hot cavern. Meanwhile, hands slid down his naked form to cup his testicles in a firm grip. Legolas cried out, the sensations carrying him to higher peaks of pleasure. Long had it been since the Elf knew the embrace of another and he could not deny the enjoyment he felt now. His body responded to the caresses even as his mind warred with itself over the wisdom of this encounter. He bit his lip and stifled another moan of pleasure as the hot mouth traveled lower, engulfing him. His mysterious lover was eager and tender all at the same time. It was all he had ever hoped Aragorn would be. The thought of the Ranger had the effect of cool water upon his senses. He groaned softly from the recesses of his aching soul, and the depth of his despair mingling strangely with the echoed moans of pleasure that reverberated against the walls. He could never have the Adan. It was not meant to be and Legolas knew now he would eventually fade from grief. So powerful was his love for the mortal that all his efforts to bury his feelings for the Man had become as a poison to himself. His heart was truly breaking. The Being that moved above him paused in its lavish ministrations and breathed softly against his thigh. “Poor Elfling, you are in pain.” Legolas did not respond. Tears rolled hotly down his cheeks, for the dam had finally burst with the touch of soft hands upon his flesh. The Being placed a gentle kiss on the skin of his inner thigh. “You weep for his touch,” continued his lover. “He cannot love you. You know this,” said the one enshrouded in darkness. Lips continued to place little kisses upon the Elf’s sensitive flesh. Legolas shuddered as tiny touches began to search out the secret places of his pleasure. “Pray, let me love you in his stead, and you can dream and pretend it is he that embraces you so…” Legolas nodded sadly in the dark, not knowing if his movement had been perceived. “Aragorn,” he whispered quietly to no one and gave himself over to the being that latched onto his elfhood again, teasing it back to life. He would give in to his love for the Man although Aragorn could never truly be his. He would let himself pretend, if only for this moment…and let his heart complete the journey that would take him to his eventual end. Sensing the opportunity had finally arrived, the Being gripped the Elf’s hips and latched on with surprising ferocity. Legolas cried out sharply and the sound of his scream pierced the surrounding blackness. But it was too late. Magic wrapped around the Elf, like the coils of a snake and in the darkness, it set to bind him to the other’s fate. Aragorn felt the pressure in his chest sharpen uncomfortably as he pounded sure footedly, down one tunnel and then the next. Had the Man’s feet sprouted wings he could not have flown faster around hidden bends and jumped wide cracks in the crumbling passageways. Something was happening! The confusion of the past several months, the swirling issues of the Man’s inner turmoil, vanished in the wake of a new burning awareness. Passion and desire for the Elf burst upon him, and so much more. He could feel Legolas…almost as if they were one. The scream that reverberated in the tunnels below them pierced Aragorn in the center of his skull. The Man faltered, almost dropping to his knees from the impact. He was dimly aware of Gimli’s supporting hands on his shoulders. But there was no time to respond to the Dwarf’s questions. They had to keep moving. Aragorn pushed his friend’s hands away and hurled himself down the winding tunnel. Something was going to take the Archer from him forever if he didn’t get there soon. How foolish he had been to deny his feelings for the Elf! He could not bear the thought of losing his Greenleaf. Not now. Gimli panted and gusted for air painfully behind the possessed Dúnadan. “Are you sure of the path, Aragorn?” he grunted in the darkness. “I can feel him, Gimli! We’ve got to hurry…if only I had not been so pig headed!” The Man’s words reached the Dwarf’s ears and Gimli would have happily added a few choice ones to add to that self assessment, but the urgency behind what the Ranger did not say froze his blood. Where was their Elf and what was happening to him? Gimli forced his tired legs to run faster, while his mind conjured up horrifying images of the petrified soldiers. Legolas threw his head back and roared his climax into the other’s hungry mouth. Before he could recover, his legs were thrown wide and something thick and sultry entered him. He blinked in confusion, reality swimming strangely in and out of focus, and tried to squirm away. Strong arms gripped him and held him still. He could feel it move within him, this way and that, seeking, testing, and finding that area so deeply hidden within him he even did not know of its presence. Lights burst before his closed eyes as it brushed again and again on that special tender spot, electrifying him with each gentle movement. The mouth closed on his erect member again, less gentle this time, forcing him to feel it all. Deeper and deeper inside the invader thrust, taking him now with merciless abandon and the magic, almost spent, plundered the hidden passages of the Elf’s body. It traveled like a dark tide into his veins and Legolas moaned. The face of his Aragorn swam before him and then grew dim. He could fight no longer. The time was fast approaching to bid farewell to the Mortal who had captured his heart… “Legolas!” cried the Man. The two warriors came to an abrupt halt. Fallen rocks blocked their path. Before Gimli could utter his suggestion that they double back the Man plunged onto the mound of small boulders and began to shovel them aside. The Ranger’s face was set in fierce determination. Their Elf was in serious trouble. The muscles in Gimli’s back spasmed in protest as he hefted one boulder after another. Finally a small hole was pierced. Slowly it yawned open before them as they worked with ripped and bleeding hands. Soft moans could now clearly be heard from the tiny break in the wall of rocks, and then a shrill scream, which froze them momentarily in their tracks. “Legolas!” screamed the Dúnadan, pushing himself frantically through the hole, forcing his body to move past scraping rocks. Gimli pushed him from behind until more of the rock gave way, enough for the slim man to pass through. Aragorn plunged with a war cry through the small aperture, leaving the bulkier Dwarf behind to yell out in dismay as more rocks tumbled from above, threatening to seal it once again. “Aragorn, take the fire with you!” Gimli tossed the torch through the tiny hole that yet remained in the unstable wall. A faint breeze now ruffled his sweaty beard as he continued to scrape rock. The sound of the Elf’s scream chilled Gimli to the bone. It was the unmistakable sound of terror and Gimli had never heard its like from the Archer before. Now Aragorn had plunged beyond the blocked entrance leaving Gimli to continue to push the damnable rocks aside. He cursed savagely as he worked. His friends were in there without him, facing Gods knew what! What ever happened next, the Dwarf would recall that it happened over the space of only a few minutes, an eternity that would live in his memory thereafter for the remainder of his life. The Thing smiled peacefully as it looked down at the transformed beauty writhing beneath it. It sat up and ran long thin hands through a soft tangle of raven hair that fell smoothly to its shoulders. “You have freed me, my beauteous lover,” it whispered mysteriously. “I promise I shall remember you always,” and lowered to place a gentle kiss upon the Legolas’s sweet mouth. Before the dazed Elf could speak, a crash of falling rocks drew their attention and sudden, almost painful light poured through the hole. It was as if the sun itself had risen to greet the lovers in their secluded chamber. “Get away from him! Foul Creature!” screamed the Man at the Thing revealed in the pale light of his fire. “No!” Screeched the Creature in trembling rage, “No light!” “Aragorn?” came the soft familiar voice of the Elf. The Man only barely glimpsed the graceful drape of pale limbs splayed upon the bed. The Creature untangled itself from the semiconscious Elf and began to approach the Man threateningly. “No, please, don’t hurt him!” cried the distressed Archer, as he struggled to rouse himself from his strange lethargy. The Elf’s melodic tones were unusually intoxicating to the Man’s ears and Aragorn found himself mysteriously wanting to inch closer to the seductive being hidden in the shadows of the great bed. The Creature halted in its tracks and for one split second hesitated. Its gray eyes touched on the Man in an odd expression of hatred and dread, which instantly faded to something else: anticipation. Mesmerized Aragorn watched it slowly turn, with faltering steps to make its way toward the fallen Prince, as if drawn by some invisible strings. The Thing’s gasp of pure delight filled the chamber. It was gazing down at the gorgeous Elf laid out upon the bower and a look of desire played over the Creatures face. The Elf’s eyes opened wide, dawning clarity magnified their cerulean depths and he gazed up at his lover who was now illuminated by the pale light of the Ranger’s fire. Legolas gasped, not at what he saw but in how he felt. The magic reached out from him to encircle the transfixed being. “You are beautiful,” it said in stunned awe. Legolas’s eyes widened in dreadful understanding and the Being shrugged at him with a rueful smile. “I knew,” it uttered quietly, “ I should not have looked…” and before Legolas’s own eyes the change happened. First, the feet, slowly…oh so slowly, rooted to the earth as rock melded with rock. The wave pulsed upward, rapidly from there, encasing the entire body of the Creature. The beatific smile froze perfectly and the eyes glazed over as they happily drank in the vision of Pure Beauty. Such was the fate of the Curse. The Elf gasped in horror. Within the space of a heartbeat, he understood what had happened and that the Man he loved most in all the world stood unprotected only a few spaces away from him. “Look not upon me, Aragorn!” cried the Elf desperately as he dove to hide behind the cavernous bed made of stone. “Legolas! Why do you run from me?” cried the Man in confusion as he stepped around the marble statue in the center of the room. “No, Aragorn! Do not look! Turn away, I beg of you and never return to this horrid place!” The Elf was crouched like a child in the dark corner of the chamber. The light of the Man’s torch did not yet touch him and Aragorn could hear the tears in his beloved’s voice. The sobs wrenched at the Man’s heart. “Why, Legolas?” he asked without moving. He turned slowly to look at the frozen statue again. His mind slowly stumbled over what he had seen, and over the others frozen in the corridor behind them. “I am cursed, Aragorn,” came the forlorn whisper. “ Do not come any closer, my friend, for I would rather die than bring you pain. I… I love you, Estel.” The last was but a mere whisper and it broke the Man’s heart. Words he had longed to hear now flew into the very center of his being, unleashing all he had ever tried to hide from within himself. Greenleaf loved him! ‘And I love you, Legolas,’ Aragorn realized silently, as though an ocean of understanding was suddenly unleashed within him. He loved the Elf and was about to lose him… Tears fell from the Man’s eyes as he turned again to look at the statue of the Thing. No, his mind whispered defiantly. But the evidence stood unmoving before him. The Elf’s poor sobs reached his ears. He could not now lose the greatest love he’d ever known, …not now, when his own stony resolve was finally melting! There was no justice in this… It simply could not be. Surely the Valar would not allow this to occur. He wouldn’t allow it! “Legolas…Greenleaf…” he said gently as he stepped closer to the Being that shrank frantically into the corner as far away from him as possible. The circle of light fell upon perfect alabaster feet. “No! Aragorn, I beseech you, do not!” cried the Elf hysterically, wedged tightly into the shrouded crook of the chamber. “Aragorn? What is happening in there?” shouted the Dwarf, still trapped behind the stone wall. Aragorn sucked in his breath at the erotic sight, mesmerized as to what the light would reveal as it wavered upon slender ankles and shapely calves. “Stop, I beg you,” whispered the trembling Elf. Aragorn paused, and licked his lips. The voice was melodiously entrancing. He took a half step closer and the circle of light slid upward to reveal gloriously long legs, bent at the knees and hugged tightly to a panting white chest. Perfection, sighed the Man’s mind. The Being before him trembled, and the Man ached at the sight of that quivering bared flesh. He raised the torch but a little to illuminate pale milky shoulders. Legolas cried out and hugged himself with long slender arms. “Why?” cried the Elf in distress. “Because,” said the Man quietly, stepping a little closer. The Elf whimpered helplessly as the light played over his naked form. It was the graceful body of a God, realized the Man, and it burned with Celestial fire. How had he failed to see it before now, he wondered. Now only the Elf’s face remained in shadow. “Please, please, Aragorn, do not do this! Think! I beg you! Think of …of all that …need you; of all that…that love you…” Pale rosy lips trembled in the dreadful light of the ever-approaching fire. Aragorn licked his lips, possessed by the sudden desire to bend down and capture those lips in a kiss, to taste them for the first time. “I can only think of … you,” whispered the Man truthfully, as tears slid from his eyes. “I have been a fool.” “No!” cried the sobbing Elf, “Don’t!” The voice of Gimli from behind the barrier was a distant cry. The light continued its lethal approach. “I can’t live without you,” choked the Man in explanation, as he inched closer. “So I will be forced to live without you!” cried the Elf accusingly as he pressed himself helplessly against the wall. Rosy hued cheeks glistened with diamond tears. “…I promise,” whispered the Man who knelt down before him, careful to keep the light at bay for a bit longer, “I’ll never leave you…” The Elf moaned as fingers reverently caressed his face, …lifting his chin… Aragorn closed his eyes and bent forward to press his lips to the honey nectar of the Elf’s mouth. Legolas moaned and trembling lips parted like flower petals to give the Man entrance. Aragorn’s head swam from the heady sensation of plunging into the warm cavern at last. Warm and succulent, the Elf’s mouth was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Aragorn drank his fill, the sensations shooting straight to his groin. And deeper…into his soul. Forever. …Forever,… he whispered into the kiss…Forever…with his Greenleaf! The Elf moaned with desire… ….and then Aragorn opened his eyes. Deepest sapphire jewels, finally illuminated in the firelight, shed tears of heartache as they turned up to see the love finally and unflinchingly expressed on the Man’s features. Aragorn quickly pulled him to his feet. “… Greenleaf,” said the Man in an awed tearstained voice, his gray eyes widening in shock as he looked at the transformed Elf… And the ghost of a smile touched the Man’s lips, …before Aragorn’s world went black. (It was like looking into the sun, he mused into the stillness, that was the end… extreme Beauty could be blinding …) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Epilogue to follow for those who want more. Thank you for reading. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Epilogue: Melting Haldir burst through the opening in the ground. They landed in a dark tunnel some twelve feet down. The Dwarf pointed the way with a trembling finger. “Weapons at the ready!” cried the Marchwarden over his shoulder. Gimli grabbed at the hem of Haldir’s sleeve, as Elves bearing lethal blades, marched past them with deadly efficiency. Their battle armor glinted dangerously in the firelight of their torches. “What are you doing? Will you shoot the Elf?!” cried the Dwarf. He could not believe what he was hearing. This was Legolas they were talking about! “If what you have said is true, Master Dwarf, we may have no choice,” replied Haldir, with all the grim practicality of the Galadhrim. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “We have company, My Love. The time has come when we must finally part,” whispered a melodious voice, enshrouded in shadow. The Creature trailed a loving white hand across the Man’s broad chest. He tried to sound brave. Legolas knew, of course, that he and the Man had truly parted long ago. But, somehow, the fantasy that his Aragorn could hear him had sustained him over the eternally lonely nights. Nay, here under the world, there was only one Night. One long interminable Night. And it was finally going to come to an end. For Aragorn, Legolas would be brave. But his voice trembled when he tried to sing. It was one of the Man’s favorites. He finally abandoned the attempt. Desolation filled him, for the time of songs was long past. Aragorn was dead. The Man he had grown to love, beyond even life itself, was killed …in that blinding instant when their eyes met. It was only fitting that Legolas should now finally pay for that crime. At least, his stout Dwarven friend had been convinced to flee for his life. Poor Gimli! How frightened the Dwarf had been. And who could blame him? Legolas should have taken his own life long ago. He tried, once. It was that time, that season, when guilt finally drove him to madness, …when he thought he could hear the Man’s thoughts. The very idea that the Man was imprisoned in living marble, waiting for the seconds when Legolas would draw near, it was …horrifying! That’s when he left. He could not bear to say good-bye to Aragorn, insane though the thought was, so he had simply …gone away. Deep into the bowels of the earth, he walked, and there … he tried to do it. But he could not. Coward! How he loathed himself and what he had become. Although, in truth, he did not fear death. He simply could not do that to the Man. He could not leave Aragorn. The Prince snorted at himself in disgust. What a coward and a fool he had become. Aragorn was no more. He glanced at the rocky ceiling above his head. Dust drifted down from the rocky enclosure, and the sounds of the Lórien Elves grow louder. They were in the tunnels above. The Elf smiled in sad anticipation. Gimli was a good friend. Now one last service remained for the Dwarf to perform: to lead the Galadhrim right to him. He knew Gimli would grieve, for the Dwarf was, in the last analysis, an optimist. He probably thought this was some kind of ‘rescue mission.’ But Legolas knew better. He knew Haldir of Lórien. Legolas began his song again, for the Man he so dearly loved. There should be time for one last verse. It was one of Aragorn’s favorites. Sounds from the tunnels traveled to him faster now. They were getting close. Legolas’s song faltered, and he reached up to wrap his arms around his beloved. Now, finally, the time for pretending was over. He looked up into the Man’s face searching…searching, once again, for the revulsion he thought must be there. Aragorn remained just as he had always been, from that moment that had been his last: frozen, wide-eyed, captured for eternity in an expression of shock, …and that enigmatic little smile. Long had Legolas looked at that smile which started at the corners of the Man’s mouth. The Elf traced it with a long white finger, for the millionth time, and searched the expressive face. He could draw it from memory, every line, every nuance of the great regal bearing. Everything that was his Aragorn was emblazoned in his memory. No, there was no revulsion in the Ranger’s face, no trace of the horror Legolas himself had felt at his own transfiguration. The Elf sighed and placed the palm of his hand to cup the whiskered cheek. And Legolas wondered, not for the first time, what the Dúnadan saw when he looked at the Elf. There were no mirrors, no reflecting ponds beneath the earth. Nothing that might answer that one question in the Elf’s mind. What made Aragorn smile? The sounds grow louder. Their time was growing short. And he had so much to say! “I wish, My Love, that I could tell you how happy you have made me,” the Elf whispered to the Man, leaning close against the hard chest. He wrapped his arms tight around the still shoulders and let his hands caress the stiff neck and head. “I wish that you could know how much I love you, and …” his voice faltered, “…how sorry I am to have failed you.” Sounds now came from just outside the hidden chamber. Legolas grasped the Man tighter and his body trembled with anticipation. Tears spilled from the Elf’s sapphire eyes. Voices, just from beyond the entrance, now echoed off the walls. “I wish you could know how much I miss you, my Aragorn, my Love.” Lips caressed the cold marble neck and rounded ear. Gimli’s voice was close now, arguing loudly with the Marchwarden. “If only, my sweet Love, if only we could be together,” he whispered, trailing little kisses across the Man’s face and pressing his body tight to the unyielding form. Light now filtered waveringly into the subterranean bower. Metal armor reflected brightly in the darkness… “If only,” whispered quivering lips against the Man’s mouth, “If only I could feel your arms around me one more time…if only we could be together, forever. ” And then he opened his eyes, lips still pressed to the Man’s mouth, and gazed into the mirrored surface of a shield over his lover’s shoulder… and saw for the first time what made the Man smile. “I wish…” And then the world went black. Time swam out of his ken. The world tilted. And amidst the clamor of distant voices something else demanded his attention. The hazy touching of essence….an essence he had known long ago. An essence he had felt yet thought was imagination… It conjured an image, one that was most loved. Brown hair, curling at the ends…steel gray eyes, and a smile…a small enigmatic smile. Lips. Melting into him. Lips, warm and moist, that now sought his. Was this imagination? Was this death? Strong arms encircled him, and searching fingers traveled up to his face, and into his hair. The kiss grew more demanding and his mouth was teased open, giving entrance to a fiercely searching tongue. Hands groped hungrily over his body, seeking contact with flesh. Flesh that had been so long denied. Breaths mingled, and someone moaned. His knees began to slide out from under him and had it not been for the strong arms that embraced him, he surely would have melted to the floor. But something was melting. Something was changing. He almost feared to open his eyes. But the voices grew louder again and then he finally dared to look. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Is this some kind of joke, Master Dwarf?” asked the imperious voice of the Marchwarden, dangerously. Gimli stammered, dropping the borrowed armor to the ground. He had seen them, as sure as he was standing here now, he had seen the two of them. A breathtaking crystal sculpture of the entwined pair! As though hewn from the hands of a great artist, the lovers grasped each other in an effigy of sheer rapture. He had definitely seen them! And then the Elves had finally pushed past him, intent on their misguided purpose. When the Dwarf did not answer, the Marchwarden snorted in disgust. He turned to the Man and the Elf, sharp eyes traveling over the subterranean bedchamber and the entwined couple. “Prince Legolas, Dúnadan, are you both…well?” The two lovers did not answer. They had eyes only for each other. “How?” whispered Legolas to the Man that held him tight. “I don’t know, except that I heard everything you said to me. And maybe…someone out there does grant wishes.” The End.