Title:  The Breaking - Chapter 6/?
        Author:  Keil
Author's Email:  keiltagh (at) comcast (dot) net
       Pairing:  Aragorn/Legolas
        Rating:  R
       Summary:  Strange forces are at work against the remaining
                 members of the Fellowship, but none feel it more
                 than Legolas or Aragorn.
    Disclaimer:  Characters and the world of Arda copyright Tolkien
                 and all that, no money being made, utmost respect
                 for his works.
      Feedback:  Very much appreciated :)
  
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    The Breaking
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Chapter 6


His retreat led him back to the confines of the same hall in which
he'd earlier found Aragorn. His boots made no noise as they passed
over the flagstone and stopped before one of the arched windows; the
only sound was the rushing of his breath as he inhaled deeply.
Carefully, Legolas removed his quiver and set it and his bow on the
floor to one side. Had he been more inclined to allow his emotions to
overtake him, he might have thrown his things to the ground, but a
warrior is never foolish enough to abuse his own weapons. Instead the
only sign of the tumultuous onslaught within his breast was the slight
shaking of his hands as he folded his arms, and the way the corners of
his mouth were pulled back ever so faintly. Sickness rose within him
in great waves that threatened to break at any moment, and it was all
he could do to shut his eyes and allow the pitiful breeze to wash over
him and fight them back. Legolas's efforts were proving futile, as the
wind seemed no less ill than he, and it was not long before he turned
his back on the vista before him and felt his legs give way almost of
their own accord. His body slid quickly down the lower part of the
wall as he nearly fell to the ground.

The elf drew his knees upward until his arms, still crossed, were
pressed tightly against his stomach. There was not a time he could
recall in his thousands of years that he had felt anything like this.
He wondered briefly if it was at all similar to the common ailments
suffered by the race of men; if it was he was certain he did not envy
it. He sighed softly, trying to clear his mind. Yet lending to this
dizzy, nauseatingly disarming storm that had seized hold of his
insides was a feeling to which he was entirely a stranger. Legolas
could sense it, needling beneath his flesh, beginning to work its
claws into his heart. The feeling was faint enough, as a splinter
beneath the skin that caused pain only when it was worried. But it was
waiting, like the tips of an eagle's talons biding their time until
the chance came to crush heavily into their prey. He squeezed his eyes
shut softly, fighting back the grief that stalked silently in his
chest, and tried to swallow down the sour taste that burned the back
of his throat. That was one thing he might envy -- lesser degree to
which men could feel.

At length, the sound of someone approaching caused Legolas to open
his eyes. He watched the light from torch and window mingle in the
corners and seams of floor and wall, but he did not stand. The heavy
footfalls and gruff breath identified Gimli to his ears, and he was
not sure he could trust his legs to hold him anyway. Realising his
eyes were damp, he quickly wiped them with a sleeve in a motion of
annoyance. Under no circumstances was he prepared to present
/that/ to the dwarf, friend or not; he'd never hear the end of
it, and he was angry with himself for the effect he was allowing his
emotions to have. It was a minute before Gimli finally ambled into the
corridor, making a satisfied sound as he spied the elf sitting with
his back against the wall, the light filtering down to gild his hair
and cast shadow upon his face.

Gimli cleared his throat as he approached Legolas, stopping next to
him but making no move to join him just yet. "So, is our elvish
princeling too good fer a bed? Have ta sit 'ere against'a bunch o'
rock, suff'rin' like some crazy --" He was cut off by a sharp look
from Legolas, and arched a brow.

"I thought I would leave the sleep to you, my friend," the elf
said, his voice thicker than he would have liked as he could still
feel a sour taste in his throat. He tightened his fingers where they
rest around his forearms. "Out looking for more trouble?"

"Apparently so," Gimli said, half thoughtfully. The dwarf remained
silent for a moment before deigning to seat himself a short distance
from his friend. Legolas took notice that Gimli carried none of his
typical accoutrement of axes, and though his brow lifted he made no
comment.

"How did you find me, then?" the elf asked, feigning disinterest,
although he could not help but hold a certain appreciation for Gimli's
sudden appearance. It served to blunt the edge of his uneasiness.
Legolas relaxed his position just enough to allow himself to drape
both arms over his knees.

A snort reached the elf's ears, followed by the rumble of the
dwarf's voice. "Aragorn told me I might wish ta look 'ere." Gimli did
not miss the slight widening of his friend's eyes and added, with a
dismissing gesture of his hand, "Said it was where 'e woulda gone." It
was the dwarf's turn to widen his eyes, though in an unvoiced question
rather than surprise.

Legolas looked away, letting his eyes roam down the hall through
the haze of day that was cut through with the light slicing in from
the windows. He let his gaze linger, watching the dust motes rise and
fall, unwilling to speak until Gimli did so first. He could hear the
dull, choking moan that the wind carried with it, likening it somehow
to the breaths he took in this wordless silence, the sound of
something trapped deep within him that had discovered it had no way
out.

"Even those of us with less ability to take notice o' such things
c'n see yeh've been troubled, of late." When the dwarf did speak it
was with kinder tones than the elf expected, the burr of his voice
almost soothing. Legolas turned back to his friend, and for the first
time locked gazes with some trepidation. "I said b'fore, I don't claim
ta know what's goin' on, but I cannot stand back an' watch this
heartache any longer." Gimli's face was unusually grave as he spoke,
the lines in his face for once betraying his near century and a half
of age, his hands folded over his legs.

At this, the elf cast his eyes to the floor, his pale brow
furrowing and serving to further darken his features. "You cannot
understand, Gimli," Legolas said with a distantly strained voice. He
was not entirely surprised that the source of the tension between
himself and Aragorn had not gone wholly undiscovered. But he found he
was not prepared to explain this, not to the dwarf, and not to anyone
else.

"Oh, of course I can't," Gimli replied, clearly only to mollify the
elf, as this was not the point. "But I c'n see in these times o'
darkness an' despair, that one should not cast aside so easily chances
o' the heart. We stand on th' edge o' the world ending, an' less an'
less come to us all any chances of happiness." This set a dark cloud
over the elf's face, and Gimli had trouble discerning his friend's
response. "I only say that yeh may find reason not to be so 'ard on
yerself, laddie. I can see no reason to throw yerself so readily to
grief." The dwarf had begun to stand as he spoke these last words, and
now he laid a roughened hand on Legolas's shoulder.

The elf swallowed sharply, his unusual discomfort showing in a
slight grimace. But at last he looked up, finding he could do no more
than give a small nod to his friend. The dwarf accepted this with a
smile, and took a few steps back the way he had come. "We've a few
hours yet I think," he said over his shoulder, his usual gruffness
returning already. "I don' know about you, but I'm goin' to get some
rest."

Legolas listened rather than watched Gimli depart, the heavy steps
echoing like distant drums down the corridor. He sat motionless for a
long while, fighting off the choking breaths that threatened to escape
him and breathing from the foul night air deeply. He was almost
thankful for its wretched taste. Gimli's words still hung in the air,
substantial enough he could almost see them swimming in the shafts of
light patterning the hallway. He shook his head to no one at all, his
shoulders falling beneath the burden of responsibility and the things
his dwarven friend could never understand. Ripping his glare from the
ground, at last he stood, gathering his things to him and disappearing
swiftly into the shadows of the Hornburg.

Aragorn sat with his head in his hands resting on the bed in which
Gimli had been sleeping but a short time before. His fingers were
curled around several tresses of hair, and his body sagged as if he
were nearly asleep himself. The sound of footsteps roused him, and he
untangled his fingers and let his arms fall onto his thighs. Little
time had passed since Gimli had left him in search of the elf, and
this puzzled him. Certainly the dwarf could not have given up looking
so easily.

Appearing in the doorway, the dwarf paused, taking in the rather
shabby sight of the ranger on the edge of the mattress. Gimli crossed
his arms over his chest and straightened, giving Aragorn a discerning,
and quite nearly disapproving, stare. "You were right," he offered
finally, stepping into the room. "Those elves are a strange race, one
moment complainin' about our so called uninhabitable caves o' stone,
and the next seekin' out the same rock to rest against."

The ranger sought to banish all thoughts of the elf from his mind,
and so was not inclined to join his friend's initial conversation.
He'd told the dwarf where he might find Legolas only because he
thought he would be allowed some time to himself while the two were
together. He had imagined them spending hours mulling over whatever
Gimli wished somewhat eagerly to discuss, judging by his earnest
inquiries into the elf's whereabouts.

"What, did he not wish company?" the man asked with somewhat of a
wry grimace. He would not be surprised to learn that Legolas had
turned the dwarf away in a similar desire to avoid his post battle
surliness.

"I think," Gimli said after a pause as he studied the ranger
carefully from across the room, "that he quite desires company. But I
had need only to relay some information, an' now that I've cleared
that up, I'm back to rest with an unburdened mind." He stepped heavily
toward the side of the bed with a look that left the ranger no room
for protest.

Aragorn exhaled softly, but he gave his friend a small smile. "Of
course, my friend," he said, sweeping his arm above the bed before
stepping away and taking his belt from the table. He fastened it
around his waist, situating the sword in its scabbard above one hip,
and moved toward the door. "Your head is not causing much trouble, I
take it?" he asked finally as he turned halfway in the threshold.

"Nay, less pain than a scratch," Gimli said with a throaty chuckle.
There was in his eyes a gleam of thanks, though he did not put it to
words, and Aragorn nodded deeply to his friend. "Aragorn..." Gimli's
voice reached him just as he'd turned to pass through the doorway, and
the ranger was forced to look back again. "We have all suffered at the
hands of ill fate. You need not abandon yer heart to your sense of
duty."

Aragorn could only stare at the dwarf, who suddenly waved him away
with a grin. With a look of incredulity, the ranger walked out the
door, catching the handle with his hand as he passed and sought to
pull it closed behind him. Just before the door clicked shut he found
himself face to face with Gandalf. The ranger managed to avoid
starting at the sudden appearance of the wizard, but his brow lowered
and he silently chastised himself for having failed to expect
Gandalf's rather inevitable presence.

"And how does our dear Gimli fair this late morning?" Gandalf spoke
first, his high spirits evident in the smile he gave the man. The
wizard made no move toward the room, however, and instead motioned for
Aragorn to close the door completely. The ranger complied, dropping
his hand to his side as soon as he felt the click of the latch.

"He heals quickly," the ranger answered, squaring his frame as he
faced Gandalf. "I treated the wound earlier. It could have been much
worse had his helm not taken the fiercest of the blow." The man
grasped one hand loosely in the other. "He is sleeping now," Aragorn
added as a soft snoring rattled trough the wood behind him. "We can
wake him shortly before we are to depart."

The wizard nodded, moving his staff from one hand to the other as
he stepped closer to Aragorn. "Good, good," he said cheerfully,
motioning one arm so that the engulfing fabric of his cloak fell back
and left it unhindered. "I am glad you were able to convince him to
rest, he would have been most aggrieved to find himself staying behind
while we ventured to Isengard."

"I wonder if he would have found himself at all," the man said,
unable to prevent a smile from creasing his features, and it eased his
heart for a moment. "Had we forced him to stay I fear he might
singlehandedly have brought into question our standing with Rohan by
stealing a horse and, I daresay, attempting to ride it on his own. In
fact, I am not sure which would be the more serious crime."

This brought a great laugh from the wizard that reverberated off
the walls and drifted down into the unseen corridors beyond. "Yes,
yes, I imagine you are quite right," Gandalf said, placing his free
hand on Aragorn's shoulder. His face became more serious, the lines
around his eyes deepening and his mouth drawing into a line. "It is
good that we can find such humour in the shadow of the days that await
us," he said with a low timbre as his voice regained its rough
gravity. Aragorn, who had been affected by the contagious laughter of
the old man suddenly felt his change in mood abandon him, and the
solemnity return. Whatever humour one might find was short lived, it
seemed, and the ranger could not feel any lasting effects from the
momentarily careless banter.

"We must not allow our hearts to drown beneath the coming days,"
Gandalf continued at length, leaning in to speak softly to the ranger.
"Fate awaits us all, my friend, but even on such journeys as these we
all have our choices to make. And not all of them are as difficult as
they may at first appear." With this, he clapped his hand lightly
before removing it from Aragorn's shoulder and taking his staff from
his other hand. With a final smile, the wizard departed, his white
robes billowing like stray cloud behind him, the only sound his staff
tapping lightly with every other step.

Aragorn watched him retreat, his eyes unfocused, his features
contorted in disbelief. It was apparent the wizard had not been
oblivious to the tension in the air, and the ranger was forced to
admit that he would have been rather disconcerted had Gandalf not so
easily discerned the cause. A moment of reflection made it quite
obvious to Aragorn that he and Legolas had been anything but discreet
in their deliberations. Perhaps they had been too caught up in gauging
the cause and delivering the effect to lend care to their actions. And
now he found himself beneath offerings of advice for which he had not
asked, which he had not wanted and which now brought up within him
such a feeling of dread he thought he might be sick. In his mind he
had come to a conclusion that was now called into question. With no
outside influence he could allow himself to trust in the rightness of
his decision, could fool himself into believing that his denial of
heart was the only path forward. Instead he found words of
contradiction coming from Gimli, and now Gandalf of all people: the
wizard, the one who had long sought his return to the throne of Gondor
and all the duties it entailed.

Lifting his hand, fingers contracting tightly, he placed a fist
over his heart in response to the rapid tempo that sprang up within
his chest. He closed his eyes and leaned lightly against the door to
Gimli's room to brace himself as his head was once again thrown into a
match of strength with his heart. It was like this, head hanging low
as he used the door for support, his hand clutching at the very same
fabric that had earlier been held in a much fairer hand, that Legolas
found him.

The elf stepped silently up the hall, intending to track down
Gimli. He found himself wishing to speak with the dwarf; of what,
precisely, he remained unsure, but he was not entirely content to
leave their conversation so open ended. As soon as his eyes fell upon
the form of Aragorn, he paused, half prepared to turn without a sound
and find shelter in solitude once again. It appeared Gimli was already
resting, or else had company that was not to be disturbed, though he
could hear no voices. He told himself he had no reason to stay.

Aragorn opened his eyes as he took a deep breath, straightening
himself to his full height, though he still held his hand solidly over
his chest. Legolas's chance at an unnoticed exit evaporated as the
ranger looked down the hall and locked eyes with the elf. So instead
of turning away, Legolas forced himself to approach, his fingers
wrapped so tightly around his bow his knuckles were white. His heart
beat wildly in his chest and he was sure the man could hear his
breathing even at this distance. Stopping a few paces from the man, he
jerked his chin toward the door and managed to avoid clearing his
throat. "Sleeping again, is he?" he asked, determined not to show his
unease. Aragorn was his closest friend, and he would not allow things
to change because of some vile treachery upon the wind.

The only reaction the ranger gave at his surprise was to clench his
fist more tightly on the cloth of his shirt. A moment later, he
swallowed visibly and released his hand, leaving the fabric wrinkled
and out of place before he dropped his arm. "He is," Aragorn replied
with a curt nod, taking a step away from the door so that his voice
stood less of a chance of carrying through to Gimli. "Gandalf has
agreed to wake him shortly before we leave," he added, thinking the
elf might wish to know when he could approach the dwarf if his visit
carried some urgency. "We have some hours before our departure. He
will do well with the rest."

Legolas nodded absently and had to force himself to stand his
ground as the ranger stepped away from Gimli's room. Whether this was
because he thought he might find himself retreating, or because he
feared he would step toward the man he was not sure, but he held fast
and kept his feet planted as they were. Aragorn's face appeared
conflicted, and it looked as if the ranger were struggling for the
right words amidst a sea of contrary ideas. The elf was uncertain how
long the silence hung between them, but at last Aragorn stepped toward
him. Eyes narrowing slightly, Legolas searched the man's face, but
found himself unable to discover his intent.

As Aragorn closed the distance between them, he lifted an arm
toward the elf in a jagged motion that broke off as soon as it had
begun as he thought better of it. Instead he let his hand fall
awkwardly onto the pommel of his sword. Believing that if he did not
set some task to his limbs he might find himself in a less, or perhaps
more, desirable position, he motioned with the other arm for them to
walk down the hall. Aragorn did not allow the silence to draw out much
longer, and he set his jaw, deciding that if he said nothing now he
would only find himself lost in the same struggle that had plagued him
for so many hours.

"I know I spoke of forgetting our apologies, and the wrongs we
thought we had done one another," the ranger began, his voice more
throaty than he'd hoped, and he fought back a cough. "But for the days
past where I have seemed inconstant and distant, I do offer my
regrets. It was never my intent to neglect our friendship. And I have
taken your earlier words to heart --" His voice broke there because he
knew that this was untrue; he had taken them to mind but his heart
would hear them not, and fought tooth and nail to free itself from
beneath their oppressive weight. He forced himself to continue,
feeling the metal of the sword handle bite eagerly into his flesh as
his grip tightened. "I will no longer let whatever underhanded
presence that holds these lands stand in the way of our friendship. I
would not have some unfounded turn of heart make strange the air
between us."

Legolas could do naught but offer a nod as the words buried
themselves in his skin, igniting a terrifying cold in his limbs. The
claws surrounding his heart constricted, and he was barely able to
defy a small gasp that bubbled up from the ache in his breast. He
steeled himself by sheer will alone, as he already gripped his bow so
tightly his hand had begun to burn. The elf's head swam, and he found
his legs protesting their role in supporting him. He could not help
but scrutinise Aragorn's face, which seemed to him faintly twisted,
his eyes a dark and brooding curtain. Had the man truly deemed his
desires unfounded, and determined the best road was to set them aside
as folly? Legolas held his gaze steady, and after what seemed an age
Aragorn's expression faltered, shattered like a mirror that breaks not
completely, but just enough to see past the reflection to some shards
of the world behind. Legolas caught the uncertain quirk of the
ranger's brows and the sharp flash deep within his eyes. For a moment,
the elf was unwilling to acknowledge it.

It had been so easy for Legolas to hide behind the bonds of
friendship when there was no chance of anything else. He'd found some
vague salvation in his role as friend, and the terms to which he'd
held his heart then had been just acceptable enough. But since the
days he'd first felt that searing gaze his heart had been troubled,
unable to find respite and growing day by day ever more desperate and
sore. It was in some ways worse that he thought these nearly
discarnate feelings Aragorn presented were conjured by some ill ward
of the Shadow. But the idea that it would pass and the honour gained
in his refusal to allow either of them to fall into it had been enough
to console him. This, though -- this was the culmination of what he
had feared above all. That the man's feelings might have arrived from
within his own heart, and it was not some form of vile trickery, was
what had brought him to grief in the past days. It had taken hold of
his heart and surely would never again let go.

It was not his anger at this that drove him, rather only broke his
restraint. His free hand rose up and grasped that same place of
unkempt cloth it had the day before, and in an instant he had pushed
Aragorn against the wall for a second time. Legolas ignored the man's
evident surprise and stepped closer, pressing his body against the
ranger so close did he stand. The elf's face was close enough to the
man's that their breath became indistinguishable. His eyes seared into
Aragorn's, melting away the last of the icy backdrop that held at bay
the truth the man tried so desperately to hide, and Legolas witnessed
it all.

"You lie," he said, his voice almost a whisper he could barely hear
over the rush of his heartbeat in his ears.

Aragorn found himself incapable of protest at the mercy of the
elf's fury. He managed to release his hand from his sword as the
scabbard clattered against the stone behind him but did nothing with
it. His breath caught in his throat as he felt Legolas's weight
bearing into him, and as his friend spoke he lost complete control of
the shield he'd placed between them. "Legolas..." he began, direly
wishing for the elf to understand his intentions, but he found he
could not speak. He fought a shiver as Legolas's hot breath swam over
his mouth.

Legolas allowed his eyes to linger a moment longer, tracing with
them the angles of the ranger's face, watching the firelight dip and
flow over the peaks of his brow and cheekbones and then delve into the
valleys of his eyes and mouth. But it was only a moment, and then he
crushed his lips against Aragorn's. The man did not pull away, but
lifted both hands to the elf's face, cradling it just below his jaw
and letting his fingers rest in the soft hair behind his ears. Aragorn
allowed his eyes to slip closed and moaned softly, then pushed Legolas
back just far enough to break the contact between them. He found the
elf's eyes burning into his almost challengingly.

"Legolas," the man said, finding himself with barely a breath. "Ú
herio man ú teliach," he whispered, his lips gently brushing Legolas's
as he spoke.

The elf's smooth brow creased and his eyes sharpened. His gaze bore
into Aragorn, unwavering, and the world was still -- even the torches
seemed to quiet and the shadows ceased dancing. Legolas carefully
released his bow and did not wince at the noise it made when it
clattered lightly to the ground as he brought his free hand up to
grasp the back of Aragorn's neck. He pressed his mouth to the man's
again as fiercely as the first time, pulling him closer and twining
his fingers in the dark curls of hair. This time he felt Aragorn
respond, and Legolas flicked out his tongue to feel the lips beneath
his part. A small groan escaped from the back of Aragorn's throat as
their tongues intertwined, and Legolas savoured his exploration of the
ranger's mouth. The kiss deepened, and the aggression behind it
heightened, as if they were both long seeking answers that could be
found there in that moment. Aragorn felt himself shake beneath the
force Legolas threw forth, and he felt the blood pounding in his head
as he fought to return the kiss with as much fervour. Their breath
mingled and the ranger drank in Legolas's scent, of pine and wind and
musky earth, feeling it imprint itself in his memory without effort.

Legolas pressed himself more heavily against Aragorn, feeling the
knot that had been consuming him for so many days incinerate, sending
waves of heat outward from his stomach and down to his groin. He
groaned softly, pressing his hips into the ranger as he bit down on
the man's lower lip. Aragorn growled softy in response, curling his
fingers in the elf's hair as the rush of blood in his ears drown out
the sounds of the world. He dropped one arm to encircle Legolas's
waist and pulled him closer, his heart feeling as though it might
burst beneath his rib cage.

When the kiss finally broke, the pair were breathing hard, the
elf's hand crushed against Aragorn's chest, his slender fingers
twisted in the man's hair. They watched each other, eyes half lidded,
and Aragorn had his answer to the question he had barely asked.
Legolas would see this through to the end, no matter what end might
find them.

"I do not know if I can accept what you offer," Aragorn said at
last, his arm drawing the elf reflexively closer for fear he might
recoil. But Legolas made no move, save for the slight widening of his
eyes that glistened cobalt, insistent blue tides that served to batter
at Aragorn's will.

"And I can offer you no more than you can offer to me," Legolas
replied softly as the torchlight flickered in the depths of dark
pupils. The man found himself lacking the facilities to analyse the
elf's words, so gave a nearly imperceptible nod. In response Legolas
pressed his growing hardness into Aragorn, grinning faintly to find
his arousal was matched before he leaned in and dragged his lips
hungrily along the man's neck, scraping his teeth lightly over flesh
salty with sweat and running his tongue down and across the ranger's
collarbone.

Aragorn loosened his hold on the elf long enough for Legolas to
release the man's hair and free his trapped arm, dropping them both to
take a hold of Aragorn's hips and force him closer. The ranger stifled
a cry as a jolt of pleasure shot through him, threatening to unravel
his senses. He held on, if only barely, and suddenly realised they
were still in the corridor. With obvious effort he pushed Legolas back
from him, trailing his fingers down the elf's throat before shooting
dark glances to his left and right. Legolas seemed to glean
understanding without words, and Aragorn found himself being pulled
through a doorway to an empty room before he could object; although
somewhere beneath the fire that slowly consumed him, he had doubts he
would have, even if he'd had the chance.

---------------------
** Ú herio man ú teliach. -- 'Do not begin what you cannot finish.'


Title:  The Breaking - Chapter 7/?
        Author:  Keil
Author's Email:  keiltagh (at) comcast (dot) net
       Pairing:  Aragorn/Legolas
        Rating:  NC17
       Summary:  Aragorn and Legolas meet before they take the road
                 to Isengard.
    Disclaimer:  Characters and the world of Arda copyright Tolkien
                 and all that, no money being made, utmost respect
                 for his works.
      Feedback:  Very much appreciated :)
      
---------------------
    The Breaking
---------------------

Chapter 7


The door closed with a dull echo, or perhaps it was the thud of
Aragorn's back against the oak as Legolas shoved the ranger up against
it. The elf's hands had already pulled the man's undermost shirt free
from his breeches and had begun roaming over Aragorn's flesh, soft
fingers tracing every curve and cavity of muscle and skin. The ranger
couldn't help letting slip a shuddering sigh, and Legolas leaned in to
taste him, parting the man's willing lips with his tongue and delving
into his mouth once again. Aragorn moaned, and Legolas pulled one hand
free from beneath the man's shirt to tangle it in his dark locks,
twirling the slick hair at the back of his head between his long
fingers and running his thumb along the soft wisps in front of the
ranger's ears.

After a moment had passed, their fervour broke softly, and in their
pause Legolas buried his face into Aragorn's shoulder. Their chests
rose and fell rapidly in an even, heated rhythm and the elf let his
arm snake around the man's waist, pulling him close in a fierce but
restrained movement. With his brow still resting in the curve between
Aragorn's neck and shoulder, pale fingers tangled starkly in strands
almost black with moisture, he squeezed his eyes shut. Aragorn could
not see his expression, but there was a new tension in the stretch of
Legolas's shoulders, a way the elf's fingertips pressed just so into
the warm skin of his back that kept the man from questioning it.

Legolas felt the ranger's warm breath against his ear, and curled his
fingers more tightly around Aragorn's hair. He tilted his head to the
side, and Aragorn could feel his lips on his neck, softly moving as if
burdened with the intent of speech. But no words came, and instead the
elf's muscles suddenly tensed and his mouth fell hungrily against the
man's skin. The arm around Aragorn's waist jerked him again suddenly
forward, pressing their bodies together roughly. A surprised, but
greedy groan escaped Aragorn, and he brought his hands between them,
battle torn fingers grasping at strings and fumbling with knots.
Legolas did not seem willing to allow any space to come between them,
but as Aragorn leaned to run his tongue along the outer edge of the
elf's ear, the shiver and accompanying gasp this earned allowed him
just enough room to begin working free the ties he could reach.

The elf conceded then, leaning back just enough to capture Aragorn
beneath another kiss, tempered with less ferocity than the last. He
set himself to the same task of deftly dispersing the lacework of
Aragorn's clothing with the hand he freed from the man's hair. Even
with one hand, Legolas's movements were immeasurably more nimble than
those of the ranger, and in moments he had unpinned the cloak, which
arced softly to the floor in a billowing pile, and was yanking upward
on the fabrics and leather of the man's shirt and tunics. Movements
driven by his building fever, Aragorn abandoned his attempts at
undoing the elf's fastenings and allowed his arms to lift and the
shirts to be dragged over his head in swift order, ignoring them as
they were discarded on the floor. With heavy breath, Legolas ran his
hands down the man's chest, his eyes dark though the torchlight burned
brightly. Heat pooled in his groin and he tilted his hips against the
ranger.

There was a roar in Aragorn's ears as the two collided, mouths
crashing into one another, teeth finding their marks on lips and skin,
travelling along jawlines and down necks, and suddenly Legolas's chest
was bare beneath his, though he could not recall whether he was
responsible for this or not. Everything else slipped out of thought
and time as skin clashed with ebullience against skin, and he felt,
rather than heard, his belt and scabbard clatter to the floor behind
him. The elf's scent filled his every breath, the taste of soft skin
beneath the trail of his tongue flooded his senses and set him afire
in some red haze beneath Legolas's touch. He grasped the elf's face
between his hands, leaning in to kiss him with an intensity that
threatened to consume Legolas. His own erection pulsed beneath the
cloth of his breeches and as the elf ground into him he could not hold
back a moan.

But the elf did not wither beneath the man's embrace, rather fought
back with heightened fervour, crushing his swollen lips against
Aragorn's with enough force to border on hostility, feeling the heat
from his belly burning all the way through his fingertips as he
grasped the back of the man's neck with one hand and somehow steered
them both in the direction of the bed. In a tangle of limbs Aragorn
found himself on his back atop the soft sheets, his eyes opening with
a flash to capture Legolas's torrid gaze. The elf leaned back,
straddling the man's legs and his arms moved behind him, swiftly
removing the ranger's boots and tossing them with a distant thud to
the stone below; Aragorn could do naught but stare at the way the
light arced over the curve of the elf's chest and the percussive plain
of ribs that swept into the plateau of his hard abdomen.

Legolas's form was wreathed now in fire, the light from the torch
behind him setting his pale skin alight, casting his silhouette into a
flame edged darkness, and Aragorn's breath caught. But it was only a
moment before he felt hands working at his breeches, and he found
himself immediately assaulted by the room's cool air, which was no
match for the heat that must be coming in waves visible from his skin
as his cock sprung free. His gasp was cut short as Legolas lowered
himself on top of him in a brusque motion, and Aragorn wrapped his
arms around the elf, pulling him into a tight embrace. He could feel
Legolas removing his own boots and moaned as the elf pressed his still
clothed length into his. With a soft growl he threw his shoulder
forward and reversed their positions, rolling the elf onto his back as
he snaked one hand down toward the fastenings of the elf's leggings.

Legolas narrowed his eyes to find himself beneath the man, but he did
not protest Aragorn's advances. The ranger's other hand supported the
elf's neck, and he let his fingers become lost in the long, pale hair
as he pulled the leggings down until he could hook one foot over them
and finish their removal. The fire's light spilled over them as
Aragorn trailed devouring kisses down the elf's torso, letting his
free hand trace patterns of impossible intricacy over the smooth skin
of Legolas's inner thighs, allowing his knuckles to brush against soft
sack that rested between them. The elf shivered beneath him and his
cock jumped at the unexpected contact. He buried his hands in the
ranger's hair as the man's mouth moved down past his navel, pausing
there only to trace his tongue in lazy circles before he felt teeth
against his skin. Legolas could not help the arch of his back and the
sharpening angle of his knees, but Aragorn suddenly stopped, lifting
his head and letting his eyes burn as black coals into the shining
indigo of Legolas's.

The elf's brow faltered despite his rapid breath, and Aragorn
swallowed thickly as he forced his gaze to hold. "May I...?" the man
asked, his voice sharp along the edges with desire but soft enough the
elf thought no mortal could ever have heard it.

"Must you ask?" Legolas inquired, his voice a dim tide that threatened
to submerge Aragorn, the torch reflecting brightly over a darker glint
in his eye.

The ranger did naught but nod once, his expression as intense as the
elf had ever seen, as if it could set to real flame the ridges of
light that the torch set to washing across their bodies. Of course,
Legolas thought. Aragorn would never take if it were in his power to
ask: and so he was. The elf nearly smiled at this, but his mouth
remained set in a smooth line, his brow straightening, and he returned
Aragorn's nod in kind, leaning heavily on his elbows.

"Always," Legolas whispered, feeling his heart thrum up in his chest
as it never before had, believing for a moment this admission was too
much, seeing a light waver in the man's eyes though the fire was at
his back. But he was given no time to think, for he felt Aragorn's
hand disappear from behind his neck and the man took his entire length
in his mouth, letting his teeth graze along the shaft and swirling his
tongue around the tip. Legolas's head fell back and a sound rumbled
deep within his throat at Aragorn's touch, his breath turning ragged
and uneven and his heart, already feeling as though it might leap from
his breast, finding an impossibly quick rhythm beneath his ribs.

The arch of his spine became stronger and he could see flames beneath
the dark of his closed lids. The edges smouldered and began to burn
blue and white, and he gasped, leaning down to take hold of Aragorn's
shoulders and pull him up. He met the question in the man's eyes with
a kiss. tasting himself faintly on the man's mouth, and Aragorn found
himself forgetting whatever words might have been ready to tumble from
behind his lips. In a move reminiscent of what the man had done,
Legolas forced Aragorn up and to the side, and there was nothing the
ranger could do before he found himself pinned to the mattress beneath
the attention's of the elf's tongue. Aragorn hadn't even time to glare
at Legolas before the elf had wrapped a set of long fingers around his
cock, and his eyes rolled shut, a sharp sigh forcing its way through
the caverns of his gritted teeth as the elf started an even rhythm
with his hand.

It was all the ranger could do not to writhe, and he wound one hand
into Legolas's hair while the other gripped the sheets tightly enough
to dislodge them from one corner of the mattress. Even these mild
attentions threatened to send him hurtling over the edge. Light
sparked along the periphery of his vision when suddenly Legolas had
disappeared, and Aragorn caught a cry in his throat at the loss of the
elf's searing contact. He fought to catch his breath as he pushed
himself up on his elbows, casting a searching gaze into the room. But
almost before he did this, the elf had reappeared and pushed him
firmly downward, crawling to straddle him again. Aragorn ran his hands
up the length of the elf's back, tracing the undulations of his spine
with his fingertips, trailing them up and over the ridge at the base
of Legolas's neck, shifting direction and tracing the elf's soft
jawline. Legolas sighed and leaned forward, shifting himself against
Aragorn's length and causing the man to press his back flat against
the mattress. The elf took immediate advantage of this, moving his
mouth to encircle a pink nipple, tracing the delicate skin with the
tip of his tongue. Aragorn grunted, attempting to lift his torso, but
Legolas moved a hand to his shoulder and held him easily in place.

The elf straightened, and the man looked up at him, letting his eyes
flow along the bright shadow traced lines of sinew before finally
falling into the shadowed depths of Legolas's face. But the elf
waited, watching, letting the moments slip by quietly before he
finally lowered himself again, bringing his lips close enough to brush
over Aragorn's. His eyes remained open, and he made no other move than
to watch the man carefully. At last, he produced something from his
palm, a small vial, and placed it in the man's hand without looking
away. Aragorn closed his fingers about the glass, feeling the stopper
beneath his thumb.

The man reached up with his empty hand to pull Legolas down to him,
and their tongues met again. The friction between them drew a moan
from them both, their voices commingling in the depths of the kiss,
hands losing themselves again over hard muscle and slick skin. In the
midst of inseparable breath and the coarse scent of sweat, Legolas
whispered in Aragorn's ear, his lips teasing the sweeping curves of
the rounded flesh as between them their lengths rubbed together. "May
I?" The elf rolled the man's words back at him, though his voice
fluted with a low undercurrent that held no thread of sarcasm.

For a moment the only motion was the battering of their chests, the
only sound the rush of their breath coming fast and hard above the
faint crackle of the torch high upon the wall. Legolas slowly began to
push himself up but was halted as Aragorn dug the fingers of one hand
into the small of his back. Suddenly the elf felt a hand slicking oil
over his erection, a thumb pausing to circle the tip and spread the
clear fluid that had beaded there. His eyes unfocused before he
exhaled a soft, short breath. His throat worked soundlessly as he
tried to swallow, but Aragorn claimed his mouth, teeth biting into his
lower lip and causing him to cry out softly. But he tasted no blood,
and he let his lids slip open as they broke apart.

Aragorn's eyes flared like smoke in the dim light, and Legolas parted
the ranger's legs as he knelt between them, gently lifting them and
placing the man's knees on either side of him. Taking the small bottle
from where Aragorn had left it on the bed, he poured a small amount of
oil onto his fingers before gently tracking them down the man's cleft.
Aragorn shuddered as the elf's fingers teased his opening. At the same
time, the elf bent to take Aragorn's cock in his mouth, tracing the
head with his tongue and feeling the ranger's hips buck in response.
As he pressed one finger into Aragorn he took him fully into his
mouth, and the man's head lashed backward to stifle a cry. One rough
hand found the elf's shoulder and Legolas released the ranger,
removing his finger as well as he moved closer. Sweat beaded on
Aragorn's brow, beginning to trickle down the sides of his face; his
eyes had gone black.

Legolas manoeuvered slowly, reaching deep within himself for the
patience his millennia warranted as he pressed the tip of his cock
against the man's entrance. Aragorn panted softly, his mouth open and
his eyes closing. The elf leaned in close, hooking one arm behind the
man's head and catching him in a soft, but strong kiss. Moaning
softly, Legolas pushed himself into Aragorn slowly, only a little, and
rocked back again before easing deeper. Aragorn half grunted, his jaw
slackening as his back arched, thighs cradling Legolas's hips. Again
the elf rocked forward and back, each time pushing a little deeper
until at last he was fully sheathed. For a moment he could hear
nothing but the rush of blood pounding a rhythm through his head as he
slowly picked up his pace.

In a measured rush, time lost all meaning, the beginnings and endings
of flesh and bone ceased to exist as they moved, man and elf finding
themselves unable to decipher any differences in the sweat that coated
their skin, the hair that fell in waves over their faces, the lips
that found each other again and again between trails laid over bare
neck and exposed ear. Aragorn's back curved sharply, nearly mirroring
the angle of his knees and at last he buried his face in Legolas's
neck and cried softly as he spilled between them, the elf's name
slipping past his lips in a heated harmony. Legolas sighed roughly,
his fists tangling in the bed sheets as their congruent motion ceased
all at once and shadows danced in the sharp release of tensed muscles
and rigid joints. His throat constricted around a gasp as he convulsed
inside Aragorn, losing himself completely.

"Estel --" the elf whispered against the man's ear as they fell slack
to the mattress, limbs still tangled as they pulled themselves apart,
hands still searching, grasping, holding. Lips found the ridges of
cheeks and the soft lines of brows and the tender curve of closed
lids; sheets tangled around damp legs and slick torsos.

At last they stilled, breathing slowing, hands finding comfortable
places in the crooks of angled hips. Face to face they lay, close
enough to feel the sweet movements of breath that escaped each of
them. The air grew cold around their shoulders, though they knew not
how long they lay by the dull glow of firelight, watching the shadows
rage softly over each other's faces. Legolas reached to brush an
errant strand of slick hair from Aragorn's cheek when a voice drifted
in from the hall.

"They should be 'round soon, as it's well past midday and it's Aragorn
that said I'd this much time ta rest. He knows well enough we're
leavin', I reckon." It was Gimli, and the dwarf spoke quite loudly as
he stood, apparently, directly beyond the door. Legolas's hand froze
on the man's cheek and his eyes widened slightly. He bolted up in the
bed, leaping nimbly over Aragorn's still prone form as he reached for
his clothes.

"Legolas?" Aragorn inquired slowly, finding reason enough to extricate
himself from the comfort of the bed at what seemed to be an alert from
their friend, but he was uncertain of the reason for such haste as was
shown by the elf.

Pulling on his leggings, Legolas looked over his shoulder at Aragorn.
"My weapons," he said, jerking his chin toward the door. He reached
for his shirts and began pulling them over his head. The ranger
thought he saw a flush creep into the elf's skin, but he shook his
head, not knowing if it was a trick of the light, or perhaps a
remainder of their encounter. In all his long years he had never seen
an elf blush, and Aragorn told himself it was Legolas's disappointment
at his own mistake rather than anything he would have need to take up
with himself. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the ranger
used a foot to pull his breeches closer and slipped them on. He stood
to tie them, as Legolas finished dressing and moved toward the door;
with one hand holding the fabric up, the ranger closed the distance
between them and drew the elf back with a hand on Legolas's soft over
tunic.

"Aragorn --" the elf said, but was abruptly cut off by a kiss that
belied the tenderness of the last moments, and reminded them each
smartly of their bruised lips. Aragorn's eyes gleamed when he released
Legolas, but he nodded toward the door. "Hairy man," the elf said as
one corner of his mouth quirked upward, and Aragorn watched him
disappear into the hall.

Slowly, the man tied the fastenings of his trousers, ignoring the cold
of the floor biting into his feet. He gathered to him his shirts, and
untangled them from each other before redressing much less gracefully
than had Legolas; the elf had seemed to slip back into his gear in a
single, smooth motion. Aragorn stood for a long minute, looking down
at his belt and the scabbard with it, eyeing his sword from a
distance. With a hitch in his chest that he chased away with a closed
hand, he retrieved it and fastened it around his waist before finally
pulling on his boots, his eyes unaware of his own actions.

When he finally stepped out into the corridor, the voice that met him
came from sufficiently lower a height than he'd expected, and was of
undeniably lower timbre.

"Ah! There y'are!" the dwarf said, striding forward to elbow Aragorn
in the ribs. The man couldn't hold back a choking cough, and Gimli
arched a brow at him. "Gandalf was lookin' for yeh," he continued,
still watching the ranger carefully. Aragorn eyed the flagstone by the
door, noting the quiver and bow had disappeared, and as well the
dwarf's use of the past tense.

"The elf's already gone with 'im to get the horses ready." The dwarf
shook his head as he spoke, then started off down the corridor. "I
should think we'll be leavin' as soon as yeh're ready."

Aragorn muttered something indistinguishable beneath his breath and
stepped heavily to catch up with the dwarf. "I'm ready, Master Dwarf"
he said, his voice rough around the edges, but steady. He glanced down
at Gimli, who was half looking up at him with what could be described
only as a grin set in his beard. The ranger barely managed not to
glower as he placed a hand on his sword-hilt, slowing his pace so
Gimli did not have to walk too swiftly to keep up.

"I know," came his friend's reply, laden with more comprehension than
the ranger wished to admit, and Aragorn found he had no response. So
instead of speaking, he set his jaw and accepted the trepid silence
between them as they set their hurried path out of the Hornburg and to
the courtyards beyond.

The horses were milling about quietly when Aragorn and Gimli reached
the company of men that would set off along the road to Isengard.
Théoden had seen to the burial of his well loved captain, Háma,
casting the first earth upon his grave before it was filled in with an
oath to well remember the hand behind the foul deeds thrust upon them
of late. The sun was beginning to sink in the western sky, tarnishing
the cloud edges and lending a dark hue to the figures of distant
birds. Legolas approached his friends with two familiar horses at his
heels, and he handed a set of reins to Aragorn, his fingers brushing
across the ranger's palm as he released the leather. The man took
Hasufel's reins in hand and dipped his head graciously to the elf,
whose eyes glistened indigo when his lips twisted gently in what was
nearly a smirk before he turned away.

"Gimli!" the elf called, and his short friend appeared from around the
side of another horse, looking askance at the beasts surrounding him.
He appeared rather relieved at Legolas's call. "You shall not be
troubled with the burden of borrowing a mount, my friend," Legolas
said as soon as Gimli had stopped by his side. "You will ride with me,
and our old friend Arod." The remaining tension, or much of it at the
very least, drained from the dwarf's face, and he nodded happily.

"Wonderful!" he growled with a chuckle. "I even thought for a moment I
might have to ride with Gandalf," he added, turning cautiously in the
direction of the wizard, who sat ready on the back of Shadowfax.
Aragorn could not help but laugh softly at this as he approached the
side of his great grey horse and swung himself into the saddle.

He watched Legolas mount his own steed and reach a hand down to Gimli.
"Shadowfax might have had more to say about that than Gandalf," the
ranger said, looking from the dwarf to the great stallion atop which
the wizard sat. "You have a contempt for many things, my friend, which
you forget might hold as much dislike for you." He flashed a grin at
the scowling dwarf and spun his horse in the direction to which the
men had taken.

The wisps of cloud above became amber red tendrils as the sun made
good its threat to sink behind the distant hills. They set their
course down the road from Helm's Deep and toward the forest that had
in such a strange, yet timely manner appeared on their doorstep. The
Riders of Rohan halted, remembering well the trees' role in the ending
of the battle, overcome by a fear of the shadowed wood beyond. But
Gandalf rode forward without concern, and at last where the road from
the Hornburg had seemed to disappear into the trees, a great archway
of bent bough and arched limb became apparent. The wizard disappeared
into the dark beneath the canopy, strands of light dappling
Shadowfax's coat, and the party at last followed. The road, they
found, was not veiled by root or twig, and in fact ran clearly
alongside the Deeping Stream, and the forest's ceiling had opened up
above them, letting in the russet tones of sunset and casting
everything beneath a red gold veil.

The forest groaned around them, distant cries of aching trunks and
murmurs without words, but there were no Orcs to be seen. Nay, neither
did the men catch sight nor hear sound of any other living creature
outside their company. Legolas felt more than anyone the throbbing
mutiny pulsing within the surrounding wood, but he thought it was not
aimed at them. The trees were from too distant a land to know the
likes of men and elves, or dwarves, and it was at the Orcs their anger
was directed. He wished he might stop a while and listen, hear out the
voices of the forest and absorb their stories, but Gimli adamantly
refused, threatening to continue on foot should the elf deem it
necessary to stop; he seemed prepared to beg Legolas not to fall
behind the company. He thought the trees spoke otherwise, of crushing
and destroying any on two legs who ventured too near.

The elf shook his head but dallied not, keeping alongside Gandalf as
he and Gimli spoke of the Glittering Caves, and made a pact to return
there together should they survive the days of war to come. The dwarf
even agreed to travel to Fangorn along the way, and Legolas could not
help but smile at this. Gandalf counted between their party and
Isengard some fifteen leagues, but said they would not cover it all
that night, and at last they passed through the other edge of the
wood, reaching the bottom of the Coomb. Here the road branched, going
in one direction to Edoras, and on a more northerly course to the
Fords of Isen.

Gimli was once again caught in a frightful situation at the appearance
of eyes in the trees, when Legolas thought he might ride back to the
wood and see to what they might belong. To his relief, Gandalf bade
him hold, and the elf acquiesced, remaining with the party as the Ents
that made themselves known called to others in the distance with
hollow, reverberating cries. At length they again disappeared into the
forest without even a glance at the small group of riders at their
feet.

The road north took them past the slain Rohirrim that had fought in
the battles upon these banks, and Gandalf dropped back a short way to
speak with Théoden of his encounters with the surviving men here.

As they crossed the river, Gimli nudged Legolas, the spray and chatter
of water churned up by the horses' legs keeping his voice from
drifting far. "You seem in better spirits, laddie," he said with a wry
tone, smiling widely behind the elf's back and momentarily forgetting
that his friend had been ready to charge him in that cursed forest
without a second thought.

The elf's voice sounded as if it belonged to the flow of the river as
it drifted back over his shoulder. "And you seem ever full of
surprises, my friend. Your words this day do not cease to amaze me."
Legolas did not answer the unspoken question directly, but the dwarf
knew he referred to more than his earlier banter about the beauty of
dwarven caves. The elf guided Arod up the bank at a trot that sent
Gimli scurrying for a better grip to avoid falling off.

"Then you have settled your quarrel," he said after a short fit of
incredulous coughing and not a few curses, his voice approving once he
chose not to comment on the elf's control of the horse.

His light expression turned downward as the moments passed and Legolas
did not respond. At length he was tempted to speak again, but finally
an answer reached him. "Aye," came the subdued voice, and the steed's
pace steadied. Legolas left it at that, though his gaze dropped from
the landscape to find a more appealing spot in the wisps of mane above
his hands. They had settled things between them, but that did not mean
they would remain so, and Legolas was not foolish enough to believe
their journey forward would be absent of conflict, no matter what the
course.

The elf's attention was recaptured as the company picked up their
pace, heading swiftly now in the dimming light from the banks of the
Isen and all were glad to leave the mournful shores behind them. He
and Gimli rode in silence through the fading of the sun and the
arrival of the stars. Gimli, looking up at the vault above that so
reminded him of the Aglarond, was brought suddenly to the realisation
he had not heard the elf sing since before their arrival in Edoras.
This greatly weighted his heart and brought a frown to his face, for
the dwarf wished above many things for the happiness of his friends.
In a war that had just seen its beginnings, their hearts seemed to
drown amidst so many other burdens. He sighed roughly to himself;
perhaps it was but time they required.

The company halted within the reach of the Misty Mountains, its peaks
stretching as arms into the night sky, so dark only the distant snow
peaks were visible beneath the gentle light of the moon that had just
passed behind them. The shimmering of the stars was muted by a great
rising of mist, or perhaps smoke, coming up from the Wizard's Vale and
working its tendrils deep into the field overhead. It seemed as if the
land was burning. Midnight had not long passed and the King was weary;
the camp was set up quickly, allowing only the luxury of basic tents
for some, but for the most part the men relented to sleeping in the
open. Gimli unrolled his blankets near the pickets to which they left
the horses tied, though not too near: he wished not to think what the
foul beasts might do while he slept.

Legolas had long since disappeared by the time Gimli had turned over
on his bedroll. The dwarf listened to the burble and rush of the river
Isen so nearby, and clutched in one hand his long handled axe, still
ill at ease though the forest was now at least five leagues behind
them. As he settled in he heaved a great sigh and looked out into the
night, watching the shifting shapes of the horses and the occasional
passing of one of the Rohirrim soldiers. For a long while he lay,
trying to clear his mind of thought, to find sleep beneath the
unusually warm valley air, but it was not allowing itself to be found.
Instead he caught himself chewing his lip and mulling over his
thick-skulled companions. Quite the pair; he knew little of love
himself, save for the breath that had been forever stolen by the
fairest Lady Galadriel, but even such a glimpse as that made his heart
sing. Surely -- surely they deserved as much, if not more. A frown
settled on his face, and he resigned himself to witnessing the passing
of the night.

From behind a single tree the elf heard the man approach. No matter
how silent Aragorn might be to his own kind, Legolas could always hear
him coming. But he let the man approach without turning, instead
choosing to look back to the south, toward the now distant Hornburg
and the nigh invisible peaks of the White Mountains until at last he
felt a hand on his shoulder.

Turning, Legolas locked his eyes, reflections of the starry night
above, with Aragorn's, allowing a curious lilt to his brow as he
watched the ranger coolly. Aragorn let his hand linger, just out of
sight of the encampment -- sight, but not sound. The low whickering
sounds and soft hoof-thuds of steeds still reached their ears, and
Aragorn stepped forward as he moved his hand from the elf's shoulder
to gently graze a smooth cheek. Legolas's skin seemed to glow beneath
the stars, and he found himself entranced. His focus was regained as a
hand lightly curled around his wrist, gently pulling his arm away, but
not releasing it. Still, the elf said nothing.

At last, Aragorn spoke. "You departed with such haste before ..." He
brought his other hand to rest on the elf's hip and pulled Legolas
closer.

With an unbidden smirk, the elf stepped back a fraction, catching the
fingers clasping his hip with his other hand. "My, we are vain," he
countered, cocking one brow just so. "So confident this must have
something to do with you?"

Aragorn's eyes narrowed with a friendly apprehension. "Then I am
mistaken," he offered with a marginal dip of his head. "It must, then,
have had something to with abandoning your weapons to the evils of
whatever might have lurked in the corridor." It was the ranger's turn
to arch a brow, as he knew he'd hit a sore spot. Indeed, the elf's
eyes flashed and the grip on his wrist tightened until he could feel
each individual finger against his skin. He lost the ability to
swallow.

The elf chose to ignore this remark, but the mood grew more serious
without any urging on his part. After a few moments had passed,
Legolas loosened his grip on the ranger's wrist and stepped close to
him, brushing his lips across Aragorn's. "I know the reasons this must
remain quiet," he said softly, speaking through the sharp ache that
hit him just off centre within his chest.

Aragorn mustered up what will the exhausting day let remain within him
and prevented himself from encircling Legolas in with his arms and
crushing his mouth to the elf's. Instead his throat convulsed slightly
as he forcefully swallowed, regarding the distant air in his friend's
gaze. "Legolas," his voice was naught but a whisper that sounded as if
it had been dragged through the battle of the Fords along with the
fallen men they had earlier left behind. "My heart walks with you," he
said at last, his brow darkening thoughtfully as he lifted a hand to
trace a thumb along one of the elf's lips.

The sounds of the camp were all that hung between them for some time,
but the elf did reply. "And mine with you." /But it must remain mine./
Legolas gave no voice to his final thought, though his eyes stirred
with mixed emotions. He forced aside everything but the man standing
before him and without warning Aragorn found his mouth opening beneath
the elf's, his tongue chasing the curling motion of Legolas's. The
ranger closed his eyes, but by then the elf was gone, having
disappeared into the night. Aragorn set a flat palm against his
abdomen, breathing the night deeply beneath the watch of the stars. It
was a long time before he moved, and it was not to seek sleep; he knew
he would never find it this night.

On the other side of the camp, Gimli heard a familiar melody reach his
ears, a fluting lilt of a song sung to the stars above. He smiled,
thinking for certain that one by one they seemed to sparkle more
brightly above him, and at last a swift slumber overtook him.


Title:  The Breaking - Chapter 8/?
        Author:  Keil
Author's Email:  keiltagh (at) comcast (dot) net
       Pairing:  Aragorn/Legolas
        Rating:  NC17
       Summary:  Legolas confronts Aragorn about the seriousness of
                 their actions.
    Disclaimer:  Characters and the world of Arda copyright Tolkien
                 and all that, no money being made, utmost respect
                 for his works.
      Feedback:  Very much appreciated :)
      
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    The Breaking
---------------------

Chapter 8

Gimli woke to the nervous chatter of men and a great rumbling crescendo
arising from the south. Axe in hand, the dwarf jolted upright, kicking
aside his bedroll in his haste. His fingers opened and closed tightly
over the wrapped axe handle, the leather of his gloves creaking 
faintly, and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to scour the darkness for the
source of the men's outcries. The moonless night was like tar above 
them despite the pinpoints of stars, but somehow a visible smear of what
might have been dark fog became visible: a groaning, shuddering mass
sliding blackly over the landscape.

Panic was nearly tangible on the air as the company watched the 
darkness creep past them on either side of the river Isen, and the sounds of
weapons being pulled to the ready sliced through the thick air. Gandalf
directly bade them hold, assuring them that it would pay them no
attention so long as they made no move. With uncertainty gnawing at
their gut, the host of men lowered their arms and waited, cringing
beneath the mystery of rumbling whispers, and at last, the mass passed
them by and disappeared into the north.

Only Legolas seemed unaffected as they witnessed the trees of Fangorn
retreat into the arms of their mountain, and the elf stood, not too far
from Gimli, watching with a mysterious smile. The dwarf scowled after
the disappearing forest, grumbling to himself without forming entirely
coherent words. When he looked toward Legolas, he grunted 
disapprovingly before letting the butt of his axe fall against the earth.

"An' jus' what're you smilin' at?" Gimli asked with a halfhearted 
glare, squaring his stance and setting his jaw.

"They mentioned something about eating dwarves," the elf replied
smoothly, accompanying his words with an absent wave of his hand. He
leapt atop a nearby boulder whose edge dipped into the weak wash of the
river, folding his legs under him as he sat, watching the stars roll
over the water. "I was waiting for them to notice you, thenon."

Gimli neatly avoided spluttering, but he still managed to look quite
aggrieved, and the elf's keen eyes thought they saw the skin redden
visibly in the midst of his long hair and beard. The dwarf tossed his
axe to the ground near his wayward blankets, gently by his standards,
and crossed his arms. Truly, he was more appalled at the thought of
those wretched plants being anywhere near him than Legolas's comment,
but he did recognise bait when he saw, or rather heard, it. "If yeh're
attempting ta get me ta back out of my promise, Master Elf," he said
with a growl, "you'll 'ave ta do better than that." His brows drew
downward so far they nearly hid his eyes; he may despair of the dark
forest, but he was not about to back down. He would never hear the end
of it.

With a soft laugh, Legolas shook his head, not deigning to otherwise
respond. Instead, he merely rolled his shoulders and looked back to the
river, the sound of his voice rising up once again into the night, and
leaving Gimli without further recourse. The dwarf mumbled quietly and
leaned to rearrange his bedroll, shaking free some of the dirt he'd
kicked onto it. As he lowered himself to the ground, a hushed breath
rose from the earth, and he paused, again ready to grab his axe. The
men, too, rediscovered their restlessness, but none made a move in the
wake of Gandalf's previous advice.

At length, the sigh turned to a rush and the waters of the Isen tumbled
over the rocks of the river bed, rushing between the banks and filling
the air with an insistent burbling as its flow returned with a deep
familiarity. Gimli aimed an arched brow in Legolas's direction, briefly
wondering if the elf had had anything to do with that, but he merely
shook his head as he settled back onto the blankets. He was uncertain
whether he would find sleep again that night, and from the waking 
sounds of the camp, it appeared the king's men felt the same. The dwarf hurled
a heavy breath and pulled one blanket over himself; with the rise of 
the river the air had cooled slightly, and the wind bore just enough of an
edge that he had begun to feel cold. He let the elf's song slowly lull
him into near slumber, remaining half alert with the night's recent
events dancing so freshly in his mind.

Legolas remained on the outcropping, watching the river pass him by, 
and so seeing the world reflected within its depths. As he so often could 
of late, he felt the fingers of Shadows tightening across his skin. He ran
his hands over his arms as if such a simple gesture might brush them
away, but it was to no avail. Nearly shaking his head in an effort to
shed the dark cloak from his mind, he found his thoughts wandering to
the previous morning.

He was distraught to find his heart could at once feel so light and yet
so weighted. He had known from the start this was a betrayal, to allow
himself to succumb to the warm embrace of that for which he had yearned
for so many years. Yet it was also a treachery, to his own heart, to
walk away, and he was starkly aware that it had become now a question 
of which betrayal might be worse. And yet, there was more to come which
could lend sway to either side. With an inaudible sigh, Legolas wrapped
his arms around his knees and let his mind slip away to more distant
times in his homeland, spinning soft chords off into the night as he
patiently awaited the arrival of the sun. His voice trailed off as
nearby words met his ears.

"Lind lín matha faer nín, meldir," they said, their voice rivalling the
softness of the rolling water. The elf's back straightened, and he
glanced over his shoulder. He rested his palms flat against the cool
rock beneath him as he eyed Aragorn. The ranger stepped closer, but did
not scale the now half drowned rock; his boots were now and again
splashed by the current, but he paid the attentions of the river no
heed.

The elf watched the man for a long time before turning back to the
water. "Does it?" Legolas asked, the corners of his mouth upturned just
enough to draw Aragorn's attention, and the man watched the faint
reflection of distant stars upon the elf's lips.

"Always," came the reply, with a dip of the ranger's head before he
looked again to the river. "What does it tell you?" Aragorn asked after
a few short moments, folding his hands in front of him to keep them
silent.

Legolas's voice was muted, almost distant, and when Aragorn turned to
him again, the elf was looking off to the north. "It speaks of change,"
Legolas said at last, eyes unblinking. "I think we will not come upon
quite what we expect in the coming days." His eyes shifted to lock with
Aragorn's and the ranger blinked softly before tearing his gaze away.

Gimli cleared his throat, though the sound was garbled and seemingly
unintentional, but it caused the pair to turn their heads nonetheless.
Nimbly, the elf jumped down from the rock without a sound, his hand
taking Aragorn's just lightly enough that he allowed the ranger's
fingers to slip through his as he walked away.

"Sedho vae," the elf whispered as he passed Gimli and leaned down to 
pat the dwarf's shoulder gently before continuing on. Aragorn followed,
unable to prevent a smile as their friend offered a sleep laden grumble
in response but did not open his eyes. The elf followed the river for a
short distance, pausing at last at the edge of a small pool where the
currents caught themselves up within some stoic rocks and the roots of 
a lone, twisted tree, twirling within their grasp a handful of broken
twigs and leaves.

The ranger's steps slowed as Legolas stopped by the water, and for long
minutes there was no sound save the sweet rush of the Isen between its
banks. Aragorn thought the river sounded almost happy to no longer be
such a meager shadow of itself. The sky was still dark, dawn seeming an
eternity away, though to the elf's eyes it appeared only an hour or so
in coming. The company was far enough behind them to be well out of
sight. The movement was invisible in its shadowed swiftness, but
suddenly Aragorn found himself being pulled by the front of his shirt,
the toes of his boots scraping over damp stone as he nearly lost his
balance. He quickly felt his back pressed up against the sharp
undulation of tree bark.

Legolas pushed the ranger up against the tree, his hand fisted tightly
in the fabric of the man's shirt as he closed the distance between 
them. His eyes flashed dangerously, and Aragorn was not sure if it was anger
or something else, perhaps the faint light on the water, that glinted
off the indigo depths. He found himself without a chance to decipher 
the elf's glare as Legolas claimed his lips, one hand moving behind the
ranger's head to cradle it from the rough trunk of the old tree and
tangle in his hair. This kiss was slow, no less fevered than any other
they had shared, but its depth was more restrained. Aragorn yielded
without complaint, slipping his tongue out to gently part the elf's
lips, relishing Legolas's taste as the elf easily complied. He revelled
in the scent of thyme and sweet moss as their tongues entwined in
indulgent caresses.

The ranger felt swift fingers dispelling the knot work of his shirt, 
but as soon as his chest was exposed, Legolas stilled. The elf pulled back
just far enough that Aragorn could feel his breath on his lips, running
his hand over the ranger's chest. He let his palm come to rest within
the shallow in the middle, feeling the heat seep into his already warm
fingers with each thrum of the heart that beat beneath. Aragorn held
still, save for his fingers, which were busy curling and uncurling in
the soft cloth of the over tunic near the elf's waist. He shifted
slightly at the growing tightness in his breeches, but Legolas appeared
to pay this no mind as he held the man's gaze. Aragorn's throat 
clenched slightly, but he didn't look away.

The skin around Legolas's eyes tightened ever so visibly, crinkling 
just at the corners, though it was not a narrowing of the eyes so much as a
reaction to the flood of words that had begun to well up in his chest.
His eyes searched Aragorn's with an intensity the ranger had seen but
once or twice from anyone in his long years, and the elf's previous
words came back to him. The coming days would indeed prove difficult in
their quandary, especially in light of much more pressing troubles. The
man flicked his tongue over his lips and his shoulders sagged slightly
before he reached up to smooth a barely errant lock of hair from
Legolas's cheek.

"You know what this is," Legolas said at last, his voice fluting as if
carried upon the water itself. His fingertips brushed against the skin
just below the ranger's collarbone.

Aragorn's head tilted in a minute motion, but it was only a moment
before he understood. Of course he knew; his familiarity with elven
custom left no room for denial. A gust of hot air kicked up from the
east, rustling the grass and carrying to them the distant cry of a
hunting night bird: the first sound of a wild creature he had heard in
days. The wind seemed to cut straight through his breast, and he felt
Legolas start quietly, as if the elf could feel the fire that seemed to
feed on the breeze. The ranger drew a sharp breath and placed a rough
hand over the elf's fingers. He had forgotten how long he'd folded
pieces of himself away, left them smouldering just beyond reach, and 
for days beneath the last moon he had more than once thought he might be
going mad. He'd felt a change beneath his skin that seemed to him
unwholesome and damnatory, until alongside his waning control he'd seen
a remarkably familiar light in Legolas's eyes, a reflection of 
something deep within himself. Thus, Aragorn had slowly begun to realise it was
not the foul whispers on the wind, nor the invisible fingers of 
shadows, strange though they might twist one's actions, that might be laid to
blame.

"And it would rest as close to my heart as yours," the ranger said with
a burr in his voice, lifting his other hand to place it behind the 
elf's neck and trace the soft patterns of hair there. Legolas's eyes flicked
back and forth between the storm clouds so close to him. "You question
your decision." Aragorn's voice deepened beneath the stated question,
but the edge was carried away on the wind. His fingers stilled.

Legolas did naught but shake his head faintly, letting a long moment of
silence stretch between them. "What of her?"

The ranger took a rushed breath and nearly looked away. But his eyes
held fast. He had expected such a question, since even before the
previous afternoon. "Legolas," began Aragorn, his voice barely above a
whisper but seeming to echo the strength of the Isen. "I have learned
more of love in these past days, nay, in times longer still, than I 
ever have sought. I shall not boast falsely that she means little to me, for
she means a great deal, and will always hold a part of my heart I have
no desire to deny her." He was not certain what response he might
receive, but the elf's expression did not change, and his eyes did not
falter. "But I have found that you, as well, hold a part larger than I
can say, my friend who knows me like no other. Orthach 'uren ir tirich
enni, meleth nín."

His grip tightened on the back of Legolas's neck, and he pulled the elf
nearly close enough to kiss. But instead he took his hand from 
Legolas's and placed his fingers gently against the elf's mouth. "It was my 
intent to let things pass, alone and untouched, in the hopes that my heart
would forget itself should we survive the days ahead. Yes, Legolas, I
know just what this is, to you, as it would be to me. Though I oft 
worry that no matter how closely I might hold it to honour, it is not quite
enough. I fear I am torn, between rejoice and despair, for knowing such
a thing fulfilled." His eyes darkened, and at last he looked away with
lids drawn down and brow furrowed as his fingers slipped from the elf's
lips. In truth, he knew of no bond that might be stronger, no matter 
the intent of the Valar.

Legolas smirked faintly, more the barest of upward motions by one 
corner of his mouth, as the ranger's words trailed off into the fading night:
Elessar, calling into question the honour behind his intentions. As the
man's hand slipped away, he caught it gently within his own. "Honour is
so fickle a thing, Aragorn. Perhaps there is little honour to be found
in this," Legolas said, pressing his thumb lightly into Aragorn's palm.
"Rather, perhaps there is much." His gaze was met with a flash of grey
from the ranger's eyes.

"Estel," came the elf's voice again as he took a moment to nip one of
the man's fingers. "Will we be forever held beneath the uncertainty of
this honour you call into question, or shall we choose to rejoice for
the time we are able?" His tongue flicked out smoothly across a
fingertip, and Aragorn drew a sharp breath, twisting the fingers of his
other hand into the elf's pale hair. Legolas pushed aside the heaviness
entangling his heart for now, though it took a great effort at first.
The world may pass in the blink of an eye, and he wished to keep his 
own eyes open.

Aragorn grunted as Legolas pushed him more strongly against the trunk 
of the tree, losing all account of whatever answer he may have been
prepared to provide. He traced the elf's lips with his fingers before
tilting his head forward and taking Legolas's mouth beneath his own. 
The kiss was like fire, lips searing against each other without restraint,
tongues seeking one other beneath mingled, heated breath. Aragorn felt
the elf's hand trail down his chest and made a small sound of protest 
as suddenly it disappeared. His eyes slipped open briefly before he 
moaned; the elf's fingers had reappeared just above his belt, which they set
about moving before sliding into the thick cloth of his now open
breeches, dangerously close to his swiftly returning erection.

Legolas moved his lips to Aragorn's neck, raking his teeth lightly over
the tender flesh there before tracing the valley behind the man's jaw
with his tongue. He shifted his hips against the ranger's, his hand
still caught between them, and elicited another groan as he ground
against him. Aragorn's eyes had slipped closed again, and Legolas once
again claimed the man's mouth as he eased his hand around Aragorn's
length, encircling it with slender, skilled fingers. A moan 
reverberated through the man's throat and was caught in the depths of Legolas's
mouth, muffled beneath a slow, deep kiss. The elf began a deliberate
rhythm with his hand over the smooth shaft, slowing torturously every
few moments to run his thumb over the tip. Aragorn's breathing became
ragged, and he moved his hands to grip the elf's shoulders. The man
could see Legolas's eyes gleaming almost black blue just as he threw 
his head back, oblivious to the force with which it hit the jagged bark
behind him.

The elf's fingers moved more deftly, picking up speed as he stroked the
man, his mouth devouring the bristled skin at the ridge of Aragorn's
throat, just below his chin. The rangers hips bucked against him
sharply.

"Legolas, I cannot -- Oh..." He grunted as he spilled into the elf's
hand, his entire body going rigid as he swore he saw the sun break over
the hills in the distance with a violent intensity. Shivering, he 
worked to catch his breath, but when he opened his eyes it was still dark; the
stars had only just begun to recede into a sky slowly paling to a deep
blue. Legolas had already produced a rag, though the ranger cared not
just yet to ask from where. Whatever surprise he felt at the elf's
preparation was quickly forgotten as he pulled Legolas to him, cupping
the elf's jaws with soft hands as he kissed him. Hands travelled down
the smooth skin of Legolas's neck and began playing at the fastenings 
of his tunic.

While the elf did not pull away, Aragorn became aware of movements
around his waist, and he broke the kiss to glance down. Legolas had
already retied his breeches and lifted his hands to the man's
questioning face, running his thumb along a dirty cheekbone.

"It is dawn," the elf said, and as the words tumbled from his lips the
faintest orange light appeared on the horizon. The man looked at 
Legolas sceptically, and with more than a little longing burnishing his grey
blue eyes, but even from there they could begin to hear the dimmed,
telltale sounds of the company packing up their mounts and gathering 
for departure.

"Dawn," the ranger said with greatly exaggerated contempt before 
pulling the elf to him roughly for one last kiss, and ultimately useless 
attempt at dulling his hunger, especially when Legolas crushed his lips as
fiercely against his. But a moment later, the man felt teeth on his
lower lip, playful but sharp; he yelped.

"Away," Legolas commanded with a faint grin, pulling Aragorn from the
tree trunk by his tunic and shoving him in the direction of the camp.
The man stumbled slightly in his recovering condition as he threw his
hands in the air, bowing his head with a smile before turning to stride
back toward the company.

Legolas crossed his arms as he watched the man go, ignoring the thin
braid of hair the wind slid beneath his chin. As Aragorn's form began 
to melt into the lingering shadows, he shifted, placing a palm gently
against the tree and breathing deeply as he felt the rough bark beneath
his fingers. He cast his glance upward as the last of the stars slipped
without remark beneath a blanket of grey blue, and then set off to join
the others. The knot that had so recently been plaguing the pit of his
gut seemed to have migrated to nest behind his ribs. Now he could feel
the wrapping of tendrils around his heart, causing it alternately to
soar and to fall.

He was finding it difficult to heed his own advice, to cast aside for
now whatever worried the edges of his mind to a fray. It was not doubt,
but dread, and he had never before felt such a thing. There was reason,
always, to fear grief in its bolder strains. Until now, it had forever
been a distant fear, detached, as one who watches some wild creature
take down its prey, knowing well it could kill you, but seeing no 
reason why it should. Legolas shook his head and swallowed uneasily, one hand
held lightly in a fist against his chest. No, for now he would take, 
and give, what he could, and keep despair where it loomed bright on the
periphery: descend without falling.

A fog hung heavy in the air, choking the sky and smothering what should
have been the dawn's golden light into a palette of barren greys. The
sun could not be seen, though it seemed to be rising as usual by the
testimony of the dispersing darkness, and a stench was upon the land
that cause a rippling of murmurs among the men as they prepared to ride
on. Gandalf had already accomplished the duty of rousing Gimli, who was
now standing, looking sourly at Arod. The horse was returning the
dwarf's attention plaintively, large dark eyes shining as a shudder of
breath passed through his wide nostrils and he tossed his head. Legolas
smiled when Gimli made an aggravated sound and without any true zeal
raised a hand at the animal as if to shoo him away. Arod only whickered
again.

Aragorn was busy fastening the last of his gear to Hasufel's saddle, 
and the great grey horse pranced sideways impatiently. As the elf
approached, he listened as the man calmed the animal with a few soft
whispers, and the steed's hooves fell silent. Legolas passed him by to
clap Gimli on the shoulder.

"Not ready yet, Gimli?" the elf asked with one eyebrow neatly arched,
and the stallion opposite the dwarf nickered, stamping one foot into 
the soft grass.

Gimli grunted, scowling at the horse in front of him and shaking his
head. "I'm ready enough, Master Elf," he replied, loathe to take his
eyes off the beast at any moment. "I can carry my things quite well on
my own. An' besides, jus' where do you suggest I pack anythin' on this
... creature?" he added, gesturing to the bare steed.

Though the action begged his attention, the elf refrained from snorting
in mock indignation. Instead, he crossed his arms and straightened his
back. "I merely thought you might be on the horse and waiting for
departure, master Dwarf," Legolas responded with high brows as he
returned the endearing formality.

Gimli finally removed his gaze from the horse to glare at the elf with
horrified amazement, his jaw working soundlessly beneath his beard for
some time before he clamped it shut at last with a click of his teeth.
He was about to retort when the horns sounded the host's departure, and
Legolas leapt easily onto Arod's back to hold out a hand. His smile
might have been smugly triumphant, but instead it was only
understanding, and the dwarf grumbled something soft enough even the 
elf could not discern it before stepping up  to accept the offered hand. 
The stallion sidestepped as Legolas pulled Gimli up behind him, and the 
last thing anyone heard before the thunder of hooves was upon the air was 
the gruff exclamation of, "Miserable beast!"

The road here was well tended, and the going was easy as they entered
Nan Curunír; the bleakness of the landscape, though, caused many a 
rider to catch his breath. While the land had once been a fair world of
richness and greenery, it was now a torn and desolate scape of thorn 
and weed, of upturned and razed earth. Broken and shattered rock dusted the
field of grey soil. Even to those who had never seen the Wizard's Vale
in lighter days might imagine from the tattered and axe-torn stumps of
the great wood what it might have once been. Smoke and steam mingled in
hollows and crouched heavily over the land around them, lending a worry
to the silent riders who began now to doubt the outcome of their
journey's end. The only sound that met their ears was the stony wash of
the river and the clatter of horses' hooves upon the battered earth.

Legolas's heart lurched at the sight, and an unearthly cry as he had
never before heard came to him. It tore its way through his head and
down his backbone before it swirled around within his chest: the cry of
a dying land betrayed, of the fragments of tales that had come now to
some bitter, untimely end. So heavily was he hit that is hands dropped
to steady himself with the grip of Arod's mane. His shoulders slumped
forward as his back bent, and without words Gimli knew what it was that
caused the elf to cower so. A steady hand found Legolas's shoulder and
held on gently, if hesitant in its reassurance. The dwarf remained
silent, for even his own heart was marked with sorrow in the face of
this malignant display. He sighed and squeezed the elf lightly as they
rode on, and Legolas slowly regained his composure. The river ran here
again, and with luck the world could begin to rebuild itself.

From atop Hasufel, Aragorn saw the elf's reaction, and he fought to
still his seat and hold his hands steady as he nearly rode over to him.
But they had come at last to a great stone in the earth painted with 
the likeness of a white hand, its fingers pointing northward, and it was
clear they were nearly upon Isengard. The mists remained impenetrable 
to their eyes, calling for a sharp watch out into the mists, and the 
ranger told himself, in all truth, that Gimli was capable of giving Legolas as
much comfort as was possible now. He breathed deeply of the stark air
and smoothed the worried line of his brow, returning his attention to
the road. The path beneath them had become paved, though no longer did
any blade of grass grace the cracks and breaks of the stone, and 
Aragorn continued to look ahead for signs of their destination.

Suddenly the landscape changed as they entered between the walls of the
mountain that rose up on either side. Houses sprung up from the land,
just within visibility. Halls, chambers and passages were carved into
the walls of stone that curved around to the west, north and east,
leaving the only entranceway open to the south. The plain, too was
carved with shafts and tunnels, their tops covered in domes of stone
that cast the land as some deathly haunt. All the roads that ran 
between these delving mines bore down upon the centre of the plain, where stood
a great tower that seemed wrought from the earth itself by the hand of
no man. Orthanc, the stronghold of Saruman, stood darkly before them,
half shrouded in the distant choking sky that surrounded its spire: a
shadow barely visible beneath the smog.

They rode on over the sodden earth, passing now near the doors to
Isengard which rested torn and broken upon the ground. Rock lay strewn
in ruinous heaps, shattered and broken in great mounds, which beyond
them could be seen peeking dreadfully out from beneath the flood that
had claimed the inner ring. They could see where the water splashed and
pulled at the foot of the tower that remained somehow unbroken beneath
this storm. The company marvelled as the sight, for it seemed to them
that Saruman's power was overthrown, though by what means they could 
not yet guess.

They rode on over the wet road, and Gimli's hand slowly slipped from 
the elf's shoulder as they stared at the chaotic, but silent tableau laid
out before their eyes. No one seemed able to speak as the strides of 
the horses began to fall with soft sucking noises in the ever dampening
ground. At last the sight of two figures atop a pile of stone near the
doors caught the attention of the king and his men. One seemed to be
sleeping amidst a mess of bottles and bowls that one would expect to
find at a feast; the other rested not far off, his back against a ridge
of rock as he rested, puffing small rings of smoke from his mouth every
now and again.

Amidst the wreckage of Isengard, this appeared to be the strangest 
sight of all, and the group approached with as much curiosity as 
apprehension. Of a sudden, the smoking figure leapt to his feet, pipe in hand, to 
show himself as a person of small stature, half a man one might say, with
curling brown hair and a cloak that, though battle stained, matched
those of Gandalf's company.

After a pause, the small figure bowed and welcomed them all to 
Isengard, introducing both himself and his friend, whom he now bothered 
with a dig of his foot, and announcing that the Wizard Saruman and his 
friend Wormtongue remained trapped within the tower above. Isengard, 
the short figure explained, was now under the management of Treebeard, 
who had left them with instructions to watch the ruined doors for any 
passing visitors.

Gimli immediately berated the pair of hobbits, launching into a great
tirade about their arduous journey, the hundreds of leagues and battles
and death they had suffered whilst on the hunt for their two friends.
And here they had stumbled upon them drinking and smoking pipe weed!
Legolas could not help but smile at the dwarf's state; he was uncertain
as to what might be the cause of Gimli's seemingly imminent explosion -
-rage, or sheer joy.

But Merry and Pippin were found, and safe, and this was in the end all
that came to matter to the Three Hunters. After the hobbits had
introduced themselves and their kind to the king's company, Théoden and
Éomer along with the rest of their men departed with Gandalf to go in
search of Treebeard. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas remained behind with
the two hobbits, letting their horses stray in search of good grazing.
The Hunters shared their desire to learn about the travels of their
small friends, and in turn Merry and Pippin announced they wished to
learn more of this seemingly spectacular Hunt as well. Legolas bid the
hobbits go first, but Gimli protested any further action in favour of a
meal, complaining of a sore head and requesting the hobbits proffer a
share of this plunder they boasted.

Merry and Pippin were happy, of course, to share what food and drink
they had found, and the companions set off for the simple comforts of
what remained of the well-stocked guard house, whose store rooms had
been high enough to be spared by the flood. Gimli showed a particular
interest in how the hobbits had stumbled across the pipe weed, but they
promised him that story later. At last, they took some well earned
respite at a table by a cozy fire, and when Pippin produced a pipe to
replace the one Gimli had lost in Moria, the dwarf declared the score 
to be settled between them.

At this, they were content to settle back, pretending as though they
were once again within the comforts of Rivendell, and end enjoy each
other's company as they began to share the tales behind their separate
journeys that had once again led them to the same path.


---------------------

** thenon -- short one
** Lind lín matha faer nín, meldir -- Your song touches my spirit,
friend.
** Sedho vae -- Rest well.
** Orthach 'uren ir tirich enni, meleth nín -- You lift up my heart 
when
you look at me, my love.