FIC: "The Hand of the King”
AUTHOR: Dalogas Graywolf
PAIRINGS: Legolas/Aragorn
WARNING: Homosexual relationships and acts. Nothing kinky, 
but definitely down and dirty at times (we're talkin' NC-
17, folks). You gotta problem wit dat? Here's a tip: DON'T 
READ IT!!!
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves 
guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due 
respect to Tolkien.
SUMMARY: While recovering from Moria in Lothlórien, the 
Fellowship discovers a mysterious phenomenon that could 
threaten the future of all.
ARCHIVE: Please ask.
FEEDBACK: dalogasgraywolf@hotmail.com
YAHOO GROUP: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dalogasgraywolf/
BETA READER: Elfscribe (Luv ya)
DEDICATION: “The Hand of the King” was written as an 
expression of love for my partner, Jon, who at times is my 
Legolas, and other times my Aragorn. Gerich veleth nîn, 
Jonathan. Thank you for loving me so completely. “My heart 
will be yours until the end of time.”

THE HAND OF THE KING
by Dalogas Graywolf

“ . . . It seemed to him that he had stepped over a bridge 
of time into a corner of the Elder Days, and was now 
walking in a world that was no more. In Rivendell there was 
memory of ancient things; in Lórien the ancient things 
still lived on in the waking world. Evil had been seen and 
heard there, sorrow had been known; the Elves feared and 
distrusted the world outside; wolves were howling on the 
wood’s borders; but on the land of Lórien no shadow lay.”
 – The Fellowship of the Ring


I. MEETING AGAIN, AS IF FOR THE FIRST TIME

Chapter 1

Aragorn knew Lothlórien was safe, but he felt apprehensive 
nonetheless.

Boromir’s words echoed in his head. “I will find no rest 
here,” the warrior had said. “I heard a voice inside my 
head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She 
said to me, ’Even now there is hope left.’ But I can’t see 
it. It is long since we’ve had any hope.”

Hope. Gandalf had carried the last remnants of hope into 
the abyss when he fell.

Aragorn stood by a silver pool of water, staring at the 
moonlight reflecting off its shimmering surface.

He was numb.

All of his grief and despair he kept at bay, an internal 
battle more fierce than any swordfight he had ever fought.

He had left Boromir and the rest of the Fellowship as they 
slept. Although he had tried to sleep, he shared Boromir’s 
despair of finding any rest tonight. His dreams were more 
perilous than the road before them.

In his dreams, Arwen held him and stroked his hair, 
offering her solace to his pain. He dared not accept it. 
For as soon as he allowed himself to release the darkness 
threatening his resolve, all was lost. He feared that he 
would not be able to find his way back. He must maintain 
control.

For he was needed. The Halflings needed his protection and 
Boromir needed his leadership. He wasn’t certain what Gimli 
needed, but felt the dwarf looked to him for direction. 
Even Arwen needed him to understand and accept her 
sacrifice, something he would never be able to do.

The only one who didn’t seem to need him was Legolas. The 
mysterious elf prince was ever at his side, but never 
needing assistance. Aragorn was thankful for that. He 
already felt pulled in too many directions, and had little 
left to give to anyone.

He hadn’t seen Legolas for several hours, and wondered 
where he might be. He assumed the elf was with his kindred. 
A prince needed to fulfill his ambassadorial duties, after 
all.

Nevertheless, he missed the elf’s reassuring presence, and 
was descending into despair. The only thing halting his 
fall was his resolve. 

And that brink was growing more perilous with each passing 
moment.

He sank to the soft grass beside the pool and sighed 
deeply. He was suddenly aware that he had not bathed in 
days, and his odour offended him. He pulled off his right 
boot, and then his left. He looked around, feeling as if he 
were being watched from the shadows, and then chastised 
himself for forgetting where he was. He stripped to the 
waist, and then waded into the silver pool to bathe.


Chapter 2

“It is long since we’ve had any hope.”

The night breeze carried Boromir’s lament to his Elven 
ears. He watched as Aragorn sat beside the grieving man, 
and then turned away. He felt as if he were intruding, even 
though he stood a fair distance away from the two humans as 
they discussed the beauty of their homeland. Legolas could 
not understand the appeal of hulking cities of stone, with 
little or no flora. How could anyone live like that, let 
alone be happy to do so? Humans were indeed a mystery.

He left them to their reverie and began to explore the area 
surrounding the pavilion that had been prepared for them. 
He had long desired to see Lothlórien, and would take this 
opportunity, grievous though it may be, to acquaint himself 
with the forest, which seemed vibrant, even though it was 
well into night. It reminded him of the beauty of the Lady 
Galadriel, full of strength and grace, with an edge of 
danger. He walked until he came upon a silver pool. The 
moonlight reflecting off the surface soothed him, and he 
soon found himself kneeling on the grassy bank.

The fall of Mithrandir was still a mystery. He remembered 
watching the hobbits outside the tomb that was Moria. Their 
forlorn grief had broken his heart. Gandalf was gone? How 
could that be? The loss of the Grey Pilgrim finally 
penetrated his confusion, and his own grief overtook him. 
His sobs were deep, but quiet. His nobility precluded any 
hysterics.

As his grief poured out from him, he opened himself up 
completely to the communion with the forest and was slowly 
filled with its beauty and power. It was not a rush of 
energy, but rather a slow rising tide. It filled every dark 
corner of his wounded spirit like the sun breaking over a 
distant mountain peak, until it ultimately overtook him 
completely and he collapsed, tears of grief transformed 
into tears of joy.

Seeing the streaks his tears left on his skin, he realized 
that he still carried the dust of Moria, and wished to rid 
himself of it immediately. He removed his clothing and 
waded into the pool, discovering it was deeper than it 
appeared, allowing him to submerge without having to lie 
down. The opposite bank was shrouded with a bank of dense 
shrubs, creating a home for any number of woodland 
creatures. After swimming around a bit, Legolas began to 
scrub his skin in earnest. He undid the braids in his hair, 
allowing it to fall around his shoulders and back. Diving 
headfirst into the water, he scrubbed his hair and scalp 
until the strands squeaked between his fingers.

Having completed his bath, he lay floating on his back, 
staring at the moon. His hand roamed sensuously over the 
muscles of his chest and abdomen, his nerve endings still 
buzzing from the communion. He was surprised to discover 
that he was becoming aroused. This had not happened in 
quite a while. The image of Aragorn placing a reassuring 
hand on Boromir’s shoulder flashed across his mind. Now 
where did *that* come from?

Before he could draw any conclusions, he heard footsteps 
approaching. Not wishing anyone to witness his arousal, he 
quickly submerged and surfaced under the canopy of the 
opposite bank. He remained very still to avoid creating any 
ripples on the water’s surface, thereby betraying his 
presence. The surface had scarcely cleared before the 
intruder appeared in the clearing. Legolas recognized the 
human gait, trained by elves for stealth. Aragorn walked as 
if Moria were caving in on him, so great was the burden he 
carried.

He walked slowly to the pool, seemingly hypnotized by the 
shimmering moonlight. He stood at the edge and stared into 
the water. Then after a moment, he fell to his knees and 
sighed heavily.

Legolas was surprised to find that he had not taken a 
breath since the man entered the clearing. Recalling his 
earlier indiscretion, he inhaled quietly. His nose 
wrinkled, mirroring the ranger’s expression of distaste. 
Legolas hoped Aragorn would bathe, if for no other reason 
than to remove the stench. Aragorn apparently shared his 
thought, as he removed his boots, stripped to the waist and 
entered the pool.

Time slowed to a crawl as Legolas watched Aragorn bathe. 
His Elven eyes were able to discern the smallest detail, 
and Legolas memorized the man’s body, fascinated by its 
bestial ruggedness. The body hair of humans was considered 
distasteful by many of his kin, but Legolas found himself 
fascinated by it. The man submerged himself, then stood up, 
running his fingers through his hair. Legolas saw that the 
hair on the man’s forearms crept over his wrists and 
covered the back of his hands. Confused memories washed 
over him as he remembered his first encounter with Aragorn.

********************************************

Legolas had been to Rivendell many times, but this time was 
different. His father had received a summons from Elrond 
for an important meeting of the Council. Details had been 
withheld, but it was clear that dire circumstances lie 
behind the summons. The prince dreaded having to share the 
news of Gollum’s escape. He took some small respite from 
the fact that the creature had apparently been kidnapped by 
Orcs, for some hidden purpose. Nevertheless, he felt 
obligated to do whatever necessary to atone for his 
people’s weakness of heart.

He had already spoken to Gandalf, humbly apologizing for 
failing to fulfill the wizard’s directive. Gandalf absolved 
him and his people of any blame. “He had help, you know. 
Kindness of heart and willingness to believe a creature can 
change should never be the subjects of regret. Be at peace, 
young prince.”

Legolas now searched for Estel, the human raised in the 
house of Elrond, to extend his apologies. Although Gandalf 
had forgiven him, Legolas needed to receive absolution from 
the ranger as well. He encountered the Lady Arwen in the 
antechamber of the Hall of Elendil. He dipped his head and 
placed his hand over his heart in deference as she 
approached.

“My Lady, can you tell me where I may find the one named 
Estel?”

Arwen looked into his eyes as if she were looking into his 
very soul. Her time with the Lady Galadriel had transformed 
her into a being of great power and compassion. And sorrow. 
He could see it in her eyes. She knew things hidden from 
others. Her sight extended beyond the physical and into the 
realm of mystery.

“Prince Legolas.” Her voice was tinged with sadness, but 
sounded like music to his ears. “Be strong, for he will 
need you. Lend him your strength when he has lost his way, 
for I shall not be there to comfort him.”

Legolas furrowed his brow, confused by her words. “My lady, 
I would do as you ask, if only I understood. I do not know 
this Estel, and know not what strength he may need. You 
speak as if a journey lies before us both.”

“Indeed. A perilous journey that will claim many lives to 
save many lives. The destinies of the Man King and the 
Elven Prince will forever be intertwined.”

“Man King, my Lady?”

“Estel is the name our people gave to him when he came to 
us. Among his own, he is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of 
Isildur.”

Legolas was surprised that his father had not mentioned 
this fact. Estel had delivered Gollum to Mirkwood while 
Legolas was away, and the prince missed meeting this 
mysterious human about whom he had heard so much.

“You will find him within.” She fixed him with her gaze 
once more, touched her hand to his heart. “Be true.” She 
leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, then turned and 
walked away.

Legolas was not entirely sure what to make of this 
encounter. What journey could she see? Did it have 
something to do with tomorrow’s council?
 
Legolas did not linger in contemplation, turning his 
attention to the grand hall beyond. As he entered the room, 
a figure stood with his back to him, silhouetted against 
the shaft of light illuminating the shards of Narsil. The 
man raised his arm and reached into the light to touch the 
hilt of the sword. The hands were rough, but they stroked 
the handle with great tenderness. The back of the hand and 
fingers were dusted with dark hair leading up the wrist and 
disappearing into the sleeves of the man’s tunic. Legolas 
felt his breath catch unexpectedly in his chest. His quiet 
gasp halted the hand in mid-stroke. Inexplicably nervous, 
Legolas felt the need to speak into the silence.

“Aragorn?”

“Yes?” The man did not turn. He did not move at all.

“I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, of Mirkwood.”

“I know who you are, Prince Legolas.”

“If you know me, then please allow me to know you, and show 
me your face.”

The man then turned to face Legolas, still in silhouette. 
Legolas took a step closer, and the man reciprocated, 
stepping into the light. Legolas had never seen a face so 
handsome. The man’s strong jaw was softened by a peppered 
beard, closely trimmed. His dark brown hair hung in waves 
of silken locks, barely reaching the man’s shoulders. The 
man’s piercing grey eyes looked directly into Legolas’ own, 
rendering him momentarily mute. The man held out his right 
hand in greeting.

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” Legolas reached out and 
grasped the extended hand. As he did, a sudden vision 
flashed across his mind. He saw himself on a tremendous 
wall, fighting side by side with Aragorn in the pouring 
rain against a seemingly endless army of Orcs.

“It is an honor to meet the Golden Prince of Mirkwood. Your 
father was a most gracious host last I ventured into your 
realm. Be welcome in the house of Elrond.”

The man’s words reached him through a fog. He shook his 
head, hoping to shake the vision from his mind.

“Prince Legolas?” Aragorn wore a face of concern. “Are you 
well?”

The elf forced himself to focus on the man in front of him. 
“It is an honor to meet the heir of Isildur.”

Aragorn cocked his head to one side and asked, “Is it 
possible that we have met before?”

“No, we have not.”

“”Tis strange,” the man mused, with a puzzled expression on 
his face.

Legolas was finding it difficult to maintain the 
conversation. There was something about this man that made 
him feel strangely excited. His heart raced and he was 
repeatedly reminding himself to breathe. Forces beyond his 
comprehension were at work here, and the only thing he 
could think of was extricating himself from this moment so 
he could regain his composure.

“Thank you for your welcome, Aragorn. I will withdraw now 
to prepare for tomorrow’s council. I look forward to seeing 
you there.” He deferred and turned to go.

“It was good to finally meet you, Prince Legolas.”

He turned back to face the man. Their eyes locked for a 
long moment. “And you as well.” Another long moment, and 
then Legolas broke his gaze and left the room. Outside in 
the antechamber, he stopped and supported himself against 
the wall. “What sorcery is this?” he muttered. “My body 
betrays me. Is this magic or madness?” He drew himself up, 
mustering all the self-control he could find, and walked 
away without looking back. He didn’t realize until later 
that, in his confusion, he had neglected to ask Aragorn’s 
forgiveness for Gollum’s escape. Unfortunately, that would 
have to wait until tomorrow’s council. Tonight, he had to 
find some way to pull himself together and focus on 
whatever crisis may be at hand.

********************************************

Legolas scrutinized the Dúnadan standing motionless in the 
center of the pool. The stark contrast between the man he 
met in Rivendell and the man who stood before him now was 
disturbing. The desolation of spirit was palpable, and 
Legolas longed to assuage the man’s despair. As in 
Rivendell, he was inexplicably compelled to speak the man’s 
name.


Chapter 3

The water was cool on his skin, but Aragorn took no comfort 
from it. As he slowly walked into the pool, Boromir’s words 
continued their litany.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

When he reached the center of the pool, he submerged 
himself and then stood up, running his fingers through his 
hair. He stopped with his hands locked behind his neck.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

His arms slowly dropped to his sides as he stared into 
space. He was losing. Losing the fight. Losing his courage. 
Losing his resolve.

Losing himself.

“Aragorn?” He heard his name, but did not have the energy 
to be alarmed. “Aragorn,” the voice repeated.

He looked up to discover Legolas standing a few feet away 
from him in the water. He looked into the elf’s eyes and 
found a well of compassion he was not expecting. His wall 
began to crumble. A gasp of panic escaped him as his 
defenses began to give way. He gritted his teeth and fought 
to maintain his resolve. He would not allow the dark wings 
beating around his head to breach the barricade around his 
heart. He clenched his fists and struggled to keep from 
trembling.

The elf watched him with an expression of sadness on his 
face, his head tilted to one side, as if imploring Aragorn 
to release his grief. An enormous fissure was forming in 
his fortification, and he could feel all control slipping 
away. A choked sob managed to break through, and then the 
dam gave way. The tears flowed, trailing down his cheeks 
and disappearing into his beard.

Legolas stepped toward him and embraced him tightly. 
Aragorn was unable to hold back any longer, and his anguish 
broke through, wracking his body with deep sobs of grief 
and loss. He wrapped his arms around the elf’s torso, 
clinging to him as a drowning man will cling to driftwood. 
Legolas held him as he surrendered completely to his 
emotions, burying his face in the elf’s neck. In a dark 
corner of his mind, it registered that the handsome elf was 
naked, but it was quickly washed away by the flow of tears.

Later, after the sorrow had run its course and Aragorn had 
regained his composure, Legolas held him by the arms and 
looked him over.

“You look terrible,” he said with a wry smile. Aragorn was 
surprised to find that he was able to smile back in return. 
He probably did look terrible. “I’ll return in a moment. 
Finish your bath,” instructed the naked elf as he walked 
out of the pool and disappeared into the trees.

Aragorn complied as he watched for his companion’s return. 
He stripped off his leggings and tossed them on the large 
rocks at one end of the pool. He had never been much of an 
exhibitionist, but found the experience oddly exhilarating. 
The elves felt no shame of the naked body. Until he was a 
young man, Aragorn had never thought twice about nudity, 
his own or others.

It was only when he ventured out into the world of Man that 
he discovered the vulnerability and shame humans associated 
with the naked body. He had adopted the new conservancy not 
from any sense of shame, but rather as a form of defense. 
The heavy protective clothing he now wore served two-fold 
as a suit of emotional armor. He covered his body as he 
covered the light of his heritage, not feeling worthy to 
receive fealty from anyone. The only person who had seen 
him naked as an adult had been Arwen during an ill-advised 
late night swim. In fact the only sexual experience Aragorn 
had was in the ways of pleasuring oneself. 

Legolas returned, clutching a plant with golden leaves, 
which he dropped on the grass next to the ranger’s 
discarded clothes. Aragorn watched as the elf spread the 
ranger’s cloak on the grass beside the pool and sat down on 
its fur lining. He looked up to catch Aragorn staring at 
him.

The elf looked back at him with such acceptance and 
tenderness that he felt himself blush. He dropped his head 
and pretended to focus on ridding himself of weeks of dirt 
and grime and blood.

Having this handsome prince watch him as he bathed was 
something for which he was not entirely prepared. 
Ordinarily, he would try to control the situation, to take 
charge. But tonight the strength was not in him. He decided 
to abandon himself to the moment. He looked up at his 
companion. The elf met his eyes and smiled.


CHAPTER 4

Legolas smiled as Aragorn looked up at him. The ranger’s 
distress was still evident, and Legolas was moved by the 
depth of the man’s anguish. The man took one more plunge 
under the water for a final rinse, and then walked to the 
bank and sat on the cloak beside the elf. Legolas could 
feel the heat from Aragorn’s body next to him. 

“I thank you for your kindness, Legolas.” The man’s head 
was down, arms wrapped around the knees drawn to his chest.

But Legolas was not finished. “The body may be cleansed, 
but your spirit is still suffers.” He reached over and 
placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Will you allow me 
to help you find a measure of peace?”

Aragorn lifted his head and turned to face him. The man was 
lost and broken, and his eyes told Legolas that he needed 
and wanted the elf’s assistance.

“Then turn and lay on your stomach. I will attempt to ease 
your pain.” The man complied without hesitation. Legolas 
took the plant he had retrieved and broke the stalk, 
releasing a sweet-smelling oil, which he rubbed between his 
hands. He straddled Aragorn’s waist, and reached forward to 
massage the man’s shoulders. The muscles were as hard as 
stone.

“Relax,” he whispered, as his hands kneaded the knots in 
Aragorn’s neck. The man groaned in response beneath him. 
Legolas discovered he liked the sound, and was pleased when 
his subject continued the vocal approvals. The tension in 
the man’s shoulders and neck began to diminish, so he began 
to move down the taut muscles of his companion’s back.

Centuries ago, he had been with an Elven male. Nere’alon 
had been his name. He remembered how Nere’alon’s body felt 
under his hands. Lithe and delicate, with skin like 
alabaster. But the muscular and powerful body beneath him 
tonight exuded a passion that only the short-lived humans 
could enjoy.

Legolas was stunned to discover that he was becoming 
aroused once again. His earlier erection had disappeared 
the moment he had seen Aragorn’s distress. But now, as he 
admired the man’s physique, it was rekindled. He froze 
midstroke as he suddenly realized what it was about this 
man that affected him so.

He wanted Aragorn. And badly.


II. COMMUNION BEGAN

CHAPTER 5

Aragorn felt the tension draining from him under Legolas’ 
talented hands. “Relax,” whispered the elf. The warm 
breathe in his ear sent a hot surge through his body. The 
only sound he could make was a groan of pleasure. Legolas 
seemed to know exactly the amount of pressure needed to 
release the tension without causing excessive pain. The 
hands continued their way down his back, and then stopped 
abruptly.

He felt Legolas moving backwards, and then spreading the 
man’s legs to kneel between them. The hands kneaded his 
buttocks, and then continued their way down his right 
thigh, focusing momentarily on the small muscles and 
ligaments of the knee, and then moving down his calf and 
ankle, finishing with a foot rub that had Aragorn moaning, 
a deep purr rumbling in his chest. Nothing in his 
experience had ever felt this good. The elf moved to the 
man’s left thigh, and repeated the journey down the leg to 
the foot.

When he finished, Aragorn was so relaxed he could have 
slept for days. But Legolas had moved again. He felt the 
elf moving up and then lowering himself onto Aragorn’s 
back. He felt a hot column of flesh pressed between their 
bodies. His awareness quickened when the elf whispered into 
his ear.

“Do you trust me, Aragorn?”

“With my life, Legolas.” His reply was barely more than a 
whisper itself, but Aragorn knew the elf heard him.

“Then trust this: The initial pain will pass, giving way to 
incredible pleasure.” He paused. “Do you trust me still?”

“Yes, Legolas,” he replied, but with less certainty.

Legolas responded by kissing his shoulder. His whole body, 
which was completely relaxed only a moment ago, was 
suddenly energized, every nerve ending buzzing with 
pleasure. The velvet lips trailed down his spine. When they 
reached the small of his back, he felt Legolas’ hands on 
his thighs, spreading his legs apart once more. He knew 
what was coming next, but did not move to stop it. He had 
already decided to let Legolas take the lead tonight.

He needed someone to take the lead.


CHAPTER 6

Legolas knelt between the ranger’s legs, surveying the man 
spread-eagled before him. It was one of the most arousing 
sights he had ever seen. He was captivated by the man’s 
body hair. The buttocks had a very fine dusting. But the 
thighs were covered with soft brown hair that Legolas could 
no longer resist. He leaned down and kissed the right inner 
thigh, licking the hairs flat onto the skin. Then he moved 
to the other thigh, and repeated the kiss. He continued 
this process moving up the insides of Aragorn’s thighs, 
eliciting groans from the man, who had begun grinding his 
hips against the cloak beneath him.

Legolas finally reached the pinnacle, and began his final 
assault by gently blowing on the man’s opening. Aragorn 
shivered with pleasure. A loud groan escaped the man’s lips 
when the elf’s hot tongue made contact. Taking the groan as 
approval, he continued kissing and nibbling and licking and 
sucking on the pink ring, preparing it for the next step.

He broke another plant stalk for more oil, which he applied 
to the sensitive flesh. He used his index finger to rub the 
outside of the man’s hole, spiraling inward until he slowly 
inserted his finger to the first knuckle. Aragorn gasped 
and instinctively tried to pull away, but Legolas held him 
fast.

“Remember what I said: The initial pain will pass, giving 
way to pleasure. Do you trust me still?”

After a moment, the man replied. “Do as you will.”

Legolas withdrew his finger, then reinserted it, this time 
a little further. And again, a little further. Aragorn’s 
groans were through gritted teeth now. When he felt the man 
had relaxed sufficiently, he added a second finger to his 
probing. He stretched the opening with his fingers, slowly 
teaching it to relax enough to add a third finger. When 
Aragorn began to push back onto his fingers, Legolas knew 
it was time.


CHAPTER 7

“Do you trust me still?”

Aragorn hesitated at this final submission. He had trusted 
Legolas with his tortured spirit, but by releasing his body 
to the elf, he would be surrendering the last remnant of 
control that still remained in his grasp. He could stop 
this now, if he so wished.

But he did not so wish. What he wished was for all these 
choices and responsibilities to just go away. If only for a 
moment.

“Do as you will,” he finally acquiesced.

Aragorn had no frame of reference for this experience. Pain 
becoming pleasure. That just didn’t make sense. But it was 
nevertheless true. The finger had hurt initially, but then 
the sensation changed. There was still pain, but it felt 
incredible. The elf’s fingers were causing sensations that 
had the man’s head spinning. He pushed his hips back onto 
the fingers that stroked him.

Then the hand abruptly withdrew. He heard and smelled yet 
another plant stalk being broken for oil. Then Legolas was 
above him again, lowering himself onto him. He felt the 
intrusion, but did not resist. He wanted this. He wanted 
Legolas to take him. He tried to assist by raising his 
hips, giving the elf a better angle. Legolas slid into 
Aragorn ever so slowly, giving the man time to acclimate 
before moving further. But Aragorn wanted to feel Legolas 
completely inside him, and backed into him, impaling 
himself on Legolas’ shaft. Aragorn cried out in a mixture 
of pain and ecstasy. This was beyond bliss.

Legolas slowly withdrew all but just the tip of his organ, 
and then filled him again. And again. So . . . slowly. Each 
thrust a long sensuous stroke. Again. Again. Slowly. 
Slowly. Each thrust pushed his own erection against the 
cloak beneath him, the friction adding to the sensations 
screaming through his body.

Legolas began to hasten his pace, and Aragorn knew he would 
not last much longer. His groans were getting louder, timed 
to the elf’s quickening thrusts. He had his head on his 
folded arms, and stuffed the side of his hand into his 
mouth to stifle his increasing moans. He felt Legolas’ 
shaft grow larger yet as the elf began pounding himself 
into Aragorn with abandon. The Dúnadan felt the eruption 
start to rise in his loins, and then sensed Legolas joining 
him in his climax as they both exploded, crying out in 
unison as their bodies trembled and shook in ecstasy. A 
blinding light blasted through his mind in an orgasm unlike 
any before, and he surrendered to it completely, letting it 
wash over him again and again and again.

Then, before his body could begin to recover, a warm glow 
began deep within his chest. It continued to grow, filling 
his entire body with light and warmth and love. It was like 
nothing he had ever experienced, and he wondered what was 
happening, though not alarmed. The golden light continued 
to grow until it overtook his senses completely, and as his 
body continued to tremble, he lost consciousness.


CHAPTER 8

Aragorn stood upon Cerin Amroth, dressed in white, gazing 
westward into the twilight. He had stood here before. And 
he had not been alone. He turned his head.

“Arwen!”

“Melethron-nîn.”  Her beauty took his breathe away. “I will 
cleave to you, Dúnadan, and turn from the Twilight.”

“’Tis a dream,” he muttered in disbelief.

“Then ‘tis a good dream,” she answered with a smile, 
kissing his lips.

Aragorn suddenly recalled what had sent him into this 
dream, and felt the blood rush to his face. He dropped his 
gaze, certain she could tell. “Why do you blush, my love?”

“I have failed you,” he replied. Her gentle laughter 
brought his head up again in question. “Does my confession 
amuse you?”

“No, my love.” She smiled patiently. “Your innocence brings 
me joy.”

Aragorn thought she was covering her true reaction, but did 
not trust his judgment. “Am I so innocent?”

“Indeed, for you believe that our love can be touched by 
others.” She kissed him softly. “It cannot. We share a love 
that transcends the realms of both Elf and Man.”

“But my actions have betrayed that love,” he protested.

“How have you betrayed our love, Estel?” Aragorn could tell 
that she already knew the answer, but wanted him to say the 
words aloud.

“Legolas . . . and I . . . ” he began.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“We...I . . . he made love to me.”

“As he was instructed.”

Aragorn’s mind was spinning. “Instructed? By whom?”

“I spoke with the prince in Rivendell.” Aragorn’s reality 
was losing its precarious balance. Arwen had encouraged 
this?

“But we are betrothed. Why would you do this? Was it to 
test my resolve? My loyalty?”

“I have no need to test either.” 

“Then why? We have promised ourselves to each other. And 
now I am unable to come to you pure of heart and body. Why 
would you instruct Legolas to take what should have been 
yours?”

“Legolas has taken nothing from you, Estel. And he has 
given you more than you know. What you have shared with him 
is not the same as the bond shared by you and me. There are 
many kinds of matings. The love between two companions can 
be strong indeed. You and Legolas share a common road, and 
it is destiny that you should lean on each other. He has 
proven to be my true friend by following my wishes to aid 
you in your time of need. Allow him to be your friend as 
well. He already loves you and wishes to break through the 
wall of solitude you have so effectively built.”

“So my dalliance with him does not displease you?”

She ran her delicate finger down the bridge of Aragorn’s 
nose, coming to rest on his lips. “No, my love. I rejoice 
at your Communion with Legolas. It is a moment you will 
never forget.” She brought his hand to her lips, kissing 
the spot where he had drawn blood, piercing his own flesh 
in the throes of orgasm. “As it should be.” She kissed his 
palm, then placed it against her heart. He could feel its 
steady rhythm spread up his arm, into his whole body. He 
felt his own heart fall into step with its beloved mate. It 
filled him with a great peace.

But he still had questions. “Communion?” What did she mean? 
The twilight was fading quickly. “Arwen, what is this 
‘Communion’?”

As she faded from his awareness, her voice reached out to 
him. “Ask Legolas. He will tell you.”

And then she was gone, though her heartbeat remained. The 
darkness continued to descend, and soon he surrendered to 
it, and slept.

The heartbeat continued . . . 


CHAPTER 9

Aragorn awoke to sunlight filtering through the branches at 
specifically the right angle necessary to blind him as he 
opened his eyes. Squeezing them shut again, the ranger 
turned over, pulling the blanket over his head.

It was no use. He was awake. He lowered the blanket to face 
the day.

He was in a small clearing with a golden pool. Very 
peaceful. His bed consisted of white blankets spread on the 
soft green grass. He wore a white tunic and leggings. With 
the abundance of bright fabric, it was a wonder that he 
slept as late as he did. He sat up and scratched his beard. 
It was then that he saw his bandaged hand. He struggled to 
remember how he had been injured. Looking around the 
clearing, he saw his clothes, washed and drying on the 
rocks by the pool. None of this was familiar. On another 
day, this would be cause for concern. But not today. He 
threw the blanket aside and rose to his feet. He stretched 
his arms wide, yawning loudly enough to startle nearby 
birds into flight. He felt great! The injuries suffered on 
the road from Rivendell had vanished. But he remembered no 
healer.

Shaking his head to wipe the final tendrils of slumber from 
his mind, he walked to the edge of the pool to splash cool 
water on his face. What did happen last night? He 
remembered the Fellowship talking about its audience with 
the Lady Galadriel. He had chastised Boromir for speaking 
ill of the Lady, and recommended everyone get some sleep. 
He had tried to sleep, but unsettling dreams drove him from 
his bed. He remembered feeling desolate and disheartened. 
He remembered coming upon a clearing. With a silver pool.

He stood up and looked around in sudden recognition. The 
silver pool, now golden with the sunlight, lay before his 
feet. So he could at least place how he got here. But what 
happened in this clearing last night? His body appeared to 
be rejuvenated, with the glaring exception of his 
mysteriously bandaged hand. But his mind was filled with 
cobwebs.

His nose picked up the scent of cooking meat. By the gods, 
he was hungry. With a glance at his drying clothes, he set 
off to find the source of the delicious aroma causing his 
mouth to water and his stomach to rumble. The smell was 
incredible! He allowed his nose to lead him, instinct 
guiding him more than anything else. He was moving at such 
a speed that he stumbled into the Fellowship’s pavilion 
before realizing it. Skidding to an immediate stop, he 
realized everyone was still asleep.

Well, almost everyone. Legolas sat at a table, eating from 
the plate before him. The elf glanced up at his entrance 
and smiled.

“Good morning, Aragorn,” he heralded loudly, his green eyes 
twinkling with mischief.

A whispered memory echoed through his mind. “Do you trust 
me still?”

And then the remaining memories of the previous night’s 
encounter exploded like a flash of lightning. The pain. The 
pleasure. Legolas. The healing Light. Arwen. The fading 
Twilight. The reassuring heartbeat.

His head was spinning, and his knees started to buckle. He 
staggered to the nearest bench to sit before he fell. 
“Breakfast is prepared,” offered the elf. His dark eyebrows 
were arched in feigned innocence, but his impish grin 
betrayed his true intent. “Are you hungry?” he asked with 
just a hint of lechery, and then winked at the ranger.

“Did I hear breakfast?” Pippin was awake.

“I smell breakfast,” chirped Merry.

“Is that rabbit I smell? Wake up, Master Frodo.”

Breakfast. And Aragorn’s head hurt already.


III. THE MORNING AFTER

CHAPTER 10

Legolas collapsed trembling onto Aragorn’s back, burying 
his face in the man’s hair. The ranger appeared to have 
fallen into a deep sleep. He drank in the warmth of 
Aragorn’s body, lying with his arms outstretched over his 
companion’s like a shadow. He remained like this while his 
heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. The man’s scent 
was intoxicating. But he forced himself up onto his elbows 
and knees, then rolled off onto his back.

And was swept away in a sea of light. The stars seemed 
closer somehow. Brighter. The cool breeze rustling the 
trees had become a strong wind, having increased to a low 
roar. Legolas sat up and looked around. The leaves on the 
trees were barely moving. He jumped at the sound of a large 
stone being tossed into the silver pool. But the surface 
showed only the slightest of ripples.

What was it about the touch of this man that sent his body 
into such chaos?

Turning his head to look at Aragorn, he was struck anew 
with the raw sensuality of the muscled physique, the sinewy 
back glistening with oil and sweat. He reached over and 
gently shook the man’s shoulder. “Aragorn.” Nothing. He 
tried again. “Aragorn?” Again nothing. He wondered if he 
should be concerned that the man was not waking. But 
instinct told him all was well.

He wiped his hand across his torso, only to discover his 
own body covered with Aragorn’s sweat. The musky scent 
filled his awareness, evoking memories of the man groaning 
beneath him, pushing back to meet his thrusts. This time 
Legolas was not surprised at his arousal. And his lack of 
surprise was surprising in and of itself.

Legolas was not inexperienced in the ways of love and its 
pleasures. But he was hardly an expert either. When he was 
younger, he had explored the joys of the flesh with the 
enthusiasm of any young elf. Some encounters were among the 
most exciting of his life. Others were much easier to 
forget. By the time he had reached the age of adulthood, he 
had grown weary of those who wished merely to share his 
bed. He became the chaste Golden Prince of Mirkwood, 
forsaking the body’s desire to bind with another. His 
passion he channeled into his bow, and word of his skill 
spread throughout Númenor. Legolas, the Chaste had become 
Legolas, the Warrior. For centuries, he had remained 
celibate.

Until tonight.

The reality of what had happened was beginning to work its 
way into his consciousness.

He had made love.

To a human.

To Aragorn, heir of Isildur, betrothed to the Lady Arwen.

He had never intended for it to happen. He was only trying 
to help a friend in need. He had never seen Aragorn in the 
light of passion.

The vision of Aragorn’s rough hand gently stroking the 
shards of Narsil flashed across his mind.

Did that explain his odd reaction to their meeting in the 
Hall of Elendil? Had he been attracted to him from the 
moment they met? He decided to bathe again to remove the 
man’s scent, as it was far too distracting. He rose and 
made a shallow dive into the pool. He was pleased to feel 
the cool water having the desired effect on his erection.

He rinsed himself of sweat and oil, and pondered his 
connection to the future king of Man. He remained in the 
water, completely submerged to his neck, the cool water 
soothing his overheated nerves.

No, he decided, it had not been a mere physical attraction 
to the ranger. Something else was at work here. The Lady 
Arwen had spoken of their intertwined destinies. He had 
always felt a healthy sense of importance as a prince of 
Mirkwood, though never approaching arrogance. It was a 
responsibility that he accepted with pride.

But this was different. If the signs were to be believed, 
the time of his people was ending, and the time of 
Aragorn’s people beginning. If this transition was 
inevitable and ordained by the gods, and if the Lady 
Arwen’s vision was accurate, then Legolas had an important 
role to play in the coming months.

She had asked him to help Aragorn. He was beginning to 
understand what she had meant. But he had so many 
questions. What should his role be? How was he supposed to 
help the future king? And what had happened during his 
orgasm with Aragorn? It was unlike any orgasm he had known 
in his youth. And though he felt exhilarated, he also had a 
sense of expectancy. As if events had yet to play 
themselves out.

He realized that Aragorn would need a bath as much as he 
had. So he walked out of the pool and went to the sleeping 
ranger. He gently rolled the man over, and then lifted him 
in his arms and carried him to the pool. The scent once 
again was overpowering. It was a struggle to remain focused 
on his chosen task. He sat down in the shallow end of the 
pool with Aragorn’s back to his chest and proceeded to 
bathe the sleeping man. He was beginning to enjoy the 
process, his hands caressing Aragorn’s chest and abdomen, 
washing away the man’s emission. He was about to explore 
lower yet when he sensed someone approaching. He wrapped 
his arms around Aragorn’s chest protectively. He did not 
actually think any harm would befall them, but felt 
protective nonetheless.

“What a lovely image.” Haldir had entered the clearing with 
a bundle under his arm. Legolas remained silent as the 
other elf approached the edge of the pool. “Good evening, 
Legolas. Good evening, Estel.”

“He sleeps.” Legolas was shocked at his own discourtesy.

“’Tis a deep sleep indeed that does not flee from cold 
water.” Haldir’s expression was not one of concern, but 
rather amusement. Legolas wondered at what Haldir knew that 
was so humorous. “But ‘tis well. Rest was needed. Do you 
need assistance?”

“Nay, thank you.” Legolas was surprised to find he resented 
Haldir’s intrusion. Only slightly, but enough to confuse 
him even further.

“Are you certain? He appears to be injured.” Following 
Haldir’s eyes to Aragorn’s hand, Legolas was dismayed to 
find that, in his own reverie, he had not seen the blood 
from a wound at the base of the man’s thumb.

“It appears to be a bite wound,” Legolas observed, “of his 
own making.” Why would Aragorn bite his own hand? The 
answer came to him, and he smiled. Apparently, the 
extraordinary orgasm was not experienced by the elf alone.

If Haldir had noticed the smile, he chose not to 
acknowledge it. “Allow me to assist you, Legolas.” Haldir 
did not wait for an answer. Legolas watched as he moved to 
a nearby mallorn and opened his bundle, withdrawing a white 
blanket which he spread on the soft grass skirting the 
tree’s trunk. He then withdrew two sets of clothing and 
laid them on the blanket. After withdrawing another 
blanket, he returned to the pool.

“Are you going to watch me or finish his bath?” Haldir 
stood by silently as Legolas completed his task, taking 
great care with Aragorn’s injured hand. “Now deliver him to 
me and finish your own.” All resentment banished by his 
concern for the man, Legolas stood up, pulling Aragorn’s 
slumbering form with him. He walked out of the pool and 
passed his friend into Haldir’s blanket-covered arms. 
Haldir wrapped the blanket around the human and carried him 
to the mallorn, where he lowered him to the blanket on the 
ground. Legolas finished rinsing himself off while he 
watched Haldir dry the man’s body. When finished, he joined 
the two on the blanket.

“Are these for me?” he asked, examining the white garments 
Haldir had brought.

“And for him.” Haldir replied, placing the damp blanket 
aside. Legolas took it and dried his own body, watching as 
Haldir drew a brush through Aragorn’s hair, the man’s head 
cradled in the elf’s crossed legs. When he finished drying, 
he draped the blanket over a branch to dry, and then donned 
the garment provided by Haldir. The fabric was light as 
feathers on his skin, and his nerves were singing at its 
touch.

He picked up the leggings provided for Aragorn, and knelt 
at the man’s feet. As he slipped the leggings over one 
foot, and then the other, he was struck by an overwhelming 
desire to lower his mouth and suck on the man’s toe. He 
forced himself to focus.

By the time he had finished fastening the leggings, Haldir 
had finished with Aragorn’s hair. “You sit there,” Haldir 
instructed, pointing at the trunk of the tree. If anyone 
had spoken to him this way in Mirkwood, Legolas would have 
taken offense. He was a prince, after all. But he 
appreciated Haldir’s hospitality, and complied as Haldir 
lifted Aragorn and followed him to the tree. Haldir knelt 
and gently laid the man at Legolas’ left side. Legolas 
wrapped his arm around Aragorn’s shoulders, pulling the man 
to him. They sat there, Aragorn cradled against his side, 
while Haldir tended to the ranger’s injured hand.

“The wound is not deep.” He reached into his tunic and 
retrieved a blue vial, which he opened and poured onto the 
wound. He quickly returned the vial, and wiped the excess 
from Aragorn’s hand. “That should prevent infection.”

Legolas was paying little heed to Haldir’s ministrations. 
The scent of freshly washed hair was distracting him. He 
leaned his head forward and kissed the top of Aragorn’s 
head, inhaling deeply. He then laid his own head back 
against the mighty mallorn, closed his eyes, and allowed 
Haldir’s soft song of healing to soothe him into a reverie.

********************************************

He stood on the shore of a vast ocean. The wind blew his 
hair away from his face as he gazed to the setting sun on 
the horizon. Twilight was falling. He felt a presence 
beside him. He turned to find the Lady Galadriel gazing 
into the twilight with a wistful smile gracing her face. 
Her beauty was astonishing.

She closed her eyes and her voice spoke to him in his mind. 
“Your spirit senses forces set in motion.”

He answered her in kind, “Aye, my Lady. And I feel 
responsible.”

“You are responsible. But not without need. When 
tribulation heralds the passing of ages, hearts of valor 
and compassion will step forward to assume their roles in 
history.” 

She opened her eyes, and turned to face him. She spoke 
aloud to him then.

“The step you took leaving Imladris was but an infant’s 
compared to the step you have just taken with Aragorn.”

“But I don’t understand what has happened. The experience 
was unlike anything I’ve known. And now I am bewitched by 
this man. My eyes are unable to release him. My hands reach 
to him unbidden. I fear I am becoming lost in this human.”

“Surrendering your love to a human is a dangerous gift, 
Legolas. And one which should be considered in earnest. Yet 
I see in your eyes that the time of consideration is past. 
You have already surrendered yourself to fate.”

“The Lady Arwen spoke of destiny and the Lady Galadriel 
speaks of fate. Have I no choice in this?”

“There is always choice for the present and future, but the 
past is a choice already made. One cannot return to repeal 
a regretted decision. It was your choice to commune with 
the Dúnadan, and his choice to submit. He has entrusted to 
you his body and soul. These decisions carry great import.”

“Is his mysterious slumber a cause for concern, my Lady?”

She smiled ever so slightly. “Nay, good prince. It is 
merely his body’s means of accepting your gift of 
Communion.” Her smile increased with his confusion. “Just 
as your communion with the forest rejuvenated your spirit, 
so has Aragorn’s communion restored his. However, the human 
form is not strong enough to recover immediately, but must 
rest for many hours. There is nothing to fear. He sleeps in 
profound peace.”

“How should I proceed, my Lady?”

“With great care, Prince Legolas. Your choices now affect 
us all.” Her amused smile had vanished. She returned her 
eyes to the sea. The sun had all but vanished from the 
horizon. The light was fading quickly. He heard her again 
in his mind.

“You must not offer yourself to him. You must persuade him 
to claim you.”

And then the light was gone.

********************************************

“Your assistance, good Prince?”

Legolas’ head snapped up. Haldir had finished bandaging 
Aragorn’s hand and was holding the other white tunic in his 
hands. Legolas grasped both of the man’s arms and held them 
forward for Haldir to slide the tunic down Aragorn’s arms 
and over his head. Haldir held the man’s forearms while 
Legolas finished pulling the tunic down over Aragorn’s 
torso, then slowly lowered him back to Legolas’ side.

For the first time since their lovemaking, Aragorn stirred, 
and turned onto his side, laying his head upon Legolas’ 
chest. The bandaged hand rested upon his stomach, rising 
and falling with the elf’s breathing. The human slept 
still. Tears welled in Legolas’ eyes as he gazed upon his 
new love, trickling down his cheek and falling into the 
man’s auburn mane.

“Estel is clearly in good hands. But how do you fare, good 
Prince? Will you say what has happened here tonight?”

Legolas looked up at their benefactor, and smiled. “I will 
not, for mystery surrounds this night, and I comprehend too 
little. But I thank you, Haldir for your aid.”

Haldir rose to his feet. “We are honored to host Mirkwood’s 
Prince.”

“Your hospitality knows no equal. But how were you made 
aware that we were in need?”

Haldir hesitated a moment, and then asked, “Should a 
similar Fellowship enter Mirkwood’s borders, pursued by 
foul creatures, how closely would your people observe your 
guests?”

One avoided question for another. “Fair enough, good 
Haldir. I extend my gratitude once more. Your kindness 
honors the House of Thranduil.”

Haldir placed his hand on his heart and bowed his head in 
deference to the prince, then quickly vanished into the 
trees. Legolas gazed down at the sleeping man. He could 
feel Aragorn’s beard through the thin fabric, scratching 
against his chest. His elven heart was beating strong and 
steady, and he wondered if Aragorn could hear it in his 
slumber.

He spent the rest of the night with the future King of Man 
asleep in his arms. For hours he pondered the words of the 
Lady Galadriel, until the rising sun began to paint the sky 
pink. It was one of the most peaceful nights of his long 
life.

Finally, he could sit still no longer. He carefully 
extracted himself from Aragorn’s sleeping embrace and 
walked to the edge of the pool for a drink. The rising sun 
was changing the color of the pool from a shimmering silver 
to a glimmering gold. He noticed their discarded clothes at 
the side of the pool, and took a few moments to wash them, 
and lay them out on the rocks to dry.

He returned to the sleeping Dúnadan and pulled the extra 
blanket from the branch. Although now dry, it still held 
the scent of the freshly bathed man. He draped it over the 
ranger, and then knelt at the man’s side.

“Sweet dreams, my king,” he whispered, stroking Aragorn’s 
hair. “Let us see what Fate holds in store for us. For my 
part, I shall never forget this night.” He leaned over and 
kissed the sleeping man’s cheek. The soft beard tickled his 
lips. He longed to know the sensation of Aragorn’s lips on 
his own.

He quickly stood up, knowing that should he continue where 
he was, he would not be able to refrain from offering 
himself to the Dúnadan when he awoke from his slumber. 
After one last look at the sleeping man’s handsome face, 
Legolas turned and left the clearing.

He ran. The energy that had been building the entire time 
Aragorn was asleep in his arms was finally finding its 
release. He ran like the wind, his feet barely touching the 
ground as he dashed through the forest toward the rising 
sun. The joy in his spirit could not be contained, and he 
began to laugh as he ran. The woodland creatures foraging 
in the early morning dew looked up at his passing, but were 
not alarmed. The music of his laughter was embraced by the 
song of the forest, the leaves dancing as he raced by them.

At last, he came to the banks of the Anduin, where he 
stopped to take a drink of water and to catch his breath. 
He climbed to the top of a large rock jutting out into the 
river, where he sat with his legs hanging over the edge. He 
lifted his face to the morning sun and closed his eyes, 
remembering the feel of the human’s beard on his lips. The 
smell of the ranger’s freshly washed hair. The salty taste 
of his sweaty shoulders. The groans of passion rumbling in 
the man’s chest. The plea in the Dúnadan’s grey eyes. 
Aragorn was the most intoxicating creature he had ever 
known. He strove to understand his connection to the human.

He pondered the Lady Galadriel’s use of the word 
‘communion’. He had thought the experience with Aragorn to 
be unique, but she had implied he had experienced this 
‘communion’ before.

And then, as if someone had lifted the fog in his mind, he 
saw the connection. He was stunned by the implication, and 
then broke out laughing.

This was going to be fun.

He still needed some answers, and would seek out Haldir as 
soon as possible. But for the moment, he wanted to return 
to the Fellowship’s pavilion before Aragorn did.

He leapt from the rock to the bank, and broke into an easy 
run, retracing his steps back to Caras Galadhon. The 
clearing where he and Aragorn had spent the night was due 
east of the city. He arrived to find the ranger still 
asleep, apparently not having moved since Legolas kissed 
his bearded cheek. He arrested the impulse to go to the 
sleeping man, and instead moved to the rock where his 
clothes lay. The elven fabric had dried already and he 
quickly changed into his normal garb.

He moved to exit the clearing, but paused at the last 
moment. Turning for one last look, he saw the ranger turn 
over and pull the blanket up over his head. Stifling a 
whimper of delight, he quietly left the clearing.

He continued west until he crossed the stream which ran 
south from the city’s wall. He crossed the white bridge and 
proceeded through the city’s gates, nodding in greeting to 
the sentries. He asked them where he might find Haldir, and 
learned that his guide and benefactor would be leaving for 
Cerin Amroth later that morning to organize the heightened 
security of Lothlórien’s borders. He thanked them and 
followed the path winding through the city until he reached 
the Fellowship’s pavilion at the foot of Celeborn’s 
chamber.

He was pleased to see that everyone was still asleep. A 
sumptuous feast of a breakfast was spread on a large table 
in the center of the pavilion. The hospitality of the 
Galadhrim continued to astonish him. He chose a wide 
variety of delicacies, for his appetite was raging this 
morning. His plate was filled to overflowing as he sat down 
to enjoy his meal.

The air was filled with song, a soft morning prayer, sung 
by voices extraordinarily blessed by the Valar. Whereas the 
previous night’s song was one of grief and remembrance, 
this morning’s music was of hope and new beginnings. 
Legolas felt his spirit soar in response to their words of 
comfort and inspiration.

The food was absolutely incredible. He could not remember 
eating a more delicious meal. He had started on his second 
plateful when Aragorn came bursting onto the pavilion.

The ranger appeared startled as he skidded to a stop. 
Legolas couldn’t help but smile at the man’s stunned 
expression. He had to share this with the rest of the 
Fellowship.

“Good morning, Aragorn!” he announced, much louder than 
necessary.

Aragorn looked at him in bewilderment. Then a look of shock 
overtook his face. The man stumbled, and sank onto a nearby 
bench.

Legolas was going to enjoy this.


CHAPTER 11

Aragorn was barely aware of the activity around him. The 
hobbits were gleefully exploring the breakfast laid out on 
the tables. Gimli sat on his couch and stretched, while 
Boromir moved to the fountain to splash cold water on his 
face.

The elf sat opposite the table from him, wearing a impish 
grin. “You really should eat something,” he said, offering 
his plate to the ranger.

Aragorn stared at him in confusion. How could he be sitting 
there, calmly talking about breakfast, after what had 
happened last night?

He took the plate from Legolas without looking at it. His 
eyes were fixed on the elf.

“So, Aragorn, you seem to have cleaned up well,” remarked 
Gimli, as he hopped down from his couch.

“Indeed,” agreed Legolas. “Now if we could just get Boromir 
to bathe, the air might be fit to breathe.”

“Gondor men do not concern themselves with such indulgences 
during times of war,” growled Boromir.

“This would explain the adage ‘Never attack a Gondorian 
from down wind,’ now wouldn’t it?” bantered Gimli.

Legolas laughed as Boromir glared at the dwarf. The elf’s 
laughter made Aragorn’s heart beat faster.

“Aragorn?” Frodo was standing at his side, a full plate in 
hand. “You look flushed. Are you feeling well?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly, tearing his eyes from the elf 
to look at the hobbit. “I am most well. The healing powers 
of Lothlórien have soothed my soul.” He returned his gaze 
to Legolas. “And body.”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it,” mumbled Pippin, his mouth 
full. He swallowed, and then added, “We’ve been very 
worried about you since . . . well, since . . . .”

“Since we left Moria,” finished Merry. “You’ve never been 
terribly cheerful, Aragorn. But the last few days, you’ve 
been even more morose than ever.”

“How can you speak of cheer when Gandalf has fallen?” 
barked Boromir. “By the gods, leave the man alone.”

“Boromir . . . ” Legolas began.

“No. I do not understand any of you. You act as if nothing 
has happened.” Boromir glared at the group. “Gandalf is 
dead. How can you laugh when the leader of the Fellowship 
has fallen?”

No one spoke a word. Aragorn pondered Boromir’s words. It 
was true that grief still hung in the air. But not as 
heavily as the day before. As hard as he tried to 
accommodate Boromir by feeling badly, he found he could 
not.

He returned his attention to the plate of food before him. 
It all looked and smelled delicious. But with so many 
choices before him, he was uncertain which to try first. He 
stared at the plate without moving.

“For the sake of argument, let us say it is true that we 
are now leaderless,” Gimli acquiesced with a curious glance 
in Aragorn’s direction. “What do you suggest as our next 
objective, Boromir?”

“It is no secret that I believe the ring should be taken to 
Minas Tirith,” proclaimed Boromir. “It is Gondor that we 
should seek.”

“What do you think, Aragorn?” Gimli asked.

Aragorn continued to stare at his plate, unable to decide 
what to eat.

“I don’t care,” he said.

All eyes of the Fellowship fell upon him. He felt their 
stares of incredulity. He didn’t care. Let them think and 
do what they want.

Frodo was visibly shaken. “Aragorn, what do you mean you 
don’t care? Gandalf trusted you. He believed in you. I 
believe in you.”

Legolas spoke. “Aragorn?” He brought his eyes up to meet 
the elf’s. The concern there touched his heart, but not his 
indifference. All he cared about right now was eating 
something, anything, for breakfast, and having Legolas wrap 
his arms around him.

“So what do you suggest I try first?” he asked the elf.


CHAPTER 12

“I don’t care,” said the ranger.

Legolas had been watching Aragorn stare at his plate. But 
his eyes widened at the man’s statement.

Something was wrong. This didn’t sound like Aragorn. He 
spoke the ranger’s name, hoping to rouse him from his 
reverie. The man looked up at him, the chaos in his grey 
eyes reaching out for Legolas. 

“So what do you suggest I try first?”

Frodo sounded panicked. “Aragorn? Did you hear me?”

The man suddenly stood up, his eyes still locked on 
Legolas. “I’m going for a walk. Legolas, would you care to 
join me?”

Legolas wanted desperately to leave with him. To return to 
their clearing and abandon themselves to each other. But he 
fortified his resolve.

“I regret, Aragorn, that I have other plans. I go to meet 
Haldir this morning to discuss my participation in the 
protection of Lothlórien’s borders. I wish to repay the 
hospitality of the Galadhrim.”

“Very well. I will walk alone,” the ranger answered, his 
tone clipped and anxious. Legolas watched with a heavy 
heart as Aragorn turned and left the pavilion. He had 
thought this was going to be a lark, but now found his 
enthusiasm waning. This was going to be more difficult than 
he had thought.

Frodo, along with everyone else, had watched Aragorn storm 
out of the pavilion. But now he turned his eyes to Legolas.

“What troubles him? Why is he behaving as if we don’t 
matter to him? That the Fellowship doesn’t need him?” The 
hobbit was clearly agitated.

He reached over and placed a reassuring hand on Frodo’s 
small shoulder. “Do not let it trouble you, Ringbearer. The 
ranger is unaccustomed to groups of people, spending most 
of his time in solitude. He simply requires some time 
alone.” He lied. He did not know what troubled Aragorn, but 
wanted to comfort Frodo and the others. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Sam sneaking away 
from the pavilion, a full plate of food in hand. He assumed 
it was to follow Aragorn. Legolas hoped that Sam could ease 
Aragorn’s anxiety. It saddened him to know that the 
ranger’s disquiet was more than likely a direct result of 
the previous night’s activities, the nature of which 
remained a mystery.

What had he done?


IV. TRUSTING A HOBBIT

CHAPTER 13

Just a short walk west of the city, Aragorn sat with his 
back against a young mallorn. He continued to struggle with 
the conflicting desires of his heart and body. He was 
betrothed to Arwen. He could not imagine his future without 
her at his side, and had no wish to.

And yet he yearned for Legolas. The elf had awakened a raw 
physical passion that he had never felt before. 

He remembered meeting the Prince in Rivendell the evening 
before Elrond’s council. Even then he had felt a kinship 
with the elf. When their hands had touched in greeting, 
Aragorn had experienced a moment of prescience. These 
moments had been rare until recently, when they had begun 
to come upon him with increasing frequency. That day he had 
seen himself fighting side by side with the elf on the 
Deeping Wall. He assumed it was a vision of the future, as 
he had never fought at Helm’s Deep, but had only visited 
the Hornburg when he was serving Thengel in his early 
adventures away from Imladris. He wondered at the import of 
that vision.

“Mr. Strider?”

Aragorn looked up to find Sam peeking from behind the trunk 
of a nearby mallorn.
 
“I don’t mean to intrude, but I brought you some food. You 
left before you had a chance to . . . .” The hobbit’s voice 
trailed off.

“Thank you, Sam. Come.” He patted the ground next to him. 
“Sit with me.” Sam approached and presented the plate to 
the ranger. Aragorn accepted it, and began to eat as Sam 
joined him on the soft grass.

He didn’t stop to consider what to eat first. He just 
picked the first thing his fingers touched. The fruit was 
succulent and tart, and was like oil on the fire of his 
appetite. He devoured the rest of the food on his plate as 
Sam watched.

“You don’t look like a hobbit, but you have the appetite of 
one,” observed the halfling.

Aragorn turned to look at his friend, who wore a half-
hearted smile. Sam appeared a bit apprehensive, seemingly 
uncertain as to the appropriateness of levity under the 
current circumstances. Aragorn was moved by the 
selflessness of the gentle hobbit. He reached forward and, 
placing his hand behind Sam’s head, pulled the hobbit 
towards him and kissed him on the forehead. Sam’s cheeks 
deepened to a dusky rose, and the hobbit smiled self-
consciously.

Aragorn laughed and Sam seemed to relax.

“So, Sam. What do you think of the food here in 
Lothlórien?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful! The tables in Rivendell were most 
refined, with lots of fancy foods. But here, the dishes are 
wonderfully simple. Lots of vegetables. I like that. 
Although they could use some good potatoes.”

“Potatoes?”

“Aye, Mr. Strider. Potatoes. Don’t you like potatoes?”

“I’ve never really thought about them one way or another, 
Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Well, think now. If you had a choice, would you like a 
potato or not?”

“I . . . yes, I’d like a potato.”

“There, you see? Everybody likes potatoes. And I’m saying 
they could use a few here.”

“You should taste the dishes of Mirkwood,” Aragorn 
suggested.

“Tasty, are they?”

“The elves of Mirkwood are artists with seasonings and 
spices. The different flavors dance on the tongue, casting 
their spells of pleasure and love and peace,” mused 
Aragorn. 

“It sounds wonderful,” Sam replied. “When this is all over, 
you’ll have to come to Hobbiton. I’ll cook you a meal 
you’ll never forget.”

“That I doubt not, my friend.”

The ranger felt a need to confide in someone. He looked at 
Sam and concluded that this hobbit was the most likely of 
the Fellowship, save Legolas, to keep his counsel.

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Sam replied.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever been in love?” Aragorn repeated.

“That’s a mighty personal question, there, Mr. Strider.”

“My apologies for being so direct, but I seek your counsel, 
and haven’t the patience for formalities. I am hoping you 
will trust the motives behind my question. I ask again, 
good Sam, have you ever been in love?”

Sam hesitated for a moment and then confessed, “There’s a 
lass back home named Rosie.”

“Rosie?”

“Yes, Rose Cotton, and a beauty of a girl she is, too.”

“Indeed?”

“She grows the most fragrant garden in all of Hobbiton. 
Everybody thinks so. She takes petals from different 
flowers and  brews them together to create the sweetest 
perfumes.”

“She is aware of your affections?”

“Oh, no!” The hobbit appeared mortified at the thought. 
“Mr. Frodo keeps encouraging me to tell her how I feel, but 
I’ve never mustered the courage to say anything save 
compliments on her garden.”

“Perhaps gardening is the common ground in which the two of 
you can grow a future together,” Aragorn prophesied.

“Perhaps. That is if we survive this quest and I’m able to 
find my way home.”

They lapsed into a silence.

Aragorn would never have asked his next question before. 
But today he felt an unusual antipathy towards communal 
judgment and pressed on.

“Have you ever had feelings for someone outside of your 
reach, say . . . for another of your own gender?” he asked.

Sam’s look of shock would have been humorous, were it not 
for the gravity of the question. Aragorn instantly 
regretted asking it.

“I apologize,” he said. “I should have known that Rosie was 
the only one to hold the keys to your heart.”

Sam’s expression softened a bit. “Well, I never said 
*that*.”

“What are you saying, Sam?”

“No, no, no, no. You’re not the only one who gets to ask 
questions here. Before I tell you any more, you have to 
tell me something.”

“Very well. What do you wish to know?”

Sam paused, pondering the question. Aragorn saw the answer 
form behind Sam’s eyes, and then the hobbit asked, “Why did 
you leave the pavilion this morning?”

Aragorn took a moment to form his own answer.

“I had a dream. It involved ‘relations’ between myself and 
another male. The dream haunted me this morning, and I 
wished to be alone to sort through my thoughts.”

“Then why did you ask Legolas to join you?” the hobbit 
asked innocently. A moment later, the answer came to him. 
“Ooohhhhh. I see.”

“What do you see, halfling?”

“Your dream was about Legolas, wasn’t it?”

Aragorn hesitated.

“Mr. Strider?”

“Yes, you’re right. It was about Legolas.”

“Well, you needn’t be embarrassed by that, Mr. Strider. The 
elves are an exceedingly fair race. And in Rivendell, I 
heard Legolas described as one of the fairest of his kind. 
You’d have to be blind not to find his appearance 
pleasing.”

Pleasing. An understatement, to be sure. He attempted to 
return the focus of the conversation back onto the hobbit. 
“I have answered your question. Now it is your turn. Who 
else besides Rose Cotton has a claim upon your most 
generous and kind heart?”

Sam lowered his eyes to the ground and said nothing. 
Aragorn had a sudden realization.

“Sam! Is it Frodo?”

Sam reached for the empty plate. “So are you still hungry, 
Mr. Strider?” He started to stand up, but Aragorn stopped 
him with a hand on the top of the hobbit’s head.

“Sam?”

“What business is it of yours, anyway? Why are you so 
curious about affairs of the heart? Aren’t you betrothed to 
the Lady Arwen?”

Aragorn did not answer, but watched as Sam put the pieces 
of the puzzle into place.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s Legolas, isn’t it? You’re in love 
with Legolas!”

“No! I mean, maybe . . . . I don’t know,” Aragorn 
stammered.

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” Sam exclaimed. “What a 
curious picture that paints. Him all clean and fair, and 
you all . . . well, you’re clean now.”

“This isn’t funny, hobbit,” chided Aragorn.

“No, Mr. Strider. I’m sorry. It’s not.”

“I’ve confessed my feelings for Legolas to you. Now I ask 
you to share with me your feelings for the Ringbearer.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds like I’ve got a wee 
girl’s crush on him,’ protested Sam.

“Well, explain to me the difference,” Aragorn prodded.

“Very well. But then you must tell me more of your dream of 
Legolas.”

“We shall see if your tale deserves another, Mr. Gamgee. 
Now tell on.”

“All right, all right. Let’s see. My father tended the 
garden at Bag End. That’s where Mr. Bilbo lived. Now Mr. 
Frodo came to live in Bag End the very year I was born, so 
I’ve known Mr. Frodo my whole life. I’ve always been very 
fond of him. He treats me like I’m special.”

At this the hobbit appeared a bit embarrassed. “You may not 
know this, Mr. Strider, but I am not known for my quick 
wit.”

“By whose estimation?”

“Everyone’s. That’s why I spent so much time with my dad at 
Bag End. Mr. Bilbo’s stories were so exciting, and he had 
the largest garden in Hobbiton.”

“What about Frodo?” asked Aragorn, attempting to steer the 
hobbit to a point.

“Mr. Frodo was always nice. Always smiling. But he had a 
sadness behind his smile, even when he would laugh. I 
suppose that would come from being an orphan. I always 
wanted to give him a big hug. To try to cheer him up, you 
know?”

“The other kids would walk by Bag End and laugh at me. I 
guess I probably did look a sight, all dirtied up and all. 
But Mr. Frodo would shoo them away, and then say to me, 
“Don’t listen to them, Sam. You’re capable of great things. 
I can see it in your eyes.”

Sam paused for a moment, then he drew himself up and took a 
deep breath.

“That was when I first loved Mr. Frodo. Of course, so much 
has changed since then.”

“What has changed?” asked the ranger.

“Are you daft? Look at where we are! We sit in the realm of 
the elves! We’ve journeyed through the lost mines of Moria, 
and have lived to tell of it. And Mr. Frodo has been put 
through so much. I worry about him. It’s too much for a 
hobbit to bear.”

Aragorn wanted to reassure the halfling. “From what I have 
seen, the responsibilities of Ringbearer suit him well. His 
heart is strong and true. And if I’m not mistaken,” and at 
this he took Sam’s chin in his hand, forcing the hobbit’s 
eyes to his own, “he does not bear his burden alone.”

“That may be, Mr. Strider. I hope you’re right.”

He released Sam’s chin and patted the hobbit’s cheek. “So 
what of your love for Frodo now? Where does your heart 
stand?”

“My love and admiration grows with each new adventure we 
share. He is the bravest hobbit I’ve ever known. Or even 
heard of. And you know what? I think he cares for me as 
well.”

“I’m sure of it, Sam.”

“Really? You really think so?” Sam’s enthusiasm warmed 
Aragorn’s heart.

“Yes, Sam. I do.”

“You know, you were asking about ‘feelings for another of 
my gender’?”

“Yes.” Aragorn’s heartbeat quickened as he felt the 
conversation moving into the desired arena.

“Well, there have been times during this journey that I 
have felt . . . well, physical feelings for Mr. Frodo.”

“Go on.” Aragorn’s mouth was suddenly dry.

“Well, for example, while we were in the mines of Moria, 
Mr. Frodo would sleep with his head in my lap. As I looked 
down at him, I found myself wondering how it would feel to 
kiss him. I never have, but I’ve thought about it. Instead 
I would just run my fingers through his hair as he slept. 
One time, he stirred a bit and sighed, then pressed his 
head into my hand. I’ll remember that moment for as long as 
I live.”

Aragorn sat mute as Sam became lost in the memory. A 
woodland creature moved through the forest behind them, 
twigs crackling into the silence.

Sam broke his reverie. “So that’s my tale. It’s your turn 
now, Mr. Strider.”

“Very well.” Aragorn took a deep breath and continued. “My 
dream was about Legolas. I have never looked upon another 
male with passion, but this elf elicits a desire that 
cannot be denied. I long to embrace him, to kiss him, to . 
. . ..” Aragorn hesitated.

“Make love to him?” Sam prompted.

“Yes. No. I mean . . . I long for *him* to make love to 
*me*.”

“Ohhh. I see. Is that what your dream was about?”

“No, in my dream I struggled with the conflict between my 
desire for Legolas and my love for Arwen.”

“And how did your dream end?”

Aragorn recalled the memory of his dream encounter with 
Arwen. How had it ended? She had told him she rejoiced at 
his communion with Legolas. He had asked her what 
‘communion’ meant. “Ask Legolas. He will tell you,” had 
been her reply.

To Sam’s question, Aragorn replied, “With more questions 
than when it began.”

“Oh.” Sam’s expression was one of confusion.

“Samwise Gamgee, I thank you for your kindness and your 
counsel. And do not fear. Your love for Frodo will remain 
our secret until you choose to make your devotion known.” 
He extended his hand to Sam.

The hobbit’s tiny hand was swallowed by the human’s as they 
sealed their pact. “And I will keep your secret safe in my 
heart as well, Mr. Strider,” Sam said.

Aragorn was more interested in the location of his beloved 
Legolas than he was in Sam's discretion, but he accepted 
the hobbit's gesture of confidence and friendship.

Aragorn rose to his feet. “I ask you to pardon the abrupt 
ending to this breakfast, but I have need to speak to a 
certain elf," the ranger said. 'My dream holds a mystery 
that only he can help me solve.”


CHAPTER 14

Boromir was no ranger, but he had some skill in stealth.

Unfortunately, it failed him as his foot snapped a twig. 
And then another.

He froze, hoping not to be detected. The voices continued. 
He exhaled softly, and continued moving forward until he 
could hear the words clearly.

“. . . but this elf elicits a desire that cannot be denied. 
I long to embrace him, to kiss him, to . . . .” the ranger 
hesitated.

“Make love to him?” the hobbit prompted.

“Yes. No. I mean . . . I long for *him* to make love to 
*me*.”

Boromir nearly fell over in shock. The heir of Isildur 
desired an elven male?

“. . . conflict between my desire for Legolas and my love 
for Arwen.”

Legolas?!

Boromir pictured the two of them together. Aragorn on his 
hands and knees with the elf ramming his cock into the man 
from behind. He reached down and adjusted his growing 
erection.

"Your love for Frodo will remain our secret until you 
choose to make your devotion known.” 

“And I will keep your secret safe in my heart as well, Mr. 
Strider.”

Boromir retreated behind a tree as Aragorn stood and took 
his leave of the hobbit, who picked up an empty plate and 
followed after him. Boromir turned his back to the tree and 
slid down the trunk until he was sitting.

Aragorn and Legolas. He thought he had sensed something 
between them this morning. He would not be surprised if 
Legolas desired Aragorn. Who wouldn’t? The ranger was one 
of the most attractive men Boromir had ever met. Their 
meeting in the Hall of Elendil had left him so overwhelmed 
that he had accidentally dropped the hilt of Narsil. He had 
heard the clang of the precious relic on the floor, but was 
unable to turn, wanting only to escape the moment.

Boromir would never have guessed that Aragorn would be 
attracted to other men. He could usually tell, but this one 
was a mystery.

He pictured the ranger standing in front of him. He 
imagined Aragorn slowly removing his tunic to reveal a 
tautly-muscled torso. Boromir reached down and released his 
raging erection. He spit on his hand and began to stroke 
his cock as he fantasized about the imaginary man in front 
of him.


CHAPTER 15

Legolas was concerned about Aragorn, but did not want to 
worry the rest of the Fellowship needlessly. So he kept his 
thoughts to himself and hoped Sam’s company would bring 
some cheer to the ranger. Boromir sat off to himself, 
glaring into the forest. Legolas watched as Gimli, Pippin, 
and Merry devoured the breakfast feast.

“Try this jelly, Merry,” suggested Pippin.

“That’s not jelly. That’s jam,” Merry replied.

“So it is,” conceded Pippin, taking a bite of bread and 
jam. “It’s still good,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“Jam, jelly, who cares? It is a vast improvement from what 
we’ve been living on for these past few weeks,” exclaimed 
Gimli.

Boromir suddenly stood and announced, “I can bear this no 
longer. The boredom will drive me mad. If I am condemned to 
remain in this blasted forest, I wish to know my 
surroundings. Enjoy your breakfast, but this warrior is 
going to find some way to be more productive.” 

Having finished his decree, Boromir departed the pavilion 
in a huff.

Legolas called after him, “You might volunteer to help 
guard the borders while we are guests, fragrant Gondorian. 
Your aroma would serve quite well as orc bait.” 

At this, Gimli and the feasting hobbits broke into laughter 
once more. They seemed to have abandoned themselves to the 
spell of Lothlórien.

Frodo, however, did not appear to share their cheer. His 
expression was one of dread and anxiety. Legolas could 
sense the hobbit’s agitation, and spoke softly so he would 
not startle him.

“Are you all right, Ringbearer?” he asked.

Frodo answered simply. “I’m fine.”

Legolas did not believe him, but did not press the issue.

He was troubled by something about Boromir’s demeanor this 
morning. He was unable to determine exactly what that 
something was, but it was sufficient enough to raise an 
alarm in Legolas’ mind. He decided to take his leave of the 
dining half of the Fellowship and follow the other half, 
wherever they had gone.

Legolas stood. “Well, then I’m off to Cerin Amroth. I may 
be gone for several days, so if you would, please extend my 
regards to the absent members of our Fellowship.”

“You take care now, Master Elf,” charged Gimli. “We shall 
need your bow when we leave this place.”

“I will most certainly, Master Dwarf.” The elf then 
crouched down, so his face was close to Frodo’s. “You 
should try to relax, Frodo. You are safe amongst my kindred 
here.”

“I will try, Legolas. But please be careful.”

“Your concern warms my heart, noble hobbit. But have faith. 
The Valar have protected my life thus far. I am here to 
protect you, and that charge is not yet completed.”

The hobbit threw his arms around Legolas’ neck and embraced 
the elf tightly. Legolas embraced him in turn, lifting him 
off his feet and pulling him tightly to his chest. He held 
Frodo for several moments, and then returned the hobbit to 
the ground, satisfied that Frodo’s anxiety had subsided for 
the moment.

“I’ll return in a day or so. Try not to get into any 
mischief, all right?” The elf ruffled Frodo’s hair, and 
called to the other hobbits, “That goes for all of you.”

“Don’t worry about us,” replied Pippin. “As long as they 
keep this buffet full, I won’t be leaving this spot.”

Legolas gave a final wink to Frodo, then left the pavilion. 
The hobbits’ voices behind him brought a grin to his face.

“Frodo, come over here,” Merry beckoned. “You *must* try 
this quail.”

“It’s not quail, it’s squab,” corrected Pippin.

“It is not. It’s quail,” Merry argued.

“I think I know my wild birds, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and 
this is squab,” countered Pippin.

“It’s quail, or my name is Tom Bombadil.”

“Well, Tom, this squab is delicious.”

As Legolas moved towards the city’s gates, he picked up the 
Gondorian’s scent quite easily. He followed it across the 
white bridge and into the forest west of the city. It 
didn’t take very long to catch up to Boromir, who had 
tailed Sam, who had followed Aragorn.

The Galadhrim must be laughing at this little parade.

As he followed Boromir, Legolas came to the conclusion that 
the Gondorian fancied himself a ranger. He struggled to 
suppress his laughter as Boromir attempted to move silently 
through the forest.

Boromir was now hiding behind a tree eavesdropping on a 
conversation between Aragorn and Sam, who sat a short 
distance away. Legolas had nimbly darted up a nearby tree, 
and now observed the entire scene from an overhead branch. 
Aragorn was speaking.

“My dream was about Legolas. I have never looked upon 
another male with passion, but this elf elicits a desire 
that cannot be denied. I long to embrace him, to kiss him, 
to . . . .” The ranger hesitated.

“Make love to him?” Sam prompted.

“Yes. No. I mean . . . I long for *him* to make love to 
*me*.”

Legolas nearly fell out of the tree. He was unprepared for 
the wave of happiness Aragorn’s words carried to his heart. 
He had to take a moment to reassure himself that he had 
indeed heard correctly. Aragorn *did* remember last night. 
But did he think it a dream? 

“Samwise Gamgee,” Aragorn said, “I thank you for your 
kindness and your counsel. And do not fear. Your love for 
Frodo will remain our secret until you choose to make your 
devotion known.” 

“And I will keep your secret safe in my heart as well, Mr. 
Strider,” Sam responded.

Aragorn rose to his feet, saying “I ask you to pardon the 
abrupt ending to this breakfast, but I have need to speak 
to a certain elf. My dream holds a mystery that only he can 
help me solve.”

Legolas was relieved that Aragorn would not find him. He 
was not prepared to be alone with the inquisitive man. He 
needed to remove himself from Aragorn’s spell for a brief 
period. Lady Galadriel had instructed him to proceed with 
great care, and he had every intention of heeding her 
words. A day or two guarding the borders would help him 
clear his head and form some sort of strategy.

Normally, he would trust his instincts when approaching an 
unknown situation. This time, however, his instinct was his 
enemy, for it told him to return to their clearing and wait 
for Aragorn to arrive. His instinct wanted to grab Aragorn 
by the neck and pull him into a deep, soul-stirring kiss. 
To tear the clothes from the man’s body. To taste the salty 
skin. To smell the . . . .

He shook his head to break the ranger’s spell. Looking 
down, he saw the ranger and the hobbit moving back towards 
the city. He turned his attention to the other human.

Boromir had seated himself and withdrawn an impressive 
erection. The man closed his eyes as he began to pleasure 
himself.


V. SAME PLACE, DIFFERENT DESTINATIONS

CHAPTER 16

Boromir’s hand moved slowly up and down his cock as his 
fantasy Aragorn continued to disrobe for him. The ranger 
was running his hands over his own body, across his chest, 
over his shoulders, along his arms, up his neck, across his 
face, through his hair, behind his head. His biceps flexed, 
his head tilted back, his mouth half open, his eyes half 
closed.

Boromir increased the speed of his strokes as Aragorn slid 
his hands down his torso and into the front of his 
breeches. He undid the fastenings that were keeping his own 
erection a prisoner. Boromir gasped as the man’s cock was 
released. Aragorn stared at him with lust in his slate grey 
eyes. “Do you like what you see, Boromir?” he asked.

“Yes,” Boromir whispered.

“Good.” Aragorn took a couple steps closer. The man’s cock 
was right in front of Boromir’s face as Aragorn stroked 
himself to full erection. He removed his hand and moved his 
hips closer to Boromir’s face. “Do you want this?” he 
asked.

“Yes,” Boromir whispered again.
 
“Take it. Take it in your mouth.”

Boromir leaned forward and touched his tongue to the tip of 
Aragorn’s erection. Aragorn shuddered. Boromir liked that. 
Without hesitation he swallowed the man like a sheath 
sliding onto a sword.

“Aaaahhhhh!!!” cried the ranger in pleasure, his eyes wide 
with surprise. Boromir looked up and drank in the sight of 
Aragorn’s tightly muscled torso, a light blanket of hair 
covering his chest and abdomen. The ranger looked down at 
him as he slowly moved up and down the man’s cock, using 
his tongue to apply extra pressure to the sensitive 
underside.

While one hand continued to stroke his own cock, Boromir 
grabbed Aragorn with his other, pulling the ranger’s hips 
closer. The man began to move his hips back and forth.

“Yes,” Boromir gasped, removing his lips for just a moment. 
“Like that.”

Aragorn needed no further encouragement. He leaned forward, 
placing his hands on the tree in front of him, and 
proceeded to thrust his cock down Boromir’s throat.

Boromir was in ecstasy. He was grunting with each thrust, 
his hand a blur on his own cock. Aragorn began to grunt as 
well, each increasing in pitch and volume as the ranger 
approached orgasm.

“Do you want me to finish?” asked Aragorn. Boromir grunted 
and nodded, his mouth still full. “All right, then. Here it 
comes.” He gave several deep thrusts and then buried his 
cock, emptying his load into Boromir’s throat with a bone-
rattling growl.

Boromir gave several last strokes and then shot his own 
load over his hand, his howl of orgasm muffled by the 
ranger’s crotch. His body shuddered as he drank the last 
drops from Aragorn’s spent member, and then let it slip 
from his mouth. He leaned back against the tree, gasping 
for breath, his fantasy lover evaporating like mist in the 
morning sun.


CHAPTER 17

Aragorn swiftly covered the distance back to the stone path 
circling the city. As he approached the city gates, he felt 
an odd sensation in his loins. He stopped walking, placing 
his hand over his lower abdomen where the sensation was 
growing. It felt familiar somehow.

Suddenly, he felt a wave of pleasure wash over him. It 
reminded him of an orgasm, only not as intense. An echo 
almost. It soon passed, and he continued walking, wondering 
at his odd experiences this visit to Lothlórien.

He crossed the bridge and entered the city. The morning was 
glorious and it lightened his spirits in spite of his 
unanswered questions. As he neared the crest of the hill 
and the pavilion, he encountered Haldir on the winding 
path.

“Good morning, Estel,” said the elf as he stopped and 
gestured his greeting.

“Good morning to you, Haldir,” replied Aragorn, returning 
the gesture.

“You look quite rested, Estel. Are you enjoying your return 
to Lothlórien?”

Haldir wore a smile similar to the one worn by a certain 
Mirkwood elf earlier this morning. How much did Haldir 
know?

“Lothlórien always fills my spirit with joy, Haldir.”

“I am glad you are well. I seek Prince Legolas. He has left 
the pavilion.” Haldir raised one eyebrow as he asked, 
“Would you perchance know where I may find him, Estel?”

Aragorn cocked his head to one side in confusion. “No, I 
have not seen him. In truth, I was seeking the good Prince 
myself. You say he is not at the pavilion with my 
companions?”

“No, he is not. They tell me that he left a short while ago 
saying he would return in several days.”

“Several days?!” Aragorn was stunned.

“He had not told you his plans?” asked Haldir.

“No, he had not.” Aragorn could not decide whether to be 
hurt or angry. He could not believe that after what they 
had shared the night before, Legolas would abandon him. For 
several days! “Please excuse me, Haldir, but I need to 
speak to my companions.” Haldir must have heard them 
incorrectly. Several days?

“I take my leave, then, for I am departing for the northern 
borders myself this hour. Would you consider joining us in 
the defense of our realm?” asked Haldir.

“I regret I cannot, good Haldir. I have important matters 
of my own to investigate. But I am sure that your warriors 
will be more than adequate to the task at hand.”

“Your sword arm will be missed. But fare you well, Estel. 
May the Valar bring you the illumination you seek.”

“You are most gracious, Haldir.”

The both gestured their farewells and proceeded on their 
way, Aragorn continuing up the hill, as Haldir continued 
down.


CHAPTER 18

Legolas watched unaffected as Boromir emptied his load over 
his hand.

He had watched Boromir in curiosity, but had not become 
aroused in any way. The Gondorian was not unattractive, but 
his churlish personality tainted what small measure of 
allure he possessed. Legolas did not care for Boromir very 
much. In fact, he wasn’t at all convinced that the 
Gondorian could be trusted.

He wondered if the object of Boromir’s fantasy had been 
Aragorn. It was a logical conclusion, considering he had 
just been eavesdropping on Aragorn and Sam. Unless he 
favored the hobbit.

No, that was highly improbable. Boromir seemed to hold the 
opinion that Man was the superior race, and other 
inhabitants of Middle Earth should acknowledge that without 
question. That he should desire a hobbit was simply not a 
reasonable possibility.

It *was* reasonable, however, to conclude that Boromir was 
attracted to Aragorn.

So the assumption that Boromir desired Aragorn begged 
another question. How far would he go to possess him? 
Legolas was concerned that Boromir might try to force 
himself on the ranger.

This wouldn’t do. He pondered what to do as he watched the 
man below him wipe his hands on the grass and then refasten 
his breeches.

No, this wouldn’t do at all.

Legolas watched as Boromir pulled himself to his feet and 
retreated in the direction of the city.

As soon as he was out of sight, Legolas dropped to the 
ground and began to run. He circled around Boromir and 
reached the white bridge before him. He proceeded into the 
city and nearly ran into Haldir.

“Legolas! How fare you this morning?”

“Haldir. I need your assistance.”

“Tell me your need.”

“I need you to recruit Boromir, the Gondorian, to patrol 
the northern borders.”

“I hope you’ll share your reasons with me at some point, 
but your need is obviously urgent.”

“He follows but a few moments behind me.”

“Consider it done. Will you be joining us, Good Prince?”

“Indeed I will. But for now, I must go to make 
preparations. Do not accept “no” for an answer from 
Boromir. This is very important.”

“Go, Legolas. I will deal with the Gondorian when he 
arrives. We leave for Cerin Amroth within the hour.”

“I look forward to the journey. I have need to speak to you 
about last night.”

“I had hoped to hear that tale. I just encountered –”

“Yes, but not now,” Legolas interrupted. “I will meet you 
at Cerin Amroth. My thanks again, Haldir. I will not forget 
your kindness.”

“What I am able to give, I give freely, Good Prince. Now 
go.”

Legolas retreated further into the city. He had one more 
person to talk to before he left.


VI. MEMORIES OF LOVE

CHAPTER 19

As he walked back to the city of the elves, if one could 
call a bunch of trees a ‘city’, Boromir’s spirit felt 
lighter than it had in years. The seed of hope had been 
planted and was now taking root. Ever since that summer at 
Everholt 15 years ago, Boromir had been haunted by the love 
of a handsome young man from Rohan, which weighed on his 
heart like a sinkstone.

But he had discovered the magnificence of the male form 
five years before that fateful summer, on the occasion of 
his twenty-first birthday.

He had been nursing a hangover when he had gone in search 
of his baby brother, Faramir, at his father’s behest. His 
search had led him to the stables.

Noises in the loft had lured him up the ladder to peer into 
the shadows. He had been able to discern a couple in a 
passionate embrace. They lay kissing on a bed of straw as 
the young man thrust away at his lover beneath him, whose 
legs were locked around his waist. Boromir had recognized 
the man.  He was from Rohan and served as one of their 
grooms. The Rohir’s blonde hair was matted against his 
sweaty shoulders. Veins strained against the skin stretched 
across the man’s chest and biceps as he held his lover’s 
ankles, stretching the legs wide. The hairless torso 
glistened with sweat, the washboard stomach muscles flexing 
and rolling as he pounded away, grunting with every thrust. 
The sight of the strong masculine body in the throes of 
passion had a profound and troubling effect on Boromir.

He had become aroused himself.

It was then that Boromir had caught a glimpse of the face 
of the Rohir’s partner to discover that it was . . . .

Faramir!!!

Boromir had fled the scene, determined to prevent his 
brother from disgracing the honor of their family’s name.

He had succeeded. The degenerate horse lover had been 
expelled within the hour.

But that man had never left Minas Tirith entirely. For the 
next five years, he had remained as a figment of Boromir’s 
dreams and fantasies. 

Boromir emerged from the trees onto the stone path to see 
Sam the hobbit approaching the white bridge to his right. 
Not wishing any company right now, Boromir walked in the 
opposite direction, following the path around to the 
northern point of the city. He encountered no one on the 
path and continued east although the path turned due north. 
He had wished to explore the city’s surroundings and took 
this opportunity for some time away from his companions.

The air was clear and refreshing, with the perfume of 
flowers scenting the breeze blowing across his face. As 
much as he hated to admit it, the forest was very peaceful. 
It was those cursed elves that made him uneasy. So 
superior, so smug. He felt judgment in their eyes. Who were 
they to judge *him*? He was the eldest son of the Steward 
of Gondor, the commander of Gondor’s army, and a member of 
the Fellowship of the Ring. They could take their judgment 
and go to Mordor for all he cared. Let them leave Middle 
Earth for their ‘Grey Havens’, and good riddance.

As he walked, he remembered his brother’s reaction to the 
news of the Rohir’s banishment. Faramir had not spoken to 
him for two months after that. And when they finally 
resumed conversation, it was as a neighbor might discuss 
the weather. There was a coldness between them from that 
day on for years, and Boromir genuinely regretted that. But 
it had been for Faramir’s own good. Or so he had thought at 
the time.

He eventually came upon a stream that ran from the wall of 
the city on his right into the forest on his left. He 
decided to follow the stream southeast.

The five years following his discovery of Faramir’s secret 
as well as his own were spent successfully avoiding any 
circumstance in which his composure could be compromised. 
He never allowed himself to look upon any male with 
passion. But in the privacy of his locked bedroom, he found 
release in the muscular arms of many a fantasy man. It was 
a dream he had thought never to be fulfilled.

His father had become increasingly more concerned about the 
lengthening shadows of Mordor, and began to obsess on 
making preparations for an attack from the east. Many 
meetings and conferences were held to strategize and 
coordinate the protection of their lands. One such meeting 
took Boromir to Firienwood, which bridged the lands of 
Gondor and the Eastfold at the base of Ered Nimrais. There 
he had met Théodred, prince of Rohan.

Théodred had stolen Boromir’s heart in the moment they met.

Boromir had resisted at first, unsettled but intrigued by 
the handsome prince’s flirtations. But a mysteriously 
strong wine had soothed Boromir’s heart as well as his 
nerves, and he had ultimately surrendered to Théodred’s 
considerable charms. 

What a fool I was, thought Boromir, shaking the memory of 
that passionate night together from his head.

He had followed the stream to its end and now emerged on 
the banks of the Anduin. The afternoon sun shone over his 
shoulder, throwing his shadow down the bank in front of 
him. The stream emptied into the river on his right by 
passing over and around a gauntlet of boulders before 
pouring over the edge of the embankment in a misty 
waterfall.

The sound of the rushing water called to him and Boromir 
walked to spot where water met rock. He climbed up on a 
large boulder facing the river. The trees provided shade, 
creating a stark contrast against the bright sunlight 
hitting the eastern bank.

He was beginning to understand what the others had been 
saying about Lothlórien. He wondered if the healing that 
began that night at Everholt would be completed here.

For a moment, Boromir wondered what his companions were 
doing. He found to his surprise that he missed their 
company.

More to the point, he missed Aragorn.


Chapter 20

Aragorn sat on a boulder, his feet dangling in the cool 
water of the pool. The afternoon and his stomach were both 
full.

By the time he had returned to the pavilion, breakfast had 
been cleared and an early lunch was being served, much to 
the hobbits’ delight.

Upon arriving, he had immediately questioned them about 
Haldir’s claim that Legolas had already left for the 
northern borders. His heart sank at the confirmation of the 
elf’s words. He needed to see Legolas. Not just desired, 
but *needed* to see him.

He had thought about following him to Cerin Amroth, but was 
uncertain as to how he would find him. He knew the lay of 
Lothlórien well, but Legolas could be anywhere in the Naith 
or west of the Celebrant.

Frodo had certainly discouraged him. The sweet, strong 
hobbit had a manner that made one take heed, regardless of 
the distraction. Aragorn had been moved by Frodo’s plea, 
and abandoned thoughts of following Legolas. The elf had 
left word that he would return in two days’ time. The 
ranger’s questions could wait that long. They would have 
to. He had no choice.

Frodo had taken his hand and led him to join them at the 
incredible banquet presented for their midday repast. He 
ate his fill, and allowed himself to enjoy the company of 
his remaining companions.
 
The four hobbits were a joy. They had the uncanny ability 
to forget the tragedy and threats of impending doom that 
hung over Middle Earth like a shadow and enjoy the simple 
joys of a fine meal with friends. Perhaps their role was to 
keep the race of Man from becoming overly serious and self-
absorbed.

Sam was one of the kindest and gentlest souls Aragorn had 
ever encountered, but he had also witnessed the ferocity of 
Sam’s loyalty to Frodo. And Frodo himself possessed the 
strength of the heroes Aragorn had learned about in story 
and song. Though his own elvish name meant ‘hope’, it was 
Frodo the Ringbearer that carried the hope of all Middle 
Earth in his heart. Aragorn felt humbled to sit next to the 
great hero beside him. Merry and Pippin filled Aragorn’s 
heart with laughter. They appeared to be two halves of one 
whole, sensing the other’s mood and finishing each other’s 
sentences. That is, of course, when they were not bickering 
about some minute point of interest.

Gimli the dwarf was as solid as a rock; a formidable ally 
in combat and loyal friend in need. Aragorn was quite 
impressed by Gimli’s willingness to release the hostility 
of his race towards the elvenfolk he encountered. Gimli’s 
friendship with Legolas had most definitely impacted the 
dwarf’s preconceptions, and their encounter with the Lady 
Galadriel had apparently eliminated any distrust of her 
motives. Gimli was smitten with love for the Lady of 
Lórien, pure of heart with no impurities to sully the 
magnitude of his affection. And though it was not like the 
love Aragorn felt for Arwen, and now Legolas, no truer love 
could be found.

Nobody knew exactly where Boromir had gone. He was 
apparently on a scouting mission of some sort. Aragorn was 
somewhat concerned. Not so much that Boromir could do 
anything to harm Lothlórien, but rather that Lothlórien 
could possibly harm Boromir should he make an imprudent and 
impulsive decision. He momentarily considered going in 
search of his kinsman, but abandoned that thought as well. 
Boromir was the Commander of the army of Gondor. One would 
hope that he could take care of himself. Besides, like 
Legolas, Aragorn had no idea of where to begin looking for 
the man. So he ate his fill of the food and shared song and 
story with the hobbits, then took his leave, explaining he 
needed some time to himself. They all wished him well and 
bid him return for dinner. He assured them he would and 
left the pavilion.

Without realizing where he was walking, he had retraced his 
steps to the clearing where he and Legolas had shared . . 
., what, exactly? He was still uncertain as to what had 
occurred last night. He remembered the events clearly now, 
but the import of those events still eluded him. 

When he entered the clearing, he immediately noticed that 
all traces of their night together had been erased. All 
save his own clothes, folded by the pool. As he sat on the 
boulder where their clothes had dried that morning, he 
began to replay the night’s events in his mind.

****************************************************

As he slowly walked into the pool, Boromir’s words 
continued their litany.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

When he reached the center of the pool, he submerged 
himself and then stood up, running his fingers through his 
hair. He stopped with his hands locked behind his neck.

It is long since we’ve had any hope.

His arms slowly dropped to his sides as he stared into 
space. 

“Aragorn?” He heard his name, but did not have the energy 
to be alarmed. “Aragorn,” the voice repeated.

He looked up to discover Legolas standing a few feet away 
from him in the water. He looked into the elf’s eyes and 
found a well of compassion he was not expecting. His wall 
began to crumble. A gasp of panic escaped him as his 
defenses began to give way. He gritted his teeth and fought 
to maintain his resolve. He clenched his fists and 
struggled to keep from trembling.

The elf watched him with an expression of sadness on his 
face, his head tilted to one side, as if imploring Aragorn 
to release his grief. A choked sob managed to break 
through, and then the dam gave way. The tears flowed, 
trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard.

Legolas stepped toward him and embraced him tightly. He 
wrapped his arms around the elf’s torso, clinging to him as 
a drowning man will cling to driftwood. Legolas held him as 
he surrendered completely to his emotions, burying his face 
in the elf’s neck. In a dark corner of his mind, it 
registered that the handsome elf was naked, . . . . 

. . . and that awareness grew until all other thoughts and 
emotions were pushed aside.

He gathered his composure and pulled away from Legolas, 
holding the elf at arm’s length so he could look at him.

“You look terrible,” the elf commented with a smile.  The 
long, silky blonde hair tumbled loosely around the elf’s 
shoulders, the tips of his ears barely visible. His eyes 
were deep and soulful, and Aragorn felt he could happily 
spend the rest of his life gazing into them. The elf’s lips 
were strong and full, and Aragorn could not contain his 
desire any longer. He moved in, tilting his head slightly 
to one side and lightly kissed those lips. He didn’t pull 
away, but remained in that position, their lips all but 
touching. He lightly kissed Legolas again.

This time Legolas was apparently not content with such a 
chaste kiss, for he placed his hand behind Aragorn’s neck 
and pulled him into a kiss that set the ranger’s soul 
ablaze. The passion rose as they kissed, their mouths 
parted, tongues exploring and caressing each other in a 
fervor that grew with each passing heartbeat.

Legolas broke the kiss and looked into Aragorn’s eyes. The 
love shone from the elf like a star in the night sky above 
them. They each threw their arms around the other and 
embraced tightly, as if they both wished to merge into one 
being.

Aragorn felt Legolas pull away only slightly, and then felt 
the elf’s lips on his neck. Fireworks exploded in his loins 
and he felt the need to remove the rest of his clothing. He 
reached down and began to loosen the fastenings, but 
Legolas stopped him.

“Allow me,” he said, hands sliding down Aragorn’s back and 
around his waist. The elf’s nimble fingers had the 
fastenings loosened in the blink of an eye. His hands 
grabbed each side of Aragorn’s breeches, and slowly pulled 
them down. He crouched down in the water in front of 
Aragorn to allow the ranger to remove first one foot and 
then the other from the wet clothing. His face was at the 
level of Aragorn’s stomach, and he leaned in to kiss the 
wet skin. The elf moved up Aragorn’s torso, his lips 
pressing against the man’s body as if he wished to draw the 
man’s soul through his skin. He tossed the man’s breeches 
onto the boulder at the side of the pool, and placed a hand 
on each side of Aragorn’s torso to steady the man’s body 
while he covered the ranger’s chest with a thousand sweet 
kisses. He would take strands of Aragorn’s chest hair 
between his teeth, tugging gently, then licking and 
kissing.

As the talented tongue worked its way up his neck, Aragorn 
could feel the elf’s erection brushing against his own, 
sending tremors through his body. Legolas pulled away and 
smiled at the ranger’s reaction. “Is this your first time?” 
he asked.

“Yes,” Aragorn answered.

“Are you nervous?” asked the elf.

“Were it anyone but you, Legolas, I would be. But you fill 
me with such comfort and peace that I fear nothing at this 
moment.” Aragorn placed first one hand on the elf’s chest, 
and then the other. He was no longer looking at the elf’s 
face, but rather at the sculpted beauty of his torso. Skin 
smooth as finely polished stone, without any trace of body 
hair. Aragorn ran his thumbs over the firm nipples, sending 
tremors through the elf’s body this time. His hands 
continued to explore the hard body.

Legolas took hold of his hand and led him out of the pool. 
The elf spread the ranger’s cloak on the ground, and then 
gestured for him to sit down. He did so. Legolas knelt in 
between his legs and moved in to kiss Aragorn again, his 
hands on both sides of the man’s head, fingers entwined in 
the wet locks. Their tongues danced as Legolas pushed 
Aragorn onto his back, the elf lying on top of him. Aragorn 
wrapped his arms around the elf and embraced him tightly.

They lay there, locked in embrace, their mouths drinking in 
the taste of each other for what seemed like hours. Aragorn 
felt he would never tire of kissing the handsome elf. After 
a time, however, Legolas pressed his hands on the ground on 
either side of Aragorn’s head, then rearranged his legs so 
he was straddling the man’s waist. He straightened up, and 
Aragorn uttered a small groan of astonishment at the beauty 
of the elf above him. Legolas was pulling his hair back 
away from his face, and Aragorn watched the elf’s upper 
arms flex with a desire that was making him dizzy. He 
reached up and placed his hands on the elf’s chest again, 
continuing his exploration of the exquisite body. He worked 
his way down the torso and along the elf’s thighs. Legolas 
trembled as he lightly traced his fingers along the elf’s 
erection. The elf began to move his hips as if to thrust 
himself into Aragorn’s hand. The man felt his own erection 
rubbing against the elf’s backside, and he began to tremble 
as well.

Legolas was looking down at him, his eyes smoldering with 
desire, his lips swollen and parted in a seductive smile. 
The elf placed his own hands on Aragorn’s torso, exploring 
the man’s chest and shoulders, playing with the man’s chest 
hair.

Legolas leaned over and kissed Aragorn with a soft passion 
that fanned the flames already raging in the man’s loins. 
The elf pulled away and asked him, “Are you certain you 
wish to continue?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Make love to me, 
Legolas.”

“As you wish,” the elf replied, his eyes flashing with 
desire.

***********************************************

Aragorn had laid back on the rock and reached inside his 
breeches to stroke his erection as he fantasized about the 
beautiful elf. His hand moved up and down the steel hard 
shaft as the Legolas in his mind made love to him.


Chapter 21

Legolas arrived at Cerin Amroth shortly before sunset. As 
he entered the wide clearing, he heard his name being 
called. He followed the sound to find Rúmil waving to him 
from the flet high up in the mallorn at the top of the 
mound. Legolas waved back, and then Rúmil disappeared, only 
to reemerge descending the ladder to the ground. Legolas 
waited for the Lórien elf at the foot of the mound.

“Well met, Prince Legolas,” greeted Rúmil.

Legolas flinched inwardly. The title of ‘Prince’ was 
beginning to sound haughty and supercilious to his ears.

“Greetings, Rúmil. What news of the invading orcs?”

“Haldir even now goes to the confluence of the Nimrodel and 
the Celebrant. He instructed me to wait for you and to ask 
you to bring your bow as quickly as you are able.”

“Then lead on, good Rúmil. My bow is pledged to the 
protection of Lothlórien.”

Rúmil nodded, then turned to the west. Their progress would 
be slower by night, but they had no other choice.

As they walked, Legolas wondered how Boromir was faring, 
fighting alongside a host of elves. He sincerely hoped that 
he had not put the Gondorian in harm’s way, but something 
deep inside told him that it was vitally important to keep 
Aragorn protected from Boromir’s lewd advances. Legolas was 
happy to know that his beloved would be safe in Caras 
Galadhon with the rest of the Fellowship.


VII. QUESTIONS ANSWERED

Chapter 22

Aragorn’s memory of the previous night and his fantasy 
blended together as he lay on his back on the rock by the 
pool, pleasuring himself under the setting sun.

***********************************************************

Aragorn thrust his hips up towards the elf atop him as they 
kissed, eliciting a moan which flowed from Legolas into the 
ranger’s mouth, across his tongue and into his soul. 
Aragorn was consumed with desire and wrapped his arms 
around the elf’s torso, pulling himself up against the 
smooth hard body . . . .

The elven fingers wrapped around him and began to softly 
stroke up and down his shaft. He gasped as his body 
convulsed. This brought a small laugh from Legolas, whose 
eyes had widened in mock surprise at Aragorn’s reaction. 
“Do you like how that feels?” he asked.

“Gods, yes. Please don’t stop.”

“Like this?” asked the elf, wrapping both hands firmly 
around him in one long down stroke, thumbs caressing the 
sensitive glans underneath. Aragorn arched his back, 
thrusting his hips as far into Legolas’ hands as he could. 
He closed his eyes and succumbed to the bliss coursing 
through his body. 

Legolas continued to stroke Aragorn’s cock, bringing him 
closer and closer to the edge, then releasing him, leaving 
him gasping and trembling in ecstasy . . . .

Aragorn reached up and pulled Legolas to him, kissing the 
elf hard and passionately on the mouth. The elf’s only 
response was a lascivious smile. He pressed Aragorn back to 
the ground, then lifted both of the man’s knees onto his 
shoulders. The elf moved his hips in closer, the ranger’s 
knees over his shoulders. Aragorn could feel the long blond 
hair lightly grazing his thighs and the tip of the elf’s 
erection pressing against him as Legolas bent over him, 
raising the man’s hips even higher. Legolas leaned down and 
kissed Aragorn as he slowly pressed himself into the 
ranger. They both groaned loudly into each other’s mouths 
as Aragorn reached around and pulled Legolas to him, taking 
the entire length of the elf into his body.

They continued to kiss and moan as Legolas pulled out all 
but the very tip and then plunged into him again and again. 
Moans became cries of pleasure, timed to the elf’s thrusts. 
“Aah! Aah! Aah! Aaaaahhhhhhh!” He came, shooting his load 
over himself and the elf. Witnessing Aragorn’s orgasm sent 
Legolas over the edge and he thrust himself deep inside the 
ranger in a final plunge into orgasm. Aragorn watched 
Legolas’ face twist in pleasure as he felt the pulsing of 
the elf inside him. Their bodies both trembled and 
convulsed in orgasmic rapture, their hands joined, fingers 
intertwined.

*********************************************************

Aragorn looked down to discover he had made quite a mess. 
His stomach was covered with the sticky results of his 
fantasy. He stood up and stripped off the white tunic and 
leggings. Then he jumped into the pool to rinse off. The 
cool water of the pool against his hot skin sparked a 
sensation of such intensity that he did not wish to leave 
it. So he spent the next hour floating on his back, 
watching the stars emerge from the encroaching darkness.


CHAPTER 23

It was shortly after sunset when the orgasm swept over 
Legolas. It caught him by such surprise that he lost his 
footing and tumbled to the ground. Rúmil was immediately at 
his side.

“Prince Legolas! Are you injured?” he asked with only a 
hint of alarm.

Legolas barely registered the question as his body reeled 
from the unexpected rush. He lay on his back, his head 
resting on Rúmil’s bended knee. His breathing came in 
ragged gasps and his limbs shook in uncontrollable 
pleasure.

“Prince Legolas!” Rúmil’s alarm was increasing.

Legolas reached up to pat his companion’s arm to assure him 
all was well. He felt Rúmil relax, but only a bit. He drew 
upon his resolve and gathered his wits enough to say, “Be 
at peace, Rúmil. I am well.” This had a significant impact 
on the elf, and Legolas felt Rúmil breathe a sigh of 
relief.

Rúmil opened his water skin and presented it to Legolas. 
“Drink this, Prince. It is a restorative.” 

Legolas accepted the skin. “I thought I told you not to 
call me ‘Prince’.” He took a drink and felt the warmth flow 
through the sizzling nerves of his body. He took another 
long draught and swallowed.

“My apologies. Legolas.” The use of the familiar name 
obviously did not come easily to Rúmil.

“Thank you,” replied the archer. He drew a deep breath of 
crisp night air and held it in his chest. He closed his 
eyes and felt the life force of the forest being drawn into 
his body and soul. He slowly allowed the air to escape his 
lips, carrying with it all his cares and anxieties.

He opened his eyes to see the stars peeking through the 
branches overhead, which waved as if blown by the very 
breath leaving his body. The earth beneath him felt as if 
it were pushing up at him, supporting him on its bedrock. 
The cool breeze brushed across his skin in a loving caress.

The heightened awareness reminded him of the previous 
evening’s experience in the clearing before Aragorn 
arrived.

Aragorn. How he longed to return to Caras Galadhon and join 
Aragorn in their private clearing. A part of him felt as if 
he was actually there, lying on his back in the cool water, 
watching the stars emerge from the encroaching darkness . . 
. . 


CHAPTER 24

Aragorn’s rumbling stomach eventually convinced him to 
wrench his gaze from the night sky and leave the pool. He 
dried himself with the white clothing he had discarded, 
then dressed himself in his normal attire.

The old clothes felt odd. As if they did not fit anymore. 
But it was not the cut. Rather, the garments represented 
the old Aragorn. The ranger who allowed no one save Arwen 
into his heart.  Had the white garments he had worn all day 
been dry, he would have changed once more. But that not 
being the case, he would have to suffer his current 
apparel.

After shaking his head vigorously, then running his fingers 
through his hair in attempt to brush the locks into some 
semblance of order, he once more set off for the 
Fellowship’s pavilion. He moved silently through the 
darkness, effortlessly navigating the hazards of the wild 
forest.


Chapter 25

“Legolas?” Rúmil’s voice recalled him to his present 
surroundings.
 
“I was there,” Legolas said in a whisper.

“Where were you, Legolas?”

“Outside Caras Galadhon, in a clearing. I was lying on my 
back in a pool, watching the stars.”

“Did you experience a sense of heightened perception? A 
sensitivity to the forest around you?”

“Yes. What is this mystery?” he asked.

“Communion,” replied Rúmil.

Legolas was instantly sitting up and alert. “What did you 
say?” he asked urgently.

“You were experiencing communion,” stated Rúmil.

“That is what I thought you said. What can you tell me 
about this ‘communion’?” he asked.

“It is one of the mysteries of Lothlórien,” began Rúmil. 
“Every one hundred years, Lothlórien enters a very unique 
cycle. For thirty nights, the nurturing love of the forest 
is quickened.”

“Quickened?”

“Consider this analogy: The mysterious powers of Lothlórien 
are like a magical book. Normally, the book sits in a 
darkened room. The only light with which one may read from 
the book is provided by a single candle. During the time of 
Communion, it is as if the light of Eärendil illuminated 
the room, allowing the mysteries of the book to be easily 
read. The nurturing life force of the forest during this 
time is similarly accessible, should one’s intent be one of 
love and respect.”

“You are speaking of a ‘communion’ between the forest and 
an individual?” asked Legolas.

“Yes.”

“Is it possible for two individuals to commune with each 
other?” asked Legolas.

“Most certainly.”

“What would happen should two individuals commune within 
Lothlórien borders during this special time?” Legolas 
returned.

“One would offer communion to the other, who would need to 
willingly relinquish control to the one making the offer. 
The one making the offer we shall call the provider and the 
other the recipient. The provider makes love to the 
recipient, opening a portal between them. The cares and 
anxieties of the recipient are drawn by the provider 
through this portal, The recipient is granted healing, 
peace, and a release from care. The provider experiences a 
sense of oneness, empowerment, and joy. A bond is created 
that transcends time and distance, transforming the 
individuals and the world around them.”

“Are you saying that this bond is akin to the binding of 
marriage?” asked Legolas.

“In many ways, yes. The ceremony is obviously a bit more 
private. But the spiritual connection created is one 
blessed by the Valar.”

“How so?”

“It is said in legend that the Valar placed a special star 
in the sky which would create this time of communion every 
100 years, increasing the bonds of love within the forest’s 
borders. It is also said that when the time of elves wanes 
and the time of man waxes to its fullest measure, the 
Communion of Lothlórien will play a critical role in the 
passage of the ages.”

Legolas felt there was something missing. “It seems to me 
that the process is not completed with the exchange you 
described. Nature will always bring a reflection of the 
gift, completing the cycle and providing closure.”

“You are very wise, Prin . . . .” He stopped himself. 
“Legolas. The recipient becomes focused on the provider, to 
the exclusion of everything else, seeking to reconnect. 
Until that reunion is made, the bond is yet incomplete.”

Legolas recalled Lady Galadriel’s words: “You must not 
offer yourself to him. You must persuade him to claim you.” 
A connection existed between her admonition and the 
conversation at hand. It was still unclear, but Legolas was 
certain of its existence.

“When an individual communes with the forest,” Rúmil 
continued, “the energy is returned to the forest in a 
commitment to protect and serve. This is what inspires the 
Galadhrim.”

“I have experienced such inspiration. It is what brings me 
to the northern borders. But the experience that brought me 
to my knees just now felt like . . . .,” Legolas hesitated.

“An orgasm?” prompted Rúmil.

“Yes. But how is that possible?”

“Connections are felt on a deeper level during the time of 
Communion. One’s intentions and desires carry great power 
now. This would more than likely be the result of another’s 
fantasy about you. The stronger the desire and intent, the 
more powerful the connection.”

Aragorn.

Legolas smiled. 

“Rúmil, I thank you. Your words have answered a multitude 
of questions that have troubled my mind today. And I 
appreciate your discretion in not asking why I am so 
interested in this communion of which you speak.”

“I give thanks that I have provided some solace,” replied 
Rúmil with a gratified smile.

“Come, I feel much better.” He placed his hand on Rúmil’s 
shoulder for support as he rose to his feet. “Let us press 
on. Your brother surely requires our assistance.”

“As you wish, Legolas,” said Rúmil, rising and dusting the 
debris from his knees.

“Lead on, good Rúmil. You are my guide in more ways than 
one tonight.”

Rúmil nodded, then turned and broke into an easy sprint. 
Legolas followed his lead, looking forward to seeing Haldir 
again. He also felt the need to confirm Boromir’s 
participation in the northern border patrols. He felt more 
strongly than ever that the Gondorian posed a grave threat 
to Aragorn. The ranger was obviously not himself, as was 
indicated by his behavior this morning, and Legolas was 
determined to protect him until he was able to protect 
himself.

No matter. He would see both Haldir and Boromir soon 
enough.


CHAPTER 26

Aragorn arrived at the pavilion in time for the latest 
meal.

“Aragorn! There you are,” cried Frodo.

“You missed dinner and supper. But you’ve made it in time 
for evening tea,” informed Pippin. His words slurred and 
bumped into one another, like a tired caravan brought to a 
sudden stop.

Gimli looked very uncomfortable. “I’m glad you’ve returned, 
Aragorn. I’ve never seen such large appetites possessed by 
such small creatures.”

“Creatures, are we then?” asked Sam indignantly. “Is that 
how you see us?” It was clear to Aragorn that his friend 
had been enjoying the wine.

“My apologies, Master Gamgee. I use the term with 
affection. But this old dwarf can barely keep up with you. 
Food-wise, that is.”

“Then make room, old dwarf,” declared Merry. “For in this 
battle against the diabolical onslaught of food, we hobbits 
are the strongest warriors you shall find.” Aragorn sensed 
the familiar sound of wine-inspired bravado and had to 
laugh quietly to himself.

“If I weren’t so full, young Merry, this old dwarf would 
come over there and –”

“Gimli,” interrupted Aragorn, laughing out loud.

“Very well, Aragorn,” grumbled Gimli as he hopped down from 
his seat.  “You take my post at the table and I shall 
attempt to walk off this growing ache in my belly. I 
believe it was the third course of dinner that doomed me to 
this discomfort. Blasted hobbits.”

“Nobody forced you to eat that last piece of meat, Gimli,” 
admonished Frodo.

“It was a matter of pride!” sputtered the dwarf over his 
shoulder as he left the pavilion.

Aragorn joined the hobbits for yet another meal. Gimli 
eventually returned, having walked off his stomach ache, 
and the six remaining members of the Fellowship enjoyed an 
evening of food, wine, and story. Occasionally, Aragorn 
would ponder the whereabouts of Legolas and Boromir, but 
the hobbits would not allow his focus to waiver. They were 
constantly vigilant regarding his attention. He suspected 
they were feeling a bit neglected and abandoned.

After a final bedtime snack, everyone agreed to retire for 
the night. The hobbits rarely had the opportunity to eat 
food of such quality or quantity, and felt the need to 
recover before resuming the ‘battle’ on the morrow. Aragorn 
suspected the wine contributed to their drowsiness as well. 
He visited each hobbit in turn as they were falling asleep, 
wishing them all pleasant dreams. His eyes met Gimli’s and 
they both nodded to each other, wishing each other a good 
night in silence. As Aragorn laid his head upon his own 
pillow, he thought of Legolas and smiled as he slipped into 
peaceful slumber.


Chapter 27

Boromir returned from his expedition to the Anduin to find 
the Fellowship asleep; everyone save Legolas, who was 
nowhere to be seen. Boromir found Aragorn and stood at his 
bedside, watching the rise and fall of the ranger’s chest 
as he slept. He reached down and brushed a stray lock of 
hair from the man’s forehead. Aragorn stirred and groaned 
sensuously.

Tomorrow he would find some way for him and Aragorn to 
spend some time alone together.

Looking around the pavilion, he noticed a solitary plate 
remained on the table, filled with aromatic food. He sat 
down and proceeded to devour the repast with his hands. As 
he ate, the weight of his eyelids began to increase to the 
point where it was difficult to keep them open. After 
wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he retreated to his bed and 
threw himself on it, asleep before he landed. But his 
dreams were troubled with echoes of lost love.

A hooded figure entered the pavilion and stood silently at 
Boromir’s bedside, watching the tears fall from the 
Gondorian’s eyes as he slept.


VII. THE BEST OF INTENTIONS

CHAPTER 28

A freshly bathed Aragorn returned from his morning visit to 
the clearing to find Boromir packing a bag with food and 
cooking utensils.

“So where are you going today, Boromir?” asked Pippin.

“I am returning to a peaceful spot I found on the banks of 
the Anduin.”

“Peaceful?” asked Merry. “What’s wrong with right here? I 
can’t remember visiting a more peaceful spot since we left 
the Shire.”

“We missed you yesterday, Boromir. Why do you have to leave 
again?” inquired Pippin, with just a bit of a whine.

Boromir closed the pack and threw it over his shoulder. “As 
entertaining as your constant chattering can be, I found 
that I enjoyed the day of silence and wish to enjoy 
another.”

“You wound me, Boromir,” said Merry with a mock pout.

“And just what do you mean by ‘constant chattering,’ I’d 
like to know,” demanded Pippin. “I’ll have you know that –“

“Pippin,” interrupted Frodo, quietly yet sternly. “If 
Boromir wishes to explore his surroundings again today, who 
are we to interfere?”

“But Frodo –,” began Pippin, but was interrupted this time 
by Merry who had just noticed Aragorn had returned to the 
pavilion and had been listening to the conversation.

“Aragorn, will you talk some sense into this stubborn 
Gondorian? He wants to go ‘exploring’ again today.”

“Aragorn is coming with me,” stated Boromir with authority.

“He is?” asked Merry and Pippin in unison.

“I am?” asked Aragorn.

“Yes, Aragorn,” replied Boromir. “I found a cave with some 
interesting markings. I thought you would like to see it.”

“A cave?” asked Gimli with enthusiasm. “Now that sounds 
like an interesting exploration.”
 
“More importantly, I wish to acquaint myself with the man 
who aspires to be my king and the king of my people.”

“Now that sounds rather dull,” observed Gimli with 
considerably less enthusiasm.

“Boromir, I think such a discussion is a bit premature,” 
said Aragorn. “I find it difficult to think about leaving 
Lothlórien, much less where we will go after that or what 
we can hope to accomplish.”

“But it is your role, Aragorn,” challenged Boromir. “Do you 
wish to turn aside from your responsibilities? You have 
spent your life hiding your heritage. Do you not wish to 
now claim what is rightfully yours?”

Aragorn did not want to think about kingships or rings of 
power. These things held no interest for him anymore. “What 
I wish is to enjoy the beauty and peace of this forest 
while I may.” And to return to Legolas’ arms, he thought.

Boromir had advanced toward him and now stood directly 
before him, staring into his eyes. “Then come with me. I 
will show you a place that will fill your soul with such 
peace that you will not wish to leave it.” 

Aragorn found he had not the will to resist the man’s 
earnest invitation. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I will 
join you.”

“Good,” said Boromir clapping him on the shoulder with 
great satisfaction. “I will meet you at the city’s gates. 
Bring your bedroll. We’ll be spending the night.” He 
shouldered his own roll before moving to Merry and Pippin 
and crouching down so he could look them in the eyes. 
“We’ll be back tomorrow. I promise we’ll do some exploring 
of our own after that.”

“That’s assuming we’ll be wanting to go then,” replied 
Pippin with feigned indifference.

Boromir poked him in the chest, rocking him back on his 
heels. “If I must, I will pick you up and carry you, one 
under each arm,” he said with a smile. Aragorn’s heart was 
warmed by the man’s genuine affection for the troublesome 
pair.

“Just do us a favor and bathe first,” requested Merry.

Boromir ruffled Merry’s hair. “Do not test my forbearance, 
hobbit,” he cautioned with mock severity, then rose to 
leave the pavilion. “Do not tarry, Aragorn,” he called over 
his shoulder as he left.

All eyes turned to Aragorn.

“What?” he asked.

“That was strange,” commented Sam, understating what was 
apparently on everybody’s mind.

‘What was so strange about it?” asked Aragorn.

“Oh, nothing, Mr. Strider,” replied Sam, his voice dripping 
with sarcasm. “The future Steward of Gondor orders the 
future King of Men around all the time. I don’t know why we 
would be so surprised at this behavior today.” His sarcasm 
was then replaced by incredulous disapproval. “What do you 
mean ‘What was so strange about it?’ Granted, his boldness 
is nothing new, but your acceptance of his domineering 
behavior is. New, that is.”

“I think you judge Boromir a bit too harshly, Sam,” 
answered Aragorn. 

“I think you judge Boromir a bit too lightly, Mr. Strider,” 
countered Sam.

“Sam!” cried Merry.

“He only wishes to protect his people,” countered Aragorn. 
“He is not thinking of himself alone.” 

“So he maintains,” argued Sam. “I say he’s up to 
something.”

“I think I would be able to tell if Boromir had intentions 
that were less than honorable,” asserted Aragorn.

“Are you so certain?” questioned Sam.

“What are you implying, Mr. Gamgee?” asked Aragorn with 
increasing annoyance.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Strider,” said Sam. “No 
disrespect intended, but you don’t seem to be yourself 
lately.” 

“And you’re not the only one,” chimed in Pippin. “Boromir 
is changed as well.”

“And let’s not forget about Legolas. He seemed to be in 
quite a state before he left yesterday,” added Merry.

“So there is now a conspiracy?” asked Aragorn, annoyance 
turning to amusement. “Honestly, are all hobbits so rich in 
imagination?”

“Scoff if you wish, Mr. Strider. But I say watch your back 
with that one, I do,” cautioned Sam.

“Samwise Gamgee, your counsel is heard and heeded. I shall 
‘watch my back’ as you advise,” acquiesced Aragorn with a 
smile. His friends’ concern for his welfare reminded him 
how much he was enjoying being a member of a group. His 
many years of being on his own seemed empty and meaningless 
when compared to the joy and pain of the last few months. 
Perhaps his self-imposed exile was truly coming to an end.

He gathered his bedroll and joined Boromir at the gates. 
They proceeded south around the city and then followed the 
stream that flowed from the city’s wall to the Anduin in 
the east.

They spent the rest of the morning walking in silence, 
enjoying the reassuring presence of the other’s company 
without the need for conversation. Aragorn knew the way, 
but allowed Boromir to lead, not wishing to rob the man of 
the opportunity to share what he believed to be his own 
discovery.

He found he enjoyed Boromir taking the initiative. Had he 
not, Aragorn would have been content to lounge around the 
pavilion with the hobbits and Gimli all day. But now he had 
the opportunity to acquaint himself with this enigmatic and 
contradictory man from Gondor. Perhaps the future Steward 
would relax while in the company of a solitary fellow human 
away from the others.

They reached their destination shortly after the noon hour, 
coming suddenly upon the embankment looking down on the 
mighty Anduin. The stream tumbled over boulders on their 
left into a small waterfall which pooled in a small 
depression in the rock before overflowing the edge and 
joining the river’s current.

“So,” said Boromir. “What do you think?”

“You were right. It is very peaceful. How did you find it?” 
Aragorn had visited this spot before, but felt no need to 
tell Boromir that.

“I didn’t. I believe it found me,” replied Boromir. Aragorn 
thought the statement a bit odd, but did not question it. 
Boromir lowered his burdens to the ground and said, “I 
brought some food, but we’ll need fresh meat. Why don’t you 
procure us some game while I take a few moments to bathe.”

“Gladly,” replied Aragorn, thrilled that the Gondorian was 
finally going to bathe.  “I shall return shortly.” And with 
that he set out with his bow and arrow to track whatever 
wild animal he could find.

His mission soon accomplished, he returned to the waterfall 
with two large rabbits. He looked down over the embankment 
to see Boromir standing naked under the waterfall, rinsing 
the grime from his muscular body.

Aragorn watched as Boromir raised first one arm and then 
the other, rinsing his armpits and then rubbing his hands 
over his massive chest. Aragorn crouched down to one knee 
and lowered the rabbits to the ground as he watched Boromir 
bathe. The sunlight glistened off Boromir’s wet body, 
highlighting the hard and defined musculature of the 
impressively fit warrior.

Aragorn found the strength and power of the man’s physique 
exceedingly attractive and wondered how he had failed to 
notice Boromir’s allure before today. Boromir turned his 
head and caught Aragorn watching him. The man smiled 
mysteriously then turned his back and returned to his 
bathing. Embarrassed to have been caught peeping, Aragorn 
who took the opportunity to quickly move out of sight.

Aragorn recalled Sam’s words of caution. But Boromir gave 
no indication that his intentions were malevolent in any 
way. Aragorn’s intuition insisted that Boromir genuinely 
wished to become better acquainted with him. The question 
appeared to be ‘How acquainted did the Gondorian wish to 
become?’

 
CHAPTER 29

Orophin was waiting for them as Legolas and Rúmil emerged 
from the forest at the confluence of the Nimrodel and the 
Celebrant. The sun was setting ahead of them behind the 
Misty Mountains to the west.

“Greetings, brother and Prince Legolas,” he saluted as they 
approached.

“The prince wishes to be addressed simply as Legolas, good 
brother,” admonished Rúmil.

“My apologies, Legolas. Your participation in our mission 
honors the Galadhrim.”

Legolas bowed his head.

“Tell me, Orophin,” asked Legolas, “where is Haldir and 
Boromir?”

“Haldir moved into Dimrill Dale earlier this afternoon. Of 
Boromir I can not say. Did he not accompany you to Caras 
Galadhon?”

Legolas felt his heart stop in his chest. His eyes closed 
and just like the first night in the clearing, once more 
the image of Aragorn placing a reassuring hand on Boromir’s 
shoulder flashed across his mind.

“Legolas?” Rúmil asked in alarm.

“I am fine,” he replied. He opened his eyes and looked at 
Orophin. “Are you telling me that Boromir is not with 
Haldir?”

“No, Legolas, he is not,” Orophin replied.

“He did not come with Haldir and is now somewhere else on 
patrol?” Legolas knew the answer, but was desperately 
seeking some explanation that did not include his leaving 
Aragorn at the mercy of the Gondorian.

“No, Legolas.”

“I must return to Caras Galadhon at once,” declared 
Legolas.

“But Legolas,” protested Rúmil, “you are needed here.”

“I apologize and will return as soon as I may. But 
Boromir’s presence in Caras Galadhon at this time threatens 
the Fellowship’s quest and I must return there to guard 
against that possibility.”

With no further explanation, he turned and began his return 
journey to Aragorn. He only hoped that he would not arrive 
too late.


IX. HIDDEN MOTIVES

CHAPTER 30

“I have a confession to make,” said Boromir, finishing the 
first bottle of wine. He was glad he had brought plenty. 
The elf who served them breakfast had been very generous 
and had brought him three bottles. It wasn’t Meril’s 
Mysteries of Mirkwood, but it was a good wine nonetheless.

“If it involves your cooking skills, I fear I must warn you 
that your secret is out,” said Aragorn.

“What?” asked Boromir with apprehension.

“I am impressed and somewhat surprised. I never would have 
suspected that you would have taken such an interest in 
cooking. Where did you learn such skills? I have lived a 
lifetime in the wild and have not the talent to prepare 
such a delicious repast.”

“I had a very good teacher,” replied Boromir. The memory of 
Théodred still sent a searing arrow of pain through his 
heart, even after all these years. “But that is not my 
confession.”

“Why have you not shared this gift with the rest of the 
Fellowship?” asked Aragorn. “I am certain Sam would 
appreciate the help.”

“I do not think that Sam would appreciate anything that 
came from me. And Frodo would most likely suspect I was 
trying to poison him. I do not think he trusts me. Besides, 
need I remind you, of all people, that sometimes a man does 
not wish to reveal all about himself without good reason?”

“But would not the gratitude of Merry and Pippin be reason 
enough?”

“We both have vulnerable cracks in our emotional armor. I 
choose to conceal mine by keeping certain histories hidden 
just as you have concealed your own heritage.”

The ranger’s expression softened and Boromir’s attraction 
to him increased. The compassion evident in Aragorn’s face 
fanned Boromir’s desire to kiss the man. The only other man 
who had ever shown him such kindness was Théodred, and 
years had passed since he had seen or spoken to the Rohir.

“I suppose we all have our secrets to keep,” agreed Aragorn 
as Boromir handed him a newly opened bottle. The ranger 
took a long drink and then passed it back. “So what of this 
‘confession’ of yours?” he asked.

Boromir took the bottle and drank deeply. He wiped his 
mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yesterday morning, I was concerned for your well-being 
when you left the pavilion,” he began.  “I followed you 
into the forest and overheard the end of your conversation 
with Sam.”

Aragorn’s face fell. “What did you hear?” he demanded.

“Not  much at all,” replied Boromir, attempting to sound 
conciliatory. “Just a bit about your attraction to Legolas 
and how it comes into conflict with your love for Arwen.”

Aragorn was instantly on his feet and walking away from 
him. “I cannot believe you would do such a thing,” he 
fumed. “But then again, in truth, I can. Sam tried to warn 
me, but I refused to listen.”

“Aragorn, come back,” called Boromir, rising to his feet 
and following him.

Aragorn suddenly stopped and turned to confront Boromir. 
“What do you plan to do now?” he demanded.

Boromir stopped a few paces away, not wishing to spook the 
angry ranger. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“What do you intend to do with this information? Will you 
attempt to disgrace me or destroy my relationship with 
Arwen?”

Boromir raised a hand to reassure his friend. “Aragorn, you 
misunderstand. I have no intentions of telling anyone. I 
will keep your secret to my grave.”

Aragorn visibly relaxed a bit. “Very well. If your 
intention is not extortion, then why have you confessed 
this to me?”

“My eavesdropping is only part of my confession, Aragorn.”

“Then what else have you done?” asked Aragorn, a confused 
expression on his face.

“Nothing that involves you nor anyone else in the 
Fellowship,” answered Boromir. “Please, sit back down and 
I’ll explain.”

Aragorn glared at Boromir, apparently considering the 
situation. He finally broke his gaze, returned to their 
‘table’ and sat down. He grabbed the open wine bottle as he 
did so and took a long drink. Boromir slowly rejoined 
Aragorn and braced himself for the final plunge.

“When I was younger, I was in a relationship with another 
man. A sexual relationship.”

There, he had said it.

Aragorn’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. The revelation 
had obviously taken him completely by surprise.

“I tell you now so you will know that you are not alone,” 
submitted Boromir.

“I . . . ,” Aragorn began, “am speechless.”

“Do not judge me too harshly, Aragorn.”

“Sam says I judge you too lightly.”

“Sam’s opinion of me matters very little. Your opinion, on 
the other hand, matters a great deal.”

“I do not judge you, Boromir. For should I denounce your 
past, I must condemn my own. I did not tell Sam, but 
Legolas made love to me two nights ago.”

It was now Boromir’s turn to be surprised. “Your passion 
has been consummated?”

“Well, . . . yes and no,” was the ranger’s enigmatic reply.

“You speak in riddles, my friend.”

“You must understand that I have never been attracted to 
another man before. I encountered Legolas in a clearing. He 
gave me succor in my grief. Before I knew what was 
happening, he was making love to me. And now I cannot stop 
thinking about him. So, in this case, the consummation has 
ignited the passion instead of the other way around.”

“If I live to be one hundred years old, I will never 
understand the ways of the elves,” admitted Boromir. “I do 
not know how you lived with them for so long.”

Aragorn appeared to take umbrage at this statement. “The 
elves have treated me with more kindness and respect than 
any man ever has,” he declared emphatically.

Boromir felt everything he was saying was wrong. “My 
apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

“Why do I find that difficult to believe?” asked Aragorn 
rhetorically.

“Because, regrettably, I have given you cause to doubt me,” 
replied Boromir, feeling the need to confirm Aragorn’s 
mistrust. If he wished to earn the ranger’s trust now, he 
had to acknowledge his mistakes in the past. “And for that 
I am truly sorry. I only hope that this transgression is 
one you can bring yourself to someday forgive.”

Aragorn eyed him suspiciously for a moment, took another 
drink from the bottle, and then asked, “So who was this man 
with whom you had a relationship?”

“His identity is irrelevant,” dodged Boromir. “Suffice it 
to say that I learned a great deal about . . . cooking from 
this man.”

“Ah, so this was the mysterious culinary teacher?”

“Yes,” replied Boromir. His heart was in his throat and his 
eyes were beginning to swim.

“What? No details? Don’t you trust me, Boromir?” Aragorn 
paused and when Boromir did not respond, he continued. “So 
where is he now? What happened to the relationship?”
 
Boromir was unable to speak for fear of breaking into tears 
like a little girl, which was not the image he wished to 
present to the ranger. “I do not know,” was all he uttered, 
unwilling to risk more. He felt Aragorn’s eyes on him, and 
was angry at himself for appearing so weak. He pushed his 
pain down and regained his composure. “I have not spoken to 
him in a long time,” he added quietly.

Aragorn was now silent. Boromir sensed Aragorn’s hostility 
diminishing as the ranger witnessed Boromir’s emotional 
struggle. He held the bottle out to Boromir who accepted it 
and took a long drink.

“He obviously meant a great deal to you,” Aragorn observed. 
“And it is obvious the memory of him has brought you great 
pain.” Boromir returned the bottle to the ranger. “I am 
truly sorry that your heart has been so deeply wounded.” 
Aragorn lifted the bottle and, with several large gulps, 
finished the second bottle. “I only wish there was 
something I could do to help you find some peace.”

“Your compassion is gift enough, Aragorn,” said Boromir.
 
“Still, I would like to do something,” insisted Aragorn, 
placing a reassuring hand on Boromir’s shoulder.


CHAPTER 31

Legolas was running through the forest when the vision 
flashed once more into his mind, stronger than ever, 
causing him to stumble and fall to the forest floor.

The faint sound of large flapping wings overhead caused 
Legolas to look up, searching the sky through the trees for 
the creature making the sound. A shadow flew overhead, 
blocking the stars as it passed, but Legolas was unable to 
discern what nature of creature prowled the night skies 
over Lothlórien.

Feeling time slip away like a rudderless boat down a swift-
moving river, he leapt to his feet and continued on his 
way.


CHAPTER 32

“Well,” said Boromir, “there is something . . . but no, I 
could not ask it of you.” The extent of his need confounded 
him, forcing him to greater and greater depths of 
vulnerability.

“Speak, my friend. I wish to know,” compelled Aragorn.

“It . . . he . . . .” Boromir stumbled with the words. He 
stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and started 
once more. “What I miss most is the simple act of lying in 
his arms. To feel him wrapped around me gave me such a 
sense of calm and peace.” He spoke softly, almost to 
himself. “Home.” He had not realized until that moment just 
how true the statement was.

“I believe I understand,” said Aragorn. “I, too, long to 
lie in the arms of my love.”

“And which love would that be, Aragorn?”

The question threw the ranger’s expression into confusion 
once more.

Boromir was unable to quell his curiosity and he asked, “Do 
not the elves bind for life, forsaking all others?”

Aragorn answered forlornly, “That is true.” He sighed 
deeply. “However, I am not an elf. I do not understand how 
it is possible for me to love two souls at once, but I do. 
Should I be forced to choose between the two, I fear I 
would lack the strength to do so.”

“You may very well face such a choice, my friend,” 
counseled Boromir. “You had best prepare yourself for that 
eventuality.”

“Thankfully, the choice is not before me now. However, I am 
witness to a friend in pain and wish to help.” Aragorn 
stood and extended his hand to Boromir who took it. The 
ranger pulled Boromir onto his feet and into a powerful 
embrace. Boromir raised his arms and wrapped them around 
Aragorn in disbelief. He inhaled deeply, drinking in the 
scent of the man in his arms.

Aragorn pulled away and then sat down with his back against 
a nearby tree. He looked up and held his arms open wide. “I 
realize my arms cannot replace the love that you have lost, 
but perhaps it can ease your burden for a bit.”

Boromir felt tears burning his eyes as he dropped to his 
knees at Aragorn’s side. He fell into the man’s arms and 
loosed the tears of heartbreak he had held at bay these 
many years.


X. MAKING HIS MOVE

CHAPTER 33

Legolas had almost completely crossed a small clearing when 
he heard movement behind him and turned to see a giant 
eagle land not ten paces away. The magnificent beast folded 
its wings as a figure clothed in a hooded brown robe leapt 
sprightly from the eagle’s back to the ground.

“Radagast!” cried Legolas, his spirit soaring with hope. He 
jumped to his feet and moved to embrace his old friend.

As he approached, however, the figure drew back the hood to 
reveal the face of a man he had never met, with dark tanned 
skin and long blonde hair. “Hello, Legolas,” he said.

“Radagast?” inquired Legolas, recognizing the spirit but 
not the form.

“That’s right.”

“Why do you appear in this guise?” asked Legolas.

“We have much to discuss and little time to do so. Come,” 
the Istar instructed, turning to his avian companion. 
“Gwaihir has already graciously agreed to carry us.” The 
Windlord lowered his mighty body to the ground while first 
Radagast and then Legolas pulled themselves up onto his 
broad back.

As soon as they were settled, Radagast made a slight 
clicking sound and Gwaihir took flight.


CHAPTER 34

Aragorn held the weeping Boromir for a good while. The 
man’s sobs wracked his large frame, his body shaking in the 
ranger’s arms. Aragorn’s heart broke for the piteous man 
and he wished to do more. But he could think of nothing 
within his power beyond what he was already doing. He drew 
his arms tighter around Boromir and focused all his 
goodwill and compassion, attempting to channel it into his 
friend. 

Opening himself to the moment, he felt the connection 
between them grow, giving him a deeper understanding of his 
friend’s profound grief. He had been in a similar state two 
nights ago when Legolas had eased the ranger’s grief. He 
instinctively focused on Boromir’s pain and sought to draw 
it out of the man, as one would suck on a snake bite to 
remove the venom.

After a few more moments of tears, Boromir’s sobs began to 
subside, fading away to whimpers and sniffles. Aragorn felt 
Boromir’s body tense as the whimpers were stilled and the 
man drew the back of his forearm across his lower face and 
then rubbed each eye with the heel of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” said Boromir with one last sniffle.

“Why do you apologize?” asked Aragorn. “You’ve done no 
wrong.”

“I have lost my restraint.”

Aragorn gazed down at the light brown hair flowing down the 
back of Boromir’s head as the man remained folded in the 
ranger’s arms.

“I am honored that you felt you could abandon your 
restraint with me, Boromir.” said Aragorn. “I have sensed 
your distrust.”

“Please forgive my suspicions. Experience has taught me 
that a man’s words do not always reveal his true 
intentions. You have always treated me with respect and 
compassion, yet tonight you have surpassed your usual 
generosity of spirit. I will never forget this, Aragorn.”

“I am glad we have moved beyond any doubt or mistrust,” 
said Aragorn. “You are a good man, Boromir, with a good 
heart.”

“I fear the magic of this place has clouded your sense of 
judgment as well as my sense of discretion,” observed 
Boromir.

Indeed, thought Aragorn, it may very well have. He was 
experiencing a mild sense of euphoria and joy mixed with 
Boromir’s melancholy. He lifted his face to the sky, 
releasing it all into the comforting embrace of Lothlórien. 
He felt at once lighter than air and completely grounded, 
in complete union with the forest. On some level, he sensed 
that he had Legolas to thank for this feeling of elation. 

“It is odd,” said Boromir, his voice so low Aragorn had to 
strain to make out the words. “Although we are both men and 
warriors, we could not otherwise be more different.”

“How do you mean?” asked Aragorn.

“To begin with, you resist the one thing I desire but 
cannot possess.”

“Which would be?”

Boromir raised his head and turned to look at Aragorn with 
bloodshot eyes. “The throne of Gondor,” he said, apparently 
surprised that he had to explain himself, then returned his 
head to Aragorn’s chest. “I have long thought that a true 
king would never return to Gondor. Meanwhile, my ancestors 
have stood between the Dark Lord and the complete 
destruction of Middle Earth. Why should we not become 
kings?”

“Why, indeed,” agreed Aragorn. He heard in Boromir’s voice 
the same wine-induced bluster evident in the hobbits’ 
antics the night before.

“My father insists that we follow the traditions of our 
forefathers. And on this he will not yield. ‘Gondor is 
ours, but not ours to claim,’ he says. And now a man 
emerges from the mists of legend who claims to be the heir 
of Isildur.”

“Do you doubt that claim?”

“I do not. However, if I understand my father’s reasoning, 
the Steward Pelendur, in rejecting Arvedui’s claim to the 
throne over a thousand years ago, effectively established a 
precedent that excluded Isildur’s line forever. So you may 
have just as much as trouble as I have had capturing the 
throne.”

“I told you this morning that I have no desire to discuss 
my future plans, for I have none,” said Aragorn.

“Why does the subject of your ascendance to king trouble 
you so, Aragorn?”

Aragorn had asked himself that same question many times. 
And he was never pleased with the answer. “I know that the 
men of Minas Tirith pride themselves on being true to their 
word.”

“Yes, that is so,” answered Boromir.

“Then give me your word that you will never repeat this 
conversation to anyone.”

“I give it. You have my word.” The Gondorian had not moved 
from Aragorn’s chest.

Perhaps it was the wine or perhaps it was the trust just 
shown him by Boromir, but Aragorn felt the need to confess 
his doubts to someone. “I am afraid,” he said.

“What is it you fear?” Boromir asked with no recrimination 
in his voice.

How does one distill a lifetime of doubt to address such a 
simple question? Aragorn did not answer immediately, but 
took a moment to consider his reply. “My whole life I 
believed Men to be weak of heart,” he began, “and ill-
equipped to resist the influence of greater wills than 
their own. Isildur’s fall to the power of the ring haunts 
my dreams, and I fear that when my time of testing is come, 
I will fail as Isildur failed.”

“You are your own man, Aragorn. No man is bound irrevocably 
to the mistakes of his forefathers. To their laws, perhaps. 
But not to their actions.”

Boromir’s words found their way to Aragorn’s heart, where 
they took root.

Silence fell between them. The Gondorian’s hand began to 
slowly move back and forth across Aragorn’s chest. He felt 
Boromir readjust his position against the ranger’s body, 
pressing his crotch against Aragorn’s thigh. He could feel 
Boromir’s heart pounding against his side. “Boromir, why 
did you really tell me about your past with the cooking 
teacher?” he asked. 

The hand stopped moving. “I already told you. I wanted you 
to know you were not alone,” Boromir answered.

Aragorn did not believe him. “Are you certain that you were 
not the one who did not wish to be alone?” he asked.

Boromir pushed himself up on all fours facing Aragorn. “And 
what if that were true?” he asked. “What if neither of us 
wished to be alone tonight? Behold,” he looked around and 
then back to Aragorn’s eyes, “here we are. Alone together.”

“What if I told you I was not interested?” countered 
Aragorn, staring back into the Gondorian’s grey eyes.

“I would say that you were lying,” replied Boromir. “I saw 
you watching me earlier. And I saw the fire in your eyes.”

Aragorn could see a fever burning behind Boromir’s gaze. 
The wine fueled the flame, but he could sense the source 
blazed from the man’s broken heart.

“You want me, I know it,” proclaimed Boromir in a hoarse 
whisper as he moved in to kiss Aragorn.

Aragorn ducked down and slipped out of the Gondorian’s 
grasp. He was on his feet in an instant, but was assaulted 
by a bout of dizziness that dulled his vision and muted his 
hearing in favor of the pounding of his heart in his ears. 
Blasted wine! So distracted was he that he did not sense 
Boromir coming at him from behind until he felt the hands 
on his body.


CHAPTER 35

“Celeborn contacted me yesterday evening after Boromir did 
not move north according to your plan,” Radagast said. He 
was explaining the current state of affairs to Legolas as 
they soared between Lothlórien and the stars. Legolas 
wished the circumstances were not so dire. He would have 
liked to take the time to enjoy sailing through the sky on 
the back of a magnificent eagle, as experiences such as 
this were extremely rare, even for the immortal elves. He 
rode behind Radagast, his arms wrapped around the wizard’s 
torso. He would never think of the Istar in terms of 
sensual passion, but was nevertheless impressed with the 
wizard’s assumed physique. The muscles beneath his hands 
were firm and defined, and the face Radagast wore was most 
handsome.

“And it’s a good thing he did too,” continued the wizard. 
“Boromir is capable of anything.” Legolas silently thanked 
the Valar for giving him the foresight to visit Celeborn 
before he left for the northern patrols. “It is clear he 
has designs on our ranger friend. That much I was able to 
glean from his dreams. The nature of those designs are not 
so clear, however.”

“What could he do that could endanger the Fellowship’s 
quest?” Legolas asked.

“Should he succeed in luring Aragorn into . . .,” Radagast 
hesitated, “well, let’s just say into an encounter, the 
nature of their coupling will determine the future reign of 
Gondor and the ultimate fate of Middle Earth.”

“Dire consequences, to be sure.” Legolas brushed the hair 
away from his face with his hand, but the wind returned it 
across his eyes. He abandoned the attempt, knowing the task 
to be futile. “But in what way does ‘the nature of their 
coupling’ affect the future?”

“How much do you understand about Communion?” asked 
Radagast.

“Very little,” replied Legolas. “Rúmil told me what he 
knew, but there is much that remains a mystery.”

“I have studied it for centuries and its mysteries still 
elude me. And its impact on humans is even more uncertain. 
But I have been able to glean some basic understanding of 
the phenomenon. All things are alive. This much I know you 
comprehend. Everything is energy manifested into 
physicality and has a unique energy pattern. An energy 
‘signature’, if you will. Energy can be transferred from 
one thing into another. The energy of the rain is 
transferred to the plants which transfer it to animals who 
eat the plants. And on and on.”

“I understand,” said Legolas.

“During the time of Communion in Lórien, this transference 
of energy is heightened and increased.”

“Rúmil said something about the recipient becoming focused 
on the provider, seeking to reconnect. He said, ‘Until that 
reunion is made, the bond is yet incomplete.’ Does this 
mean that the love must be requited in order for communion 
to occur?” asked Legolas.

“Not necessarily. The joining need not be sexual. The 
emotional intent behind the joining is the core of the 
energy transfer between the individuals. And the strength 
of will behind the intent plays a role as well. In its 
purest manifestation, Communion is shared between two souls 
who love each other, each giving and sharing in equal 
parts, creating a binding of spirit.”

“So a joining of love creates a bond of light,” surmised 
Legolas, “while a joining of anger or domination creates a 
darker union.” Legolas knew of no elf that had ever 
forcibly joined with another, but had heard of this 
happening among other races.

“Your communion lit a fire within Aragorn, which must 
consume another in passion before it cools, revealing 
Aragorn’s new manifestation. Should Aragorn prevail in the 
struggle to dominate Boromir, his reign over Gondor will be 
one of oppression and tyranny,” explained Radagast. 
“Although I can’t see Aragorn choosing that road.”

“And should Boromir dominate Aragorn?”

“Denethor’s son will cast Aragorn down and assume the 
throne himself, leading to the ruin of all men.”

“But neither outcome is desirable,” protested Legolas, 
beginning to understand the expansive implications of his 
night of passion with the Dúnadan.

“Such is the urgency of our mission. Boromir has lured 
Aragorn away from the Fellowship, we assume to ‘mount his 
offensive,’ so to speak.”

“They are alone right now?!” asked Legolas with alarm.

“Yes, and have been all day.”

“We must save Aragorn,” implored Legolas. He rebuked 
himself for ever leaving Aragorn’s side.

“Indeed. That is our mission. But saving Aragorn from 
Boromir’s advances is not the end of the matter. Aragorn 
will still need to quell his passion, and you need to be 
the one with whom he joins.”

“But the Lady Galadriel told me that I mustn’t offer myself 
to him. That he must claim me.”

“Did she tell you to avoid him? Did she caution you against 
making yourself available to him?”

“Well, no.”

“Well, there it is, then.” The wizard was silent for a 
moment. “You know what this means, don’t you?” 

“Not entirely,” replied Legolas.

“It means you will be bound to him for the rest of your 
days.”

Legolas felt his heart leap for joy. He turned his face to 
the stars and reveled in the awesome beauty of the night.

“Yes,” said Radagast indulgently, “love is a beautiful 
thing. There is but one small problem. Aragorn is already 
betrothed to the Lady Arwen.”

“Will he refuse to bind with her now?”

“Who knows which love he will choose. He may be incapable 
of making a choice and lose both in the process. And should 
he lose the love of Arwen, his reign will be severely 
weakened.”

“What should I do?” asked Legolas.

Radagast turned and looked at him for the first time since 
they took flight. “How much are you willing to sacrifice 
for the protection of Middle Earth?” he asked earnestly, 
peering into Legolas’ eyes as if he could read the elf’s 
thoughts before they were spoken.

Legolas suddenly understood what he must do, and it broke 
his heart.

“Here,” said Radagast, thrusting a vial into his hands. 
“Give a bit to Aragorn and imbibe a small amount yourself 
before you join. It will ease the journey of both elf and 
man.” His voice was soft and gentle. “I know this is 
difficult, little one. But it is your destiny. Without your 
love, Aragorn will never find the king within himself. You 
will lead the man to the king, bringing hope to all of 
Middle Earth.”

Legolas nodded, accepting his fate. “What of Boromir?” he 
asked.

Radagast returned his gaze to the east. “We will land on 
the banks of the Anduin and walk to their location. When we 
arrive, you attend to Aragorn. Gwaihir will bear you both 
to the clearing where this all began. Leave the Gondorian 
to my care.”

“What will you do to him?” asked Legolas.

“Boromir fights his own demons, Legolas. Do not judge him 
too harshly. He, too, has played a vital role in the fate 
of Middle Earth, and I suspect he will continue to do so.”

The glorious view forgotten, Legolas fell silent for the 
remainder of the flight as he pondered the import of his 
upcoming reunion with Aragorn.


CHAPTER 36

“You want me, I know it,” proclaimed Boromir in a hoarse 
whisper as he moved in to kiss Aragorn.

He had always desired Aragorn, but the hunger to join with 
him had grown stronger since the ranger had indulged 
Boromir’s grief. In fact, Boromir did not feel quite 
himself. Perhaps it was the wine.

Aragorn ducked down and slipped out of the Gondorian’s 
grasp. The ranger was on his feet in an instant, but was 
apparently unable to maintain his balance. Boromir rose and 
wrapped his arms around his friend from behind.

“Do not worry, Aragorn. I gave you my word that I would 
tell no one about this night.” He kissed the ranger’s neck, 
running his hands down the front of Aragorn’s body. Aragorn 
leaned his head back onto Boromir’s shoulder, moaning as he 
submitted to the Gondorian’s capable hands on his crotch.

Boromir turned the man around to face him, then leaned in 
and kissed Aragorn’s lips. Aragorn started to return the 
kiss, but then abruptly stopped and pushed Boromir away.

“No!” he cried.

“What is it?” asked Boromir. “Why do you stop yourself?”

“I do not want this. Leave me be.” Aragorn turned from him 
and began to move away.

Boromir reached out to stop him, but Aragorn pulled away 
from his touch. “Please wait,” Boromir begged, but the man 
would not stop walking. Boromir launched himself at the 
ranger, bringing them both to the ground.

“Why do you turn from me?” Boromir demanded, straddling 
Théodred’s torso and pinning the man’s arms above his head. 
“Was it something I said? Something I did?” Boromir’s grief 
was mounting into rage. “Why did you stop loving me?” he 
howled into the Rohirrim’s face.


XI. COMMUNION ACHIEVED

CHAPTER 37

Legolas heard voices arguing as he climbed westward up the 
embankment to Aragorn’s location. Radagast had ascended 
twenty paces upstream and had already disappeared into the 
trees.

“I will be using images and names gathered from the 
Gondorian’s dream,” the wizard had said. “Do not ask any 
questions. Simply follow my lead and wait for my signal.” 
Legolas had no idea what any of that meant, but assumed all 
would be made clear very soon.

“No!” he heard Aragorn cry. He quickened his pace up the 
embankment.

“What is it?” he heard Boromir ask. “Why do you stop 
yourself?”

“I do not want this. Leave me be.” Aragorn sounded angry 
and perhaps a bit frightened. What was Boromir doing? He 
rebuked himself anew for leaving Aragorn to this danger.

He achieved the top of the embankment to witness Boromir 
reaching out to stop Aragorn, who pulled away from his 
touch. “Please wait,” Boromir begged, but Aragorn would not 
stop walking. Boromir launched himself at the ranger, 
bringing them both to the ground.

“Why do you turn from me?” Boromir demanded, straddling 
Aragorn’s torso and pinning the man’s arms above his head. 
“Was it something I said? Something I did? Why did you stop 
loving me?” he howled into the ranger’s face.

“What are you raving about, Boromir?” asked Aragorn, 
struggling against the larger man’s grasp. Legolas was 
trembling with rage as he watched the Gondorian release 
Aragorn’s wrists and grab the ranger’s collar with both 
fists, hauling the man’s upper body off the ground.

“Why did you not return to Everholt?” implored Boromir, 
holding Aragorn’s face inches from his own.

Legolas was on his feet and running to Aragorn’s aid when 
he spotted Radagast entering the small clearing from the 
north. Legolas stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of 
him. The Istar had removed his robes and stood in the night 
air clothed only in leather leggings. The physique Legolas 
had felt earlier was revealed to be a stunning example of 
masculine beauty, the taut muscles rippling under a blanket 
of blonde body hair that covered the chest and arms. He did 
not know whose form the wizard had taken, but he was 
exquisite.

“Boromir, I tell you I do not know what you’re talking 
about,” insisted Aragorn, attempting to push the man away. 
Legolas could not understand why the ranger did not simply 
strike Boromir. Aragorn was certainly capable of knocking 
the man unconscious. “It’s me. It’s Aragorn.”

This appeared to have some sort of effect on Boromir. He 
released Aragorn to drop back to the ground and looked down 
at the ranger with an expression of horror on his face. 

“GONDOR!” Radagast’s voice had changed as well as his form 
and was now deep and resonant, the commanding voice of a 
young warrior in his prime.

Boromir’s head snapped up and over to the transformed 
wizard. He tilted his head to one side quizzically, then 
shook his head as if to clear his vision.

“Gondor,” said Radagast sadly. “What are you doing?”

Legolas saw Boromir’s eyes widen in apparent shock and 
obvious longing.

“Rohan?” asked the Gondorian in a voice strained with 
tentative hope. Radagast opened his arms in invitation. 
Boromir rose to his feet and began to stumble towards the 
wizard. “Rohan? Is it really you?” he asked incredulously, 
falling into the Istar’s embrace. “I can’t believe you’re 
here!”

Radagast motioned behind Boromir’s back for Legolas to 
proceed and the elf ran to Aragorn’s side. 

Aragorn looked up at him with a dazed expression on his 
face. “Legolas?” he asked.

“Shh. All is well. Come with me,” instructed Legolas, 
helping the ranger to his feet.

“Where are we going?” asked Aragorn in speech that was 
somewhat slurred as they moved away from ‘Gondor’ and 
‘Rohan.’

“Away from here,” answered Legolas. “Now be quiet until we 
are in flight.”

“In flight? What are you talking about, elf? I’ve missed 
you, by the way.”

“Shh,” Legolas hissed.

“Fine. Be mysterious. You just *love* to be mysterious. And 
you do it so well.” Aragorn leaned over and kissed Legolas 
on the cheek.

“Aragorn, behave. This is important.” They had reached the 
edge of the embankment, and Legolas peered over the edge to 
find Gwaihir waiting below as Radagast had promised. The 
eagle looked up, saw Legolas, and extended his wing out 
against the embankment.

Legolas said, “Jump,” and gave Aragorn a shove, launching 
him over the edge of the embankment. He watched Aragorn 
land on the eagle’s wing and begin to crawl onto the 
creature’s back. He glanced back over his shoulder to see 
‘Gondor’ and ‘Rohan’ fall to their knees. Legolas felt the 
pain of a broken heart pouring out in waves from the couple 
as they held each other in the firelight.

Then he turned and leapt onto the back of the Eagle, 
landing lightly behind Aragorn, who did not look well. 
Legolas hoped the flight would not increase the ranger’s 
discomfort, but saw no alternative. He repeated the 
clicking sound Radagast had taught him, and Gwaihir took 
flight from the banks of the Anduin, turning westward to 
their clearing.

During the flight, Legolas wrapped his arms around the 
waist of his love, who leaned back against him, laying his 
head on the elf’s shoulder. Legolas inhaled deeply, and was 
rewarded with the not so pleasant aroma of wine and sweat. 
Another bath was clearly in order. But he reveled in the 
weight of Aragorn’s body as the man reclined into a wine-
induced slumber. Legolas drew his arms tighter around the 
sleeping ranger, treasuring every moment. He knew he would 
cherish this time together for the remainder of his days. 
He gazed skyward, the stars blurring through the tears that 
welled in his eyes.

They arrived at their destination much too quickly. Gwaihir 
slowed his flight, twisted his wings to stall and then 
gently landed in the small clearing. He extended his wing 
downward, assisting Legolas in lowering the sleeping ranger 
safely to the ground.

Legolas moved to face the magnificent creature, who lowered 
his head to look the elf in the eyes.

“Mighty Gwaihir, I am forever in your debt, humbled to have 
been given such a magnificent gift. I thank you.” He bowed 
low to the Eagle. He felt the strong yet gentle touch of 
the bird’s beak on the top of his head, and he looked up 
into the eyes of the Eagle. The creature touched the tip of 
his beak to Legolas’ breast, then raised his head to give a 
mighty screech, filling the elf with power and clarity of 
purpose. Legolas understood that Gwaihir had shared a bit 
of his soaring spirit with him and was filled with joy and 
gratitude.

The Eagle gave one more powerful screech, then took to the 
air and disappeared into the night sky.

Legolas watched him go and then turned his attention to the 
slumbering ranger on the ground. The man was on his back, 
one knee up, arms stretched wide, head rolled to one side, 
auburn tresses tousled in every direction. Legolas knelt 
down next to the ranger and brushed the hair away from the 
man’s face. He remembered the tickling sensation of 
Aragorn's beard on his lips and how he had longed to taste 
that luscious mouth. His heart raced at the thought of 
satisfying that desire.

He also understood that every new sensation and experience 
led him one step closer to his ultimate fate, and he became 
determined to extend their night together as long as he 
could. Although it merely postponed the inevitable, he was 
not prepared to say farewell just yet.

He realized that he had not bathed since their last 
encounter, and though he did not carry the dust of Moria 
tonight, he felt the need to bathe in preparation for their 
reunion. He chose to let Aragorn sleep off the wine, 
leaning down to kiss the man on the forehead. He stroked 
the soft beard with the back of his fingers and said 
softly, “I do not know if I have the strength to do this, 
my love.” His eyes began to fill with tears and he forced 
himself to his feet as he hardened his resolve.
 
Wiping his eyes as he walked towards the silver pool, he 
noticed the white bedding that had been spread on the 
ground under the same mallorn as their first night 
together. He also noticed several stalks of the plant he 
had used on Aragorn that night lying next to the bedding. 
Celeborn and the Galadhrim left nothing to chance. At least 
as little as possible.

Legolas slowly removed his clothes and waded into the pool 
to bathe, his heart heavy with sorrow over the task that 
lay before him at the end of this night. The tears he 
struggled to keep at bay broke through his restraint and 
flowed from his eyes, cascading down his cheeks and 
dropping into the cool crystalline water. He wrapped his 
arms tightly around his chest in an attempt to suppress his 
grief, but the sobs rose from within and were released into 
the night air.


CHAPTER 38

Aragorn awoke with a headache. Pushing himself up onto his 
elbows, he surveyed his surroundings. He was astonished to 
find himself in their clearing. He liked the fact that he 
thought of this place as ‘their’ clearing. It was as if 
this spot had not existed until Legolas created it for him. 
But how did he get here?

He looked towards the silver pool and was delighted to see 
Legolas standing waist deep in the water. The elf stood 
with his back to the ranger, running long delicate fingers 
through the flaxen hair flowing down the pale, muscled 
back. When had the elf returned from the north? He vaguely 
remembered Legolas pushing him over a cliff to land on a 
feather bed. No, that couldn’t be right.

Legolas turned and caught the ranger staring at him.  
"You're awake!" the elf exclaimed, an enormous grin 
spreading across his face.

Aragorn responded with an abashed smile and a feeble wave.

“How do you feel?” the elf asked in a louder voice than was 
necessary.

Aragorn pressed a finger to his lips, silently requesting 
the elf to lower his voice a bit.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Aragorn doubted that. The elf quieted his 
voice to a loud whisper. “How do you feel?”
 
Aragorn held his hand out, palm down, fingers spread, 
rocking it from side to side.
 
“I see. Well, can I do anything for you?” asked Legolas, 
still whispering loudly.

Aragorn crooked his finger, wordlessly summoning the elf to 
join him.

“Have you lost your voice?” the elf asked as he left the 
pool and walked towards him, the beautiful hairless body 
shedding the water with every step. He stopped and stood at 
Aragorn’s feet.

Aragorn sat up and patted the ground next to him and 
Legolas knelt as directed. Aragorn crooked his finger 
again, beckoning the elf to come closer. Legolas smiled and 
leaned forward.

Gently taking Legolas’ face into both hands, Aragorn leaned 
forward and kissed him.

Lightning crackled through the ranger’s soul as their 
mouths met, his lips seeking tenderly at first and then 
with increasing fire. Legolas started to laugh and broke 
their kiss, pushing the ranger away with a hand to 
Aragorn’s chest.

“What?!” asked Aragorn, breaking his silence. “Why do you 
laugh?”
 
“Your beard. It tickles,” replied Legolas, running his 
tongue over his smiling lips.

“Perhaps it is time to shave.”

“No!” cried Legolas, appearing genuinely alarmed. “Don’t. I 
like it.”

“Very well. It stays,” he proclaimed, pulling Legolas into 
another kiss.

The elf again pushed him away. “Phew!” he exclaimed, waving 
his hand in front of his face. “You reek of wine and smoke. 
Come with me,” he instructed, grabbing Aragorn’s hand and 
attempting to pull the ranger to his feet.

Aragorn resisted, trying unsuccessfully to pull the elf 
back to the ground with him.

“Aragorn, please,” Legolas cajoled. “You need to bathe.”

Aragorn went limp.

“Very well,” Legolas said, releasing the ranger’s hand. 
Aragorn fell back to the ground with a thud. “If you insist 
on behaving like a child, I shall treat you like one.” With 
startling speed and agility, Legolas scooped up Aragorn’s 
body into his arms and began to carry him to the water.

“Legolas, put me down!” Aragorn struggled against the elf’s 
arms, but they were intractable.

“I gave you the opportunity to do this on your own, but you 
refused.”

“I’m warning you, elf. Put me down!” Aragorn demanded. He 
was enjoying himself, but this was literally carrying it a 
bit too far.

“Or you will do what?” Legolas asked with great 
nonchalance.

“Horrible human things. I mean it, Legolas.” Legolas was 
wading into the pool. “Put me down!”

“As you wish, your majesty.” Legolas withdrew his arms and 
dropped Aragorn into the water.

The shock caused him to gasp, which is not a very healthy 
thing to do while underwater. He jumped to his feet, 
breaking the surface and coughing the water from his lungs.

“Maybe next time you’ll do as I ask,” said Legolas.
 
With lightening speed that caught the elf off guard, 
Aragorn pushed Legolas backwards into the water. The ranger 
shook his head from side to side and then back, tossing his 
hair out of his face. He took a deep breath and released 
it.

Suddenly he felt hands around his ankles. He looked down, 
“Legolas?” The grasping hands on his ankles gave a tug 
backwards, pulling his feet out from underneath him and 
plunging him face first into the water.

He broke the surface face up to keep the hair out of his 
eyes. He remained crouched neck deep in the water, scanning 
the surface for any sign of the elf.

“Very funny, elf!” he called. “You shall pay for that.”

“I certainly hope so.” Aragorn spun around to face the 
bushes overgrowing the edge of the pool, Legolas’ apparent 
hiding place.

“So you really want me to bathe,” he asked the bushes.

“Very astute, especially for a human.”

“You just like to watch me, don’t you?”

“Very true. But more importantly, you smell.”

Aragorn chuckled and resigned himself to his task. He 
fought with the shirt sticking to his skin as he removed 
the garment over his head. He tossed his boots ashore and 
then proceeded to remove his trousers, struggling to 
balance on one foot and then the other as he slipped the 
leggings over his feet. As he regained his footing, he felt 
the elf’s hands slide around his torso from behind.

“Allow me to assist you,” offered Legolas. Aragorn’s skin 
burned under Legolas’ fingers, and he leaned back into the 
elf’s arms.

Legolas pushed forward with his knees, buckling Aragorn’s 
legs and lowering them both into a crouch until they were 
submerged to their necks. He then began to rub his hands 
over Aragorn’s chest and abdomen, washing away the day’s 
sweat. Aragorn moaned in pleasure. He felt his lover’s 
member pressed between them with the same heat as their 
first night together. He felt his own cock beginning to 
stir.

“That feels wonderful, Legolas.”

“Excellent,” replied the elf.

“Incidentally, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask 
you,” said Aragorn.

“Yes?”

“Why did you leave me alone the other night?”

“You mean after we made love?” asked Legolas.

“Yes,” replied Aragorn.

With one arm still around his waist, Legolas pushed forward 
on Aragorn’s shoulders until he complied by leaning 
forward. Legolas ran his hands over the ranger’s back, 
washing away the dirt and the stress. 

“Well, to begin with, you passed out. Cold. And our 
lovemaking filled me with such energy that I could not 
remain still. I rejoiced with the dawn and thanked the 
Valar for bringing you into my life. Why do you ask?” The 
elf’s voice took on an playfully condescending tone, as if 
he were speaking to a child. “Were you frightened when you 
woke to find me gone?” he teased.

“Nooo, I wasn’t frightened. Just a little . . . 
disoriented,” answered Aragorn.

Aragorn felt the hands as they moved lower, rubbing along 
his buttocks and against his opening. The ranger’s cock 
rose higher.

“Now stand up,” instructed Legolas. 

Aragorn stood facing the elf, the tip of his cock breaking 
the water’s surface. Legolas ignored the obvious erection 
and proceeded to move down, then up, first his right leg, 
and then his left.

“You didn’t remember a thing, did you?” accused Legolas.

“Yes, I did,” protested Aragorn.

“Not at first, you didn’t.”

Aragorn remained silent.

“I could tell by the expression on your face when you 
entered the pavilion the following morning,” Legolas 
teased. Aragorn could hear the smile in the elf’s voice.

“But then I remembered everything,” Aragorn reasserted. He 
reached down and took Legolas’ chin in his hand, raising 
the elf’s eyes to meet his own. “And I have been 
remembering your touch ever since that moment. I can think 
of nothing else, sweet Legolas.”

Legolas, who had momentarily ceased his ministrations, gave 
him a peculiar smile and then returned to the ranger’s 
bath. When he completed washing Aragorn’s legs, the elf 
finished by running his hands over Aragorn’s crotch, still 
avoiding the erection, but pulling gently on the man’s 
balls, causing the ranger to groan in pleasure.

“There. You are now bathed,” announced Legolas, standing 
and walking out of the pool.

“No, you missed a spot,” argued Aragorn.

“No,” answered Legolas, turning at the edge of the pool to 
face him. He folded his arms across his chest while he 
stared back at Aragorn with that blasted impish grin and an 
imposing erection. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m certain you did.” Aragorn gestured to his crotch.

“Nooo, I didn’t ‘miss’ a spot. I left that particular area 
to your capable hands. You *do* know how to proceed in that 
area, do you not?”

Aragorn smiled. If you only knew, he thought. “I believe I 
might need some instruction,” he answered.

“You knew exactly what to do yesterday evening. Right here 
in this clearing, I would wager.” Legolas wore an enigmatic 
and confident smirk.

The ranger’s mouth dropped open in amazement at the elf’s 
words. “How did you know that?” Aragorn asked. “You were 
journeying north.”

“I have my ways,” answered Legolas. “Now you must finish 
your bath before you touch me again.”

Aragorn wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked the 
length of it several times as he stared at Legolas.

“Aragorn,” Legolas asked with an indulgent smile, “are you 
attempting to seduce me?"

“Is it working?” asked the ranger, only partially in jest.

Legolas rolled his eyes and walked away.

“What?!” Aragorn threw both hands into the air in 
exasperation. “Where are you going?” His bath complete as 
far as he was concerned, he left the pool and followed 
Legolas to the bedding that awaited them under the tree. 
That was odd. He had not noticed the bedding before. But 
then again, once he had spotted Legolas, everything else 
had faded into the background.

Legolas sat on the bed with his back against the tree. “You 
stay there and drip dry for a few moments,” he instructed 
from his throne.

“That’s quite an authoritative stance to take for one so 
naked,” warned Aragorn.

“Do not believe for a moment that my nudity in any way 
impairs my ability to enforce my royal edicts,” countered 
Legolas.

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to roll his eyes. Before he could 
complete the mocking gesture, however, the infuriating elf 
deftly swept the ranger’s feet from under him, causing him 
to spin and fall on his back next to the elf with an 
undignified “Oomph,” which, of course, made the elf laugh 
even harder.

“Please stop doing that,” the ranger said.

“Doing what? I have nothing to do with your compromised 
sense of balance.”

“And just how is my balance compromised?”

“You apparently had consumed a fair amount of wine with 
Boromir when we found you.”

The evening with Boromir returned to him in a flash, 
although parts were a bit hazy. He sat up, remembering 
Boromir’s confessions.

“He knows about us, Legolas.”

“It is of little consequence, Aragorn. Do not let it 
trouble you.” Aragorn felt the elf’s hand on his shoulder 
from behind.

“He promised not to tell anyone.” Aragorn said.

“Then I doubt he will.”

Aragorn recalled Boromir’s advances. “He attacked me.”


CHAPTER 39

“I know,” replied Legolas. “I arrived in time to witness 
the assault.” The memory still sent chills up the elf’s 
spine. Thank the gods they had arrived in time.

“It was strange,” said Aragorn, turning and stretching out 
with his head upon the elf’s thigh. “Things had been going 
so well up until that point. Boromir and I had reached a 
new understanding. He really is a good man, Legolas, 
contrary to what you may think of him.”

Legolas could not believe Aragorn was defending the brute. 
“A good man would not have attacked you, Aragorn,” he 
countered, laying his arm across the ranger’s chest, his 
fingers playing with the man’s chest hair.

“But that’s what was so strange. It was as if forces were 
compelling him to . . . .” the ranger hesitated.

“To what?”

“You won’t judge Boromir?” asked the ranger, looking up at 
Legolas with those soulful slate grey eyes.

“If you do not, then how could I?” asked Legolas.

Aragorn’s eyes relaxed and he looked away. “Boromir 
attempted to kiss me.”

Legolas was not terribly shocked at this news. He had 
suspected as much. Surely this was not what had Aragorn so 
concerned.

“Twice,” added Aragorn.

“And?” prompted Legolas.

“And the second time I started to let him.”

“Ah, I see.” So Aragorn fears judgment himself, he thought.

Aragorn sat up and turned to face Legolas. “It was only for 
a moment. It must have been the wine.”

“Be at peace, Aragorn,” reassured Legolas. “I condemn 
neither you nor your Gondorian friend. There are forces 
beyond our ken at work in Lothlórien which give rise to 
that which would otherwise be unexpressed.”

“What forces?”

“It is called ‘Communion’ and it happens only once every 
hundred years.”

“Did you say ‘Communion?’” asked Aragorn.

“Yes. You have heard of it?”

“Arwen mentioned it.”

“When did she say this?” asked Legolas.

“In my dream, after you and I . . . .”

“I suppose you could say we ‘communed,’ don’t you think?” 
mused Legolas.

“Very well, after you and I communed,” finished Aragorn.

“The Lady Arwen came to you in a dream?”

“Yes.”

“The Lady Galadriel spoke to me in mine,” the elf said.

Aragorn’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why would these 
ladies take such interest in our dalliance?”

“Apparently that dalliance plays an important role in the 
future of Middle Earth.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“No, Aragorn. This is vitally important. Your future reign 
is at stake.”

Aragorn rose to his feet and began to walk away. “First 
Boromir and now you. Will I never be left alone about my 
cursed reign?”

“Aragorn, wait.”

“No!” The ranger suddenly turned to face him. “Why is 
everyone so concerned about my future kingship? What would 
they do, what would *you* do, if I simply left Lothlórien 
and disappeared into the wilderness?”

“You wouldn’t do that, Aragorn.”

“Wouldn’t I? How can you be so sure, Legolas? How well do 
you really know me?”

Legolas rose and crossed to the agitated man, saying, “I 
know you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil. And I 
know that you would never evade your responsibilities. You 
are a man of honor, of courage, and of nobility.” He now 
stood face to face with the future king. “I know you. My 
body knows you. And my heart will forever be yours.”


CHAPTER 40

Aragorn could not believe his ears. Had Legolas just 
proclaimed his love for him? He could feel the blood 
rushing through his veins, fueled by the flames burning in 
his racing heart. He grabbed Legolas by the shoulders and 
kissed the elf hard on the mouth. The archer’s hands rose 
to Aragorn’s sides and climbed the man’s back. 

Without breaking the kiss, Aragorn began to walk forward, 
forcing Legolas backward until the elf was up against the 
tree.

“Ouch!” said Legolas, breaking the kiss at last. “What are 
you doing?”

“I heard this was supposed to be fun. Something about 
barrels and monkeys not being half as much fun as an elf 
against a tree. Or something like that.”

“What fool told you this?”

“My good brothers,” Aragorn answered, kissing Legolas on 
the neck.

“Ah, the twins! I should have known.”
 
“Say what you will about them, they know how to enjoy 
themselves.”
 
“Well, it’s not fun. It’s scratching my back.”

“I meant fun for me,” teased Aragorn. He laughed at the 
expression of indignant outrage on the elf’s face.

Legolas punched him playfully yet firmly in the stomach and 
pushed him away. Aragorn fell to his knees and doubled over 
dramatically, choking and laughing at the same time. When 
he recovered his breath, he looked up to discover he was at 
eye level with Legolas’ crotch.

He had seen naked elves before, but had never taken the 
time to study the male form. The only organ he had ever 
examined was his own. He reached up and slid his hand 
underneath the elf’s growing member, cradling it along his 
fingers and into his palm. Their erections, which had been 
lost when the conversation had turned to Aragorn’s 
encounter with Boromir, were returning with a vengeance. 

Aragorn longed to taste Legolas’ cock. He extended his 
tongue and lifted the elf to his mouth. He gently licked 
the tip, sending a shiver through the elf’s body. He licked 
again, dragging his tongue along the underside of the head. 
This brought a moan from the elf, increasing Aragorn’s 
excitement. He opened his mouth and took in the growing 
member until it reached the back of his throat. He gagged 
and began to cough, releasing Legolas from his lips.

“Whoa, human,” cautioned Legolas. “Don’t push yourself. 
Just take your time. Your tongue feels wonderful.”

Aragorn swallowed and took a deep breath. Then he returned 
to his mission without hesitation, wrapping his tongue and 
lips around the head of the elf’s now fully erect cock.

“Mmm, that’s it,” encouraged Legolas, leaning back against 
the tree, apparently now oblivious to the rough  bark.

Aragorn attacked the duty of pleasuring Legolas’ cock as he 
would have attacked any other challenge, with determination 
and zeal. He ran his tongue around the rim of the head, 
causing Legolas to squirm and twitch, especially when he 
concentrated on the sensitive underside.

He decided to try a new tactic. He wrapped his lips around 
the entire head *except* the underside, curving his tongue 
down and out of contact with the narrow ridge of sensitive 
skin. He slowly moved the head in and out of his mouth, 
applying as much pressure as he could with the sides of his 
tongue and his lips around the head. The elf’s squirming 
increased, along with his moaning.

“Mmmm. Mmmm. Ahhhhhh!!!” Legolas’ eyes flew open and his 
knees buckled as Aragorn suddenly applied his tongue down 
the neglected underside of the elf’s cock.

“Gods!” the elf gasped. “Where did you learn *that*?”

Aragorn removed his mouth to respond. “Do you approve?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Then I shall continue,” he said and proceeded to take the 
elf’s cock into his mouth once more, taking it until it 
almost touched the back of his throat and then stopped.

“Unh,” grunted Legolas.

Aragorn took a deep breath through his nose and then slowly 
pressed the elf’s cock against the back of his throat. 
Prepared for the intrusion, he found it relatively easy to 
resist the impulse to gag. Instead, he pushed farther, 
attempting to swallow as he did so.

“Oh, Aragorn. Oh, oh, that’s incredible!”

The ranger slowly backed off the erection until just the 
head was between his lips. He swirled his tongue around the 
tip while he took several deep breaths before he lowered 
himself once again onto the hot steel rod of flesh sliding 
between his lips and down his throat.

“Oh my gods! Ahhhh! Mmmm.” Legolas’ moans inspired him to 
increase his pace, and he began to raise and lower his head 
onto the elf’s crotch. Legolas began to thrust his hips 
against Aragorn’s face, grunting every time his cock was 
buried into the ranger’s throat.

Aragorn had placed his hands on Legolas’ thighs while the 
elf grasped the sides of his head, thrusting into his 
gullet. He now remained stationary, breathing through his 
nose between thrusts. Aragorn tasted the salty beginning of 
the elf’s emission, fueling his passion. He reached around 
and grabbed Legolas’ buttocks, pulling the elf into him 
deeper and quicker. Legolas responded to the encouragement, 
giving several deep thrusts and finally emptying himself 
down Aragorn’s throat with a mighty shout. The taste of the 
elf’s gift was both salty and a little sweet. Aragorn drank 
it as if it were an elixir of immortality.

The elf’s body was lost in orgasm and Aragorn held him 
steady as he slowly backed off and finally released Legolas 
from his lips once more. He leaned forward and kissed the 
elf’s stomach, then began to stand, trailing his tongue up 
the hairless torso to the collarbone, where he began to 
kiss his way up the neck.

“You have awakened me, Legolas,” he whispered into the 
elegantly pointed ear, “arousing feelings I’ve never felt 
before.”

“Are you telling me you have never done that before?” asked 
Legolas incredulously between gasps.

“I have never even considered it,” answered Aragorn, 
kissing the elf’s eyelids. “Although now that I have tried 
it, I must say that I truly enjoy it.”

“Well, you certainly have a natural talent for it.”

Aragorn smiled with pride. “I am pleased to have brought 
you such pleasure,” he said.

“So much that I must sit down. My legs are weak.”

“Here,” said Aragorn, sitting with his back against the 
tree. He spread his legs, patting the bedding between his 
thighs. “Sit down.”

Legolas followed his instructions, leaning back against the 
ranger as Aragorn wrapped his arms around the elf’s torso, 
the blonde head resting on the man’s chest, nestled 
underneath a bearded chin. Aragorn savored the warmth of 
the elf’s body, feeling his arms rise and fall as Legolas 
regained his breath.

The moment was so peaceful that Aragorn felt it could go on 
forever without him ever tiring of it. He leaned forward 
and kissed the top of the elf’s blond head.

“Aragorn?”

“Yes, Legolas?”

“Should I require you to perform an act that you did not 
wish to carry out, would you put aside your misgivings and 
do it anyway?” asked Legolas.

“I’m beginning to think that such an act does not exist,” 
replied Aragorn with a smile.

“I’m serious, Aragorn. Would you do as I ask?”

Aragorn sensed that Legolas considered the answer to his 
question to be of grave importance. He did not know why the 
elf would be asking such a question, but he knew that he 
could refuse his lover nothing.

“Tell me what to do, and I swear on the blade of Andúril, I 
shall do it,” he vowed.

“Do you mean that?” asked Legolas.

“With all my heart, Legolas.”

The elf was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, 
“Thank you, Aragorn.”

They relapsed into silence once more. The peace in 
Aragorn’s soul was only surpassed by the love in his heart. 
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the 
tree, drinking in the moment.
 
“So,” said Legolas,” if you’ve never done that before, I 
would wager you have not experienced it yourself either. Am 
I wrong?”

“No, you are quite correct. I have never been with anyone 
before you, Legolas.”

“Indeed? Someone of your bearing would have ample 
opportunity, I would think, to find companionship with an 
attractive woman, or man, before now. But you have never 
indulged your desires?”

“I suppose the desires have never been strong enough to 
compel me into another’s arms. Since my twentieth year I 
have been captivated by the Lady Arwen. No other has 
approached her beauty and grace.” He opened his eyes and 
looked down at Legolas, pulling his arms tighter around the 
elf. “That is, no other before you.”

Aragorn thought he felt a groan rumble in the elf’s chest. 
“Legolas?”

“Yes?” answered the elf, with unusual cheer.

“Is something troubling you?” Aragorn asked.

Legolas rolled over in his arms until he was on all fours, 
facing Aragorn. “Nothing troubles me tonight.”

Aragorn reached up and pulled the elf’s face to his, 
cupping his hand behind the elf’s neck and kissing him with 
an ever-building passion. Legolas responded to the kiss, 
opening his mouth. Aragorn pounced on the opportunity and 
darted his tongue between the elf’s lips, exploring his 
lover’s mouth and tongue with his own. Their tongues 
twisted and danced, accompanied by their moans of mutual 
passion.

Legolas broke the kiss. Again. Aragorn refused to yield 
this time, however, and pulled the elf to him once more. 
Legolas returned the kiss indulgently at first, but once 
more Aragorn felt the elf drawn into the currents of 
passion flowing between them.


CHAPTER 41

Aragorn was insistent and Legolas could no longer resist 
the pull of his heart. He once more surrendered to the 
ranger’s passion. He moved from the man’s lips to his chin, 
the beard scratching against his lips and tongue. He 
covered Aragorn’s cheeks and neck with kisses and began to 
move down the man’s chest, amazed at how the feel of the 
human’s body hair against his lips increased his already 
raging desire.

He pulled away to gaze upon the object of his longing. 
Aragorn stared at him with sparkling eyes, his love for 
Legolas shining forth like a beacon out to sea, leading the 
voyager into safe harbor.

Legolas knew the moment was at hand and could be postponed 
no longer. Tears welled in his eyes as he faced his darkest 
hour.

“Why do you weep?” asked the ranger with deep concern in 
his voice and on his face.

This was the point of no return. He could surrender to 
Destiny and allow Aragorn to sate his hunger. 
Alternatively, he could steel himself against his love’s 
advances and prevent the communion from its resolution. A 
large part of him favored the latter option, wishing to 
avoid the impending grief.

Legolas responded to the man’s question by leaning in and 
kissing him softly on the lips. “I weep from joy, dear 
Aragorn,” he said softly.

The ranger reached up and pulled Legolas’ lips tight 
against his. Legolas gave a small whimper as tears ran down 
his cheeks. He barely stifled the sobs that threatened to 
resurface, pulling away and wiping the tears from his 
cheeks. He gave a small deprecating laugh. “It is said that 
the tears of the elves are neverending.”

Aragorn smiled, tears on his own face as well. “And 
apparently it is true.”

Legolas laughed harder, the moment having passed. He was 
Destiny’s, as he had always been.


CHAPTER 42

Aragorn wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Stretch out onto your back,” the elf instructed, then 
sprinted to his discarded clothes, and withdrew something 
from the pocket. Aragorn moved away from the tree and then 
reclined onto his back as Legolas returned.

“Wait,” the elf said, unstopping a small vial and taking a 
drink from it. He then held the vial out to Aragorn, who 
propped himself up on one elbow to accept it.

“What am I drinking?” he asked, looking at the clear blue 
half-empty vial.

Legolas knelt between the ranger’s legs as he said, “It 
will heighten the experience.”

“That tells me what it does. But not what it is.”

“Do you trust me, Aragorn?”

Aragorn smiled at the echo from their previous evening 
together. “With my life, Legolas,” he answered.

“Then drink.”

Legolas held Aragorn’s gaze with such command that the 
ranger was unable to look away while he drank the remainder 
of the elixir in one swallow. He watched the dark clouds 
return to cover the elf’s visage once more. But only 
briefly and then they were gone.

“Now, my dear Aragorn, you will receive from my lips the 
same delight as I have from yours.” With that 
pronouncement, he lowered his head to Aragorn’s crotch and 
proceeded to duplicate the ranger’s earlier performance, 
lick for lick, stroke for stroke. It was an incredible 
sensation to feel the elf’s mouth on his cock, but another 
experience entirely to relive his earlier ministrations 
from Legolas’ viewpoint. His instincts had been correct, 
the pleasure being beyond comprehension. Pleasuring himself 
had never felt like *this*.

From the outermost reaches of his awareness, he heard the 
familiar sound of Legolas’ plant being broken, followed by 
the sweet sensual aroma. Consequently, he was not surprised 
by the intrusion of the elf’s finger. 

“Ah, yes, Legolas.” Aragorn had longed to feel the elf 
inside him for the last two days and the exquisite pressure 
took him closer to the edge. Legolas buried his finger 
inside the ranger, massaging Aragorn’s gland. Aragorn 
grabbed the elf’s head, pulling it onto his cock again and 
again, grunting with each thrust.

He felt himself approaching the edge, and apparently so did 
Legolas. The elf withdrew his finger and his mouth at once, 
applying pressure to the underside of the ranger’s erection 
at its base with his thumb. The wave of orgasm dissipated 
before it could break, leaving Aragorn writhing in 
constrained passion.

“Aaargh!” growled the ranger, and then broke into laughter. 
He lifted his head to look down upon that blasted smug 
grin. “You are wicked,” he told the elf.

“A corrupter of kings. Yes, I know.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What displeased you, your majesty?”

“The removal of your mouth, of course. Why did you stop?!”

Legolas moved his hand up Aragorn’s erection, smearing the 
sticky fluid that oozed from the tip with his thumb, 
causing the ranger to gasp, his body twitching with 
pleasure.

“Although I wish to feel you complete yourself inside of 
me, that was not the manner in which I wished it to 
happen,” answered the elf.

“Then come here,” ordered Aragorn, pulling the elf up and 
on top of him. He rolled both of them onto their sides and 
continued until he was atop the glorious elf. He looked 
down upon the exquisite features and luxurious blonde hair. 
The love in Legolas’ eyes took his breath away.

“I love you, Legolas,” he said.

The elf’s eyes filled with tears and he answered with 
trembling voice, “And I love you, Aragorn.”

Aragorn dove upon the elf’s swollen lips with a passion 
that threatened to drive him insane with desire. He wanted 
Legolas. And badly.

Taking his cue from Legolas, Aragorn recalled the elf’s 
lovemaking and thought to reproduce that performance. But 
when he pulled away, he found he could not tear his eyes 
from his lover’s face, and made a small adjustment to his 
plan. He pushed Legolas’ thighs apart with his knees and 
knelt between the elf’s legs, lifting them up and onto his 
shoulders. Then he retrieved and broke another green stalk, 
smearing the slick gel onto his fingers. He reached down 
and slowly inserted his middle finger into his lover. He 
removed it to retrieve more gel and then reinserted it 
again, moving it in and out, massaging the tight muscle in 
preparation.

“Oh, Aragorn. It has been so long. That feels magnificent.”

Aragorn withdrew his hand, eliciting a whine of 
disappointment from Legolas. He then broke another stalk 
and applied the lubricant to his erection, which was harder 
than he had ever felt before. 

He repositioned Legolas’ legs on his shoulders and pushed 
forward, placing his hands on the ground on either side of 
the elf’s shoulders and raising his own knees so his feet 
and his hands bore all his weight. He lowered his hips 
until the tip of his member met the twitching opening of 
the elf. They both gasped as he made contact. Aragorn 
hesitated, not wishing to harm Legolas.

“Don’t worry, my love. You will not hurt me,” reassured 
Legolas, reaching up and cupping Aragorn’s face between his 
hands.

Aragorn took him at his word and plunged into him in one 
strong thrust.

“AAHHHHH!” cried Legolas, his eyes rolling back in his 
head. Aragorn halted, concerned despite the elf’s previous 
reassurance. “Don’t stop!” the elf encouraged with great 
urgency.

Aragorn felt the concern evaporate and animal lust assume 
control. He withdrew entirely and then plunged into his 
lover once again, drawing another cry from the elf. It only 
served to increase the ranger’s fervor as he began to pound 
away at the beautiful being beneath him, lost in the fever 
coursing through his veins.

Aragorn’s face was positioned directly above Legolas’, 
their eyes staring into each other as their bodies and 
souls joined in union. Aragorn watched as the elf’s eyes 
began to fill with tears once more, and was so moved by 
love and adoration that he bent down and took the elf’s 
mouth with his own in a kiss that sealed their communion. 
Aragorn felt the oncoming rapture and increased his pace. 
He felt Legolas clenching around his cock as the elf shot 
his seed onto their chests. The pressure pushed him over 
the edge and he groaned into Legolas’ mouth as he emptied 
his passion into the elf’s body.

They both broke their kiss and threw their heads back, 
their orgasmic shouts blending into one voice, heralding 
their love into the night.

Aragorn felt a familiar glow within and knew he did not 
have long before he passed out again.

“You bewitch me, elf,” he gasped, looking down into the 
face of his love. “I am completely under your spell.” The 
light within continued to grow and was overtaking his 
senses once more. He thought he saw tears return to the 
elf’s eyes, and managed to whisper “I love you,” before the 
darkness descended.


CHAPTER 43

Legolas lay on his back clasping the sleeping body of the 
ranger to his chest. He remained where he was for a long 
time, crying tears of love and grief.

Eventually, he realized he must continue and carefully 
rolled his lover off and onto his back. Legolas rose to 
kneel at the man’s side. He took Aragorn’s hand into his 
own and, taking a deep breath, closed his eyes. He focused 
on the connection that still sang between them, allowing it 
to draw him in . . . .

**************************************

Legolas looked down and saw Aragorn, lying on his stomach. 
He bent down and kissed the small of the man’s back. 
“Aragorn,” he said tenderly.

Aragorn stirred and rolled over, looking up at Legolas in 
surprise.

“Legolas?”

“Yes, Aragorn.”

The ranger looked around in confusion. “Where . . . where 
are we?” he asked.

They were on a white blanket floating in a sea of darkness. 
Nothing else existed except the two lovers on their bed.

“Be at peace, Aragorn,” Legolas counseled, brushing hair 
from the ranger’s forehead. “We are meeting in your own 
mind as you sleep.” Legolas found he could feel Aragorn 
relax with an intimacy he had never experienced before.

“But how is this possible, Legolas?”

“The blue vial we both drank from contained a gift from an 
old friend of mine.”

“To what purpose?”

Legolas took a deep breath and answered as calmly as he 
could. “Aragorn, we need to talk.”

“I do not like the sound of that,” muttered Aragorn 
apprehensively.

“I asked you if you would do as I requested, though you had 
misgivings. You said, ‘Tell me what to do, and I swear on 
the blade of Andúril, I shall do it.’ Did you not?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you stand by that vow?”

“Yes, I do. Legolas, tell me what is happening.” Legolas 
smiled inwardly to hear the commanding tone in the 
Dúnadan’s voice once more.

“Aragorn, let me ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Who is Arwen?” asked Legolas.

“What?”

“Who is Arwen?”

Aragorn raised himself onto his elbows. “I don’t know what 
kind of game you’re playing, elf, but I don’t think it’s 
very amusing.”

“This is no game, Aragorn,” Legolas said firmly. Aragorn 
flinched as if he had been struck. “I’m sorry, Aragorn, but 
this is very important. Now tell me, who is Arwen?”

“You know who she is, Legolas.”

“Humor me, you stubborn human,” Legolas insisted.

Aragorn looked at him with confused eyes, but finally 
acquiesced and said “Arwen Evenstar is the daughter of 
Elrond of Rivendell, Granddaughter of Galadriel of 
Lothlórien.”

“And who is she to you?” Legolas asked, bringing the point 
home.

“Why, she is my betro—“ Aragorn stumbled on the word and 
the thought. “Legolas, what just happened between us?”

“We bonded,” answered Legolas simply and sadly.

“We . . . .” Aragorn fell silent for moment, looking down 
at the blanket. “Yes, we did. I can feel it.” He looked up 
at Legolas and smiled. “It feels wonderful, Legolas.”

“Yes, it does, meleth-nîn.” Legolas said, caressing the 
man’s cheek. He fortified himself and continued. “But it 
cannot remain,” he said with finality, withdrawing his 
hand.

Aragorn’s eyes widened and he asked “What do you mean, ‘it 
cannot remain?’” fear rising in his voice.

“You must bond with Arwen,” said Legolas, his voice 
emotionless, lest Aragorn hear the despair in his heart. 
“Your reign depends on it.”

“My reign will be my own, regardless of the individual to 
whom I’m bound.”

“Aragorn, be reasonable. Do you seriously believe you would 
be allowed to take the throne if you were bound to me?”

“I *am* bound to you, Legolas.”

“They do not trust elves in the first place. Asking them to 
accept that their king is bound to an elven *male* is 
madness of the highest order.”

“Then a mad king I shall be.”

“Aragorn, stop it!” Legolas demanded. “I love you too, but 
you have to think.”

“No! I cannot accept that I must release you now that I 
have found you.”

“You must.”

“I will not! Legolas, how can you do this to me?”

“Do you think it was my intent to lose my heart to you, 
Aragorn, only to lose you to another, no matter how worthy 
she may be? Do you seriously think I wished for this to 
happen?” Can’t you see my heart is breaking? he asked 
silently.

“Then why is this happening?” asked Aragorn in despair.

“Because I unwittingly invoked Communion when I made love 
to you.”

“What is this Communion curse that tears you from me?” 
demanded Aragorn.

“It allowed you to release your cares and worries, leaving 
you with no thought or ambition for the future.”

“Yes, and it was absolute bliss, thank you very much.”

“In making love to me tonight, you have completed the 
cycle, reclaiming the initiative and boldness you released 
to me in our earlier encounter.”

“Yes, I can most definitely feel that.”

“In the process, we have bound ourselves to one another,” 
continued Legolas.

“To my utter joy,” added Aragorn.

Legolas shook his head. “Aragorn, this cannot be. You are 
for Arwen Evenstar. She is to be your queen.”

“No!” cried Aragorn.

“Yes,” Legolas reaffirmed quietly.

“But I love *you*, Legolas,” the ranger protested.

“Shhhh,” soothed Legolas, brushing the ranger’s cheek with 
his fingers. “Be at peace, meleth-nîn.”

“I cannot. Not if I must lose you!” Aragorn’s tears widened 
the ever-expanding fissure in Legolas’ heart.

“You must forget our love, Aragorn.”

“Never!”

“You promised.”

“I never did.”

“’Tell me what to do, and I swear on the blade of Andúril, 
I shall do it,’” repeated Legolas.

“NO!” cried Aragorn, his eyes widening at hearing his own 
vow and realizing the implication. “Legolas, do not ask 
this of me, I beg of you,” pled the Dúnadan.

Legolas was unable to hold back any longer and allowed the 
tears to flow. “You swore, Aragorn.”

“No, please.” They both were sobbing now. “I beg you, 
release me from this vow, Legolas. Please!”

“I cannot.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Simply wipe clean the memory 
of our love?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you suggest I accomplish this task?”

“Your vow has been given and the elixir consumed. It is 
already done.” Legolas broke down and fell onto Aragorn’s 
chest, weeping in despair.

They both lay in silence for a time, no words adequate to 
express the depth of their sorrow.

Eventually, Aragorn spoke. “I will tell you this, elf. Look 
at me.”

Legolas lifted his head and gazed into the eyes of his 
beloved.

“The love we have shared may be lost to my memory tomorrow, 
but my heart *will* remember,” Aragorn said. “I will always 
love you. *This* I vow.”

Legolas took the man’s hand and placed it over his heart. 
“And my heart will be yours until the end of time, my dear 
sweet Aragorn.” He leaned forward and kissed the ranger on 
the lips. “I love you,” he said, tears running down his 
cheeks.

The light in Aragorn’s eyes was beginning to fade, the 
eyelids beginning to close. “I love you,” the man answered. 

Then Legolas watched the eyes of his beloved close for the 
last time. When next they opened, they would be the eyes of 
his friend, nothing more. The beacon which was Aragorn’s 
love for Legolas was gone forever.

His heart shattered into a million pieces, and he collapsed 
once more in sobs onto Aragorn’s chest.

The surrounding darkness crept over them, but the elf was 
oblivious to its encroachment. No gloom could overwhelm the 
abyss that was his soul, and he surrendered to the shadow 
of despair, feeling it close around him like a shroud. 

****************************************************

Legolas awoke with his head on Aragorn’s bare chest. He 
could hear the beating heart and feel the rise and fall of 
the man’s breathing.

Legolas sat up and surveyed the clearing. He hated this 
spot and never wanted to see it again.

Eager to be done with this whole business, he bathed the 
sleeping Aragorn and then himself. After dressing them 
both, Legolas lifted Aragorn into his arms and began the 
trek back to Caras Galadhon.

The intervening miles were a blur. Legolas took no joy from 
the forest tonight. His arms ached with the weight of the 
ranger, but he kept moving until he reached the 
Fellowship’s pavilion, whereupon he gently laid the man on 
his bed.

He looked down upon his love and felt the tears rising 
again as he brushed a stray lock from Aragorn’s forehead. 
He turned away to avoid losing complete control once more. 
Tomorrow he would return to take his place within the 
Fellowship, but today he needed solitude.

He looked around to discover Boromir asleep in his own bed. 
Legolas briefly wondered how the Gondorian’s night with 
Radagast had gone, but he dismissed the thought, knowing 
the wizard would have handled things appropriately.

He walked to Gimli’s couch and knelt beside it.

“Gimli,” he whispered as he shook the dwarf’s shoulder. 
Gimli snorted and tossed a little in his sleep. “Gimli,” he 
repeated, this time closer to the dwarf’s ear.

“Wha. . . .” the dwarf woke with a start. “What is 
happening?”

“Shhh,” hushed Legolas, placing a hand gently over the 
dwarf’s mouth. “The Fellowship is still sleeping.”

The dwarf reached up and pushed the elf’s hand away. “As I 
would like to be, Master Elf.”

“Gimli, please call me Legolas.”

“Very well, Legolas,” the dwarf said with a mighty yawn. 
“Why do you wake me at this ghastly hour?”

“I need to be alone this day. But on the morrow I would 
request your company. I seek to explore the width and 
breadth of Lothlórien ‘ere we leave. And since you were so 
enamored by the Lady of the Wood, I thought you would like 
to accompany me as I explore her realm. Would you honor me 
with your companionship?”

“I would be honored to accompany you on your expedition,” 
accepted the dwarf. “I thank you for your invitation. In 
truth, my impression of elves has been most transformed 
over the last few weeks. You are a credit to your race, 
Prince Legolas.”

Legolas smiled. “Just ‘Legolas’ will do fine, Gimli. The 
crown of Prince weighs too heavily on my head. And I have 
had more than my fill of royalty and nobility for now.”

“As you wish.”
 
“Now, go back to sleep. I will return tomorrow morning when 
we will begin our exploration

“Goodnight, Legolas,” mumbled the sleepy dwarf as he turned 
onto his other side, facing away from Legolas and the rest 
of the pavilion.
 
Legolas had taken several steps to leave the pavilion 
before stopping and returning to Aragorn’s bedside. He said 
nothing, but took one last look at the handsome bearded 
face he would love for eternity. He leaned over and kissed 
the lips of his lover, and then knelt down to take the 
man’s forearm into his hands, stroking the fine layer of 
hair as it crept over the wrist. He brought it to his lips 
and kissed the hand of the king.

He then placed the hand on the sleeping man’s chest, turned 
and left the pavilion.


CHAPTER 44

Aragorn awoke to the sound of birds singing and the hobbits 
having breakfast. His stomach growled, demanding some sort 
of sustenance.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch 
where he had slept. He glanced at the adjacent couch to see 
Boromir, still asleep.

Aragorn remembered the delicious meal Boromir cooked 
yesterday and how surprised he had been at the Gondorian’s 
skill. Where did Boromir say he had learned to cook? That 
particular detail was unclear, and the more Aragorn tried 
to remember it, the more elusive it became.

No matter. The meal had been incredible and the wine most 
potent. He couldn’t believe they had actually stumbled back 
to the pavilion last night without hurting themselves. It 
truly was a mystery.

All he knew was that he had never felt so rested and 
rejuvenated. He yawned and stretched, catching the 
attention of the hobbits.

“Aragorn!” cried Frodo excitedly.

“Good morning, Ringbearer,” answered Aragorn.


CHAPTER 45

Boromir groaned at the sound of the cheerful voices.

“Ah,” he heard Aragorn say, “Boromir is awake as well. Good 
morning, Boromir.”

Boromir groaned again and covered his head with his pillow.

“Now, now, my friend. It’s a beautiful day. Rise and join 
us,” encouraged the ranger.

Boromir was astonished that Aragorn behaved as if last 
night's confrontation had never occurred.  Despite a 
pounding headache, he remembered it all too well. Perhaps 
the ranger was attempting to shield the Gondorian from the 
disapproval of the Fellowship. For whatever reason, Boromir 
had no intention of reminding Aragorn of the serious 
transgression if it had been forgotten.

“Boromir, wake up!” Merry commanded.

“You promised to go exploring with us today,” added Pippin 
enthusiastically.

Boromir removed the pillow from his head and reluctantly 
sat up. “Very well. If you insist,” he said wearily, 
rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“We do, indeed.” Aragorn seemed rather chipper this 
morning, irritating Boromir to no end. “How is your head 
this morning, Boromir? Elven wine can be most potent, don’t 
you think?” asked the ranger.

“Indeed,” Boromir replied. “I can barely remember a thing. 
Can you?” he asked probingly.

“All I remember after dinner was stumbling back to the 
pavilion in the dark,” said Aragorn. “A merry stroll, to be 
sure, for I do remember laughing a great deal.”

“You must have been laughing at me, for I do not remember 
such levity,” Boromir grumbled. Aragorn’s memory of the 
hike back to the pavilion was a mystery. But he did not 
question it.

“Were you a depressing drunk, Boromir?” asked Pippin.

“Well, he’s certainly gloomy when he’s sober, so I can 
definitely see him as a depressing drunk,” observed Merry.

“Take care, hobbits,” Boromir warned. “I do not share 
Aragorn’s good cheer this morning.”

“Right,” said Merry. “Don’t poke the bear.”

Boromir looked up to glare at the little beasts, but his 
heart was warmed by the good cheer in Merry and Pippin’s 
faces.

It was strange; his heart felt lighter than it had 
yesterday, and it was easier for him to accept the genuine 
affection of the two hobbits. Last night’s mysterious 
encounter after Aragorn had fled the scene had indeed 
brought some peace from the agony of Théodred’s rejection 
years ago.

For that alone, he was thankful.


XII. EPILOGUE

Something was up. That much he was sure of. Sam couldn’t 
quite put his finger on it, but something was up.

He had been awakened earlier that morning by the 
reappearance of Legolas in whispered conversation with the 
dwarf. Sam had pretended to be asleep, but had watched 
Legolas move to Aragorn’s bed where he kissed the man’s 
lips and hand before he left. Sam would have thought that 
Aragorn’s desires had been returned by Legolas had it not 
been for the profound sadness emanating from the elf.

Then later, when Aragorn and Boromir awoke, the Fellowship 
had discovered that the two men had become fast friends.

They all now sat at the table, feasting as usual.

“And you’ll never believe this,” Aragorn said through 
laughter, “Boromir can *cook*!”

Merry and Pippin both snapped their heads in Boromir’s 
direction. “Is that so?” asked Pippin.

“Aragorn exaggerates. It was no great matter,” replied an 
uncharacteristically modest Boromir.

Aragorn told the story of their day on the Anduin, though 
the tale consisted of little more than a hike to the river, 
the bathing of Boromir, which brought cheers from everyone, 
dinner and a drunken hike home in the dark. 

Sam sought to test Aragorn’s state of mind. “Legolas was 
here this morning,” he said.

Aragorn’s head popped up at the elf’s name, eyes bright. 
Yes, thought Sam. That’s the love I saw before.

“He was? I wasn’t aware he had returned from the northern 
borders. Where is he now?” asked the ranger.

“I wouldn’t know, I’m sure. But Gimli might. I heard them 
talking,” replied Sam.

All eyes turned to Gimli. “Yes,” the dwarf confirmed. 
“Legolas was here. He invited me to join him tomorrow as he 
explores these woods. But he said he needed to be alone 
today. He didn’t offer a reason and I didn’t ask.”

“I hope nothing untoward has happened to our elven friend,” 
the ranger remarked. But his concern apparently passed 
quickly. Too quickly, for Sam’s taste. “So, Ringbearer,” 
Aragorn said turning to Mr. Frodo. “Perhaps we should 
discuss your thoughts for the next step of our quest.”

Sam stopped listening, giving no care to where they had to 
go. He would follow Mr. Frodo. No discussion. Instead he 
pondered the sudden return to apparent normality. But 
things weren’t really normal at all, were they? Legolas was 
heartbroken. The elf and the dwarf were going on an 
expedition together. Aragorn and Boromir were great 
friends. Aragorn was interested once more in the struggle 
against Mordor, though his love for Legolas had apparently 
been forgotten. And Boromir could cook!

No, no, no. This wasn’t right at all. They might pretend 
that nothing had happened, but Sam was convinced that 
something had occurred. He didn’t know what it was, but he 
was fairly certain it involved Boromir, Aragorn, *and* 
Legolas.

What exactly took place on the banks of the Anduin last 
night?

This wasn’t over, thought Sam. 

No, this wasn’t over by a long shot.


FINIS