Title: Ú-moe edaved 
Author (including email): Symbelmynne 
(symbelmynne@hotmail.com) 
Pairing(s): Legolas/Aragorn 
Rating: NC17 
Summary: The standard elf meets boy, elf schtupps boy, elf 
experiences divine angst story. Takes place at Helm’s Deep before the 
battle and is based on a scene from the film version of The Two 
Towers.
 
Disclaimer: The characters are Tolkein’s. I have gained nothing from 
writing and sharing this other than the respectful enjoyment of the 
work.

Authors Note: Feedback is welcomed. 

***

Legolas entered the narrow passageway leading down to the lower 
level of the keep. He hoped he would find Aragorn there. There was 
little time left and much to be said.

Yesterday at this time, Legolas had been wracked with grief, believing 
Aragorn to be dead. But late this afternoon, the ranger had arrived at 
the gate; his clothes torn, weak from blood loss, barely able to keep to 
his saddle. Legolas had raced down from the Deeping Wall to meet 
him, overwhelmed with relief. He’d had to resist the urge to embrace 
the man. This close to battle his blood was running hot, and he had 
come too far to betray his desire for Aragorn now. As far as Legolas 
was concerned, the mortal would go to his death none the wiser.

And yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself from provoking an 
argument with him within hours of his return ? publicly deriding 
Aragorn’s decision to stay and fight alongside the Eorlingas. It was 
true enough that the situation was grim, but he had expected no less 
from the ranger. It was not in Aragorn’s nature to flee when others 
would stand and fight. The mortal was proud to a fault, and as 
stubborn as he was handsome. Legolas breathed a heavy sigh that 
echoed along the darkened passage. Clearly, the strain of the quest 
was getting to him.

The passage began to descend. The stone steps were slick with 
moisture and he reached out to steady himself against the cool stone 
walls. He could feel vibrations running through the walls of the keep 
? the movements of hundreds preparing for battle above him. But he 
sensed older rumblings too. The ancient stones held the memories of 
the many battles that men had fought here over the ages.

When at last he reached the bottom of the stairs, Legolas clung to the 
shadows, blinking to adjust his eyes to the light thrown by the torches 
that lined the great hall. Aragorn stood at the far end of the chamber, 
preparing himself for battle. Spread out in front of him on the sturdy 
oaken table was his battle gear, such as it was. Rangers did not believe 
in the heavy plate armour favoured by the soldiers of Rohan and 
Gondor.

Legolas watched as  Aragorn drew his heavy chain maille hauberk 
over his head and dropped it onto his broad shoulders. His eyes 
couldn’t help but stray the length of Aragorn’s body: The tousled 
brown hair, the strong sweep of his shoulders, his well-muscled arms, 
his narrow hips, his firm ass. The elf bit down on his lip to stifle a 
moan.

No, that is not why I am here, he told himself sternly. I must make 
amends. Silently, Legolas stepped forward as Aragorn was fastening 
his belt over his leather jerkin. He grasped Aragorn’s sword from 
where it lay on the bench and offered it up, hilt first, just as he was 
about to reach for it himself.

Aragorn looked startled momentarily, then, with a faint smile, 
accepted the weapon from his hand. Legolas felt his breath catch as 
the Aragorn’s stormy grey eyes met his own.

“We have trusted you this far, you have not led us astray. Forgive me, 
I was wrong to despair.”

There, it was said. Now if only if his heart would stop beating in his 
ears he would make a smooth retreat. With any luck he would be able 
to avoid Aragorn until his lust was sated with the blood of the enemy.

“Ú-moe edaved, Legolas,” Aragorn responded meaningfully, laying a 
firm hand on the elf’s shoulder. Legolas responded in kind, but as he 
lay his palm on the ranger’s shoulder he could feel the muscles 
rippling under the maille and he knew his control was weakening. For 
a long moment they stood locked together. Legolas’ clear blue eyes 
widened as Aragorn’s held him fast.

The elf could sense a rush of thoughts and feelings emanating from 
the would-be King. Thoughts of death were very close to the surface. 
The mortal knew he had nearly lost his life to the river after the warg 
attack. And there was the strong possibility that neither of them 
would live out this night. But there was something else there, Legolas 
could feel it, urgent and insistent…

Suddenly afraid, Legolas tried to pull back. But Aragorn’s grip was 
firm, and as the elf tried to step away it only tightened, the ranger’s 
fingers digging almost painfully into his skin.

“No Legolas, you will not escape me this time,” Aragorn said, 
reaching out to grasp the elf firmly by the shoulders. Legolas could 
feel his knees weaken and it was all he could do not to collapse into his 
arms.

Then the ranger’s mouth was on his and his course beard was biting 
at the elf’s smooth cheeks. Aragorn kissed him passionately, almost 
furiously, his teeth tugging at his lower lip, his tongue pushing its way 
into his mouth.

Just as suddenly he pulled away. Dazed, Legolas opened his eyes, his 
body flooded with sensation. Aragorn was holding him at arm’s 
length again, but this time a wry smile played upon his lips. 

“I could not have thought it true,” he said. “Arwen told me, but I did 
not believe.” 
Legolas’ lips worked wordlessly as he struggled to understand 
Aragorn’s meaning.  Sensing his confusion, the ranger laughed out 
loud and drew the elf tight against him.

“She told me that you would not take it amiss if I were to approach 
you thusly,” Aragorn murmured, his lips nipping at Legolas’ pointed 
elvish ears.  “And she was right. I can see it in your eyes.”

Legolas let out a low moan and poured into it all of the anguish he had 
felt since they had set out from Rivendell. All of those days watching 
Aragorn out of the corner of his eye, all of the nights when he’d stood 
watch over his sleeping body filled with longing…

But Aragorn did not give the elf time to consider those wasted nights. 
His mouth was hot on his throat, kissing, sucking, biting. His hands 
were at the nape of his neck, twined in his long blonde hair, crawling 
down his back, crushing his slender body  against him.

Recovering from his initial shock, the elf responded by arching his 
back, pressing his cock hard against the ranger. His mouth sought out 
Aragorn’s and this time he was the one darting his tongue out to taste 
the man.

He was running his long white fingers across Aragorn’s mailled chest 
when he realized the man was fumbling with his breeches. This time it 
was the elf that laughed as he reached down to give him a hand.

Aragorn sank to his knees in front of him as Legolas undid the ties, 
slowly and deliberately. He’d thought too long on this moment not to 
savour it fully. Aragorn licked his lips in anticipation, his eyes wide 
with desire. As Legolas freed himself of his breeches, the ranger 
gasped audibly. Like the twin knives he wore at his waist, Legolas was 
long and curved. 

With a strangely grateful look up at the elf, Aragorn parted his lips 
and took the length of him into his mouth. Legolas bit down on his lip 
to stop himself from crying out. It wouldn’t do to have Gimli or one of 
the Rohirrim interrupt them now.

Aragorn’s mouth was hot and unrelenting as he worked his way up 
and down his shaft. He dove down, taking in as much as he could, 
then worked his way back, mouthing his way up until he reached the 
top, where he paused to swirl his tongue around the head before 
diving again. A low growl was building in the elf’s throat. He had 
been aroused even before Aragorn had kissed him and he knew that 
he would not last much longer at this pace.

Finally, he pulled away, leaving Aragorn panting on his knees. 
Legolas pushed the ranger backwards onto the cold stone floor and 
shoved his hauberk up onto his chest. The weight of it had been 
concealing Aragorn’s own bulge, which was now visibly straining 
against his leathers.

The elf’s bright blue eyes fixed on Aragorn’s, which were dilated and 
unfocused. He tried to project his overwhelming lust at the ranger, 
knowing that as a mortal with only a trace of elvish blood in him he 
would not be able to sense it as another elf could. But at least some 
small part of that sensation reached the man because he closed his 
eyes, dropped his head back and let out a deep groan. Only then did 
Legolas reach in and grasp the ranger’s cock.

It was not so long as his own, but thicker and well-shaped. He 
wrapped his hand around it as he might the hilt of a sword, pulling 
firmly. More moaning from Aragorn. Legolas smiled.

He drew Aragorn’s breeches further down his body, exposing his 
naked flesh from his hard stomach to the tops of his thighs. Slowly at 
first, and then more swiftly, the elf stroked the rigid shaft of 
Aragorn’s cock. His cool white fingers burned from the heat of it. 
Gradually, he worked up a rhythm, letting himself be guided by the 
noises coming from deep inside the ranger’s throat. 

He wanted to take the man in his mouth, as Aragorn had done for 
him. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the ranger’s face, so 
achingly beautiful, trapped in the throes of his own volatile passion. In 
that moment, the disparity between his lover’s ephemeral nature  and 
his own immortality seemed unbearable. Legolas was overwhelmed 
with the need to make the man cry out, in pain and in pleasure, to pin 
this moment to the fabric of time so that it would never be lost to him. 

But Aragorn’s cries were becoming louder now, and more insistent. 
Legolas reached up and placed two fingers to his lips to quiet him. 
Aragorn stifled his groan and drew them into his mouth, sucking hard 
on the tips.

Legolas couldn’t resist any longer, and bent his head to Aragorn’s 
pleasure. The man’s eyes flew open as he felt warm soft lips close 
around the head of his cock. His strong calloused hands, which had 
been fluttering helplessly at his sides, reached out to lock around 
Legolas’ head. He buried his fists in the pale blonde hair, his breath 
coming fast and ragged through parted lips.

Aragorn’s hips began to rock, pushing his cock deeper into Legolas’ 
mouth as he pulled him down hard against him. Legolas kept up a 
steady pressure with his lips and tongue, gasping for air between 
thrusts.

Glancing up to watch the man’s reaction, the elf swiftly withdrew his 
fingers from Aragorn’s mouth and pressed them gently to the tight 
opening of his ass. The ranger gasped and bucked wildly, squirming 
against the exquisite pressure. 

Now Legolas worked to complicate the man’s pleasure. His mouth 
moved hard over his cock while his fingers pushed farther inside him. 
When his buried fingers struck a sweet spot, Aragorn lost control of 
his words, and they burst from his now unoccupied mouth in a 
torrent.

“Ahh Legolas, yes… by the Valar… my sweet prince… I’ve never 
felt…. Oh please… Legolas… ahhhHHH!” One final brutal thrust lift 
Aragorn’s hips clear off the ground. His body arched as his seed flood 
the elf’s mouth. Hot and salty, it hit the back of his throat, and he 
drank it down willingly.

For a moment, the hall was strangely quiet as Aragorn’s cries died 
against the silent stone walls. Legolas withdrew from the ranger, 
pulling up on one elbow to catch his expression. The man’s face was 
slack, his strong jaw relaxed. A sheen of  sweat covered his forehead. 
His eyes flickered open to find Legolas peering at him with a mixture 
of lust and envy.

With a shy smile, Aragorn reached out for Legolas, attempting to 
draw his body down on top of him. The elf resisted. Aragorn looked 
down to where the elf’s cock stood straight out from his breeches. It 
was painfully hard, but when Aragorn reached for it, Legolas drew 
back.

“You know what I would have of you,” the elf said, his voice thick 
with his desire. Aragorn moaned softly, involuntarily. His eyes 
lowered for a moment as he swallowed hard. He nodded slowly.

“And would you have it of me?” the elf asked softly, his voice barely a 
whisper. Again, the ranger nodded, a warm flush spreading over his 
rugged features. Legolas tilt his head to one side, considering the man 
carefully. In those steel grey eyes, the elf could read an intoxicating 
combination of fear and excitement. But it was not enough. 

He shook his head. “Laa, nin seron,” he said with a sad smile. 
Aragorn choked out his protestation, but the elf was unmoved. “If you 
would please me, take me again as you did before.”

Aragorn looked profoundly disappointed and profoundly relieved at 
the same time, but he spread his cloak out onto the ground and drew 
Legolas down underneath him. Sensing the elf’s desperation as well as 
the urgency of their situation (the sun was setting, an army of orcs 
was drawing near and the dwarf Gimli was sure to come stumbling in 
at any moment) the man set about to bring Legolas his fulfilment as 
quickly as possible. 

With forceful strokes he buried the elf’s cock in his throat. Reaching 
beneath Legolas’ leather tunic, Aragorn took his nipples between his 
fingers and tugged. That seemed to undo the elf and he shuddered 
violently, a stream of fire burning Aragorn’s tongue and searing his 
throat. Legolas continued to tremble for several moments, as the 
ranger lapped softly at his retreating member. Then the man gathered 
him up in his arms and lift him onto the table. Legolas wrapped his 
arms around the rangers neck and sighed, sweet and sorrowful. 

When Aragorn drew away there were tears on the elf’s cheeks, but a 
smile played upon his lips. They kissed, and sealed their pact of 
secrecy. When Gimli entered moments later, he found the elf 
adjusting Aragorn’s vanbraces. Then the sounds of the elf horns cut 
through the night and the battle closed in around them.

***