Title: Unexpected Friendship 1: A Man and an Elf 

Author: Neldluva 

Author's Email: neldluva@hotmail.com 

Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn 

Rating: It’ll get to be NC17-ish, I promise. 

Summary: While delivering Gollum to the capable hands of Mirkwood, 
Aragorn makes an unexpected acquaintance.  The friendship progresses...

Author’s notes: I’m sure it’s been done before, but I’m doing it anyways 
(you know, the whole “Aragorn goes to Mirkwood to get Gollum there 
and by the way fucks Legolas”).  But this is with my twist, which I hope 
you’ll appreciate.  Hmm . . . for one thing, I don’t write blond Legolas.  
I’m sorry; when I read the book, I never pictured him blond.  If you could 
give me feedback on this point especially, I’d appreciate it.  Um, what else 
to say?  Please email me and let me know how you like this!

Not beta’d, so any mistakes are mine.  By the way, I tend to change 
personas quite a bit.  Call me weird.  Tell me if it’s disconcerting for you.
      
*

Aragorn sighed in exasperation as he tugged on the rope attached to the 
emaciated creature.  “Come along,” he ordered in frustration.  “You’ve 
caused me enough trouble already, and soon enough I’ll be rid of you.”

The creature called Gollum sniveled, pulling back on the rope.  “Let us 
go!” he pleaded.  “We does it no harm, precious!  All we wants is nice 
fishes!”

“Well, we have different plans for you,” the Ranger murmured, half to 
himself.  He gazed longingly towards the forest ahead of him.  Greenwood 
it had once been called.  Then the evil had come and nearly devoured it, 
rendering it the shadowy realm of Mirkwood.  The lone beacon in this 
forsaken land was the realm of Thranduil the Elf King.  That was where 
Aragorn was taking Gollum, as the wizard Gandalf had instructed him.

Aragorn began walking again, pulling the reluctant Gollum behind him.  
They had weaned precious little information from the poor tortured soul, 
but a little help was better than none.  Gandalf had received the answers he 
needed, leaving Aragorn to take Gollum to Mirkwood, where he could be 
looked after.  So far, it had proved to be an unrewarding and thankless 
task; Aragorn had been insulted, had thrown mud at him, and been 
subjected to the ceaseless whining of the pathetic creature for days.  He 
was cold, tired, and hungry, and all he wanted was a place to curl up and 
go to sleep.

~

The forest was dark and dreary, no different from the last time Aragorn 
had visited.  He and Gollum had settled down for the night in a small 
clearing.  The Man had permitted Gollum to fish in a little stream close by 
but took none for himself; the waters of Mirkwood were notoriously 
poisonous.  Aragorn figured anything Gollum found was unlikely to hurt 
the poor thing, but he was unwilling to take any risk for himself.  So he 
chewed a strip of jerky, accompanied by the less-than-tasteful sounds of 
Gollum gulping down his dinner.

“Go to sleep, you scoundrel,” Aragorn said testily, curling up in his cloak.  
He still kept a tight hold on the rope binding Gollum, and he was 
fortunately a light sleeper.

Gollum grumbled, whined, spat, then circled like a dog and lay down.  He 
didn’t sleep yet; oh, no, he would not sleep while held captive by the Man.  
No sooner had he escaped from his torturers in the land of ash and fire 
than he had been set upon by the two Men.  One was very powerful, and 
had turned a blinding light on him.  The other carried a sharp sword, and 
Gollum was not at all eager to feel it.  The old Man had left him with the 
younger, and the younger Man had forced him to wear out his feet walking 
all the way to this miserable forest.  Well, at least the nighttime white-face 
could not find him here.  All the darksome trees shielded him completely 
from her eyes.

While neither being slipped into sleep completely, they settled into a wary 
doze.

~

The Elves watched the Man and his charge make their slow progression 
through the forest.  They had been watching the trespassers for two days, 
ever since they had stumbled upon them in their patrols.  A few of the 
Elves disagreed with their Prince about leaving them alive, but so far 
Legolas had seen nothing threatening about them.  He didn’t like the 
sniveling creature, but it seemed harmless.  And he was confident enough 
in their skills that they could take down the Man before he could hurt 
them.  And so they were alive.

However, the Orcs were completely unexpected.  They seemed to appear 
out of nowhere.  Legolas cursed silently.  They were too close to Dol 
Guldor to let their guard down, and look where they had ended up.  He 
was about to order his patrol to flee when he looked down at the Man and 
his creature.

They were in trouble.  The Man had been surprised, and he was too 
distracted by his panicked companion to save himself.  Legolas sighed.  
His friends often told him his heart was too good for his own good, and he 
wanted to agree with them.

He called to his patrol, already sending his arrows with a swish-thunk into 
Orc-flesh.  He leapt down from his safe spot high in a tree to more 
adequately aid the Man.  There was a flash of gratitude in the grey eyes 
before they were forced back into defending themselves.

The Orcs, little more than a scouting party, were easily dispatched with.  
Legolas knelt to wipe the vile black blood from his sword before turning 
back to face the Man.

~

Aragorn studied the Elf.  It seemed he and his patrol had appeared out of 
thin air.  They had saved his life, and for that he was thankful.  Doubly 
thankful, Aragorn thought.  This one was beautiful.  Beautiful in the way a 
snake is beautiful before it strikes.

“Hannon lle,” Aragorn said in Elvish.  “Thank you.”

The black eyes of the Elf sharpened.  “Who are you that you know our 
tongue?”

The Mirkwood Elf’s Elvish was strongly accented, but Aragorn could still 
make out what he said.  “I come as a friend of Gandalf the Grey.  
Mithrandir.”

The Elf nodded, still not standing down.  “And who is Mithrandir’s 
friend?”

“Estel.”

“And the creature?”

“He is called Gollum, or Smeagol.  He –” Aragorn looked around 
frantically.  Somehow Gollum had gotten lost.  “Where did he go?”

Another Elf stepped up to him.  “Lose this?” he asked, handing him the 
rope attached to Gollum.

“Thank you,” Aragorn said again.  “Here, I bear a note from Mithrandir 
explaining my presence.”  He handed the piece of parchment to his 
inquisitor, who he guessed was the leader.  He allowed his fingers to brush 
the Elf’s hand, but quickly pulled away at the narrowing of those steel-
hard black eyes.

The Elf’s eyes scanned the paper, revealing no expression.  He looked up, 
still regarding Aragorn.

“We will accompany you to our King, Estel,” he said as he folded the note 
to place in his belt.  “And we shall see what he says.  Come.”

Aragorn took a few steps, then stumbled.  He had nearly forgotten about 
the wound in his leg.  He growled.  It looked nasty enough to keep him 
from walking for several days.

“Wait a moment,” he called to the Elves.  Only their leader turned back.  
“I’m hurt, I can’t go with you.”

He bore scrutiny.  Fortunately, the decision was quickly made.

“Gwaewen, Quessefin,” the Elf called to two of his comrades.  “Take 
this,” he gestured to Gollum, “back to the City.  I will remain with the 
Man.”

“My lord!” the female Elf protested.  “One of us should –“

“I will remain here.”  He gave her a hard glance.  “Go on ahead.  Warn 
Thranduil about the Orcs around this area.”

She looked about to protest again, but held her tongue.  She took the rope 
and walked away with the others.

When they were alone, the Elf turned back to Aragorn.  “Well, go on, lay 
down.  If I’m going to tend your wounds…”

“I am perfectly able to tend my own wounds, thank you very much,” 
Aragorn said stiffly.  He still wasn’t so sure if he could trust this Elf.  He 
also wasn’t sure if he could trust his body beneath the Elf’s hands.

“Nonsense, don’t be stubborn.  Look at these,” he said, picking up one of 
Aragorn’s hands in his own pale, elegant fingers.  Aragorn’s breath caught 
at the soft touch.  “I wouldn’t trust these hands on a sword, let alone 
cleaning an injury.”

The Elf gave him a smile, the first he had seen in a long time.  Aragorn 
basked in the glory of that smile.  He reluctantly complied with the Elf’s 
orders, remembering from experience the adeptness with which an Elf’s 
hands could work.

“You mind?” the Elf asked.

“What?”

“I’ll need to cut away some of your pants to get to the wound.  Do you 
mind?”

“No, of course not.”  The Elf took his knife and sliced away Aragorn’s left 
pants leg right above the knee and removed his boot.  The care in the 
touch was like a caress.  

The silence became awkward, at least for Aragorn.  “Well, what is your 
name?  I can’t just call you Elf.”

Black eyes gazed at him, gauging his potential.  They must have found 
him worthy.

“Legolas.  My name is Legolas.”

“Well, Legolas, you have my eternal gratitude for saving my life and the 
life of Gollum.” Aragorn spoke to distract himself from the pain of having 
his sliced leg cleaned.  And from the beauty of the Elf bent over his work.

“And you are the Dunadan?" Legolas asked curiously. He was trying to 
use all his skill in bandaging the human.  He hadn’t thought humans would 
be so similar yet so different from Elves.  He certainly hadn’t expected 
that they were so hairy.  Still, despite the hair, the human was handsome.  
For someone not of Elfkind.  And the Dunadan to boot!  Well, he could 
fight.

“Yes. You've heard of me?”

“Only rumor. It is seldom that many of our western kin visit us anymore.” 
He gave Aragorn another breathtaking smile. “So now I have to watch 
over the Dunadan, is that it?”

“Please, call me Aragorn.”

“Of course … Dunadan.” The Elf was bent over a small cooking fire, so 
Aragorn could not see his mischievous smirk. He tried to suppress his 
annoyance. The antics of this race of Elves were legendary.

“So, Aragorn,” Legolas continued, “we hear that you were fostered in 
Rivendell.”

“Aye, that is true. Why?”

Legolas handed him a bowl of stew. It wasn't much, but it was enough. 
And it was by far fresher than what Aragorn had been eating for the past 
few months.

“I had friends there,” the Elf said. “Did you know Elrohir and Elladan 
Peredhil?”

“Of course!” Aragorn exclaimed on hearing his brothers' names. “They 
were my foster brothers!”

Legolas looked overjoyed. “Really? How do they fare?”

“They are well, I suppose. After Celebrian passed away over the Sea, they 
–“

“Wait,” Legolas interrupted him. His black eyes had become serious. 
“Lady Celebrian has passed over to the Undying Lands?”

“Yes, but this was centuries ago.” Aragorn looked at his new companion 
curiously. “When did you last see them?”

“A very, very long time ago.” He closed his eyes, trying to count the 
years. “Two millennia of the years of Men.”

“Oh,” Aragorn sighed. He gazed at the Elf. “You are old.”

“Not that old. Are you done with your stew?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said, handing back the bowl. He settled himself back 
against a tree trunk, preparing to sleep.

“Did you know Arwen?”

The question was unexpected, and there seemed some other emotion than 
friendship in the Elf's voice. Aragorn answered truthfully.

“Not as well as the twins. She spent most of my childhood in Lothlorien. 
But I have seen the fair Undomiel, and she has accepted me. We are to be 
joined.”

The laugh startled Aragorn. He looked anxiously at Legolas.

“I am sorry if I scared you,” the Elf said through his laughter. He had to 
wipe tears away from his dark eyes. Aragorn would rather it was his hand 
that brushed those silvery tears away.  “I just never imagined she would 
choose someone such as yourself. There is no offense meant, but when I 
knew Arwen she would have preferred someone much less dirty and well 
traveled as you. Forgive me, I insult you.”

“No, I agree with you. I don't know why she chose me, but I love her, and 
I think she loves me.”

“No doubt.” The Elf chuckled again. “A Ranger, Arwen.”

“How did you know her?”

The Elf sent one of those long, considering glances his way. Aragorn was 
not used to such scrutiny, and shifted uneasily. What would it take to gain 
some trust in this forest?  It would be far too easy to lose himself in those 
endless black pools.

“This was many years ago, mind you. The last time I saw any of the 
Peredhil family. Believe it or not, they came here with the intent of having 
me join with Arwen.” He looked at the Man again to judge his reaction. 
Seeing no expression on the well-skilled features, he continued.

“However, we decided mutually that the match was no good. In my heart, 
I loved another, and she was still too young to have found true love. And 
that is the brief story of Legolas and Arwen. And let me tell you, my 
friend, you could not have chosen a worthier Elf maiden to join. I wish 
you both the best of luck and a long, happy life together.”

“Your goodwill is much appreciated, friend. But I am curious. The Elrond 
I know would never have given his daughter to a mere warrior.”

“No, I'm a bit higher-class than a simple warrior. Good night, Aragorn. 
Fear not, I will keep watch.”

But Aragorn was determined not to sleep. He still did not trust the Elf 
completely, and he trusted the forest even less. A soft sound floated to his 
ears. Looking through squinted eyes, he watched the Elf, Legolas, as he 
calmly cleaned his weapons. Legolas was humming, so quietly another 
mortal would not have heard it. It was a low, comforting sound, and 
Aragorn was thankful for the beautiful voice.  It was a voice to match the 
eyes, to match the way he moved – slow and seductive, as no mortal could 
be. Slowly, unconsciously, he fell asleep.
      
      ~ Legolas’s POV

I watched the human sleep.  It would forever be eerie to me that their eyes 
closed whilst they slept.  I nearly went over to see if he was still breathing.

I suppose anything mortal is beautiful.  If something is going to end one 
day, of course you celebrate its presence.  That is the nature of life.  He 
was such a young creature!  It had been years since last I met something 
so young yet so courageous.  And beautiful.  Never forget that fatal mortal 
beauty.

Perhaps he wasn’t much to look at physically.  He was what he was: a 
dirty, weather-beaten Man.  There was hair on his face and mud on his 
clothes, and he even smelled questionable.  But he had kind eyes and a 
good heart.  He was a sturdy warrior as well, that much I had seen.  I 
wondered if we would ever fight side-by-side.

I crouched close to him, examining him.  His breathing was loud and 
mortal.  Dust from the road stuck to his skin, as it never would to an Elf.  I 
lifted a hand to brush a piece of hair out of his closed eyes.  He stirred at 
my touch.  Yes, he had been raised by the Elves, trained by the Elves.  It 
would take an Elf to surprise him at all.

I settled back against my own tree.  The human intrigued me. 

~ Normal POV

The world slowly came back into focus.  Aragorn did not remember where 
he was or how he had quite come to be there.  Wait, there had been 
Gandalf, and Gollum, and Orcs – the Elves!  The Elves had come to their 
rescue.  And one kind one had stayed behind.  Aragorn sat, looking 
frantically for his companion.  A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he saw 
he new friend crouched over their packs, strands of dark hair falling into 
his pale, angular face.  The Elf might have looked vulnerable, if Aragorn 
hadn’t known Elves so well.  It was incredibly arousing.

“Here, eat this,” Legolas said without looking at Aragorn.  He tossed the 
Man a piece of bread.

But it wasn’t just bread; it was Elvish waybread, lembas.  “What is this?” 
he asked incredulously.  “I thought only the Elves of Lorien made lembas 
bread!”

Legolas chucked, turning to the human.  “No, we make our own waybread 
here.  Eat, you need your strength.”

So Aragorn obeyed.  This lembas was different from what he had tasted 
before, somewhat nuttier and earthier.  It was a nice change.

“You have been to the Golden Wood?”

Aragorn looked up at the unexpected question.  Legolas was staring at 
him, black eyes blazing with curiosity.  He swallowed the bread in his 
mouth.  The intensity in those eyes dried his mouth, and Aragorn 
wondered what it would be like to make those black eyes wide for other, 
more pleasurable reasons.

“Yes,” he answered carefully.  “Once or twice.”

“What is it like?”

“Beautiful can hardly describe it,” Aragorn sighed, lost in memory.  
“Especially in the springtime.  The past year’s growth has just fallen, 
turning the ground beneath your feet to a carpet of gold.  The tree trunks 
stand tall in pillars of silver, and high above the new growth shines green 
like emeralds.  There is no evil, no pestilence in that land, not while Lady 
Galadriel reigns.”

“You have met the Lady of Light?” Legolas asked with a gasp.  He had 
barely been able to breathe with all of Aragorn’s description.  It sounded 
like a lovely land, one he longed to visit someday.  And the Man’s deep, 
harmonious voice gave everything a tangible quality.  Unconsciously, 
Legolas was staring at Aragorn as he told his story.  And Aragorn couldn’t 
help noticing, and wondering at the intent behind that stare.

“Yes.  She contains all of the beauty of her land, and more.  She is the 
essence of Elvendom.  You have never been to Lothlorien?”

“No,” Legolas answered sadly.  “My people have tales of the distant 
Golden Wood, but it is centuries since any Mirkwood Elf traveled there.  
However slim the chances, it has always been my fondest dream to visit 
that Golden Land.”

“Perhaps you will one day,” Aragorn said with a smile.  He dared to lay 
his hand upon the Elf’s pale one.

Legolas returned the grin, squeezing the comforting hand, but the 
expression on his face quickly morphed to a look of dread.

“Stay still,” he ordered Aragorn.  Calmly, slowly, he stood.  He carefully 
raised his bow, aimed, and shot into the trees.  A terrible, inhuman wail 
pierced the silent forest, accompanied by frantic rustling in the trees.

“Wait here,” Legolas said, picking up his sword.  “Don’t move, and don’t 
make any sounds.”

Unsteadily, Aragorn rose, attempting to see the Elf through the murky 
forest light.  There was more rustling, a few more terrible screams, and a 
shout in Elvish, and then all was silent.

“Legolas?” Aragorn called, cursing his injury that he was unable to help 
his friend in need.  He wanted to protect Legolas, to hold him and never 
let him get hurt.  “Legolas?”

Calm as you please Legolas strode out of the forest, wiping his blade on 
the grass.  “We are no longer safe here.  The spiders have found us,” he 
said in frustration.  “I knew I should not have delayed.  Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Aragorn replied stubbornly.  “Did you just kill a spider?”

“Yes,” the Elf answered, distracted.  Legolas eyed the wound skeptically.  
“Not well enough.  Your leg, I mean.  You can’t run fast enough to escape 
the spiders.  I’ll have to carry you.”

“What?”

“Here, take these,” Legolas said, tossing him their packs.  He crouched 
down in front of the man.  “Now climb on.  Put your arms around my 
neck.”

The idea of an Elf carrying a human was unimaginable.  Legolas looked 
far too fragile to bear him even a short distance.  And Aragorn trusted his 
body even less than he had the previous day.  “You won’t be able to carry 
me far –“

“Nonsense.  We won’t have to go far.  Come on, we don’t have much 
time.”  Legolas gave him a look that demanded obedience.

“Alright,” Aragorn said reluctantly, wrapping his arms around the slender 
shoulders.  The Elf felt far too delicate to be doing this.  By the Valar, he 
hoped Legolas couldn’t feel his erection that was quickly becoming 
apparent.

“Now, I’m going to climb a tree.  You have to hold yourself on, alright?”

“Alright.”  Aragorn was still skeptical.

However, Legolas would prove him wrong in his doubts.  Easily as some 
sort of beetle or squirrel he scuttled up a tree trunk, taking no notice of the 
extra weight on his back.  Once on a stable branch, he took the Ranger’s 
knees in his hands, securing him.  Aragorn’s breath caught at the touch, 
and his heart skipped a beat.  Again, Aragorn was amazed by the ease with 
which his new companion leapt from branch to branch.  Soon they were 
rushing away from their unsafe camp.  Relaxing into the smooth gait of 
the Elf, he took time to examine the pointed ear in front of him.  Unwilling 
to unwind his arms from their near embrace to examine it more carefully, 
he blew softly on the ear.  Legolas stopped suddenly and shivered.

“Please don’t do that, Aragorn,” he said.  What he didn’t say was that it 
felt too good.  It had been quite some time since Legolas had last had a 
lover, and this human’s touch might undo him.  And this Aragorn 
obviously liked him, judging from the erection poking his back.  Legolas 
sighed silently.  This might be a little more difficult than he had imagined.

Aragorn remained silent, granting the Elf’s request.  Legolas’s hair 
smelled wild, like the forest after a rainstorm.  They had traveled a good 
distance with no more uncomfortable incident when, at last, Legolas 
dropped to the ground, carefully propping Aragorn against a tree.  The Elf 
didn’t even look out of breath.

“That was amazing!” Aragorn exclaimed.  “How did you do that?”

“I have had nearly three thousand years to learn this forest and its 
pathways.  I know it as I know the back of my hand.  I told you it was 
nonsense to worry about me.”  Legolas smiled that infectious Elf-smile, 
but it soon turned to a grimace of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Aragorn asked, rushing to his friend’s side.

“It’s nothing,” Legolas protested, clutching at his shoulder.  “Spider must 
have caught me.”

Aragorn slowly lifted the cloak.  He frowned as he saw the nasty-looking 
gash in the Elf’s pale shoulder.  He began to tear pieces from his own 
cloak to wash and bind it.

“I’m fine,” Legolas said.  “I can tend it myself.  I’ve had worse than this.”

“No.  You healed my wound, let me return the favor.  These hands aren’t 
that clumsy.  Now, hold still.  This might sting.”

The Elf clinched his teeth as the Ranger began to clean his wound.  He 
both wanted and dreaded the touch.  “I’ve gotten worse than this,” he said 
as he watched the blood washed from his shoulder.  Aragorn looked at him 
compassionately and, possibly, lustfully.  “You weren’t there sixty years 
ago when the Orcs attacked the Lonely Mountain.  Now that was a battle!  
There must have been –“

“Are you ever quiet?” Aragorn asked testily.  The Elf’s incessant talking 
was making him nervous.

“Sorry.  I’ve never had a wound bound by a Man, and I suppose I’m a bit 
jumpy.”

“Well, there, it’s all done,” Aragorn said as he tied the last knot.  “And 
you didn’t even need to be jumpy.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Legolas said, admiring the fine work.  “Now 
come, we must go.  We’ve still a long way ahead of us.”  He rose, ready to 
be off.  “Can you walk now?  We don’t have to go fast.”

“Yes, I can walk.”  He would follow the Elf anywhere.

“Then follow me.”  Legolas sent him a reassuring grin before stepping 
into the trees.

~

They followed no path that Aragorn could see, even with his sharp Ranger 
eyes.  The trees were dark and oppressive over his head, and he shivered at 
the malcontent he heard.  He thoroughly believed now the tales they told 
of the evil that had invaded Mirkwood.  Still, the Elf before him kept up a 
quick pace, and was singing a tune that lightened the mood.  Strange, 
Aragorn thought.  It was strange to feel so safe with such a vulnerable-
looking companion.  A companion he wanted nothing more than to ravish.

Legolas had good hands for healing (among other things, Aragorn thought 
longingly.  Those slender pale hands could be put to such better uses).  
Already his leg was starting to feel better, and he had no problem keeping 
up with the lanky figure ahead of him.  Still, Legolas had been telling the 
truth when he said they had a ways to go. 

“Legolas!” Aragorn cried.  “Hold on a moment, I need to rest.”

“Does your leg hurt you?” Legolas asked as he knelt beside Aragorn, who 
had made himself a seat on a root.  “Perhaps I should check it.”

“No, no,” Aragorn protested.  “It’s fine.  I just need to rest.”

“Of course.”  He sat next to Aragorn, simply enjoying the companionship.  
Or was it more?  Legolas was no longer certain of his motives.  Somehow, 
the human had aroused a longing in him, a desire that seemed nigh 
unquenchable.  He took a shuddering breath.

“Legolas?” Aragorn asked, concerned.  The Elf kept his eyes away from 
the Man, certain that his desire would be clearly visible.  He wondered 
about Aragorn’s motives.  Would the Man protest if he . . . no, it was 
unthinkable.

“Legolas?” Aragorn asked again.  “Is your shoulder hurting you?”

Legolas was startled out of his daydreams, startled into looking the Man 
directly in the eyes.  “Yes, a bit.  No, not really.  Have you rested enough?  
We should go.”

“I’m ready if you are.”  Aragorn stood a bit stiffly.  While the Elf had 
suggested leaving, he made no move to go.  Aragorn seized his chance.

Legolas was startled by the presence of lips on his.  What an interesting 
taste!  The Man tasted of leather and pipe-weed, of travel and faraway 
places.  Legolas did not break the kiss, for it did feel good to his anxious 
soul.

Aragorn was amazed.  Legolas had the most wonderful lips he had ever 
sampled (though that number was admittedly low).  So soft and 
wonderful, and unwilling to be simply dominated, in that way unlike the 
women he had kissed.  Legolas pulled away gently; it did not feel like 
rejection.

“Hmm,” the Elf said.  He stood so close to Aragorn that they breathed the 
same breath.

“Legolas, I –“ Aragorn began, only to be interrupted.

“Come along, Aragorn!” the joyous voice called as Legolas leapt over the 
tree roots.  “I want to sleep in my own bed tonight!”

That puzzled the Man.  Did he mean he did not want to share Aragorn’s 
bed, or that Aragorn would have to come to his bed, or did he simply not 
want him?  Oh, that would have been terrible!  He was so lost in his 
musings that he hardly noticed when Legolas had stopped in his tracks.

Aragorn looked up.  They had stopped before a grand cavern.  “Oh,” 
Aragorn sighed.  The cavern was a sight to see.  The gates were open, 
allowing Aragorn to see inside.  It was simply decorated in the elegant 
Elvish way, decidedly different from Rivendell and Lothlorien.  The 
colors of the Mirkwood Elves were darker than those of Rivendell, and 
most certainly not the pale gold of the Galadhrim.  While the cloth was 
just as rich, much in silk and velvet, there were more blacks and midnight-
deep blues and rich greens.  Branches of ash and aspen decorated the halls, 
and it smelled warm and woody.  Passing Elves eyed him suspiciously 
until they saw whom he was with.  Then they nodded and bowed both at 
him and at Legolas.  Legolas, who was carefully removing his quiver and 
bow from the uninjured shoulder.

“Legolas!” shouted a voice.  Aragorn spun around, looking for a face.  
There was another Elf approaching, a mixed look of frustration and joy on 
his face.  “Legolas, where have you been?  Father’s been worried sick 
about you.”

“Calm down, Brethildur,” Legolas said with exasperation.  Catching 
Aragorn’s glance, he rolled his eyes.  “I was just helping out a new 
friend.”

“New friend?  What new friend?”  Brethildur wheeled around, finally 
seeing Aragorn.  The Man smiled hesitantly.

“A Man?” Brethildur exploded.  “You’re in for it this time, little brother!”

“Brethildur, you are overreacting.  Aragorn was injured, and he needed my 
help.”

“Ah, of course.  Little Legolas, who always needs to help poor injured 
birds and cats and humans.”  It might have been wise to stop there.  
Aragorn could see the flash of anger in Legolas’s eyes.  “Here is Father.  
I’m sure he can sort it all out.”

“What is this?” asked a new voice, one full of power and authority.  
“Brethildur, are you harassing your brother?”  A new Elf joined them.  He 
looked much like the other two, so Aragorn supposed this was the 
“Father” they spoke of.  He also noticed that the Elf wore a crown.  A 
crown?  The King of Mirkwood stood before him.

“Hello, who is this?” Thranduil asked, looking Aragorn up and down.  “A 
new friend, Legolas?”

“Yes, Father,” Legolas answered.  For the first time, Aragorn detected a 
hint of meekness in Legolas’s voice.  He looked at Thranduil again.  No, 
this Elf looked like he was nothing to mess with.

“My lord,” Aragorn began, “my thanks to you and your son for delivering 
my charge and I into the capable hands of Mirkwood.  I would be most 
grateful for your hospitality.”

“Hmm,” Thranduil considered.  His eyes were silver-colored, like 
Brethildur’s.  Aragorn decided Legolas must have gotten his black eyes 
from his mother.

“He can stay,” the King said.  “Come, Legolas, let’s get this guest a 
room.”

“Thank you, Father,” Legolas said, bowing.

“Thank you, my lord,” Aragorn echoed.  He followed Legolas down the 
hall.  Once they were out of earshot of the main cavern, Legolas turned to 
face him.

“I am sorry about that,” Legolas said, brushing his dark brown hair out of 
his eyes.  “Brethildur does have a tendency to blow up at me like that.  He 
doesn’t like it that I risk my life on my patrols.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a Prince!” Aragorn exclaimed.  “Had I 
known –“

“Had you known, you would have acted differently, is that it?”  Legolas’s 
eyes were blazing again.  “No, I would rather have you treat me as a friend 
and companion, not a Prince.  After all, how should I treat the King of 
Gondor?”

“I am no King of Gondor.”  Aragorn shook his head.  He wanted none of 
that responsibility.  And he couldn’t help the nervousness that rose in his 
throat at Legolas’s request.  Only as friend and companion?  It would be 
too difficult.

“But you will be a King.”  Legolas opened a door into a cozy room.  “Here 
you are, Dunadan.  You might want to rest.  If you need anything, my 
room is two doors on the left.  Feel free to ask for anything you desire.”

With that, the Elf left the room.  The Man was alone with his thoughts and 
his injury.  The implication in Legolas’s voice had been unmistakable.  He 
yawned.  Legolas was right, he was tired.  He stretched himself out on the 
bed to get some well-earned sleep.  His dreams were filled with dark-
haired Elves and their soft kisses and mournful eyes.

~

“My lord?”  The voice was accompanied by a rapping on his door.  “Lord 
Aragorn?”

Aragorn groaned.  His body felt stiff and sore, despite the restful sleep.  
His eyes didn’t want to open, and his legs didn’t want to move, but he 
opened the door.  An Elf maiden with glowing auburn hair stood before 
him.  He recognized her from Legolas’s patrol.

“You are Gwaewen?” he asked groggily.

“Yes, my lord.  I am here to tell you that this night there is to be a banquet, 
and you are invited to attend.”

“Where is Gollum?” Aragorn asked, remembering his purpose in coming 
to this forsaken forest.

“We have detained him in one of the lower cells.  He is still wild, my lord, 
but he is safe and unharmed.”

“Good, good.”  Aragorn sighed, relieved that his assigned task had been 
completed.

“What shall I tell the King?  Will you be present tonight?”

“Yes, of course.  One thing,” he said before she could walk away.  “I was 
wondering where I might find some more decent clothes and a bath.”

“Oh, yes.  I will see to it right away, my lord.”  She strode away quickly.  
Aragorn sighed, running his hands through his tangled hair.  He would 
definitely need to make himself more presentable if he was going to be in 
the company of the King of Mirkwood and his lovely son.

~

Gwaewen was quick about her promise, and soon a bath had been 
delivered to Aragorn’s room, along with some cleaner clothes.

“I hope they fit,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she took his weather 
beaten garments away.  “I’ll just take these to be washed.”

So Aragorn seized the chance to clean himself thoroughly and reveled in 
the hot water.  The grime of travel had long since been washed from his 
skin, and he knew he had to leave his watery sanctuary.  He stepped out 
reluctantly.

And thus he emerged from his room, cleaned, pressed, and brushed until 
he was satisfied that he could represent Rivendell at Mirkwood.  He saw a 
familiar dark-haired figure walking ahead of him.

“Legolas!” he said as he caught up with his friend.  He looked the Elf 
Prince over.  He had changed into richer clothes in colors of dark green 
and grey, and his shining dark hair was braided finer than it had been 
before.  Clean and beautiful and alluring was the picture he cast.  His tilted 
black eyes were like fine jewels.  And the leggings were sinfully tight.  
Aragorn felt his mouth go dry.

“Aragorn, how do you fare?” the Elf asked, eyes twinkling.  “You 
certainly smell better!”

“It does feel good to be clean.”

Legolas laughed.  “Yes, my family does tend to be rather particular about 
such things.  I must admit, you do look less Orcish when the dirt is rubbed 
off.”

“Orcish?” Aragorn exclaimed.  Legolas just looked mischievous.

“I hope you can dance, Aragorn of Imladris.  The Wood Elves are 
notorious for it.  We wouldn’t want to wear out your poor mortal legs.”

“I can dance.  And fear not, you will not wear me out.  For what else have 
I been trekking all over Middle-earth for than to dance with the Wood 
Elves of Mirkwood?”

“Indeed!” Legolas said with a chuckle.  “Here we are, Aragorn.”  An Elf 
opened a pair of double doors into the main chamber.  It had been 
beautifully prepared for the banquet; fresh boughs hung decoratively from 
the walls, as did many tapestries and relics of past years.  Elves milled like 
flowers all around, smelling of the forest and fog.  They seemed wilder 
and more fey than the Rivendell Elves, but that added to their aloof, 
mysterious allure.

“Come, Aragorn,” Legolas said, pulling the Man with him.  “Father wants 
you to sit with us.”

Just as the call for supper was announced, Aragorn was pushed into a seat.  
He found himself at the royal table, seated with the King and his Queen, as 
well as Legolas and his siblings.

“Hello,” said a she-Elf next to him.  She shared Brethildur’s silver eyes; a 
Princess, then.  “You must be lord Aragorn.  Legolas has told me about 
you.  I am his sister, Harmae.”

“Mae govannen, Princess,” Aragorn answered politely.  “It pleases me 
much to be present at your banquet.  I am honored.”

“Aren’t you a dear?” she exclaimed, her eyes crinkling in a smile.  “Where 
did you possibly find this one, Legolas?”

“In the middle of the forest, being attacked by Orcs,” mumbled the Prince 
from his food.  “Here, try some of this, Aragorn.  It is a Mirkwood 
specialty.”  He poured Aragorn a generous glass of wine.  “It is some of 
our most potent brew.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn murmured.  The wine made the room a little bit 
warmer and drew his attention to Legolas’s slender thigh pressed to his.

Aragorn relaxed, enjoying himself.  Indeed, he could not remember the 
last time he had done so.  The spontaneous nature of the Wood Elves, 
unlike the reserved nature of many of the Rivendell residents, made for 
exciting conversation.  Contrary to what Aragorn had heard and expected, 
the King was well informed of the goings-on outside of his forest.  He and 
Aragorn had a long discussion about the current condition of Minas Tirith.

But it was with Legolas that Aragorn found himself conversing most.  The 
Prince had a quick wit and a humorous side that appealed to Aragorn’s 
more serious constitution.  He was also very curious about the outside 
world.  Aragorn had to dredge from his memory the details about the 
rolling plains of Rohan, the jagged teeth of the Misty Mountains.  
Legolas’s eyes sparkled as he imagined the far-off places and relived 
Aragorn’s adventures.  And, for a while, those eyes were focused only on 
him.  There might as well have been nobody else in the room, for all 
Aragorn noticed.

At last, there came the sound of a flute and drums.  The quick pace echoed 
through the hall.  Elves glanced at one another, smiles on their faces.  It 
wasn’t long before the floor was covered with dancing Elvish couples, 
whirling in time to the pounding of the drum.

Aragorn turned to speak with Legolas . . . and found he wasn’t there.  He 
glanced through the crowd.  There was Legolas, smiling as he danced with 
an Elf maiden.

“Do you dance, human?”

Aragorn turned to face the speaker.  Her long, silvery hair was tied back 
from her face, and she wore a kind smile.

“Yes,” he answered.  “Shall we?”

From where Aragorn had been sitting and watching the dancers, the 
intricate moves hadn’t seemed that difficult.  However, in the midst of it 
all, he found his feet fumbling.  It was nearly all he could do to keep 
upright, and he relied on the Elf maiden for most of that.  As the song 
went on, Aragorn found whatever he needed to keep the semblance of 
dancing going.

Thankfully, the song ended.

“You danced well,” said his partner, “for a mortal.  Perhaps I shall have 
the pleasure again?”

“Perhaps later this evening, my lady,” Aragorn said.  He was still trying to 
catch his breath.  “I believe I need to sit down.”

She laughed.  “Of course.  Until later, my lord.”  She skipped off, finding 
herself a new partner.

Aragorn’s breath whooshed out.  His lungs were on fire and his feet felt 
loose and stringy.  Legolas had been right about the infamy of the Wood 
Elves dancing.  Speaking of that particular Elf, where was he?  Aragorn 
had lost sight of him in the midst of the dancing.

At last he spotted him.  The Elf was across the room, apparently having a 
very intense discussion with an Elf maiden.  Aragorn stood to walk over to 
his friend, but promptly sat back down at what he saw.

Legolas had the beautiful female Elf pressed against the wall.  Their 
mouths were locked in that age-old dance.  He had his hand up her skirt, 
uncaring of the eyes that saw.  And she was plainly being undone.  Her 
eyes had gone glassy and her head was tipped back, revealing her neck to 
Legolas’s ministrations.  Aragorn fancied he could hear her moans from 
where he sat.  The vision brought an unexpected rush of arousal through 
his body and pooling between his thighs.

“My lord?” another Elf maiden asked.  “Would you like to dance?”

Aragorn managed to tear his eyes away from Legolas and focused on his 
current proposition.  “Ah, yes, of course,” he stammered.  “Lead the way.”

And so he was caught up once again in the whirling frenzy that was the 
Wood Elves festivities.  He no longer had any time to muse about Legolas 
and his lusts, whatever they might be.  He was not freed from the 
maelstrom until the music stopped for the night.  He stood, leaning against 
a wall, trying to regain his bearings and his breath.  A touch on his 
shoulder startled him.

“Aragorn?” Legolas asked, looking at him curiously.  “You look tired, my 
friend.  I think perhaps our revels have worn you out, mortal.”

“Far from it,” Aragorn protested.  He straightened.  “I feel as though I 
could dance the night away.”

Legolas laughed.  “My friend, you are a horrible liar.  Come with me, we 
can recuperate together.  Come, Aragorn.  See?  I have wine!”  He gave a 
delighted grin, then set off down a hallway, leaving Aragorn to catch up as 
he would.

When at last they stopped their journey through the labyrinthine tunnels of 
the Elf City, they were in a study of some sort.  There were bookcases 
crammed with ancient writings, and rich leather chairs and sofas, and a 
few desks littered with papers and pens and ink.  There were a few 
portraits on the walls, beautifully vague, as Elvish art tended to be.  The 
room was dimly lit with some small lamps.

“Sit, Aragorn,” Legolas said, gesturing to the sofa.

“Where are we?” the human asked curiously.

Legolas turned his glimmering eyes on him.  “My study.  Do you like it?”

Aragorn nodded slowly.  It was a fine room.  It reminded him somewhat 
of Rivendell and the libraries that Elrond kept.

“Yes, I like it too.  It’s quiet.  A perfect place to come if you want to think.  
Wine?”  The Elf offered him the glass.

“I shouldn’t,” Aragorn said.

“Oh, yes you should.  It’ll get the shake out of those mortal legs.  This is 
one of our best brews.”

Hesitantly, Aragorn accepted the drink.  It was sweet and potent, and he 
could feel the alcohol thrum in his veins like a contented cat.  He sighed, 
relaxing further into the soft leather couch.  Legolas sat across from him, 
sipping at his wine.

“So, Dunadan,” he said with a smirk, lazily drawing his finger around the 
rim of the glass, “you have told me somewhat of your travels.  You have 
been far?”

“Yes,” Aragorn answered, “farther than I had ever dreamed I would go.  
Into the frozen north of the Forodwaith, west to Eriador where there are 
hobbits in the Shire, across Rhovannion, over the plains of Rohan and 
Gondor, even far south into Near-Harad.”

“Your feet must be worn out.”  The Elf sighed wistfully.  “It would be 
wonderful to wander as such, to see so many new things.  Our forest must 
seem dull.”

“You have not left Mirkwood?”

Another soft chuckle.  “No.  Only rarely do I venture out from the trees, 
and even then I do not go far.  But I dream,” he said, waving a hand at his 
books and documents.  “I have read of these distant lands you speak of.  I 
have studied their maps and topography and everything ever written about 
them.  I would go there, if I could.”

“Can’t you?”  Aragorn felt it an injustice that one so yearning to escape 
these bonds would be unable to enjoy the world at his feet.

“I am still young in the eyes of my people, Aragorn.”  For the first time 
since Aragorn had met the Elf, he looked sad.  “My eldest brother, 
Brethildur, is a thousand years and a half older than I.  He fought in the 
Last Alliance against the Enemy.  Compared to such an age, I am truly 
young.  But someday, someday I will go.  I will leave this forest, and I will 
find someplace else that is beautiful, and I will treasure it in my heart.”

“Legolas . . .” Aragorn said, voice trailing.  The Elf turned his bright eyes 
on him.  “Worry not, my friend.  Your adventure will come.  Would you 
come with me when I leave?”

Legolas laughed again.  He seemed lighthearted once more.  “Nay, 
Aragorn, I do not think my path lies with you just yet.  But come.  While 
we are together now, we must savor the moment.  To life!” he said, 
holding up his glass.

“To life,” Aragorn agreed.  The wine burned in his throat.  “Legolas, your 
kin brews the most potent wine I’ve ever tasted.  Lord Elrond would be 
ecstatic to get his hands on some.”

“Really?”  He had caught the Elf’s curiosity again.  “Well, I must 
remember to bring him some when next I visit.  Oh, you’re right, Aragorn.  
The wine is making me giddy, I’m afraid.”

“You, dear Legolas?  Giddy?  Why, I shall have to see it to believe it!” 
Aragorn exclaimed drunkenly.

“No, sir, I am quite drunk!” Legolas said, toppling over onto Aragorn so 
his head rested on the Man’s shoulder.  “Aragorn, I never really looked at 
your eyes before; you insist on closing them when you sleep.  They’re a 
pretty grey.”

“Pretty, I –“  Aragorn interrupted himself.  “You watch me sleep?”

“Hmm,” Legolas said, nodding.  “I like to.  I’ve never watched a Man 
sleep before.  It’s interesting.”

“You might think I’d be more interesting when I’m awake,” Aragorn said 
spitefully.

“Did I ever say you weren’t?”  His smile, all cunning white teeth, smacked 
of the predator, then instantly switched to warm, loving . . . and arousing.

Aragorn gasped, pushing the Elf away.  “Do not torture me as such, my 
friend.”

“What I meant was,” Legolas said as he crept closer again, “you are 
probably much more interesting awake than asleep.  I shall have to see.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured into Aragorn’s ear.  The Man could feel 
those long, slender fingers upon his cheekbone.  “Trust me, Aragorn.”

“I trust you,” he answered.  His voice was barely a breath.

Were his eyes open he might have seen Legolas smile tenderly at him, 
watching his face carefully for every reaction, then slowly dive down to 
touch his lips to Aragorn’s.  The kiss began chastely; one might have 
thought it was a mere accident, a casual touch.  Legolas gradually began to 
deepen it, and Aragorn responded fervently, bringing the Elf’s face closer 
to his own.  His seeking tongue was granted entrance to the other’s mouth, 
and he sighed in contentment.  Legolas ended it softly, placing another 
kiss on Aragorn’s cheek.

“Hmm,” he sighed, resting his head on the Man’s shoulder.

“It seems Wood Elves are notorious for more than just dancing,” Aragorn 
said, playing with the dark strands of hair.  Legolas flashed him a smile, 
another warm and seductive . . . and gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What?” Aragorn asked.  “Did I hurt you?”

“Ah, no, far from it.”  Black eyes gleamed from beneath heavy-lashed lids.  
“My ear.  All Elf ears are very sensitive, and – oh –“

Aragorn had decided to use his newfound knowledge to its fullest extent.

~ Legolas’s POV

He was a quick learner, and I admired him for it.  Had I known mortals 
would be so wily with their ways, I might never have attempted this.  
What was it I was doing, exactly?  It wasn’t as though I hadn’t seen the 
Man’s lustful glances toward me; indeed, a blind Elf would have noticed 
them.  And he had kissed me.  Or I had kissed him.  Somehow our lips had 
met, that was it.  Though I was far from familiar with the ways of Men, I 
understood this to be an open invitation.  And he certainly hadn’t resisted 
so far.  Arwen would have a nice time with this one.

I had never been the sort to abandon myself in lovemaking, but this Man, 
still so young and plainly inexperienced, was nearly undoing me.  My 
brothers told me that I had a fierce competitive streak, and I agreed with 
them.  I retaliated to this Man, this Aragorn; I kissed him as well as I knew 
how.

How do you describe lovemaking, especially to one who hasn’t 
experienced it?  I could hardly know.  By the time we parted for breath, 
we were both breathing heavily and Aragorn’s cheeks were flushed.  I grit 
my teeth as he touched me reverently.  ’Twas not the gentle touches I 
wanted, but the rough, the demanding.  I dragged him to my room, 
fortunately only a door away from my study.  I shut the door behind me, 
glancing back to make sure it was locked.  It would not do to have any 
interruptions.

“Legolas, what . . .” He paused, unsure.  “What does this mean?”

“You should know what this means, Son of Men,” I told him, pushing him 
back onto my bed.  I leaned in close, letting my lips brush his ear.  “It 
means you’re not going to sleep much tonight.”

His eyes blazed, and he clutched me close for a fierce kiss.  I felt his 
fingers twine in my hair and I relaxed.  It had been quite a while since I 
had taken a lover.  I stepped back slowly, the better to undress myself.

I heard his breath catch as I drew the heavy velvet robes off.  I nearly 
scoffed.  For one who had been fostered by Elves this should be no 
remarkable sight.  Off came the shirt, the boots, at last the leggings.  I 
sighed, freed at last to the Man’s eyes and the cool night air.  I looked at 
Aragorn.  He was eyeing me with such intensity that I felt my body should 
combust beneath his gaze.

I crept back to him, running my hands down the front of his robes.  I was 
surprised when he did not resist my undressing of him, but I savored what 
I saw.  So this is what Men looked like beneath their clothing.  Aragorn’s 
wandering had left him with only the necessary cushioning against the 
elements, but still he was broader than any Elf.  The hair I noted before; it 
seemed to continue all over his body, like fur on an animal.  He was 
scarred and weather-beaten and contained none of the spotless Elvish 
beauty, but that did not decrease his own appeal.  The muscled arms 
clutched at me, the bristly cheek brushed mine as I kissed him.  Strong 
hips sporting an admittedly impressive erection lifted, seemingly of their 
own accord.

“Ever done this before?” I asked him.  I hoped my voice was coherent.  He 
was working with my ear at that point.

“Never with a male,” he gasped.

I pulled away, dropping to an elbow to study him (however, I will admit 
that I was happy when he whimpered at my loss).  “Only women?  Hmm, 
we have much to teach you, young one.”

The endearment had the desired effect of angering him, just enough so that 
he rolled on top of me.  He rubbed himself against me, determined to 
prove he was not as young and inexperienced as he obviously was.  Oh, 
well, Men and their pride.  I grunted as pressure was applied to my still-
healing shoulder.  So I guided his head and his hands in a manner that 
would pleasure the both of us as much as possible, and put as little strain 
on my shoulder as we could manage.  There was time enough for the 
subtleties later.

“Now,” I said to Aragorn, handing him the bottle of oil, “use this.  Don’t 
be afraid.  If you are as skillful as I think you will be, you will quickly find 
the spot that makes me moan.”  I guided his hand to the opening of my 
body.  “I trust you.”

I pulled him in for a kiss as his fingers began their quest.  Always it started 
out a bit uncomfortable, but quickly grew to the epitome of pleasure.  And 
I was right about Aragorn’s skill; he found that hidden pleasure-spot 
within me, and I could not contain the ragged moan that spilled from my 
mouth.  He glanced at me, fear in his eyes.  I tried to regain my 
composure.

“Do it again,” I begged him.  “It is with pleasure that I cry out, not pain.”

He nodded, though I could tell he did not understand . . . yet.  I would 
show him later.  But he obeyed me, he did it again.  By the Valar, I wasn’t 
sure how much more I could take!  It had been too long since last I had 
loved, and I was too impatient.  Aragorn did not protest when I brought his 
hips down and drove him into me.

I hadn’t expected him to be so large.  I attempted to calm my breathing 
and my tense muscles.  When next I glanced at him, he had a look of near-
painful ecstasy on his face.  His humanity was utterly breathtakingly 
beautiful at that moment, and for a blink of an eye I was jealous of Arwen.

I kissed him again, as deeply as we were able, as I began to move my hips.  
His grey eyes opened half-mast as he took my hint.  He matched me thrust 
for thrust in a magnificent display that had me changing my mind about 
everything I had thought of Men.  He gripped my shoulders, making 
bruises that would fade by morning.  I kissed him so hard that it hurt.

“Touch me,” I gasped.  My voice was shaking.  “Please, Aragorn, touch 
me!”

We found our release at the same time.  He collapsed on top of me, 
breathing heavily, mortally.  I smoothed his hair, kissing his ear.  I 
maneuvered us until he was no longer upon me but next to me, a much 
more comfortable position for mortals are heavy things.

He chuckled softly.  “That was . . . better than I had ever guessed it would 
be.  Amazing.”

I nodded, embracing him close and smelling that strange mortal scent.  “I 
am glad you enjoyed it, my friend.’

“It goes beyond enjoyment, Legolas.”  He kissed me softly.  “Good night.”

“Good night,” I whispered as he closed his eyes.  I felt a small rush of 
fear, then reminded myself that that was how mortals slept.  I watched him 
sleep until finally my eyes clouded in reverie.

~ Aragorn’s POV

I awoke slowly.  I was in a strange bed.  Oh yes, I was in Mirkwood.  The 
Elves had welcomed me.  Indeed, that feast last night had put most of our 
festivities at Rivendell to shame.  My head was slightly achy with a 
hangover, but apart from that, everything appeared intact.  My sleep had 
been very restful, and the reason why was asleep next to me.

Legolas was there, breathing softly and peacefully, looking so unlike any 
hardened warrior I had ever seen.  If it was as eerie for him to watch me 
sleep with my eyes shut as he said it was, it was by far eerier for me to 
watch him with his eyes open, albeit clouded and half-closed.  I felt as 
though he was watching me as my gaze traced his figure.

His features were angular, down to his sharply pointed ears and curious 
tilted eyes and narrow chin.  Soft dark brows shaded the obsidian-black 
eyes.  Valar forbid I should ever be able to read their emotions, those 
perpetually sparkling black eyes.  His skin was naturally pale, touched 
only lightly by the sun.  Slender shoulders and torso, narrow, almost bony 
hips.  He had the lithe, quick build of an archer, what with the muscle 
gently adorning his arms and legs.  And he was stronger than he looked, 
that I knew from experience.  He looked deceptively beautiful and 
delicate, and I likened him once again to the jewel-bright snake before it 
strikes.  No, rather he was the hunting hawk; proud, noble, fierce, fitted for 
survival, utterly beautiful and breathtaking.

I brought my hand up to his cheek, stroking it as softly as I was able.  He 
murmured, shifting beneath my hand.  I stilled, not wanting to wake him 
up.  My hand moved to his hair, loosened from its formal braids.  Silk-soft 
hair, dark like shadow.  Yes, there was Mirkwood shadow in his dark 
brown hair.  I was reminded of Arwen’s hair; hers was darker, but it felt 
similar.

“Hmm,” I muttered.  “Arwen . . .

“Arwen!” I shouted, leaping out of bed.  I ran my hands through my hair, 
hastily pulling on my leggings.  Legolas stirred, blinking and propping 
himself on his elbows.

“Aragorn?”  He blinked again as he focused on me.  “Aragorn, what in the 
name of all that grows on Yavanna’s green earth are you shouting about?”

“Arwen!” I said again, this time more quietly.  “Ah, Valar!  Legolas, I am 
promised!  How did you – Why did you let me do this?”

“You seemed far from averse last night,” he answered, as if that explained 
anything.  I grit my teeth.  I had forgotten how frustratingly mischievous 
those beautiful black eyes could look.

“Last night I was drunk, thanks to you.”

“Are you complaining?”

I had no answer.  I remembered what we did, how he had moaned and 
clutched me to him, how it had felt to be encased in such welcoming 
tightness and warmth.  I shuddered.  He must have seen my hesitation 
because he smiled from ear to ear.  “Good,” he said.  “You remember it 
too.”

“I’ll never forget.”  I was feeling torn.  I wanted to kiss him and slap him 
at the same time.  Kiss him for being so beautiful; slap him for . . . for 
making me forget about Arwen.  I loved her, I did.  But just leave it to an 
Elf to make me doubt my feelings.

He had left the bed as well, and was at that point standing in front of his 
mirror.  He wore only his leggings.  I watched as he methodically 
untangled his hair, hair that really needed no untangling.  I stepped around 
behind him, embracing him around the waist and resting my head on his 
shoulder.  We were of a height, he and I.  So evenly matched in so many 
different ways . . . I felt his hand in my hair, his lips on my brow.

“Don’t look so crestfallen,” he whispered.  “You’re in Mirkwood now.  
We don’t wear sad faces unless there are Orcs tumbling down the front 
door.  Which there aren’t.  So show me that Men can smile, Aragorn.”

I grinned; it was impossible not to.  Wood Elves and their infectious 
happiness.

There was a knock on the door.  With a jerk I moved away from Legolas, 
glancing fearfully at the thin partition between me and the threat of 
someone discovering what I had been up to.  With a gesture Legolas 
silenced me.  He walked calmly to the door, opened it, exchanged a few 
words of greeting with whoever was out there, and returned with a platter 
full of food.

“You’re as nervous and excitable as a rabbit, Aragorn,” he said.  “Come 
on, eat up.”

“Eat?  How do I eat when I’ve just betrayed the one woman I could ever 
truly love?”  I was beginning to think the guilty feeling of despair would 
be a constant companion.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” Legolas said as he bit into an 
apple.

“But I know!  I know what I have done to her!  I can never again face 
her!”  I put my head in my hands.

“I think you are making far too much of this, Aragorn.  How is what we 
did last night different from any other lovemaking you have had in the 
past?  Could Arwen begrudge you actions you have already performed?”  
He gave me a reassuring smile, and I had to admit, he made a good 
argument.  What was done was done, and could not be undone.  “And she 
most certainly won’t forgive you if you die of starvation before you even 
see her again.  So eat.  I command you.”

He gave me a mock-stern look, undoubtedly imitating his father.  I 
laughed, following his “orders” and taking some food for myself.  “Have 
you ever not been able to charm your way out of any situation?” I asked 
him.

“Never!” he said with a confident grin.  We sat for a while and ate; I was 
musing, he was . . . I didn’t know what he was thinking.  Unreadable black 
eyes studied me.

“Does your leg pain you?”

His voice startled me out of my reverie.  Ironic, I had just been thinking 
how his voice was like autumn leaves, like raindrops falling on water, like 
birdsong in winter, like the crackle of a warm fire on a cold night.  But my 
leg?  Oh yes, my injured leg, the one he had stayed behind to heal.

“No,” I said, “it doesn’t hurt that much.”

“You should stay off it today, Aragorn.  All that dancing last night will 
have worn you out.”

“I’m not that tired,” I replied, with as much suggestion as I could muster.  
I saw his eyes begin to gleam.

“Then I must not have done my job properly, dear Dunadan.  I shall have 
to remedy your lack of exhaustion.”  I found myself with a pleasant lapful 
of Elf.  He wrapped his legs around my waist as he kissed me.  I groaned 
as I felt his tongue in my mouth.  Then he rocked his hips.  There are no 
eloquent words to describe it.  The lust and desire of the night before had 
reacquainted itself with my body, reined my mind so I focused only where 
our skin met.

I hardly noticed when someone was knocking again at the door.  It wasn’t 
until I heard Brethildur’s voice calling that I could shake myself from the 
presence of Legolas’s lips.

“Legolas!” he shouted through the door.  “I know you’re awake!”

“Yes?” said Elf replied.  His voice might have been somewhat muffled by 
my lips.  “What do you want?”

“Have you seen Aragorn?  Father wants to speak with him!”

Legolas looked at me and grinned.  “No, Brethildur, I haven’t seen him 
today.”  I wonder what his brother thought when he heard us moan.

I could hear the frustration in the other Elf’s voice.  “Do you have any idea 
where he is?”

“Might check the big library,” he gasped as I sucked at his ear.

“Thank you.”  He didn’t sound very sincere, and I didn’t blame him.  I 
could imagine him muttering to himself in annoyance at his younger 
brother.

I glared at Legolas.  “You are wicked.”

“They tell me that.”

“What will he think when he doesn’t find me in the library?”

“He will find you in the library.”  Abruptly he stood, leaving me strangely 
cold and unfulfilled in the chair.  “Get up, Aragorn, we can’t disappoint 
Brethildur.”

I groaned.  “We need to finish this.”

“Later.  Father wants to speak with you now.”  Even (or, should I say, 
especially) with his help, it took me quite a while until I was dressed and 
presentable for the King again.

~

My time in Mirkwood seemed far too short.  Despite the evil banging at 
their doors, the Elves lived happy lives in their well-maintained realm, and 
I soon began to see the beauty in the dark forest.  Mornings were cold and 
foggy, with rims of frost etching the trees and ferns.  Of the trees, all had 
lost their leaves, and I saw none of the pines that populated the forests 
around Rivendell.  Sometimes the sun would break through the cloud, and 
then the land was covered in a hesitant, buttery light.  Mirkwood in the 
winter was a place of skeletal trees and mist, utterly beautiful and surreal.

And luckily, there was no cease of good company.  I spoke with Thranduil 
of what was going on outside of his forest.  Brethildur took me on some 
admittedly less-than-riveting tours of the sprawling cavern, showing me in 
particular the Healing Halls.  Brethildur’s chosen path had been that of a 
healer and for that I connected with him.  Not only had my foster father 
Elrond been a remarkable healer, but I was one as well.  Then I met 
another Royal sibling, Legolas’s brother Tathernil.  He had been busy on 
his patrols, he explained with a bright smile.  He, of all the siblings, most 
resembled the Queen in their tawny coloring and blunter, happier faces.  
Harmae I saw seldom for she remained for the most part in her bowers.  
She, the eldest of the siblings, would take up the reins in Mirkwood, if and 
when Thranduil ever let them fall.

But the majority of my time I spent with Legolas.  He showed me 
millennia-old trees, and amazing shrubbery and flowers the like of which 
are not seen outside of Mirkwood’s shadow.  I had the experience of 
accompanying him on one of his patrols, during which we met a group of 
spiders.  The quickness and efficiency with which they were dispatched 
astounded me.  But it was not just the new sights I relished when I spent 
time with the Prince; his mere presence was uplifting, for he was as bright 
and cheerful as a bird in springtime.  For being one of the younger 
members of the Wood Elf community he inspired great respect among his 
comrades, and he was followed unerringly.  And so I couldn’t help it, I 
categorized the siblings: Harmae, the regal future Queen; Brethildur, the 
temperamental and dedicated healer and scholar; Tathernil, the straight-
speaking, happy-faced warrior; and Legolas, the youngest who seemed a 
beautiful and lustful mix of them all.

I went down one day to check on Gollum, who was after all my reason for 
coming to Mirkwood.  I could hear his raspy shouted obscenities as I 
approached the cell where they kept him until his nature grew tamer.

“How is he?” I asked one of the Elves assigned to look after him.

“Far too lively,” she answered with a grimace.  She gestured to the fish 
bones that lay about the hall.  “He throws them at us.  But fear not, 
Dunadan, he is in good hands.”

I didn’t fear.  I knew Gollum would receive excellent care while under the 
charge of these Elves, far better than he really deserved.

My duties being finished in Mirkwood, the time had come for me to return 
to Eriador and resume my responsibilities as a Ranger.  I notified 
Thranduil of my decision.

“I’m sorry to see you off so soon,” he said kindly.  “We hope you will 
visit us again, Dunadan.”

“I hope so as well, my lord,” I replied.

“Legolas will see you as far as the borders.  Will you have need of a 
horse?”

“No thank you, my lord.  You have been too kind to me already.”  I 
bowed, dismissing myself from his presence.  There was someone I 
needed to tell of my departure.

However, Legolas found me first.  I was walking down the hall with the 
intention of searching his study, where he often could be found.  Out of 
nowhere, seemingly, a hand appeared and dragged me into a dark corner.  
My hand immediately went to my belt where my sword hung, but my 
captor’s skilled lips soon willed the thought of resistance away.

“Legolas,” I breathed, when at last he freed my mouth.  “What’s this 
about?”

“This is about you not coming to see me for two nights,” he answered as 
he ravaged my neck.

“That’s not –“ I gasped, “very much time –“ he moaned, “for an Elf –“ he 
wrapped his fingers around my erection, “especially –“ I untied his shirt, 
“one of your age.”

“Shut up,” he muttered.  “Shut up shut up shut up –“

“Look who’s talking,” I whispered in his ear.  We stilled as someone 
passed us in the hallway outside.  “Maybe we should take this somewhere 
more private.”  He glared at me, and I smiled in response.  “You do tend 
to moan quite loudly.”

He growled; I loved it when he growled.  He took my lips in a bruising 
kiss, then, while I was still breathless, dragged me after him down the hall.  
We passed his room, and I wondered where we could be going.  I 
wondered even more as we stumbled out into bright sunlight.

“This way,” Legolas said, as if I had any choice; he had a death-grip on 
my arm.  We wandered through the trees.  I hoped we would reach 
wherever we were going soon.  My desire was beginning to ebb, and I had 
preparations to make for my departure.

I should not have doubted.  We had come far from the cavern, far from the 
Elves, and stood now in a glade carpeted with soft green grass.  The trees, 
bared of their leaves, grew densely and guarded us from spying eyes.  
Which was fortunate, for as soon as we stopped Legolas pounced, 
knocking us both to the ground.

‘Good thing he’s light,’ I thought to myself.  I loosed his hair from its 
bindings.

“Finally!” he exclaimed.  “I thought we’d never get out of there!”

“What a lusty Elf I’ve found,” I whispered.  “Legolas?”

“What?” he asked, without stopping what he was doing.  Which, at the 
moment, was sneaking his hands beneath my shirt.

“Legolas?  Legolas!  Will you hold still?  I need to tell you something!”

“What, Aragorn?”  He obeyed, backing off a bit.  I sat up facing him.  I 
indulged myself, just looking at him for a while.  I suspected it wasn’t that 
easy to get his appearance so disheveled, his eyes so glassy with desire.  
Rather than looking like the local harlot caught in the act, he looked 
beautiful, the tender-faced veteran of broken hearts and sidelong glances.  
For the first time I realized that I would miss him.  Not just the passionate, 
fervid loving we shared, but his laughing eyes, his whip-sharp humor, and 
his careful comfort.  He caught my glance again, questioning me.

“I leave tomorrow,” I said slowly.  “I’m going back west, back to 
Eriador.”

When I looked back he was silent, waiting for me to go on.  I took a deep 
breath; dared I speak these words?  “Will you come with me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, a small smile on his face.  “Mortals 
worry too much,” he said.

I frowned.  “I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

“We will meet again, Aragorn son of Arathorn.  I do not doubt it.  But my 
path does not lie with you yet.  For now, we enjoy each other and 
tomorrow, you will leave.  But you will have happy memories, will you 
not?”

I nodded.

“There now,” he said.  He sounded satisfied and comforting as he stroked 
my cheekbones with his thumb.  I hadn’t even realized I was in need of 
comfort until he offered it.  The thought came again to me that I would 
miss him, miss his friendship and passionate love.  I could hear the smile 
in his voice and see it on his face.  I sighed, reminded almost painfully of 
my brothers Elladan and Elrohir, who had soothed my tears when I was a 
child.  How could Legolas be a brother to me, as well as a friend and 
lover?  Then he took on the last of those roles, leaning close to whisper in 
my ear.

“I would give you something to remember me by.”

Over the course of the two weeks that we had known each other he had 
explored my body, his fascination seeming to have no bounds.  This 
pleasantly meant that he knew exactly how to torture me just within sight 
of my release, then leave me hanging, so to speak.  His lips were hot to 
burning as they traced the lines of my throat, and I threw my head back to 
offer him more room.  Reluctant as I was to have his lips part from my 
skin, I longed for more contact, and slid his shirt off him.  He returned the 
favor, recapturing my body beneath his hungry mouth.

He ran his hands up and down my sides, along my ribs, over my nipples.  
Ah, the sensation of his smooth warm fingers!  It is indescribable, even to 
one versed in Elvish.  Let it simply be said I was thrashing beneath his 
ministrations, my fingers tangled in his hair as his lips made their way 
down my torso.  Gently he hooked his fingers in my leggings, and ever so 
carefully he rid me of the offending clothing.  I was bared to him, feeling 
utterly vulnerable and yet so safe.

He looked up at me, grinned, then quickly dove between my thighs.  I bit 
back a scream as his warm mouth engulfed me.  He was wicked; yes, he 
was very wicked to raise me to such exquisite pleasure.  All I felt, all I 
knew was the sweet heat and gentle suction that brought me to the very 
brink of release and fulfillment.  I didn’t want him to stop, for it felt so 
good, and yet I did not want to spend myself this way.

He didn’t protest as I reversed our positions.  He had read my mind, it 
seemed, for he produced the necessary bottle of oil from somewhere in his 
discarded clothing.  Now when had that come off?  No matter.  He was 
naked, that was all I cared about.  First were my fingers, as he instructed 
me, until he writhed and moaned beneath me as I had beneath him.  He 
surprised me, lying silent and wide-eyed when I removed my fingers.  But 
his wide eyes grew wider as I replaced them with something larger and 
more enjoyable for the both of us.  I had come to know his body as well as 
he knew mine, knew exactly where to thrust to make him clutch at me as 
though there was no tomorrow.  He rested his forehead on mine, locking 
our eyes, even as his strong arms threatened to crush me.  When I looked 
in those eyes, I did not see Arwen, did not see my ever-looming destiny, 
did not see the responsibility I would take up; there was only my face 
reflected in those eyes, mine and no other.  I don’t know why it comforted, 
but it did.

We came at the same time, he with an uncharacteristically soft sigh, me 
with a loud moan.  As soon as I had gained my breath I rolled off him; I 
knew he disliked me “smothering him,” as he called it.

“That was a nice goodbye,” I said.  He allowed me to gather him up and 
embrace him under my chin.

“That wasn’t a goodbye, Aragorn.  That was an ‘until we meet again, you 
filthy Ranger.’”

I laughed.  “Of course.”  I paused, just listening to the forest for a moment.  
“Legolas?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this right?”

“I thought we already –“

“No, I mean . . . I don’t know what I mean.”

I felt him tilt his head to kiss my neck.  “This is right, my friend.  Worry 
not, Aragorn.  I will wake you before nightfall.  Sleep now.”

So, with a warm, softly-humming Elf tucked against me and the fresh 
scent of grass in my nose, I fell asleep.

~

As promised, I set out the next day with Legolas and a few of his patrol 
members.  The Mirkwood Elves intended on seeing me as safely as 
possible to the borders of their dark forest.  Our journey was blessedly 
uneventful; we met neither Orc nor spider the entire way.  Perhaps it was 
the loud, joyous singing of my escort that kept the creatures at bay.  
Whatever it was, the trip was enjoyable, and I regretted its end as much as 
I regretted leaving the new friends I had made.

The trees began to thin, but it was not until I stood in sunshine uninhibited 
by darksome trees that the Elves bade their farewell.  Legolas went so far 
as to embrace me kindly.  I felt his lips touch my cheek in a soft, unseen 
kiss.

“Walk long, my friend,” he said to me.  “May no shadow haunt your 
journeys.”

“Farewell, Prince,” I replied.  “Until we meet again, Legolas, my friend.”

“Aragorn, I . . . we have become brothers-in-arms, and that is a bond not 
easily broken.  Get on your way, that I may see you sooner.”  He pulled 
me close, one last remembrance of our ardent loving, then smiled and 
shooed me on.  He stood, waving me off, white-toothed smile on his face.  
I shifted the pack on my shoulders.  His words rang true.  We would meet 
in the future, I was nearly sure of it.

It wasn’t until I had long since turned my back on the forest and its 
inhabitants that I stopped to make my camp, such that it would be.  I 
forewent a fire for both lack of fuel and disinterest in having my 
whereabouts known.  I was curled in my cloak (albeit a new, warm one, 
courtesy of Mirkwood) on the foothills of the Misty Mountains, 
attempting to readjust my body to the elements.  I had grown pampered 
under the care of the Elves, and I missed Legolas; not just his warm, 
smiling face but his warm body next to mine.  I dug in my pack for food 
and retrieved it, though my hand came up with something else.  I did not 
remember packing a book.

It was small and fit inside my palm, leather-bound, but not fancy.  Indeed, 
it was little more than a stack of papers haphazardly attacked to two pieces 
of leather.  I thumbed through it, only to find it was a sketchbook.  It was 
nearly full with sketches; there were some of trees and flowers, but most 
were of Elves.

But the last page was different.  The last page contained a warrior, 
steadfast and noble, yet somehow troubled.  I noticed the hair upon his 
face and the absence of pointed ears.  This warrior was meant to be me.  
But I was not nearly so proud or pensive as this sketch would lead.  Surely 
this was not how someone saw me.

Opposite the picture was a note.

“My dear friend,” it said, “I have neither the time nor the words for the 
goodbye you deserve.  Would that I was a poet, to describe more 
eloquently how deeply you have affected me and the rest of my people.  
You even stunned Brethildur into speechlessness, and that is not 
something easily accomplished.  (It also makes me think we need your 
visits more often!)  Just know that Mirkwood will always have space in 
our caverns and our hearts for your noble being.
Yours more than I can convey on paper,
Legolas”

There was a postscript: “One more thing: thank you for keeping me warm 
at night.  My time would have been both chilly and boring without you.  I 
hope you learned some valuable information.”

I chuckled to myself, touched at the thought behind the little note.  It was 
almost as though Legolas was there, speaking with me at that moment.  
There was even a small lock of his hair, bound in twine and stuck securely 
between the pages.  I put the little book back into my pack, settling down 
for the night with peace in my mind.

*

To be continued!  Next time, enter Elladan and Elrohir (wink, wink).  
We’ll have some fun!  Please remember to email me 
(neldluva@hotmail.com) and tell me how you like it!