Title: Verboten 
Author: Jen Lynn 
E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com
Rating: NC-17  
Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Warning: Descriptions of self-mutilation, self-punishment
Summary: In the Kingdom of Thranduil homosexuality is a sin that must
be punished.
Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn yes.  Others please ask.  
Note: Very slight AU.  Arwen doesn’t exist.  Or if she does she’s just
Aragorn’s big sister.  
Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.
Feedback is greatly appreciated.	

Part 1

Aragorn couldn’t take his eyes off of the Elf as he watched Legolas
disappear deep into the woods.  The truth was he had never been able
to.  Legolas was the most beautiful Elf Aragorn had ever seen.  But
this was not the same Legolas he had known all those years ago.  The
Ranger remembered when Legolas always had a smile on his lips and
laughter in his voice.  Could someone change so much that they
scarcely resembled the friend you once knew?  And they had been more
than friends, hadn’t they?  Aragorn remembered furtive meetings,
passionate embraces, stolen kisses.  But then Thranduil had
unceremoniously thrown Aragorn out of his palace and had him escorted
to the borders of Mirkwood.  It was not until returning home that
Elrond had explained why.  The King of Mirkwood had found out about
Legolas and the young human.  Thranduil forbade same-sex relationships
in his kingdom.  Relations between Rivendell and Mirkwood had not been
the same since.  

Aragorn had never forgotten Legolas.  He had never before or since
felt such blazing, aching passion for another.  So when he had seen
Legolas at the Council and when the Elf had so vehemently defended him
to Boromir the Ranger believed he had a second chance.  This, however,
was not the case.  Legolas did everything in his power to have as
little contact with Aragorn as possible.  He barely spoke.  When he
slept he kept his bedroll as far from the man as he could.  And there
was something in the archer’s eyes.  A look of cold misery was ever
present.  

Boromir had told Aragorn he could not rest and now it seemed sleep
evaded the Ranger as well.  The man rose to his feet.  He had made up
his mind.  Tonight, in the woods of Lothlórien, he would have answers.  

Legolas sought solace deep in the heart of the Golden Woods.  He had
climbed up into a tree, sitting on a sturdy branch.  He was far enough
away that the lament for Gandalf did not reach his ears.  He closed
his eyes, trying to purge his mind of all thought.  His lips moved in
silent prayer, willing nothingness to fill his mind.  This was what
the healers had taught him.  This was the path to clarity, to truth.
This was the way to eradicate all sin, all evil from one’s soul.  It
had never worked.

Legolas opened his eyes.  Only one image formed in his brain.  The
source of his wickedness.  The reason his father looked on him in
disgust.  The reason that even though he was the oldest of Thranduil’s
sons, he was not named as his heir.  Aragorn filled his head.  He
could recall every kiss they had shared.  Every touch of his skin
burned forever in his memory.  

In the years since Legolas had last seen the Ranger it had not gotten
any easier.  He had depraved, lustful dreams of the human nightly.
And now that Aragorn was so close all the time…  Legolas felt
temptation begin to consume him.  He felt Aragorn’s eyes on him, could
feel desire pulsing from the man.  It would be so easy to give in.
Tears slid from Legolas eyes.  He wanted so much to be good.  But he
wasn’t.  He was sinful and unworthy of love.  

There was only one thing he could do.  These feelings had to be
punished.  That was what his father had taught him.  When the
meditation didn’t work one had to resort to more drastic actions.
Legolas remembered the night when Thranduil had discovered his son’s
wickedness.  The Elf had seen the look in his father’s eyes and knew
he was going to be punished.  Thranduil had forced him to strip and
then Legolas had seen a blade glinting in the light.  At first he
feared his father meant to kill him.  But no.  Thranduil handed
Legolas the blade and then instructed his oldest child on how to
discipline his flesh against the sickness that festered in Legolas’
heart.  

Legolas’ fingers began unfastening the pearly tunic he wore.
Carefully he slid the garment from his body, folding it meticulously
and laying it on the branch beside him.  From the side of his boot he
drew a small elvish blade.  It was the same metal as his long twin
knives.  There was a word carved into the hilt.  “Freedom,” he
whispered, reading it out loud.  “Free me from my sin, please,” he
breathed as he slowly brought the knife down against the smooth white
flesh of his inner arm and cut.    

The End

 



Title: Verboten (2/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Descriptions of self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: Legolas uses self-injury to punish his feelings for Aragorn.

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn yes.  Others please ask.  

Note: Slight AU.  Arwen doesn’t exist.  Or if she does she’s just
Aragorn’s big sister.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 2



Legolas lightly slid the sharp metal against his soft skin, drawing a
thin, crimson line of blood across his inner arm.  He longed to press
the blade harder, make the cut deeper.  He needed it to hurt more.
Wanted to see the blood flow, see his sin pouring out of him in thick,
red rivulets.  But the Elf knew he couldn’t risk it.  He feared being
discovered too much to do more damage.  Since setting out from
Rivendell it was always superficial cuts, barely enough to make him
bleed.  He’d score both arms in a latticework of red that amounted to
little more than scratches.  

The accompanying pain wasn’t nearly enough though.  Perhaps that is
why his corrupt dreams persisted.  They not only persisted, they grew
worse and even seeped into his waking mind.  He found himself watching
the Ranger covertly.  Legolas felt his body, his sinful, disloyal
body, quicken when Aragorn came near.  

Legolas’ closed his blue eyes.  The Elf wondered if it would slake his
wickedness if he gave in to his need, just once.  Maybe if he felt
Aragorn’s warm body pressed against his, felt the rasp of his stubble
as their mouths touched in a kiss, he could satisfy these awful
longings for all time.  Legolas recalled how it had been in Mirkwood,
when he and Aragorn had become secret lovers.  Like it was only
yesterday, he remembered the ecstasy.  Aragorn filling him with his
manhood.  The Ranger gave him pleasure brighter than the combined
light of all the stars in the firmament.  

Lying contented and safe in Aragorn’s arms Legolas had thought he
finally understood all those songs about love.  He’d wanted to sing
new ones, of his own design, about Aragorn.  However, Legolas had
known this was not possible.  He knew of his father’s edict banning
love between those of the same gender.  He had never understood the
purpose of it.  How could love be sinful?  Surely the way he felt for
this man couldn’t be wrong.  It was though.  Legolas knew that now.
He’d learned his lesson well.  By his own hands he had schooled his
flesh according to Thranduil’s instructions.  Pain eradicating sin,
smothering lust.  With every slash of the blade his soul was cleansed.

Even as the knife skated over his flesh the images of his and
Aragorn’s lovemaking consumed the Elf’s thoughts.  Would it be so
terrible to seek the Ranger out, to drop to his knees before the
strong, handsome man and ask for his caresses?  Desire pooled in his
belly, bolts of heat firing through his manhood.  Legolas felt his
arousal thicken inside his leggings.  The hand that held the blade
trembled slightly, the lines becoming jagged.  The Elf increased the
pressure, causing the blood to drip down his arm in ruby streaks.  An
involuntary hiss escaped his lips.  The amplified pain brought him to
his senses.  He could not offer himself to Aragorn.  It was madness to
think that an unclean act would cure his sickness.  

The Elf withdrew the blade and surveyed the damage.  Pain radiated
from the wound, beginning to blot out all other thought.  And now he
needed more.  He needed to suffer and have that suffering overwhelm
him.  He placed the blade in his other hand, squeezing tight on the
handle.  Legolas brought the knife down, intending to make a deep,
ugly gash in his yet undamaged arm.  Before the Elf could slice into
his skin he heard soft footsteps approaching from the distance.  

Legolas held his hand still and listened.  The archer shut his eyes.
He recognized the footsteps immediately.  This being was almost as
light-footed as an Elf.  “Aragorn,” he breathed.  The man was near,
perhaps fifty or so meters from his position.  The Elf’s heart was
racing as he laid the blade down on the branch.  From beneath his belt
he withdrew a folded square of gossamer cloth.  He unfurled it, noting
the bloodstains that marred the pure white fabric.  Try as he might to
rinse them out, those stains never did come clean.  In this way the
cloth mirrored his soul.  His corruption persisted, no matter what he
did to rid himself of it.  

Legolas wrapped one end around the bottom of his arm, curling his long
fingers up to hold the cloth in place.  With his other hand he wrapped
it like a tourniquet around his forearm, binding the wounds.  The Elf
tucked the loose end into the top.  This had become a clinical,
mechanized routine over the years and Legolas accomplished the task in
seconds so that as Aragorn came into sight he had returned the knife
to his boot and donned his tunic once more.  

As Aragorn entered the secluded glade he saw Legolas descending a
tree.  The Elf approached him slowly.  Looking at Legolas, there were
a thousand things Aragorn wanted to ask, to say.  Almost fifty years
of questions swirled in his mind.  

“Why is it you have sought me out Aragorn?” the Elf asked evenly.

All over again Aragorn felt awed by Legolas’ beauty.  The moonlight
glinted off of the Elf’s ivory skin.  His lips were pink and the man
knew they were as soft as rose petals.  And his blue eyes…were
suffused with pain.  Legolas was suffering over something and Aragorn
longed to take the pain away.  Instead of asking a single question
Aragorn pulled the Elf against him and joined their mouths in a
burning kiss.

The End (TBC…)      

       

Title: Verboten (3/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Descriptions of self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: Legolas uses self-injury to punish his feelings for Aragorn.

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Note 1: AU.  No Arwen.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 3:



Aragorn’s arms wrapped tight around Legolas’ lean frame.  The Ranger’s
warm lips slid over the Elf’s and the archer shuddered.  Desire hummed
through the Elf’s being, warmth pulsing inside him.  He was trembling
so violently he felt like he was going to shatter.  Legolas brought
his hands up and dug his long, strong fingers into the man’s muscled
arms.  The Elf feared that if he didn’t hold on to Aragorn he’d
crumple to the ground.  The man’s tongue glided over the seam of his
lips, asking for entrance.  Legolas’ heart thundered in his chest.
The Elf was drowning.  Years of pent up longing, of love denied, rose
within him like a tidal wave, crashing over his head, denying him air
to breath.  He was terrified of his feelings.  Terrified of them
continuing.  Terrified of them ending.  Fear and need battled each
other for the dominion of his soul.   

  

And it seemed need won out.  Legolas felt powerless to resist the
Ranger’s touch.  The Elf felt tears forming in his eyes as he
succumbed to sin and parted his lips.  Aragorn’s warm, wet tongue slid
into his mouth and twined against his own.  The trembling diminished
and he let his arms come all the way behind the man’s back.  The Elf
ran them over the fabric of Aragorn’s tunic slowly, feeling the
muscles working underneath.  One of Aragorn’s hands rested against the
Elf’s lower back while the other was positioned just below his
shoulder blades.    

Aragorn had ached to hold Legolas for so long.  He was overwhelmed by
the sheer joy of having the Elf’s taut, slim body against him and did
not notice how the Elf trembled.  He kissed Legolas hungrily.  When
Legolas fully wrapped his arms around the man, Aragorn tightened his
own grasp.  Lust smoldered in his belly, his nerve-endings sizzled.
The Elf’s arousal pushed against the Ranger’s.  Aragorn shifted his
weight a little so that he could press his muscular thigh against the
Elf’s bulging manhood.  

Legolas whimpered softly, breaking the kiss.  His head was slung back,
his eyes shut.  The Ranger kissed the Elf’s throat tenderly, tongue
sweeping along the Adam’s apple.  “Aragorn,” he whispered like a
prayer.  The kisses moved up the side of his neck, along his jaw line.
The man’s tongue slithered along the curve of the Elf’s ear, until it
reached the tip.  Legolas’ cried out as Aragorn began gently sucking.
Aragorn pressed their arousals together once more.  The Ranger was
hard with desire and Legolas recalled the heavenly pleasure of having
the man inside his body.  The Elf felt faint as Aragorn undid him with
his touch.   

Legolas tried to draw in a deep breath even as little moans were
issuing from his tremulous lips.  As he breathed in through his nose
the scent of the forest had changed.  The Elf briefly opened his
watery eyes.  A mist seemed to hang in the air.  The Golden Woods
dissolved around him as he found himself adrift in memories of
Mirkwood.      

Legolas lay entangled with Aragorn in the plush softness of his own
bed.  The Elf enjoyed having the man’s strong, broad frame against
him.  Even after the Ranger had spent himself within Legolas the Elf
had not let him withdraw from his body.  Legolas had felt Aragorn’s
love flowing into him like water, as though his body was a vessel that
only this man could fill.  The only time he’d ever felt whole was when
Aragorn was inside him.

The man kissed Legolas’ mouth tenderly, beard scratching against the
Elf’s soft skin.  Their mouths parted and Aragorn brought his hand up
to the blonde’s face, caressed his smooth cheek, ran his thumb over
his velvety lips.  “I love you my prince,” the man murmured into
Legolas’ ear, bringing his lips down against the lobe, sucking lightly
on the soft flesh.  

A purr escaped the Elf’s lips.  Never had he felt such warmth, such
sweetness.  “And I you,” Legolas answered.  That was the last time
they had seen one another until the Council of Elrond.  The words of
love the Elf and man had exchanged were Legolas’ only defense against
his father’s viciousness but he was all alone and the words failed.
Legolas quailed in the face of Thranduil wrath.  And when all was said
and done he believed his father was right.  His father was always
right.  Legolas was sinful and corrupt.  

The Elf came back to the present.  Tears spilled from his eyes in
earnest now.  It was nearly fifty years since Legolas first took a
knife to his flesh and he was as contemptible as ever.  “Stop,” he
murmured too softly for Aragorn to hear.  “Please,” he whimpered,
slightly louder.  The man did not seem to hear as he continued sucking
on the tip of the Elf’s ear.  Legolas’ organ was throbbing; he did not
know how much more he could take before he gave in to this wickedness.
The Elf drew his head up, placed his hands against Aragorn’s shoulders
and with all his strength pushed the man off of him.  

The unexpected violence sent Aragorn tumbling down onto the grass.
Still panting, the man looked up at the Elf who was slowly stepping
away from him.  “Legolas?” he said, puzzled.  He got to his feet and
moved toward the Elf.

Legolas took several quick steps, retreating from the man.  “Come no
closer…” he gasped, trying to catch his own breath.  

“Legolas, what is the matter?”  Aragorn asked.  He didn’t like the
wild, panicked look in the Elf’s eyes.  

“I cannot do this Aragorn,” he said, “Please…understand…”

Aragorn covered the distance between them.  Before the Elf could
scamper out of his reach the man grabbed hold of his wrists.  Pain
flickered in Legolas’ cobalt eyes as he tried to wrench himself free.
If Aragorn paid closer attention he would’ve noticed the Elf pulled
more roughly with his left arm, as Aragorn was squeezing down on the
knife wound.  

“Let me go, please,” he pleaded softly, tears falling from his eyes.

Aragorn couldn’t stand the anguish he saw in the Elf’s eyes.
“Legolas, tell me what is wrong.  You must know you can trust me with
your heart, as you did long ago,” he said compassionately.  

The Elf shook his head sadly, ceasing his struggles, becoming still.
“What we had then was folly Aragorn,” Legolas said.  

“You call our love folly?”  Aragorn asked, disbelievingly.  He had
pulled the compliant Elf close again, slid his hands up, against
Legolas’ face, letting his fingers sink into the blond mane, thumbs
gently caressing the Elf’s temples.  The blonde closed his eyes,
relaxing under the tender ministration. 

“It was not love,” Legolas whispered, fighting the urge to wrap his
arms around the man once more. 

“Ah, those are Thranduil’s words, not yours,” Aragorn said.  The Elf’s
eyes popped open.  “When I returned to Imladris Elrond wanted to know
what had gone wrong.  I told him I did not know and then I confessed
our affair to him.  He told me of your father’s ban…” he explained.
“Not a day has passed that I have not worried for you, my heart heavy
at the thought that you might be made to suffer because of our love…”
The Ranger pressed a soft kiss to the Elf’s lips.  

The sheer tenderness Legolas felt in that sweet kiss caused the Elf to
give in again, to slide his arms around the man.  He laid his head
down on Aragorn’s broad shoulder and wept silently.  

Aragorn enfolded the Elf in his arms protectively.  He rubbed his back
soothingly.  “I know of no crueler Elf than your father…” he whispered
angrily, and mostly to himself.

Legolas stiffened against the man and once again broke free of his
embrace.  “You do not even know him.  My father loves me.  Though I
have failed him continuously and brought him nothing but shame he has
only tried to save me from my own wickedness.  You…you seek to finish
what you started in Mirkwood…to ruin me for all time…but I will not
let you.”  With that the Elf turned his back on the man and walked
purposefully away from him, heading deeper into the woods.  



The End (TBC…)

  

 



              

Title: Verboten (4/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Descriptions of self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: Sleepless in Lothlórien

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Note 1: AU.  No Arwen.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 4:



All was quiet in the pavilion as the Fellowship slumbered after
another tranquil, restorative day spent in the Golden Woods.  Even
Boromir slept peacefully, the sounds of the Gondorian’s light snoring
reaching Aragorn’s ears, as he seemed to be the only one of their
number that could not find rest on this night.  Sleep had evaded his
grasp for three nights now.  Despite his mounting exhaustion the
maelstrom of anger and guilt that swirled inside of him would not
permit slumber.  Aragorn rolled his body so that he could see Legolas.  

The Elf lay on his back, seemingly gazing up at the starlit sky.  The
Ranger watched intently as the Elf’s chest rose and fell in a steady
rhythm.  From this distance and in the darkness it was difficult to
tell if the Elf slept.  How Aragorn longed to close the distance
between them, lay down beside his former lover, envelop the Elf in his
arms and hold him close.  

Three excruciating days had passed since Aragorn’s words had sent the
Elf fleeing from his arms.  The man cursed himself again for his
blundering foolishness.  He had the Elf in his arms, had felt the
blonde yielding to his caresses, his kisses.  Aragorn heard Legolas’
soul crying out to him in torment, had cradled the wounded creature to
him, and then scared him away with his stupidity.  Since then Legolas
had redoubled his efforts to distance himself from the man.  Sighing,
Aragorn closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.    

Legolas’ keen elven-hearing perceived the subtle change in Aragorn’s
breathing.  ‘At last,’ he thought as he noiselessly rose to his feet.
The Elf made a quick perusal of his companions and was satisfied that
they were all at rest.  He moved silently away from the group and came
to a brief stop at the edge of the pavilion.  Turning his head, he
briefly looked back at Aragorn before heading into the thicket.  

Sadness washed over the Elf as he pictured the Ranger’s careworn face
as it was lit by silver moonlight.  He felt pain, pain worse than any
self-inflicted knife wound.  Why did he have to feel this way?  Why
was his body consumed by this wicked lust?  Desire had smoldered
within him when Aragorn’s body had been against his.  So starved for
affection was he that the mere brush of stubble against his cheek had
sent him spinning into a chasm of bittersweet memory.  However, it was
not only his body that betrayed him.  This depraved imitation of love
had wrapped its tendrils around his heart.  How easy it had been to
take comfort in the man’s embrace.  Tears fell from his eyes as the
Elf was enfolded in the warmth and safety of his old lover’s arms.
Why did something so sinful feel so right?     

Legolas walked until he was by the banks of a stream.  He removed his
boots first and then removed the thin, strong sheath holding the small
dagger that was strapped to his calf.  He set the boots aside and then
sat down on the sand.  He slid the dagger out and tucked the sheath
into his right boot.  The Elf sat down on the sand and laid the dagger
before him.  He took a breath and began unfastening his tunic, wanting
to start his ritual at once.

“Legolas?” a gentle voice queried from behind.

The Elf’s heart lurched at the sound of the man’s voice.  His nimble
fingers swiftly redid the closures of the tunic and then, with one
hand, he pushed the dagger into the soft sand, effectively hiding it
from prying eyes.  Legolas rose to his feet and turned.  “Do you stalk
me as though I am your quarry Estel?  Can I not have a moment’s
peace?”  

Anger flashed in the Elf’s cobalt eyes.  It seemed to Aragorn that he
had interrupted something.  “Forgive me Legolas, I did not mean to
disturb you…I awoke and saw that you were gone.  Am I intruding on
something?”

“My sanity!”  Legolas snapped, his voice low and dangerous.  “You seek
to drive me mad!”

It was a shock to see the Elf in such a furious state.  Aragorn took a
measured step toward the archer.  “Legolas, please, it is not my
intention to upset you…we must talk about what happened the other
day.”

“I have nothing to say about that.  Leave me now Aragorn.”  Legolas’
unflappable elven-psyche was cracking.  Rage boiled inside his veins,
his fists clenching at his sides.  The Elf drew in a deep breath,
desperate to quell the fury.    

The man could see the tension carved into the Elf’s lovely face, could
see how dark and threatening Legolas’ cobalt eyes had become.  “Why is
it you are so angry Legolas?” the Ranger challenged, stepping closer
to the Elf.  “Is it because you know I am right?  You know that it is
your father’s backwards thinking that has kept you from my arms for
far too long.”  The Elf did not answer.  Aragorn grabbed hold of the
Elf by the forearms.  He dug his fingers into the arms hard, aware he
was bruising the ivory flesh.  “You desire me Legolas, do not deny
it.”  Aragorn brought his mouth down against the Elf’s throat, kissing
and sucking the silky skin.  

“I do not deny that my body reacts to your touch,” the Elf said,
attempting to keep his tone dispassionate.

“Ah, it is more than that though…” the man murmured, kissing a path up
Legolas’ jaw line.  He brought his lips close to the Elf’s so that
when he spoke they brushed the blonde’s ever so lightly.  “You need
me, you love me, as I need and love you.”  

“No!”  Legolas balked, breaking his arms free from Aragorn’s grasp.
With every bit of his strength the Elf shoved the man away from him.
“It is false!  What I feel is a debauched, deviant impersonation of
love.”

This time when Legolas shoved him Aragorn had been prepared for the
violence and did not stumble to the ground.  “Can you do nothing but
regurgitate your father’s beliefs?  He has poisoned your mind with his
sickness!”  Aragorn barked.  

“It is your sickness that has poisoned me.  It is your sin that has
infected my soul,” he seethed.  

“Your father debases all that the Elves hold sacred with his twisted
notions.”

A bitter laugh escaped Legolas’ lips.  “I know what you think of us in
Rivendell.  You think us provincial and unenlightened.  My father is
good and wise.”

Aragorn shook his head sadly.  “I am sorry,” he whispered.  “I should
never have left you there, at the mercy of Thranduil’s brutality…many
times I considered stealing into Mirkwood and taking you away with
me…I know now that it was a mistake that I never did so.”  

These
require you to come charging to the rescue Aragorn.  I am a warrior,
as much as you are.  And I most assuredly did not need to be rescued
from my own father.”

“Your father is a madman!  Tell me Legolas, what is the reason he gave
you that our love should be forbidden?”

“It is wrong,” Legolas said plainly.  

“Why?” 

“I…”  Legolas faltered.  There was no answer to Aragorn’s question.
The Elf had accepted his father’s pronouncement at face value, being
too frightened of Thranduil’s wrath to question him.  

“Ah, you have no answer, do you Legolas?”  Aragorn said, a note of
triumph coloring his voice.  He had closed the distance between them.

“Why are you doing this to me Aragorn?” the Elf asked, voice quavering
slightly.  “Why can’t you leave me be?”  Legolas grabbed hold of
Aragorn then, shaking him roughly.  

Aragorn took hold of the Elf, wrapping his fingers around his upper
arms.  “Because I love you,” he answered and slammed his lips to
Legolas’.  

For a moment Legolas fought the onslaught of Aragorn’s kiss but then
he returned it with equal ferocity.  Parting his lips he allowed
Aragorn to thrust his tongue inside.  It moved against his own,
plundering his mouth.  The kiss was frantic and violent as the passion
crested between them.  The man’s arms encircled his body, crushing the
Elf to the Ranger’s broad, powerful frame.  Legolas moaned when he
felt their arousals come into alignment.  His mind screamed for him to
stop this, his body urged him on.  And his heart?  His heart was
woefully silent; aching for love but knowing that love was not going
to silence the screaming in his head.  

Aragorn pulled Legolas down onto the ground.  He lay so that his thigh
was between the Elf’s legs, pushing against the hardened shaft inside
the leggings.  The Ranger kissed the Elf again, this time with
tenderness, softly sucking on his lower lip, fingers sinking into
golden blond hair.  

The screams grew louder, threatening to override his physical desire.
It felt too good, these gentle, loving caresses.  The Elf didn’t need
such sweetness.  He needed to lose control.  Legolas needed Aragorn to
take what he could not give.  The Elf laced the fingers of one hand
into the man’s dark tresses.  The hand came behind the Ranger’s head
and seized a good chunk of brown hair.  Forcefully he jerked the man’s
head back, pulling hard, knowing it hurt.  Anger and lust flashed in
Aragorn’s grey eyes.  “Take me Aragorn.  Now.  Take me hard,” Legolas
hissed.  He then pulled the man’s head down and joined their mouths in
a brutal kiss.  

The End    





Title: Verboten (5/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Self-mutilation, self-punishment, violent sex

Summary: Aragorn gives Legolas what he wants.   

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Note 1: AU.  No Arwen.  The following quote is referenced in the body
of this chapter: ‘And he that breaks a thing to find out what it is
has left the path of wisdom.’  Gandalf, recounting his conversation
with Saruman, at the Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring,
page 290

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 5:

  

The force behind the Elf’s kiss was enough to convince Aragorn’s body
to take what was being offered.  And though there were niggling doubts
in the man’s mind they were no match for his overpowering hunger for
Legolas.  And then those words…  “Take me Aragorn.  Now.  Take me
hard,” the archer had said, his normally placid tone of voice replaced
by a growling, feral one.  

So the man gave in.  There was nothing else he could do.  Since his
words of love had failed to sway the Elf Aragorn would show Legolas
with his body that it was real.  The Ranger would make the Elf see the
truth of what was inside Legolas’ heart.

Legolas was still holding Aragorn’s hair in his fist as the heated,
dangerous kiss continued.  Roughly Aragorn removed his hand so that
the man could roll to the side.  Legolas lay there on the soft sand,
panting, thinking perhaps his gambit had failed and not knowing if he
had the resolve to try it again.  For a fleeting moment the Elf was
relieved.  Despite his treacherous desires his vow to never sin again,
to keep his spirit and body pure would not be broken.  The Elf glanced
over to see what Aragorn was doing.  He saw the man had removed his
garments.  The Elf’s ploy had worked after all.  Wanton desire seized
control of Legolas once more. 

Legolas did not resist as Aragorn began stripping him of his tunic and
then unlacing the sides of his leggings.  Legolas remained still, head
turned to the side, a single tear sliding from the corner of his eye.
The Ranger’s strong, calloused fingers were brushing against the
satiny skin at the Elf’s hips, as the laces were undone.  When the
leggings were finally yanked off of his body and his aching organ was
freed, Legolas gasped.  

Aragorn grinned appreciatively at the long, pale shaft of flesh.
Taking his hand he slid it over the silken heat, thumb brushing over
the tip.  He gathered the drops of the Elf’s essence that were already
seeping out onto his thumb.  

Legolas whimpered and writhed beneath these gentle ministrations.
“Aragorn, please,” he pleaded through ragged breaths.  The man began
caressing his chest with one hand while continuing to stroke his
arousal with the other.  The Elf arched his back as Aragorn’s fingers
teased a nipple, rubbing and twisting at the hardened peak.  The hand
on his manhood moved languidly up and down the length.  “Aragorn!”
Legolas cried.  The Elf’s mind resisted this tenderness; tenderness
was too easy to forbear.  He needed pain.  Wanted Aragorn to hurt him.  

Legolas knew what he had to do.  Yes, Aragorn was of Númenorean blood,
yes, he was raised by Elves.  But he was still a Man.  Roughly the Elf
took hold of Aragorn’s manhood and gave a few quick, brutal tugs.  The
man glared into Legolas eyes.  That wild look returned to the Ranger’s
grey eyes and without another word he released Legolas’ organ and
straddled the Elf. 

Aragorn bore down on Legolas, forcefully sinking his fingers into the
Elf’s blond mane, tugging hard on the hair, jerking the head up so it
was easier to join their mouths in a violent kiss.  He devoured
Legolas’ petal soft lips, crushing them, bruising them.  The Elf’s
hands came up behind the man’s head, grabbed hold of the dark tresses.
A warning flickered in the back of Aragorn’s mind.  When they had
become lovers so long ago Legolas had sweetly, innocently asked for
the man to be gentle.  And gentle he always was with his elven-prince.
But now the Elf begged for rougher treatment.  Had his mind been
clearer he would have heeded the warning, but as it was lust had
consumed him and Aragorn could only forge ahead.  

When the need for air forced their mouths apart Legolas threw his head
back.  He instantly felt the Ranger’s mouth on his throat, kissing a
wet path south.  Aragorn licked the hollow of his neck, swirled the
tip of his tongue over one nipple, then the next.  The tongue
proceeded down the Elf’s body as a large hand encircled his throbbing
arousal again.  Legolas whimpered softly, spreading his thighs,
offering himself to Aragorn.  

Aragorn’s arousal thickened at the sight of Legolas arching beneath
him, bending his legs at the knees, revealing his puckered entrance.
The man brought his other hand to his mouth and wet a couple of his
fingers.  As he brought his hand down and pressed one digit against
the Elf’s unyielding opening, the Elf seized hold of his wrist.
“Legolas?” the Ranger managed.  

“No,” Legolas rasped, shaking his head a little.

Aragorn’s heart lurched.  “No?  You…you wish me to stop?”  He would,
of course, he would stop.  Aragorn could never force himself on
another so if this was Legolas’ wish…

“I want you to *take* me Aragorn.  *Now*,” he growled, again grabbing
hold of the man’s organ too roughly.  The Elf guided it to his
entrance.  

“Nay, wait,” Aragorn began, even though he was achingly hard and
frantic to bury himself inside Legolas’ heat.  But he had no desire to
hurt the Elf and he knew that if he entered him like this, unprepared,
he would tear Legolas’ delicate flesh, make him bleed.  

“NOW!” the Elf barked, wrapping his legs behind the man’s back,
pushing his body forward.  Legolas felt the tip of Aragorn’s organ
pressing against his opening.  The Elf dug his fingers into the man’s
shoulders, pressing the fingernails in, drawing blood.  

The pain drove Aragorn over the edge and he thrust himself against the
Elf’s entrance.  Legolas’ body defied his attempted intrusion.  The
fingernails in his shoulders dug deeper.  Aragorn growled and slammed
his organ down, forcing himself past the tight ring of muscle, driving
into the Elf’s silky, burning heat.  

A fiery, astonishing amount of pain tore through Legolas’ being.  A
cry fell from the Elf’s lips.  Legolas blinked back the tears, as
Aragorn remained inside him, unmoving, violating his unready depths.
The cry registered in Aragorn’s ears and now the man looked down on
him with concern and fear.  “Legolas…” he murmured, starting to slowly
withdraw himself.

“No!”  Legolas persisted and claimed Aragorn’s mouth with his own.
Though it increased the pain, Legolas raised his hips and forced the
man deeper.  Any further cries were swallowed by Aragorn’s mouth as
the man let his tongue push into the wet heat and dance against the
Elf’s.  

The last doubts were shattered by the Elf’s fervent kiss.  Aragorn
began thrusting his organ inside Legolas, achieving a steady rhythm.
The Elf’s hands came behind his back, nails scratching and clawing
over the skin.  Again the pain unhinged Aragorn’s restraint.  The man
moved more quickly, pummeling the Elf, brutally striking his pleasure
center.  The kiss was broken and Legolas was screaming now.  It was a
mangled sound of torment mixed with pleasure.  Knowing he was close,
Aragorn clamped one had around the Elf’s shaft and began pumping the
hard flesh.  

“Aragorn,” Legolas sobbed as he felt his essence pouring from him,
over their stomachs, into the man’s hand.  The hammering, cruel
thrusts went on until the Elf heard Aragorn scream his name and felt
the man’s seed surge inside him.  With that the heavy weight of the
Ranger’s body fell against him.  It was awhile before their breathing
returned to normal and Aragorn finally withdrew from Legolas’ body,
rolling to lie next to the Elf.  Silent tears formed in the Elf’s blue
eyes.  He had been conquered and at the same time liberated.  It was
exactly what he had wanted, what he had needed.  And he hated himself
for it.  

Aragorn watched the tears slide down Legolas’ cheeks.  No sounds came
from the Elf’s lips.  Aragorn reached out and gently brushed the
liquid away.  There was no reaction from the Elf.  He lay in the same
position, knees slightly bent.  Aragorn looked down Legolas’ body.  He
saw blood trickling from his entrance.  “What have I done?” the man
whispered.  

Words spoken by Gandalf in Rivendell came into the man’s mind.  ‘And
he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of
wisdom.’  All Aragorn had wanted was for Legolas to realize that their
love for each other wasn’t the twisted perversion that Thranduil had
taught his son it was.  The Ranger had sought to break through the
layers of lies and abuse Legolas had suffered in Mirkwood.  Now,
looking at the wounded, battered creature before him, Aragorn feared
that in trying to break through the walls around Legolas’ heart he had
shattered the Elf’s soul.  

The End (TBC…)





Title: Verboten (6/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: The aftermath

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Note: When Legolas says ‘yeah’ it rhymes with ‘nay’.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 6:



The Ranger lay beside the Archer next to the stream where they had
just made love.  ‘No.  That was not lovemaking,’ thought Aragorn
bitterly.  The Ranger knew he had hurt Legolas, hurt him beyond
measure both physically and spiritually.  He wiped away tears that
fell from the Elf’s eyes in long, endless streams.  How long had they
lain like this, silent in the aftermath?  The minutes, the hours
trickled by and even in the pale moonlight Aragorn could see the
bruises on Legolas’ body healing.  But the damage he had wrought to
his lover’s soul, that would not heal so quickly, if at all.  And the
Man had no one to blame but himself.  “Legolas?” he began at long
last, his voice soft.  

The Elf had been gazing up at the stars, drifting in another world.  A
world where loving Aragorn, being made love to by Aragorn, didn’t make
him sinful or unclean.  Legolas turned his head slowly, meeting the
Ranger’s grey eyes.  The Elf reached his hand out, lightly touching
the Man’s lips with his fingertips.  “It hurts Aragorn,” he whispered.

The Ranger’s heart constricted.  How had he allowed himself to handle
Legolas so cruelly, to use the Elf’s beautiful body in such a ruthless
manner?  Aragorn grazed his knuckles over the blonde’s jaw line.  “I
have caused you terrible pain.  Forgive me my love?  I should have
shown you tenderness, you did not deserve to be used so brutally to
satisfy my own desires…”  

“Nay,” Legolas said, “there is nothing you need ask forgiveness for…”

“I have hurt you!” Aragorn bemoaned.  “I took without thought of the
harm I would do…Legolas…my words had failed and with deeds I sought to
show you that our love is sincere…but all I have done is injure you.”  

“Estel…no.  Though my body aches that is not the pain I speak of…” The
Elf paused.  His long, slender hand continued to run along Aragorn’s
face.  “You think my mind poisoned.  You think I need your words to
recall our love.  I remember how it was with us in Mirkwood so long
ago…” a bittersweet smile curled the Elf’s mouth.  “Before then I had
never known that another’s touch could give such pleasure…I did not
know that a tender kiss could warm my heart and fill my soul with
joy…but then you were taken from me…

“What was I to do Aragorn?  I was alone.  And my father who I love
dearly…who had only loved me and cared for me…his wrath was terrifying
to behold.  I had never seen him that way…you were gone…and there was
no hope of seeing you again and I did not want my father to hate me…I
merely wanted to be good…to be a good son…for him to look on me with
love, not revulsion… 

“And while I took my father’s teachings to heart and yeah, even as I
convinced myself that what I felt for you was depraved…still I loved
you…in a dark, still corner of my heart, I loved you…and I love now.
And that is the pain of which I speak…it hurts to love you Aragorn and
even so I do not wish the pain to stop,” Legolas rasped, his voice
trembling.   

Aragorn took the Elf into his arms.  The Man ran his hands over the
Elf’s back tenderly.  He burned to denounce the cruelty of Thranduil
once more.  More than that, he wished to have the King at the end of
his sword and see how terrifying his wrath was then.  But the Ranger
held his tongue.  Aragorn pulled his head back so that he could see
the Elf’s face.  He brought his hand against Legolas cheek, caressing
the skin lovingly, letting his hand slide behind the Elf’s neck.  “It
need not cause you pain Legolas,” Aragorn began carefully, “You say
you remember how it was with us in Mirkwood, then you must know that
there was no pain, only passion and affection and love.  And it can be
that way again.  You are a long way from Mirkwood my love.  You can
follow your own path; let your heart be your guide.”  With that
Aragorn let his lips brush against the Elf’s in a gesture of
unquestionable tenderness.  

Legolas felt his heart flutter as the Man’s mouth touched his.  He
brought his hands up, letting his fingers interlace behind Aragorn’s
skull.  He held the Man’s head in place, but this time lightly, only
wanting this sweet, almost innocent kiss to continue.  The Elf felt
Aragorn’s tongue against the seam of his lips.  He parted them a
little allowing entrance.  The Man’s tongue slid inside, gliding
slowly and delicately against the Elf’s.  The kiss ended and they lay
quietly in one another’s arms for a long while. 

Aragorn glanced upwards, noting the lightening of the sky as dawn
approached.  “Daybreak nears,” he said.

“The others will wonder where we are…we should cleanse ourselves and
return to the pavilion,” Legolas said as he disentangled himself from
the Man and rose to his feet.  

Aragorn saw the blood that had seeped down the Elf’s thighs.  It was
dry in some places and still fresh in others.  He inwardly cringed at
the physical hurt he had caused.  Aragorn stood.  “Are you certain the
pain I have caused your body is not severe?”

“I will heal Aragorn,” Legolas said and then waded into the waist deep
water. 

Aragorn followed slowly.  As he bathed he watched the Elf clean
himself.  Legolas sunk beneath the water and then emerged, beads of
water dancing over his ivory skin as the first rays of sunlight
sparkled in the east.  Aragorn could not help but smile at the Elf’s
beauty.  Legolas came close then, becoming interested in the little
fingernail cuts he had left on the Man’s arms and then moving behind
Aragorn and examining the scratches that covered his back.  

“I have injured you as well,” Legolas said, fingers carefully tracing
the reddish marks.  

“’Tis nothing,” Aragorn reassured.  The Ranger felt his manhood
thickening as the Elf caressed his back.  

Legolas’ hands continued to roam over Aragorn’s back, sliding over his
shoulders, moving south.  The nape of the Man’s neck was so inviting
that the Elf bent his head and placed a soft kiss there.  Aragorn
responded with a low moan.  The blonde continued to kiss the back of
the Man’s neck, the crook, the muscled shoulders.  Aragorn leaned back
against him, causing the Elf’s rapidly hardening organ to press
against the cleft of Man’s backside.  

The Ranger closed his eyes as Legolas slipped one arm around his
waist, the long slender hand against his belly, fingers splayed.  The
Man could feel Legolas’ other hand against his buttocks, seeking his
entrance.  When the Elf’s long, slender finger pressed against his
opening Aragorn moaned.  The Ranger parted his legs, taking a wider
stance in the stream.

Carefully Legolas breached the Man’s entrance, feeling the tight heat
of Aragorn surround his finger.  The Man shuddered against the
Archer’s body as the Elf made contact with his pleasure center.
Withdrawing the digit slowly, Legolas added another and pushed both
back inside, finding that place again, causing Aragorn to buck against
him.  

“Legolas…” the Man panted, legs quivering, knees threatening to give
way.  Suddenly the Elf withdrew his fingers.  The Man groaned at the
loss but that feeling of emptiness did not last long as he felt the
entire thick shaft of the Elf thrust inside him in one fluid motion.
Aragorn gasped as the Elf filled him.  His legs quaked and he might
have fallen if the Elf hadn’t wrapped the other arm around his body
and held him firmly against him.  

With the hand that had been against Aragorn’s belly, the Elf began
slowly stroking the Man’s organ.  He took a long, deep breath as his
body adjusted to the fiery heat that had clamped down around his
aching arousal.  The tightness eased slightly and Aragorn was pushing
back against him, trying to force him deeper.  Legolas moaned at the
sensation of the Man’s body rippling around his organ.  The Elf could
wait no longer and began to thrust himself in and out, taking a care
to strike his lover’s pleasure point.  

The motion of Legolas’ hand around his manhood became quicker as the
rate of the Elf’s thrusts increased.  Soon Aragorn was moaning as he
released his seed and was joined seconds later by Legolas’ broken
whimpers as the Elf spilled his essence deep within the Man.  Legolas
held Aragorn against him for a few minutes before letting go.  When
they were separated the Ranger turned around and saw that the Archer
had retreated a few steps.  Aragorn closed the gap between them.  He
brought his hand against the Elf’s face and pressed a kiss to his
lips.  “That is how it is meant to be Legolas.  No pain.  Only
love…and that is how it can be—nay, how it will be from this moment
on.  When you are ready I will show your body what it is to be loved
again.”

Legolas was nodding slowly.  “I would like to be alone for a few
moments Aragorn.  Please,” he said.

“Do not take to long,” the Man said.  He kissed the Elf’s lips again.  

Legolas watched as Aragorn dressed and headed back toward the
pavilion.  When he was certain the Man was a good distance away the
Elf left the water.  Tears sprang anew in his eyes and the conflict in
his heart was greater than ever.  Now that he had given into sin there
was no turning back.  

Though he had just bathed Legolas felt unbelievably foul.  The Elf sat
down naked on the sand near the spot he had been in when Aragorn had
found him.  Digging into the sand he found the elvish blade where he
had buried it.  Legolas held the blade firmly in his right hand and
turned his left wrist so he could see the underside, see the blue
veins that ran beneath the white skin.  

In one angry move he slashed the flesh.  He cut deep.  Deeper than he
intended.  Deeper than he had ever before.  The Elf dropped the knife
and watched as the blood flowed.  It oozed from the wound, thick and
red, streaking the ivory skin, dripping onto the sand.  Legolas let
himself lay on his back, bleeding wrist outstretched.  The wound was
too severe and Legolas fell into a healing reverie then.  His last
waking thought was that he had failed yet again.  Could he do nothing
right?      

The End





Title: Verboten (7/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: The aftermath

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Note: When Legolas says ‘yeah’ it rhymes with ‘nay’.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 7:



Legolas lay bleeding, crimson rivulets snaking from the gash, bathing
his hand.  But it was only blood that gushed from him, the sin did not
depart with it, it never had.  It seemed that no amount of self-
inflicted pain and punishment was sufficient.  The Elf cut; and loved
the Man all the same.  

The blood flowed and the Elf dreamt.  Weightless, he drifted on a tide
of love.  Aragorn’s love was a double-edged sword, both sustaining him
and destroying him.  Oftentimes, Legolas mused on the contradiction.
That which he sought to vanquish from body, mind and heart was the
very thread his sanity dangled upon.  

How long the reverie lasted Legolas did not know.  The Elf blinked
several times as he emerged from his sleep.  Glancing around, he
realized he was no longer by the stream.  Turning his head to the
right the Elf saw Aragorn leaning against a thick tree, examining a
blade that he held in his large hand.  The late day sun glinted off
the white metal and Legolas felt as though his heart would shatter.
“Aragorn…” he began, attempting to rise off of the soft grass.
Looking down he saw that he had been dressed and his wrist had been
bandaged beneath the tunic.  

Swiftly Aragorn moved from the tree to the Elf’s side.  He placed a
hand on his shoulder.  “Do not attempt to stand yet.  Though elven-
healing is a miraculous thing you lost a good deal of blood before I
came upon you,” the Man said.  His voice, though even, held an angry
edge. 

Legolas lay back down.  He looked from the Ranger’s eyes to the blade
in his hand.  The Elf turned his head away from the man’s gaze.  “How
long have I slept?” he asked, in a strangled voice.  

“Several hours.  Why Legolas?  Why would you do this?” the Man asked,
barely containing the confusion, anger, fear, and guilt that he felt.  

“To free myself from sin…” the Elf answered.  There was no point
trying to conceal the truth.  

“By taking your life!” the man bellowed.

Legolas turned his head, looking back at the Man, who had risen from
the ground and was pacing.  Despite Aragorn’s insistence that he not
get to his feet the Elf did just that.  He fought the wave of
lightheadedness and came towards the Ranger.  He placed a hand on the
Man’s arm.  “No.  It was unintended.”

“I am no fool Legolas!  Why else would you take a knife to your
wrist?”

Legolas lowered his eyes.  “To punish myself…” he divulged in a voice
devoid of feeling.  “When the mind cannot master the desires of the
body…then the body must be schooled in the language it understands.”

“And so you take a blade and cut your skin?  As punishment for your
supposed wickedness?  Tell me, when did you first do this?  The first
time we kissed?  That night I took you in your bed for the first
time?”  Aragorn had seized the Elf by the upper arms.  “You cut
yourself to drive the memory of the pleasure I gave you from your
flesh and trade it for the pain of a knife wound?”  

Legolas’ blue eyes were like ice as he stared into the grey ones of
the infuriated Ranger.  “The first time was after you were dismissed
from Mirkwood,” the Elf stated.  “It…it was the only way…that is what
he told me,” he said, his voice wavering faintly.    

“Ah, I see.  This is Thranduil’s madness!  And yet this I cannot
comprehend Legolas.  You were no mere elfling.  How is it you went so
willingly along with this?  Do you have no mind of your own?  Can you
not form your own judgments?” the Man railed.    

The Elf’s composure faltered.  “I…was alone…” he whispered, eyes
watering.  

“That is not a good enough answer Legolas!  Since we departed
Rivendell I have seen a steely resolve from you.  You are a fierce
warrior, a formidable enemy and I have thanked the Valar that you are
part of the Fellowship for I do not know how we could have come this
far without you.  But where was this strength of will when Thranduil
directed you to harm yourself as penalty for your alleged sins?  Did
you not for a moment consider that no good Man of Elf would have his
own child perform such a contemptible act?”

The elf lost all control of his emotions then.  Tears fell freely from
his eyes.  “I did not want to take that blade to my flesh!  And though
I was not helpless, I felt as if I was…I have no great strength of
will Aragorn.  I am a fighter, yes.  A killer of Orcs.  I will raise
my weapons against any servant of the Enemy.  But I am weak…it is as
my father has said…”   

The plaintive, humiliated timbre of the Elf’s voice stripped the
Ranger of his fury and he looked on his lover with softened eyes.
“Was it truly an error that you hurt yourself so severely this time?
Or was it our intimacy that compelled you?”

“My wickedness by the stream was great Aragorn…and I cut…too fast, too
deep…and so I fail at all things…even that which is meant to deliver
me from sin…”  The Archer merely sank to his knees, either from
faintness or the heavy weight of shame, or some combination of both.  

The Man dropped to the ground before Legolas.  The Ranger reached
through the curtain of gold that hid the Elf’s features.  He cupped
Legolas’ chin and raised his head gently.  “Sin that I am the source
of,” the Ranger said, softly.  He was responsible for all of Legolas’
suffering.   

Aragorn was bitterly angry with himself.  The Ranger had achieved
Legolas’ confession of love by causing the Elf considerable physical
pain.  Nonetheless he had felt gladdened to know that Thranduil’s
poison had not reached Legolas’ heart.  With time he had believed he
could supplant the pain Legolas felt for loving him with joy.  But
Thranduil’s venom ran far deeper than he knew at the time. “I forced
intimacy upon you that you were unprepared for…” he mourned.

The Elf shook his head, now reaching a hand out to comfort the Man.
“Nay…I wanted the pain…I needed to be hurt…or I could not allow myself
to have what I most desired.  All the cutting Aragorn…it never did
accomplish what it was meant to.  For I still longed for you…I ache
for you even now…” Legolas rasped, bringing his lips close to the
Man’s.  He hesitated for a moment and then brushed his mouth against
the Ranger’s.  

Carefully Aragorn took the Elf into his arms.  Lovingly he stroked
Legolas’ back.  Tenderly he kissed the supple lips, wishing to give
only sweetness to the damaged creature before him.  The kiss ended and
the Elf slumped against Aragorn.  The Ranger settled back, sitting on
his calves, holding Legolas’ limp form against him.  “Let me love you
Legolas…” he whispered.  “You cannot continue harming yourself.  This
must end.  Let me help,” the Man implored

“I do not know if I have the strength to stop…”  Legolas said.  What
he did not say was that he did not know if truly wished to.  

Aragorn pulled away a little, forcing Legolas to look into his eyes.
“Thranduil taught you to hate yourself, to mistrust your feelings.  If
you allow me, I will help you unlearn those lessons.”

“I will try Aragorn…” the Elf said, wanting to believe that what his
lover proposed was possible.  

“And I will not let you fail,” the Ranger replied and pressed a
steadfast kiss to the blonde’s lips.  “Come Legolas.  Twilight is
nearly upon Lothlórien once more.”  The Man rose to his feet and
offered the Elf a hand.

Legolas took hold of Aragorn’s hand and got to his feet as well.  “I
will join you at the pavilion shortly.  I wish to make myself more
presentable.  I would not have the company know that I have been
weeping,” he said.  

Aragorn frowned slightly.  “Very well.  I will keep this then Legolas
for you do not need it any more,” the Man stated and slid the dagger
into his belt.

Legolas wanted to protest but held his tongue.  Though he felt a
desperate need to have the blade in his possession there was no way in
which he could convince Aragorn he would not use it to hurt himself.
Perhaps if he did not have it he would feel less of a temptation.  “I
will return soon,” the Elf said.

Though he did not want to let Legolas out of his sight the man nodded.
He wanted to show Legolas that he trusted him, so that perhaps the Elf
would start to trust himself.  Aragorn left his lover to return to
camp.    

Dinner had already begun when Aragorn returned.  Boromir questioned
him about the location of the Elf.  “Enjoying fairer company than ours
I should guess,” the other Man said as he moved to settle down near
Merry and Pippin for the evening meal.  

The meal was nearly half over and still no sign of the Archer.
Aragorn was cursing himself inwardly, lamenting his decision to leave
Legolas alone again.  Just as the Man had made the decision to go find
his lover, the blonde Elf came into sight.  The Ranger made a quick
study of Legolas’ features before turning his attention to supper.
Legolas’ fair face was a mask of placidity, belying the turmoil
Aragorn read in his cobalt eyes.

The Elf nodded in acknowledgement at his companions as he took his
place on the plush grass.  He sat apart from the others, as had been
his custom from the start of the journey.  It would not do for him to
suddenly choose to be close to the Ranger, for he did not wish to
rouse suspicions about the changed nature of their relationship.
Legolas allowed himself a brief glance at the Man.  Aragorn looked
more beautiful in Lothlórien than he had anywhere else.  In the dying
light of day Legolas remembered falling in love with the Ranger, when
he was less careworn, though the wear and tear of life had made him no
less alluring.  The Elf was stirred from his thoughts by the approach
of a Hobbit. 

“Don’t you want some dinner Master Elf?”  Sam asked, having left his
perch at Frodo’s side and brought a plate with various fruits to the
Archer.  

Legolas allowed a small smile to cross his lips.  He found himself
rather fond of the sweet, tender nature of these Halflings.  “Thank
you Samwise,” the Elf said and took the proffered plate.  Sam smiled
back at him and then returned to his master.  Legolas lifted a piece
of fruit.  He took the sharp knife from the tray and sliced off a
piece, eating it quickly; aware that Aragorn’s eyes had fallen upon
him.

As he finished the fruit he saw that the Man had come over to him,
holding a pitcher and a cup.  The Ranger sank to the grass beside
Legolas and poured some of the wine into the silver goblet, extending
it towards his lover.  Legolas took it from Aragorn’s hand and
swallowed slowly.  Though he had healed from the overly deep knife
wound to his wrist, the Elf was still somewhat light-headed.  Too much
wine would not help matters.  “Thank you Aragorn,” Legolas said
softly.

Aragorn nodded.  “Are you well Legolas?” he asked, his voice a
concerned whisper.

“Indeed.  Do I appear ill?” the Elf replied, beginning in on another
golden apple.  

Aragorn longed to lay his hand on the Archer’s face, feel if his skin
was as cold as it looked.  “A pale golden light shines from your skin
most times but now you are bathed in a sickly grey…”

“I am well Aragorn.  By the grace of the Lady Galadriel all is healthy
and wholesome in the Golden Wood,” Legolas stated.  He thought that if
he had inflicted such a serious wound on himself any other place in
Middle-Earth he would not have healed so quickly. 

Aragorn lowered his voice so that only an Elf inches away could have
heard him speaking.  “I worry for you my love…”  

“You need not.  I am healed.”

The Man observed a look of sadness, of defeat in the Elf’s cobalt
eyes.  “Will you join me in private later my friend?”

“Yes Aragorn.  After the others are asleep.  Leave the pavilion
quietly.  I will follow,” the Elf said.  

The Ranger allowed a brief smile to cross his lips.  “I will leave you
to your dinner,” he said.  The Man left the Elf and returned to his
own food.  Aragorn concentrated on his plate, in case any had observed
the new measure of closeness between himself and the Elf.  

With his eyes fixed on the Ranger’s back Legolas cut up the rest of
the fruit and then furtively slid the small knife into the holster
inside his boot.  With that done he turned his attention to the fruit
and the wine.  

The End (TBC…)

      



    

  

Title: Verboten (8/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: 

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 8:



Legolas looked out on the darkling sky.  For one night at least what
was left of their company would sleep safely within the Golden Hall of
Meduseld.  In the distance the Elf perceived the threat of Mordor
closing in on them.  Shutting his eyes Legolas concentrated on sound
alone.  Through the walls he heard it, only a vibration at first.
Then the sound crystallized and became the deep, commanding rumble of
Aragorn’s voice, raised in entreaty.  His lover implored the King to
reconsider this flight to Helm’s Deep.  

The Elf wondered how much longer this debate would last.  His hand
twitched involuntarily at his side.  Perhaps there would be time
enough.  Legolas removed his boots and placed them aside.  He drew the
small knife from the sheath around his calf.  He un-strapped the
sheath and tucked it into his boot and moved to sit on the bed.
Looking at the knife, he missed the one his father had given him.
This knife had a far duller edge.  If he felt guilt for stealing it
from the realm of Galadriel it did not register in his heart.  All
thoughts were of his need for punishment.  A need that had not been
met since Aragorn discovered his shameful secret.

Though other needs had surely been slaked.  Aragorn had shown him such
tenderness since that day.  They made love like they had in Mirkwood
and afterwards Aragorn had held him and whispered gentle words of
love.  And for a time it worked.  Legolas let himself feel loved; let
his lover’s words drive out the ones his father had taught him. 

But the small measure of peace that the Elf had begun to know departed
once the Fellowship left Lothlórien.  There was little time for the
expression of their love, though they had found brief moments of
intimacy when resting for the night on the shores of the Anduin.  He
and the Man would slip off under the pretense of scouting and join
their bodies in a rushed frenzy.  However, there was never enough time
for the only thing that seemed to hold the self-hatred at bay.
Legolas found that he needed his lover’s soft, tender words.  In the
absence of them loathing and doubt resurfaced.           

The hand that held the knife trembled as the other hand seemed to move
of its own volition to the fastenings of his tunic.  Tears formed in
Legolas’ blue eyes.  He did not want to begin this again but the voice
inside screamed for his blood and Aragorn was not there to drown it
out with gentle whispers.  As the tunic fell open the Elf heard the
heavier than usual steps of Aragorn as he stalked down the hall,
heading towards the bedchambers.  Relief flooded the Elf.  Quickly he
crossed the room and hid the knife inside his boot.  Refastening the
tunic, Legolas resumed his position at the window.

A small measure of tension drained from his body when the Man saw that
Legolas stood inside his chamber, waiting for him.  He came up behind
the Elf and slipped his arms around his long frame, burying his face
in the golden blond hair, breathing in the woodsy scent.  “He will not
listen,” the Ranger breathed, pulling his head back, removing one arm
from the Elf’s body and using his now free hand to push the mane of
hair aside, giving his lips access to the nape of his lover’s neck.  

Legolas shivered slightly as Aragorn’s warm breath caressed his skin.
A barely audible sigh fell from his mouth as soft lips kissed the
sensitive area at the back of his neck.  The Elf focused on the heat
that came off of Aragorn, letting it melt the still present need to
censure his carnal desires.  “So we ride to Helm’s Deep tomorrow?” he
asked.

“Gandalf has remained with the King…perhaps there is hope yet…”
Aragorn said, though he did not believe that Théoden would be swayed.
“I am glad to find you here Legolas…I need you tonight my love,” the
Man breathed, letting his hands come around the Elf fully and
beginning to undo the tunic.  When it was open the man stepped back
and slid the garment off of the Elf’s shoulders, dropping it to the
floor.  “Come,” the Ranger whispered and drew the Elf towards the bed.  

Legolas lay down on his back.  He watched his lover remove his tunic
and boots.  Aragorn climbed up onto the bed, lying beside the Elf.
The breeze coming through the window was cool but the Archer’s skin
was hot and the Man ran his hands over the heat greedily.  His fingers
teased one of the Elf’s nipples as the other hand slid down Legolas’
firm belly, came down over the hardening bulge beneath his leggings.
“Ai Aragorn,” the blonde sighed, arching at the intimate touch.  This
was what he needed; this was what drove the anguish away.  

The Ranger brought his mouth down against the Elf’s throat, kissing
the white column of flesh lovingly, sliding his mouth along the jaw
line, sucking softly on the ear lobe, and letting his tongue sweep
over the curve of the ear.  The Man took the point of the Elf’s ear
between his lips and sucked on the sensitive flesh.  Aragorn felt
Legolas push his organ harder against his hand.  He ceased his teasing
of the Elf’s ear and brought both hands to the Elf’s hips.  He stroked
the silken skin at the Archer’s sides as he worked to untie the laces
of the Elf’s leggings.  When they were undone the Man pulled them from
Legolas’ body.  

The Elf let out a breath as his arousal was freed, the chilly night
air sending shivers through his overheated flesh.  His breath hitched
as Aragorn stroked the shaft slowly.  Legolas reached towards the
Man’s breeches and quickly undid them, sliding them half way down
Aragorn’s body.  Aragorn stopped his ministrations briefly and removed
the breeches entirely, tossing them aside.  He then knelt between the
Elf’s thighs.  “Love me Aragorn…please…” Legolas begged, running his
hand over the Man’s length encouragingly.

Aragorn moaned softly.  He reached for the small bottle of healing oil
sitting on a table beside the bed, that Legolas had used to tend to
Aragorn’s wounds.  He poured the liquid onto his hands.  He brought
one finger against the Elf’s puckered entrance and pushed forward
gently.  One of Legolas’ hands grabbed hold of Aragorn’s thigh,
squeezing hard.  “Easy my love,” the Man soothed.  The beginning
stages of lovemaking were difficult for Legolas.  The Ranger knew that
it still felt like a defeat for the Elf.  Gingerly he coaxed his
lover’s body open and felt the tight heat surround his finger.  He
moved his finger slowly, curling it a little.  Legolas shuddered and
moaned and Aragorn knew he had touched the right spot.  

The Elf surrendered once more to pleasure.  Aragorn blotted out all
other thought as he brushed that place inside the Elf, first with one
finger then two and finally a third.  When those fingers were removed
Legolas sighed at the loss.  He looked up at his lover; Aragorn
stroked his hair and then laced each of the Elf’s legs behind his
back.  Slowly the Ranger brought the tip of his manhood against
Legolas’ entrance.  “Now Aragorn…please…” he whispered, raising his
hips.

Hands braced against the bed Aragorn pushed his arousal inside the
Elf. “Legolas…” he moaned as he became sheathed in the Elf’s fiery
opening.  Arms surrounded him, held him closer.  Strong thighs
tightened around him, urging him on.  Aragorn did not disappoint.  He
withdrew his organ and then slid it all the way inside.  He did this
several times, each time hearing a lilting whimper fall from the Elf’s
lips.  Changing his position slightly Aragorn moved within Legolas
again.  This time he was rewarded with breathless elvish intermingled
with rapturous moans as he struck the Elf’s pleasure center
repeatedly. He caught a glimpse of Legolas’ fair face and saw it was
alight with pleasure.  The Man curled his fingers around the Archer’s
arousal and pumped the flesh quickly.

With one last silky moan Legolas found his release, spilling his
essence within Aragorn’s hand.  The Ranger continued to move inside
him for several more seconds until he let out a guttural roar and
Legolas felt the Man’s seed surge deep inside his body.  As the climax
waned Aragorn brought his mouth against the Elf’s.  

Legolas kissed his lover fervently, bringing his hands to the Man’s
face to keep him in place.  He never wanted this feeling to end.  But
it would end, he knew, and all to quickly.  Even now, as they kissed,
the darkness was closing in inside of him, the words of his father
echoing in the deep reaches of his mind.  “Tell me you love me
Aragorn,” the Elf rasped, breaking the kiss suddenly.

Aragorn looked down into troubled blue eyes, he stroked the Elf’s
face.  “You have my love Legolas,” the Ranger stated.  He withdrew
from the Elf’s body and rolled to the side.  He then gathered the
blonde to him, whispering words of love and devotion in both elvish
and the common tongue.  

Silent tears fell from the Elf’s eyes.  The words soothed him, but not
enough.  How he longed to confess the darkness inside him to Aragorn.
But he feared the Ranger’s disappointment.  He did not speak; he
merely tightened his grasp on the Man, willing his need for pain to
retreat back into a quiet corner of his mind.  

The Elf’s face was buried against the crook of his neck.  Aragorn
could feel tears against his skin.  He stroked the Elf’s back
tenderly.  He had watched Legolas closely since discovering him
bleeding in Lothlórien.  The Elf was unaware that Aragorn knew of the
knife he had hidden in his boot.  The Ranger also knew the Elf had not
used it to harm himself and this was why he had remained silent on the
subject.  But a time was soon approaching when the Man would be unable
to keep his vigil over the Elf and he greatly feared for his lover’s
well being.  

And there were other ways to harm oneself, a small fruit knife being
the least of the dangers that would soon be upon them.  He wondered if
Legolas might intentionally slip up in battle and allow himself to be
inured just to feel the accompanying pain.  The Ranger had to know if
his lover would be safe.  He had to know if the reason Legolas had not
taken the knife to himself was because of lack of desire or lack of
opportunity.  Though he was loath to spoil the tenderness of their
embrace Aragorn had no other choice.  “Do you think the Lady Galadriel
misses her knife?” he asked softly and waited for a response.  

The End (TBC…)



            



Title: Verboten (9/?)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: 

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 9:



“Do you think the Lady Galadriel misses her knife?”  Aragorn asked.

Legolas cringed at the words, disentangling himself from his lover’s
embrace.  He retreated to the left side of the bed, drawing the covers
over the lower half of his naked body as he took a seated position.
“How long have you known?” the Elf asked, his voice soft, not turning
to meet the Ranger’s eyes.

Aragorn sat up as well.  “I have known since the day you took it,” he
answered simply.

“Why did you not say something then, if you are so concerned about the
theft of the Lady’s property?” Legolas kept his voice composed,
betraying nothing of the wild panic that caught hold of his heart. 

“I wanted to know if you would use it, after your vow to me that you
would never harm yourself again,” Aragorn said.  

Legolas turned his fierce blue eyes on the Man.  “I have not,” he
said.  

“But you have wished to,” Aragorn responded.  “Is that not so?”

“It is not so easy to quiet the voice I hear in my mind…the voice of
my father enjoining me to punish my sins,” the Elf said. 

“You still think this sin?  Though we avow our love to one another
nightly you continue to believe what we have is corrupt?  Very well
then Legolas,” Aragorn said, rising from the bed.  

Legolas watched his lover’s naked form move across the room.  The Man
went to his pack and pulled an object out.  Returning to the bed he
flung the Elf’s blade onto it.  He could not stop himself from
extending a hand towards it, running a finger along the cool white
metal.  

“Pick it up Legolas.  I know you desire to,” the Ranger said as he sat
on the edge of the bed.

The Elf looked up, saw the bitterness in Aragorn’s grey eyes.  Almost
gingerly Legolas wrapped his hand around the handle, lifting the
weapon.  He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the familiar weight of
the object that had been his companion for so long.  

“Now use it Legolas.  Take the knife to your flesh and cut,” Aragorn
said.  He watched as a look of shock entered the Elf’s blue eyes.  

Legolas’ startled eyes shifted from the Man to the blade.  He turned
it over a few times in his hand, imagined the way the metal would
slide over and slice into his flesh.  The pain would begin, the blood
would flow, and sin would depart. The Elf looked up at the Ranger.
Though he had ceased to deny that he loved this man, he could not
fully eradicate the thoughts that he needed to be punished for it.  “I
thought you wished me to stop this practice,” the Elf said softly.

“I do.  But I have realized that that I cannot give you all that you
need.  And I cannot always be here to protect you from yourself
Legolas.  So if you must do this, then so be it,” Aragorn stated.  He
paused, watching the Elf.  He could see faint tremors shaking his
lover’s body.  

“Leave me then Aragorn…let me do what I must…” Legolas rasped.

“No,” Aragorn said firmly.  “I will remain.”

Legolas’ eyes widened.  “You cannot.  You must go.”

“No Legolas.  That I will not do.  Your need is to harm yourself and
my need is to heal you.  I will make certain you do not cut too deep
as you did in the Golden Woods.  And I will tend your wounds
afterwards.”

“Aragorn, I cannot…it is too shameful…I do not wish you to see me do
this,” Legolas said.

“Why is it shameful Legolas?”  Aragorn breathed, coming closer to the
trembling Elf.

“It is weakness…” Legolas answered.

“But you need the pain Legolas.  That is the only way to expel sin,”
he said.  

“I do not want you to see me this way…” Legolas pleaded.

“Why?” Aragorn asked gently, stroking the Elf’s cheek.

“Because I do not want you to look upon me with disgust and judgment…”
Legolas sobbed.

“You have had enough of that, have you not?”  The Ranger brushed the
tears that fell away.  

“Yes,” the Elf managed, leaning into the Man’s touch.

“I offer you love and acceptance Legolas.  And if after that you still
need to harm yourself then do it.  But know that I will be here to see
that you do not endanger your life, for yours is more precious to me
than my own.”

“I do not always feel the desire to injure myself…” Legolas whispered.
“There are times when I feel nothing but joy…when your breath caresses
my skin…when your lips are upon mine…when our bodies become one…”
Suddenly Legolas threw the knife across the room, sending it violently
clanging against the stone floor.  “I do not want to hurt myself
anymore,” he breathed.

“Then don’t Legolas.  When the voice of your father calls for your
blood come to me and together we will silence it,” Aragorn said.
“Renounce once and for all Thranduil’s hatred.  You have the strength
to do this, I have seen it burn in your eyes.”

“To do what you ask requires that I turn my back on my father
evermore…that I can never return to live in Mirkwood,” Legolas said.
Silence fell between them.  The Elf felt Aragorn’s gaze upon him, knew
the man saw the turmoil in his eyes as he struggled with his choice.
Legolas raised his hand and caressed Aragorn’s bearded face.
“Aragorn?”

“Yes Legolas?” he said, his heart racing.

“There is woodland near Minas Tirith, is there not?”  

“Yes,” Aragorn gasped, “Yes…there is a good deal of woodland…”

The Elf nodded.  “I can seek a home close to Gondor then…if there are
trees and I have you.” 

The End (TBC…)     



    





Title: Verboten (10/10)

Author: Jen Lynn 

E-mail: ilovelegolas@nyc.rr.com

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer:  This fan fiction is movie-based.  These characters and
their world do not belong to me; they’re just being borrowed

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Warning: Self-mutilation, self-punishment

Summary: A return from a fall convinces Legolas once and for all that
love and hope can triumph over even the darkest of times.

Archive: LXF, Lirimaer, LegolasLovesAragorn, Legolas In Chains, yes.
Others please ask.  

Note: I’ve taken some lines from the film “The Two Towers” and re-
arranged them to fit into this chapter and *my* version of events.
Translations: le ab-dollen- you’re late; Ú-moe edhored- there is
nothing to forgive.  

Thanks as always to Jean for beta-ing for me.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.	



Part 10:



Legolas had discovered pain far worse than that caused by the sharp
edge of an elven knife.  Worse than the shame he felt for failing his
father.  Losing Aragorn cut deeper than any knife ever could. Standing
now amongst the Eorlingas in the stronghold of the Hornburg he
chastised himself for his folly.  For years wasted that could have
been spent in Aragorn’s arms.  For living under his father’s dominion
so passively.  For not trusting his own heart until it was nearly too
late.    

Yet strangely he did not turn to the blade for comfort.  He saw it
now, the truth.  He knew Aragorn was right all along.  There was no
clarity in pain; there was no ease from inner turmoil.  Nothing had
hurt so much as this, as the thought of Aragorn tumbling over the
cliff, body broken by rocks and swept away by icy currents.  And there
was no relief in this pain.  No freedom.  Only tears and grief and the
feeling of having been cheated.    

But even more perplexing to the Elf was this: his heart did not break.
Oh, it was bruised.  Bloodied.  Battered.  But Legolas would not fade;
his spirit would not flee his body.  He steeled himself against the
sorrow, against the aching void he felt.  Legolas knew Aragorn’s mind
better than any other and he was intent on bringing about all that
Aragorn fought for.  Legolas knew himself to be a poor substitute for
the man he loved, but he would do what he must to carry on in his
stead.    

Though in truth, Legolas, Gimli and all those gathered at Helm’s Deep
had little hope of surviving the battle that drew nigh.  Even with
Aragorn to lead them, hope was scarce.  Now it had all but fled.
Whether he took a knife to his flesh in anger to end his life,
succumbed to grief, or was brought down by an enemy’s weapon, the end
result would most likely be the same.  Without Aragorn, Legolas knew
his days on Middle-Earth to be drawing to a close.    

Legolas moved through the Hornburg, seeing how preparations went, his
mind utterly bent on Aragorn, trying to act as he thought Aragorn
would.  And then a voice caught in his ear.  

“You are the the luckiest, the cunningest, and most reckless man I
ever knew!  Bless you, laddie!” 

Without another thought Legolas sprinted down the corridor, coming
into a large hall.  He stopped, frozen suddenly to the ground,
wondering if he had slipped into a dream.  

"Gimli, where is the king?"

Real.  The voice sounded real.  That deep, beloved voice causing his
soul to vibrate.  Legolas closed his eyes briefly, forcing back the
tears.  His heart lurched suddenly as a hand was laid on his shoulder,
as strong fingers tenderly squeezed him.  The Elf opened his blue
eyes.  “Le ab-dollen,” he whispered, joy suddenly breaking through the
pain.  The smallest of smiles turned the corner of Legolas’ lips. “You
look terrible,” he said after a long silence as they merely took in
the sight of one another.    

A soft smile to match the Elf’s crossed Aragorn’s mouth.  He ran his
hand down Legolas’ arm, letting his fingers tangle with the Elf’s for
the briefest of moments.  “You did not believe I would be parted from
you so easily, did you?” he asked so softly that no one but his lover
could hear the words.

Legolas lowered his gaze a fraction, avoiding Aragorn’s eyes.
“Forgive me.  I was wrong to despair,” he said with aching regret. 

“Ú-moe edhored, Legolas,” Aragorn replied.  “I must find the King.
The army of Saruman draws near.”

The Elf nodded and followed his lover.  He stood in the background as
Aragorn spoke with Théoden.  The King did not listen to Aragorn’s
counsel to call for aid from Gondor.  Perhaps the King was right to
say that Rohan was not so lucky in its friends as Aragorn was.  But
even as Legolas listened to the talk of the army of Uruk-hai that bore
down on them, ten thousand strong, his hope did not falter.  

To have Aragorn return to him from the depths of despair had restored
the Elf’s faith.  He knew now that they would triumph against their
enemy, that they did not fight the coming darkness in vain.  With
Aragorn to lead them on they would push back the night and see the sun
shine in peace on Arda once more.   

The discussion ended and Aragorn moved away, stalking down the
corridor.  He came to a stop halfway down, wavering in his steps.  The
only thing that prevented his collapse were the nimble hands that
caught his arms and steadied his swaying body. “Legolas…” he said,
letting his weight fall against the strong body behind him.

“You need rest my lord,” Legolas said, guiding his lover down the
hall, finding his way to the small chamber in which he had found a
couple of hours of slumber.  

A soft moan of protest came from Aragorn’s mouth as the Elf guided him
onto a straw filled bed.  “There is no time,” he said.  

“There is time enough.  What use will you be if you are too tired to
keep your feet Aragorn?”  The Elf hovered over his lover, straddling
his waist.  He stripped the tunic from Aragorn, revealing the gash on
his arm that bled still.  He tore a piece of cloth from the coverlet
and staunched the flow of blood.  Frowning Legolas drew a phial from
beneath his belt.  He poured the unguent onto his fingers and
carefully covered the wound with the sweet smelling liquid.  

Aragorn grimaced at the pain but made no sound as the Elf tended his
wound. Though his eyelids felt heavy he did not close them, but rather
watched Legolas as he checked him for other injuries.  Reaching his
uninjured arm out he fingered the silken blond tresses that hung down
before him.  “Will I live?” he asked, humor glinting in his grey eyes.  

Legolas looked into Aragorn’s eyes and allowed himself a smile.  “Yes.
Gimli was correct.  You are the luckiest, cunningest, most reckless
man…” his words trailed off as he was pulled low for a kiss.  

Softly Aragorn reclaimed what was his, lips moving against lips gently
at first then with increasing urgency.  A tongue slipped inside his
mouth, tasting him, possessing him.  When Legolas pulled back Aragorn
seized his arms, a surge of strength defying his exhaustion.  

“You must sleep while you can,” the Elf said.

“I cannot sleep.  I need you Legolas.  I would have you love me.  Do
not leave,” he said, tightening his grip.           

“Then be still my love and I will give you all that you require,”
Legolas whispered.  The Elf brought his mouth down against the
Ranger’s neck.  He kissed the flesh delicately, tongue moving over the
hollow of his lover’s throat.   

Soft breath blew against his skin and Aragorn moaned.  He released the
Elf’s arms and lay back completely.  The Elf moved off of his body and
Aragorn looked to see Legolas removing his garments, revealing his
pearly flesh.  Aragorn smiled at him and Legolas returned it, moving
back to the bed and unlacing the man’s breeches quickly, sliding the
garment off of his body and laying it aside. 

Legolas knelt between Aragorn’s legs.  Taking the phial he spilled
some of the unguent onto his hand.  He coated his fingers and his
arousal before bending his head low over the man’s weeping shaft.
Legolas darted his tongue over the tip.  He tasted Aragorn, felt his
own organ grow harder.  He took Aragorn into his mouth inch by inch,
sucking softly.  

Aragorn’s hips thrust upward, pushing his length deeper into the hot
wet mouth that seemed designed only to give him pleasure.  Legolas’
hands were on his thighs, stroking the sensitive skin.  A finger
pushed against him, coaxing its way inside.  That finger found his
pleasure center just as Legolas took him completely into his mouth and
increased his pace.  Aragorn writhed, erratic moans issuing from his
lips at the double onslaught of rapture.  

Aragorn found his release seconds later, his seed surging into
Legolas’ mouth as the Elf worked to swallow his lover’s essence.
Aragorn’s body slackened in the wake of his climax.  The Elf was able
to add another finger and stretch his lover sufficiently.  Removing
his fingers Legolas brought his body down on top of Aragorn.  He laced
the man’s legs behind his back and guided his organ against his
entrance.  Little by little Legolas pushed himself inside the man, the
tight heat engulfing his throbbing arousal.

Aragorn sighed, reaching his arms around Legolas and stroking his
back.  He tangled his fingers in the long golden locks, tugging
slightly as the Elf filled him completely.  Legolas held still then
and Aragorn urged his lover’s head towards him, kissing those soft
lips ravenously.  

The rhythm of the kiss became the rhythm of their lovemaking.  Legolas
moved within his lover, striking that spot inside with each thrust.
Aragorn’s manhood was hard again, pushing against the Elf’s belly.
Legolas surrounded it with his hand, pumped the hardened flesh
vigorously.  As the Elf climaxed he heard Aragorn moan his name as he
was brought once more to that place of absolute bliss.   

Carefully Legolas withdrew from his body, lying beside Aragorn.
Aragorn turned to face his lover and with what little strength he had
left gathered Legolas to him.  “I find such peace in your arms
Legolas,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

“As do I my love.  As do I,” he said, stroking Aragorn’s hair until
the man slept soundly in his arms.  

The End