Title: You’re My Home
Author: Laurelin   (laurelin_enedlithien@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG – NC17? (no rape, but graphic sex)
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Disclaimer: Nope, no characters are mine. I would like to thank Tolkien 
for inventing these wonderful characters and I sincerely hope that he does 
not turn in his grave due to the wicked things I let them do. Elven names: 
http://www.geocities.com/the_realm_of_the_lady/ Any botanical names 
are my own invention. Recognize phrases from LOTR, the book or the 
movie? That’s quite possible… Plot slightly inspired by Change of Heart, 
Change of Mind by Siobhan & Cassia (non-slash).
Author’s notes: Arwen? Who’s Arwen? *grin* I would like to humbly 
point out that Mr. Tolkien made a little mistake here. I mean, Arwen’s a 
sweet lady and all, but she’s just not right for Aragorn, if you follow me; 
that is my opinion. Billy Joel’s You’re My Home inspired me to write this 
fic. It’s a lovely, sweet song and it just fits Aragorn perfectly, don’t you 
agree? (yeah, I know, except for the turnpike-thing etc. Ignore that please.) 
Feedback? Yes! I love it! Tell me what you think, ‘cause it’s the thought 
that there are people out there reading and enjoying my stories that keeps 
me going. This fic is not as grand and complex as my previous one, Three 
Hearts, but I hope it’s enjoyable nevertheless. I’d love to hear it.
Archive: all ya have to do is ask.
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn have long been friends, but now 
something befalls them that may change things forever, for good or ill…

When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow
Well, I never had a place that I could call my very own
But that’s alright my love,
‘Cause you’re my home.
When you touch my weary head
And you tell me ev’rything will be alright
You say ‘use my body for your bed
And my love will keep you warm throughout the night’
Well, I’ll never be a stranger
And I’ll never be alone
Wherever we’re together that’s my home.
Home can be the Pennsylvania turnpike
Indiana’s early morning dew
High up in the hills of California
Home is just another word for you
Well, I never had a place that I could call my very own
But that’s alright my love,
‘Cause you’re my home.
If I travel all my life
And I never get to stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There’s a roof above and good walls all around
You’re my castle, you’re my cabin
And my instant pleasure dome
I need you in my house
‘Cause you’re my home.
	~ lyrics to “You’re My Home” by Billy Joel


Chapter 1

Aragorn opened his eyes and for a moment, he had no idea where he was. 
He was used to waking up with nothing but sky above his head and the 
scent of nature in his nose, but now he was lying in a comfortable bed, 
beneath an artfully carved ceiling; he discerned distinct forms of leaves, 
flowers and all sorts of forest animals.

After a few seconds, realization dawned. He was in Mirkwood, in the 
royal palace, as a guest of the Elven king Thranduil. He had arrived the 
day before, returning from a long stay in Rohan. He was an old friend of 
the royal family and they had been thrilled to see him again, for he had 
been away for almost two years. King Thranduil had insisted on a modest 
feast to celebrate his arrival.

Feasts at Thranduil’s palace were never modest. Aragorn felt honoured, 
but also a little uncomfortable with all the attention bestowed on him. And 
he was weary after his long travels; he longed for a good night’s rest. But 
the music had been enchanting and the wine excellent, and the Elves as 
pleasant company as ever.

Rays of sunlight fell through the window. Judging from the position of the 
sun, it was already nearing noon. Aragorn smiled to himself; usually he 
was up and busy before seven o’ clock, but for once, he allowed himself to 
sleep his fill.

He pulled the sheets to his chin and rolled onto his other side, but opened 
his eyes again when there was a knock on the door. “Who is there?”

“It’s me, Legolas,” came the reply. “Can I come in?”

“Yes…”

The door opened and in walked his friend Legolas, Thranduil’s youngest 
son, who was smiling and looked like he had got up hours ago. Which he 
most probably had. His smile grew broader when his eyes fell on Aragorn. 
Strangely enough, the Elf’s smile brightened the room even more than the 
sun itself. In his hands Legolas had a pile of garments, which he lay on a 
nearby chair. “Good morning, Aragorn. Still in bed I see?”

Aragorn rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Yes. I guess I needed it.”

“Apparently so. Here, I have some clean clothes for you. Your own 
clothes are currently being washed. Did you enjoy yourself yesterday 
evening?”

“Absolutely.” Aragorn managed to sit up. “But I was exhausted. I can 
hardly remember how I finally got into bed.”

Legolas smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. You almost fell asleep in your 
chair yesterday. When your head started nodding, my sister and I decided 
to tuck you in.” The Elf grinned. “You needed some assistance climbing 
the stairs.”

“Hmm.” Aragorn looked down at the unfamiliar shirt he was wearing. 
“Did I need some assistance getting undressed, too?” he asked with a 
smirk.

Legolas laughed. “Do not be afraid; you may not remember, but you 
managed to put that on yourself. My sister and I were greatly 
disappointed,” he added with a mischievous smile.

Aragorn smiled too. Jests such as this one were not unusual between them.

“Will you get up now?” Legolas asked cheerfully, “breakfast is waiting for 
you.”

***

The next few days went by quickly. Far too quickly to Aragorn’s liking. 
Being with Legolas was as pleasant as ever and the thought of having to 
leave Mirkwood soon to continue his life in the wild did not hold appeal. 
But he knew he had to; he had chosen a life as a Ranger, the yearning for 
travel flowed through his veins.

Not a day passed without Aragorn wishing he did not have that craving for 
travel. One part of him wanted to settle down somewhere more than 
anything, but it was not to be. He was a Man, but had been raised and 
taught by Elves. He was Isildur’s Heir, but at the moment nothing more 
than a Ranger. Sometimes he felt like a lone seed, drifting on the wind; 
touching the ground now and then, but never long enough to find his 
footing. It was his fate; and sometimes, he despised it. He dealt with it 
most of the time; when someone asked him about it, he would shrug and 
say: “The wilderness is my home.” But every now and then, he would 
yearn for a real home.

Aragorn and Legolas spent a lot of time together during those days. They 
had much to talk about after two years spent apart, but silence between 
them was also comfortable. On the third day, Legolas took Aragorn with 
him to the archery range. Being the youngest prince of Mirkwood, Legolas 
had been given archery lessons ever since his early years, and he had 
developed a great love for it. Those lessons and all those hours spent with 
his bow had come to fruition; Legolas was known, both in- and outside 
Mirkwood, for his steady hand, impeccable aiming and seemingly 
effortless accuracy. Which was why Aragorn was reluctant to enter into a 
friendly competition with him.

“No, Legolas,” he laughed, “I am not going to compete with you. I’ve 
done that before and we both know who will win that competition.”

“Oh, come, Aragorn,” Legolas coaxed, “I expected more from you. Don’t 
you want payback for last time?”

Aragorn looked up and saw the mischievous glint in the Elf’s eyes. 
Legolas was playing on Aragorn’s pride; the best way to achieve his goal, 
the Elf doubtlessly knew. Aragorn clenched his teeth and picked up his 
bow. “After you, Elf,” he growled.

Legolas smiled serenely. It was a game. A game they both knew well.

“Whatever you say, Human,” Legolas shrugged. Pulling an arrow from his 
quiver, he gracefully stepped forward, to the firing line. He took position 
and while he slowly fitted an arrow to the string, he slightly raised his chin 
and closed his eyes, feeling the breeze on his face and judging its force 
and direction. Aragorn had been busy preparing his bow but suddenly 
found himself distracted. The Elf stood so upright, so graceful; the 
sunlight played with his long blond locks and enhanced his smooth skin. 
Aragorn could not help but admire his friend’s appearance.

They had long been friends, ever since Aragorn was a youth growing up in 
Rivendell, far from his homeland, unaware of his lineage. Long years had 
passed since then; Aragorn had learned about his origin, he had become a 
Ranger and seen much of Middle-earth and its people. Occasionally he 
visited Lord Elrond in Rivendell, the only father he’d ever known; but 
Mirkwood, Thranduil’s palace, was a haven for him, too, especially 
because it was where Legolas lived. Aragorn had many acquaintances, but 
few good friends; Legolas was one of them. Legolas had not changed in 
all those years; if anything, he’d only become more beautiful. Aragorn 
was always surprised to notice that ‘beautiful’ was the first word to enter 
his mind when he was looking at Legolas. He knew of no other male he 
could assign that word to.

Legolas raised his bow, drew and took aim. The arrow left the string with 
a sharp sound and hit the target. Bull’s-eye. Legolas lowered his bow and 
turned to Aragorn. “Your turn, my friend.”

They left the range two hours later, in an elated mood, Legolas’s graceful 
steps matching Aragorn’s long strides. “I’m sorry, Aragorn,” Legolas said, 
“maybe next time?”

Aragorn heard the amusement in the Elf’s voice and smiled. Legolas 
would never boast about his archery skills, for it was not in his character, 
but they both liked bantering.

“There won’t be a next time,” Aragorn said grimly, “I’d rather put you in 
your place with a sword fight.”

Legolas let out an exaggerated sigh. “Sword fighting is so barbaric,” he 
said, “but if you insist…”

Aragorn laughed and spontaneously took Legolas’s hand in his own. 
Legolas turned his face to him in surprise at this unexpected gesture, but 
he did not stiffen or pull back. Quite the contrary, he returned it by folding 
his long fingers around Aragorn’s hand and squeezing affectionately. “It’s 
great to be here,” Aragorn told him, “I missed this. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Legolas replied earnestly.

***

That evening, as darkness fell over the forest, Aragorn and Legolas went 
out for a quiet walk. As they were walking side by side, suddenly a group 
of Elven warriors crossed paths with them. They were heading to the 
stables and looked worried. Legolas’s smile faded and he quickened his 
pace to catch up with the Elves. Aragorn followed him.

“Legolas.” Two of Legolas’s brothers, Arorod and Túrgwaith, were 
among the warriors and they, too, looked distressed. “Orcs,” Arorod told 
his youngest brother grimly, “three dozen at least, at less than thirty 
minutes from here.”

Legolas looked dismayed. “I’m coming with you.” He joined the group 
and Aragorn followed him.

“Orcs?” Aragorn said, “and so close to your father’s palace? That’s 
unusual.”

“Not as unusual as it should be,” Legolas replied. “lately Orcs have been 
roaming freely near the borders of the forest, but they’re growing bolder. 
It’s the third time in two months that we must ride out and draw them 
away from our city.” He shook his head. “Three dozen…that’s the greatest 
host until now.”

“I’m coming too.”

Legolas turned to him, temporarily shedding off his grim resoluteness and 
looking at him kindly. “We do not ask that of you, Aragorn. ‘Tis our 
problem, not yours.”

“I know. But I still want to come. I despise those creatures as much as you 
do. I’ve slain many an Orc in my life, I may come in handy.”

Legolas smiled. “All right then, if you insist. But remember, I want to see 
you return alive, and unspoiled.”

They stopped by at the armoury, put on some light armour and made for 
the stables. Ten minutes later, they rode out with the others. Aragorn 
found himself riding beside Arorod, and he asked the prince: “I thought so 
many Orcs were slain in the Battle of the Five Armies that Mirkwood had 
become a safer place again. Is it not so?”

Arorod sighed. “It was. Since the Battle, we haven’t had dealings with 
Orcs for many years; but they are multiplying swiftly and lately, they have 
been wandering out of their mountains, into Mirkwood. Iluvatar knows 
why; they should know by now that trespassers will be severely 
punished.”

They rode silently for almost twenty minutes, the Elves with their keen 
ears concentrating on the sounds from the forest, until finally the Elves at 
the head of the column stopped their horses. Túrgwaith softly spoke with 
them, then instructed the others with a few gestures of his hand before 
taking hold of his bow. The others followed his example, Aragorn too. 
Arorod leaned over. “To the southwest,” he whispered, “less than two 
hundred meters, in a little clearing. We must form a tight group, so stick 
with us.” Aragorn nodded.

They left their horses on the path and stepped between the trees on the left, 
using the Elven ability to walk without making a sound. Aragorn, being 
taught by Elves in his youth, had this skill too. Ahead in the distance, 
Aragorn could see dark forms moving behind the trees. The forms moved 
slowly, apparently unaware of the approaching group. With some luck, 
they could take the creatures by surprise.

They continued moving forward until they could hear the Orcs quietly talk 
amongst themselves in their guttural tongue. Unfortunately, the trees could 
not conceal the Elves forever and the Orcs’ eyes were trained to see in the 
dark. They halted at a considerable distance and lined up; Túrgwaith gave 
a signal and they all took aim. Túrgwaith waited a few heartbeats; then he 
gave another signal and they all released their arrows.

Everything happened very quickly then. Judging by the cries issuing from 
the group ahead of them, their arrows had hit target. Aragorn could see 
Orcs falling to the ground; but the others cried out in anger and came 
rushing towards them, their primitive weapons ready. "Leithio i philinn!" 
(Fire the arrows) Túrgwaith cried, since their presence was now no longer 
a secret. Another series of arrows pierced the air and more Orcs fell.

The Elves continued firing arrows, but Aragorn soon dropped his bow and 
unsheathed his sword, his weapon of choice. He dove forward and hacked 
at every Orc he came across. More Orcs issued from behind the trees. As 
in a daze, he heard Túrgwaith shout commands. “Herio! Herio!” (Charge! 
Charge!) More Elves, their long knives drawn, appeared beside him and 
fought with equal vigour.

Finally, after what seemed an hour but was probably hardly more than five 
minutes, the screaming and uproar died away somewhat. Aragorn stood 
still, breathing heavily, looking around him feverishly. Here and there, 
Elves were still engaged in fights with Orcs, but most Orcs lay slain or 
deadly wounded. Aragorn wiped the sweat from his brow. To his relief, he 
saw no Elves among the corpses.

But where was Legolas? Startled, Aragorn scanned the scene with 
narrowed eyes. He saw Arorod and Túrgwaith, and many others whose 
names he could not recall, but no Legolas. He swiftly moved forward, 
looking to the left and to the right. “Legolas!” In his confusion, he almost 
tripped over a corpse, but he regained his balance and continued moving 
forward. “Legolas!”

Suddenly, his friend appeared from behind the trees, some meters ahead of 
him. Aragorn, relieved, stopped and started to smile, but Legolas frowned. 
Then, with a movement quicker than light, he raised his bow and released 
an arrow. The arrow whizzed past Aragorn, missing him by inches; 
Aragorn turned on his heels and, to his horror, saw an Orc right behind 
him sink to the ground, his hands clutching at Legolas’s arrow, which had 
pierced his throat.

Aragorn turned back to look at Legolas, who threw him a worried look. 
I’m fine, Aragorn wanted to mouth, but then he saw something that made 
his blood freeze in his veins. One of the last Orcs, fleeing together with his 
surviving companions, halted, turned and raised his little bow. The tip of 
the arrow pointed distinctly at Legolas’s exposed back.

Aragorn raised his hand. “Legolas! Watch out!” With a sharp sound, the 
arrow left the Orc’s bow.

Legolas instinctively ducked away, but Aragorn heard the sickening sound 
of an arrow boring into flesh. Legolas’s upper body jerked with the 
impact; Legolas gasped in pain and automatically reached for his left 
shoulder. He slowly dropped to his knees, his head bowed.

“Legolas, no!” Aragorn rushed towards him, in the meantime gesturing 
wildly and calling out: “Arorod, Túrgwaith! Dago han, dago han!” (Kill it, 
kill it) The two brothers stood as if cemented to the ground, but Arorod 
finally pulled himself together and yanked an arrow from his quiver; he 
fired it at the Orc and killed it instantly. Other Elves charged after the 
fleeing Orcs, determined to kill them all.

Aragorn, in the meantime, kneeled in front of Legolas, who was holding 
his shoulder and breathing harshly. “Legolas –”

Legolas momentarily opened his eyes. “Don’t ever call out like that when 
you’re in the midst of a battle, Aragorn,” he said with difficulty, “unless 
you want to draw the enemy’s attention to you.” He drew in a sharp breath 
through clenched teeth. “Your worry for me almost got you killed.”

“Oh, Legolas…” Aragorn moved around so that he could inspect the 
situation. The arrow had doubtlessly been pointed at Legolas’s throat, but 
because the Elf had moved aside, it had missed and hit Legolas’s shoulder 
instead. Aragorn probed the spot where the arrow disappeared into his 
friend’s flesh with trembling fingers. Blood issued from the wound and 
slowly painted Legolas’s tunic dark. Theoretically, it was not a deadly 
wound and Legolas should be fine; unless…the arrow was poisoned, as 
orc arrows too often were.

Other Elves, Túrgwaith among them, gathered around them with worried 
looks on their faces. They, too, knew the dangers of orc arrows, but 
despite their worry, they kept their distance to give Aragorn the 
opportunity to inspect the wound, for they knew the Ranger’s healing 
skills.

“And, Estel?” Túrgwaith asked softly.

Aragorn did not reply. He moved back to face Legolas, who was still 
holding his shoulder and gasping with his eyes closed, trying to deal with 
the pain. Aragorn took his left hand and felt it. It was icy cold and 
strengthless. Aragorn then felt the Elf’s pulse. Legolas’s heart was beating 
unnaturally fast. Aragorn ground his teeth together and turned to 
Túrgwaith. “It’s poisoned, I fear,” he said softly. “There is little I can do 
for him here. We must get him to the palace as quickly as possible.”

Túrgwaith nodded grimly. He chose some Elves to go with Aragorn; one 
of them was Arorod, who looked pale. “I will remain here with some 
others to handle things first,” Túrgwaith told Aragorn, “but I will return to 
the palace as soon as possible.” Aragorn nodded. He carefully took 
Legolas in his arms and lifted him. Legolas’s eyes fluttered open, but 
otherwise he did not react. Aragorn sought eye contact with Arorod. “Take 
his bow, Arorod,” he said, and the Elf complied, picking up Legolas’s 
weapon.

Aragorn then started to walk back to the horses, noticing with concern 
how limply Legolas lay in his arms. His eyes were lidded to half-mast and 
Aragorn could tell strength was quickly sapping from him. “Stay with me, 
Legolas,” he softly told the Elf, “you must stay awake.”

He was greatly worried. If he was right and the wound was poisoned, then 
there was the terrible possibility that Legolas would not live through the 
night. He had seen injuries by poisoned orc arrows once or twice before. 
The poison enters the bloodstream quickly; the patient almost immediately 
becomes weak and starts to drift in and out unconsciousness. The patient’s 
body then starts to fight the poison, which is accompanied by fever and 
internal aches. The patient either lives through it, with the right care and 
enough strength, or dies from coronary failure.

Aragorn ground his teeth together. He was not going to let that happen.

When they reached the horses, Aragorn made Legolas sit in front of him. 
He then took the bag that was attached to the saddle and searched its 
contents. He found a herb that would help Legolas’s heart to slow down, 
and held it in front of Legolas’s face. “Eat this, Legolas.” The Elf did not 
respond. Aragorn tapped his cheek and Legolas slowly opened his eyes. 
“Eat this.”

Legolas complied, but only because some primeval instinct told him to; 
Aragorn could tell the Elf was scarcely conscious. He gripped the reins 
tightly with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Legolas’s slender 
waist to hold him in place.. He then set off with the other Elves.

They progressed far too slowly to Aragorn’s liking. Fear for his friend’s 
life consumed him and he wished they could speed to the palace in gallop, 
but Legolas’s condition did not allow them. The Elf hung heavily against 
him and Aragorn had to hold him tight to prevent him from slipping off 
the horse’s back. Once or twice he felt Legolas’s pulse and to his relief 
noticed that the Elf’s heart had slowed down a little.

Arorod rode beside him and eyed his youngest brother with great concern. 
Suddenly, he seemed to make a decision. “Estel,” he said, “I will ride 
ahead and warn my father and the physicians. I will see to it that they have 
a bed and medicine ready for him when you arrive.”

Aragorn wanted to hit himself. Of course; why hadn’t he thought of that? 
“Yes, Arorod,” he said, “that is a very good idea. Go swiftly.”

Arorod nodded and spurred on his horse. Aragorn watched him go and he 
tightened his hold on Legolas’s waist slightly, as if that would ensure the 
Elf’s survival. He buried his face in Legolas’s silky hair for a moment. 
“You’ll be fine, Legolas,” he whispered, “you’ll be fine.” It was comfort 
meant rather for himself than for Legolas. Legolas’s hair smelled of 
blossoms and spices and Aragorn found himself inhaling deeply, 
savouring the scent. But then he remembered the truth of Legolas’s 
condition and he unconsciously clenched his teeth.

At last they reached the palace. Aragorn saw Thranduil pacing back and 
forth just outside, and by him stood two of the king’s physicians, clad in 
the light green of spring leaves. Aragorn dismounted, took Legolas in his 
arms again and carried him to the door. Thranduil rushed over to him, 
looking pale; yet, to his credit, he did not panic. “Legolas,” he said, 
leaning over his half-conscious son and placing one hand on the already 
damp brow, “can you hear me?”

Legolas’s eyelids fluttered and to everyone’s astonishment, he smiled 
weakly. “Father…” he mumbled.

One of the physicians gave Aragorn a nod. “This way.” Aragorn followed 
him to the wing of the palace where the wounded were usually 
accomodated. They entered a candle-lit room, where a bed had been 
prepared. Arorod and two other physicians were there, and a basin with 
steaming water stood on a table, next to a pile of towels. Aragorn walked 
over to the bed and gently lowered Legolas on it. The Elf was forced to lie 
on his side because of the arrow that still stood cruelly from his shoulder.

The physicians, looking grave, approached the bed, one of them with a 
knife in his hand. Aragorn eyed it with alarm, but then realized that 
Legolas’s tunic had to be cut open.

“I gave him something…” Aragorn managed to say, “a herb called 
beriasalab, to slow down his heart.”

“Good,” the one with the knife said, nodding. “We will see to his wound. 
Everyone out now, except for the king.”

Both Aragorn and Arorod opened their mouths to protest, but the 
physician was resolute. “Out.”

Aragorn stepped out of the room and watched the door close in front of 
him. He thoughtlessly stared at the wood; all this resembled a bad dream. 
Only it wasn’t. Arorod stood beside him, lost in his own dark thoughts. 
Aragorn leaned back against the wall and shivered when a sudden thought 
chilled him to the bone.

This was all his fault.


To be continued soon in chapter 2, in which we will see both friends go 
through a struggle, Legolas a physical one and Aragorn a mental one.



Title: You’re My Home
Author: Laurelin   (laurelin_enedlithien@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG – NC17 (varying per chapter)
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are Tolkien’s, the others are mine.
Author’s notes: see chapter 1. Many thanks to talented fellow author Elfscribe for 
reading this, doing suggestions and being supportive!
Feedback: would be great!
Archive: all ya have to do is ask.
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn have long been friends, but now something befalls 
them that may change things forever, for good or ill…


Chapter 2

“It’s my fault.”

Aragorn started from his thoughts, realizing he had voiced his concern without 
intending to. Arorod looked up at him. “Of course not,” the Elf said, “what makes 
you say that?”

“I got myself into trouble back there by calling out his name. He had to save me 
and therefore could not pay attention to the danger threatening him.” Aragorn 
bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair, feeling sick and miserable, but a 
touch upon his shoulders made him look up. Arorod was holding him by the 
shoulders and looking at him earnestly.

“No, Estel; none of us is to blame for what happened. When going into battle, we 
all run the risk of getting injured, or killed; we know that. Those things happen. It’s 
not your fault.”

Aragorn sighed and broke eye contact. “Still… I’ll never forgive myself if… should 
he…” He swallowed, unable to complete his sentence.

Arorod said nothing. He slowly stepped back, suddenly looking very tired. “I’m 
going to warn my brothers, and sister,” he said monotonously, “they have not 
heard yet.” With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving Aragorn alone 
with his thoughts.

Aragorn slowly lowered himself until he sat with his back against the wall. Next to 
him stood Legolas’s long bow, propped against the wall; Arorod had left it there. 
Aragorn hesitated for a moment, but then carefully took the weapon in his hands 
and placed it on his lap, allowing his fingers to run over the high-quality wood. I 
will hand this bow back to its owner, Aragorn thought to himself. Legolas will wield 
it again; I *swear* it.

Soon Arorod returned, together with his two other brothers, Faelon and crown 
prince Sidhir, and their sister Silien. They all looked pale and worried, but were 
tolerably calm. For a while, they conversed softly together, but in the end, all were 
silent and lost in their own thoughts.

At long last the door opened, and all looked up anxiously. One of the healers 
stepped out of the room. Istion was his name, Aragorn recalled. He had lived 
through many centuries and had seen more Elves die under his hands than he 
would have liked; this showed on his face, especially in his eyes, and yet he was 
still as attractive as any Elf, in his own unique way.

“And, Istion?” Sidhir asked him.

“We removed the arrow, and cleaned the wound,” Istion began. “Unfortunately, the 
poison has already entered his bloodstream and no good antidote exists for this 
type of poison; but we gave him something all the same, let us all pray that it will 
help him overcome it.”

“Will he live?” Arorod asked softly.

“I can’t tell,” the healer replied sadly. “The poison’s strong, but so is our prince. It’s 
a matter of hoping and praying. The hours until dawn will be critical.”

Legolas’s siblings sighed and exchanged glances. “Can we go see him?” Silien 
wanted to know.

Istion nodded and stepped aside. “But quietly.”

They all entered the room and approached the bed. The royals joined their father, 
who was sitting next to the bed, and studied their youngest brother, quietly 
conversing amongst themselves. Aragorn kept his silence and positioned himself on 
the other side of the bed, biting his knuckle.

The sight of his friend tore his insides to shreds. Legolas lay with his eyes closed, 
which in itself was a strange sight, for Elves usually rest with their eyes open. His 
bloody tunic was gone; he now wore a green, loose-fitting tunic, beneath which 
Aragorn could discern a bandage on Legolas’s left shoulder. Legolas’s breathing 
was deep and slow, but louder than normal. Aragorn instinctively reached out to 
touch the Elf’s brow, which was covered with a film of sweat. Heat practically 
poured from the skin. The upper laces of Legolas’s tunic had been untied to make 
him more comfortable, but his collarbones and the part of his chest that lay bare 
were also sweat-sheened.

Aragorn’s eyes flicked to the royals on the other side of the bed. Judging by their 
expressions, they were equally shocked and saddened by the sight of their son and 
brother. Silien was having a hard time keeping her eyes dry as she leaned against 
Sidhir, holding her older brother by the arm.

Aragorn looked down at Legolas again, his heart heavy. It was heart-wrenching to 
see the usually strong and energetic Elf so vulnerable, and Aragorn felt a sudden 
desire to take Legolas in his arms. But he did not lay a hand on his friend; no 
matter what Arorod or any of the royals would say, he felt responsible for this. He 
hesitantly studied the others’ faces; he knew they would never even think of 
blaming him, that it was just his own guilty conscience… but still… He had known 
them for a very long time and they had always been like a second family to him, 
but now he suddenly felt like a stranger to them. He felt like he didn’t even have 
the right to be in this room; he felt like an intruder.

They all sat down next to the bed. Túrgwaith soon joined them, completing the 
family. Few words were spoken as the evening slowly grew old and turned into 
night. Most of the time, nothing could be heard but Legolas’s deep and regular 
breathing. Aragorn sat and watched Legolas, consumed by worry and inwardly 
praying that Legolas would be allowed to live through this. He tried not to think of 
what life would be like should Legolas pass away.

Aragorn silently watched the royals, all blond and fair, but none of them a match 
for Legolas’s beauty in Aragorn’s eyes. Thranduil and his oldest son were incredibly 
alike in appearance, both slightly heavier in build than Legolas, their facial features 
similar. Sidhir had inherited Thranduil’s strong chin, green-grey eyes and proud 
appearance. Silien, Aragorn guessed, was a reflection of her mother: graceful, 
pale-skinned and a picture of Elven femininity, a hint of red in her waist-long hair. 
Faelon, who had been the benjamin of the family until Legolas was born, resembled 
his youngest brother the most.

Faelon, to Aragorn’s surprise, seemed to suffer the most under the circumstances. 
He listened to the few soft words being exchanged, but did not utter a single words 
himself. Faelon had always been the wild one, the one who needed to be reined in. 
In their early years, he and Legolas had been up to a lot of mischief together. Now 
he looked pale and miserable, a shadow of the Elf he usually was.

After an hour or two, Aragorn’s head started to nod, and although he tried hard to 
fight the fatigue, in the end his chin dropped to his chest and he drifted off in a 
dreamless slumber.

The Elves noticed this and smiled weakly at each other. “Humans,” Túrgwaith said 
with a shrug, “they need so much sleep.”

“Yes…” Arorod said thoughtfully, eyeing the Man. “But no matter how tired he will 
get, I don’t think he will be persuaded to leave this room until Legolas will be 
declared recovered.”

“That is also what *I* believe,” Sidhir said. Thoughtfully, he added, “I admit that I 
had my doubts when Legolas and Estel first became friends, but he’s proved to be 
a loyal and trustworthy friend, not only to Legolas, but also to us. It’s almost as if 
Legolas’s illness hits him even harder than us.”

“That may very well be so,” Arorod said. “Estel seems to think that it’s his fault 
that Legolas got injured.” He explained to his family what Aragorn had told him.

“Nonsense,” Thranduil said slowly, shaking his head. “No-one is to blame in 
situations such as this. Besides, didn’t you tell me that it was thanks to Estel’s 
warning that Legolas could move away just in time?”

Túrgwaith nodded. “Yes. None of us had seen it coming. Estel may be or may not 
be responsible for Legolas’s injury, that arrow would have killed Legolas instantly if 
it wasn’t for Estel.”

“And also,” Arorod added, “I don’t know what we would have done without him. We 
have some basic healing skills, but we are warriors, not healers. Estel knew what 
needed to be done, and he gave Legolas the beriasalab. I don’t think one of us 
would have thought of that, and even if we had, we wouldn’t have had it at hand.”

“Yes,” Thranduil said, “even if we must hold Estel responsible for endangering 
Legolas’s life, which I don’t think we should, then we must be even more thankful 
of him for saving it – twice.”

They all watched the sleeping Man silently. At that moment, Legolas suddenly 
stirred in his bed and dragged his eyes half open. All turned to him anxiously. 
Thranduil took his son’s hand, and Legolas slowly turned his face to him. He licked 
his lips. “Father…”

“I’m here, Legolas. We all are. Can you hear me?”

Legolas nodded weakly. His eyes flicked to his brothers and sister and he managed 
a little smile.

“How do you feel, Legolas?” Silien asked him softly.

“I’ve felt better.” Legolas’s voice sounded unusually scratchy, raw. A quick frown 
crossed his face and he asked: “Aragorn… where is he?”

Thranduil nodded in the Man’s direction. “He’s over there. He’s asleep. Do you want 
us to wake him?”

Before Legolas could reply, Aragorn stirred in his seat and opened his eyes. He 
immediately noticed the change and stood. “Legolas.” He strode to the bed. “Is he 
all right?”

“He regained consciousness,” Arorod said, “he is asking for you.”

Aragorn leaned over the Elf. “I am here, Legolas.”

Legolas smiled weakly. “There are two things I want to say to you, Aragorn.”

A sudden fear seized Aragorn by the throat. Elbereth, why did that sound like 
Legolas was saying farewell? “What are they?”

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so dry that no sound would 
come. He had to clear his throat several times before he could make himself 
somewhat audible. “Firstly,” he began, “I like to think that I know you a little, 
Aragorn, and if my suspicions are correct, you are blaming yourself for what 
happened, is that right?”

Aragorn looked at the other royals uncomfortably, but they sat with their eyes 
politely cast down. “I, er…”

“You don’t have to answer. Your face speaks volumes. Now, I want you to quit it, 
Aragorn. Stop thinking it was your fault, for it wasn’t.”

“But, Legolas…”

“And that’s an order.” Legolas smiled. “Secondly…” But his speech was cut short by 
a violent cough, and it took some time before he could continue. “Secondly, I want 
to verify that we’re still on for a sword fight, you and me,” he finally said with 
difficulty.

Aragorn blinked away a familiar sting in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Mark my words, Aragorn: a sword fight, as soon as this nonsense is over.”

Aragorn took Legolas’s free hand and squeezed it gently. Legolas’s gaze drifted 
away; he inhaled deeply, then exhaled, his eyes fell shut and his head started to 
slowly sink sideways. Aragorn noticed with concern the fiery red of Legolas’s 
cheeks. “Legolas?”

At that point, Istion came in to check on the prince. He examined him, feeling 
Legolas’s hot brow and the too-rapid pulse.

“This conversation has been too exhausting for him,” the healer said, “his body 
temperature has gone up.” He turned to Thranduil. “I fear, my lord, that your son’s 
fight has yet to begin. The poison is working its way through his system as we 
speak. I suggest that all leave this room, to give him as much rest as possible, 
except for one.” He eyed all the royals. “Perhaps you can take watch by turns.”

The royals agreed with this and quietly deliberated on who would take the first 
watch. This was soon decided and the others stood to leave. Thranduil’s eyes then 
fell on Aragorn, who still stood upright next to Legolas’s bed, holding Legolas’s 
hand. “If my lord will give me permission,” he politely adressed the king, “I would 
like to remain at his side during the night.”

Thranduil felt for the Man. He walked over to the other side, placed one hand on 
Aragorn’s shoulder and looked him kindly into the eye. “There is nothing you can 
do for him, Estel. Why don’t you go to your room for some rest? We will wake you 
in a couple of hours, so that you can take watch for an hour…”

“I will not find rest in my room. I want to stay with him,” Aragorn said simply. “I 
will sit quietly and not disturb him, I promise.”

Tharnduil sighed. He could read fear in the Man’s eyes. Fear that Legolas would die 
as soon as Aragorn left the room. Aragorn, Thranduil realized, currently lived in the 
childlike belief that his staying in the room would ensure Legolas’s survival. If he 
stayed, Legolas would live; if he left, there would be no dawn for the young prince. 
It was an understandable reaction.

“Very well, then,” Thranduil said, “you can stay.”

There was gratitude in Aragorn’s eyes. “Thank you.”

The royals said their quiet goodbyes to Legolas and left. Aragorn stayed behind 
with Sidhir, who would take the first watch with him. They positioned themselves 
at both sides of Legolas’s bed and the healer examined Legolas a final time. “I’ll be 
in the next room,” he said when he was done, “I will come and check on him every 
hour, but warn me as soon as you sense any change.” Aragorn and Sidhir both 
nodded, and the healer quietly swept out of the room.

Sidhir and Aragorn shot each other a worried look, but did not speak. There was 
nothing to say. Aragorn caught Legolas’s warm hand between his own and watched 
his friend. Legolas had lost consciousness again; his eyes were closed, his face hot 
and flushed. Strands of blond hair clung to his temples and cheeks; Aragorn gently 
brushed them away. He felt tears spring from his eyes. Seeing Legolas like this 
made him realize that he had been taking things for granted. It was so easy to 
forget that even Elves, despite their immortality, could die from injuries. It had 
been folly to assume that Legolas would always be around; any passing Orc could, 
with a well-aimed shot, take Legolas away from him and his family.

*I want to see you return alive, and unspoiled…* That was what Legolas had said. 
Yes, Aragorn thought bitterly, he had returned unspoiled. But no one, Aragorn least 
of all, had expected this to happen. Something hardened inside Aragorn; at that 
moment, he swore that if Legolas would recover, he would never again take their 
friendship for granted.

He held Legolas’s hand in his own as he reached out and touched Legolas’s 
forehead, not caring what Sidhir would think. But Sidhir barely noticed; he was 
holding Legolas’s other hand and seemed lost in his own thoughts. I will not let you 
die, Legolas, Aragorn thought fiercely; I will not allow it. He kept his hand on 
Legolas’s brow.

Three hours passed quietly; Sidhir, after an hour, was relieved by Arorod, who was 
relieved by Thranduil. Next was Silien; she sat down at the other side of the bed, 
facing Aragorn, like her brothers and father had done before her. They exchanged 
a weak smile. Legolas’s illness had affected her as well. Usually she was a cheerful 
lady, witty and at times even slightly impish. Of her brothers, only Sidhir was older 
than she; she loved her brothers more than anything and since they’d lost their 
mother, she had in some ways been filling the vacant role of mother figure. 
Especially Legolas, who had known his mother for a relatively short period, had a 
strong bond with her.

Silien’s gaze dropped and settled on Aragorn’s fingers on Legolas’s scalp, his thumb 
slowly sliding back and forth over Legolas’s brow, soothing. She looked up again 
and smiled weakly. “I am glad you are here, Estel. Legolas is truly blessed to have 
a friend like you.”

Aragorn nodded, showing her that he was thankful for the kind words. “He is my 
best friend. I will do anything to help him,” he said.

The night was slowly growing old outside, but Aragorn felt no fatigue. He sat beside 
the bed, held Legolas’s hand and watched him. He wanted to registrate every 
possible change in the Elf’s condition. Sometimes he would softly touch the prince’s 
face, hoping that some part of Legolas would unconsciously be aware of his 
presence.

After about half an hour, Legolas suddenly sighed heavily and his eyes opened. 
Silien looked up, startled. Aragorn leaned over to the Elf. “Legolas? Can you see 
me?” But the blue eyes failed to see him. They stared blindly past Aragorn.

Aragorn leaned back, but started when Legolas’s breathing quickened and began 
turning harsh and ragged. The Elf rolled onto one side, and suddenly he was 
trembling all over. Aragorn leapt to his feet and felt the Elf’s forehead; icy cold, yet 
Legolas’s cheeks were painted with a fiery red, which Aragorn did not like at all. 
The trembling increased. Legolas’s slender hands clutched at his stomach and low, 
long-drawn moans began escaping his dry lips. The Elf had been perspiring all 
night, but sweat now literally poured from his body and soon, his tunic was soaked.

Silien’s eyes met Aragorn’s. She looked downright horrified. “Hold his hand,” 
Aragorn told her, “talk to him.” He then rushed out to find Istion, his heart heavy. 
When they returned together, Legolas lay curled up in a foetal positon, still 
moaning and his teeth chattering. Aragorn paced back and forth as the healer took 
a close look at the prince. At last he turned to Aragorn and Silien.

“And?” Aragorn asked.

“It’s the poison,” Istion said with a sigh. “He’s got more in his bloodstream than I 
had hoped.”

“Will he die?” Silien whispered.

“I can’t say. If he lives through this attack, he has a good chance of survival.”

Aragorn clenched his fists. “Then he *must* live through it.”

He approached the bed and looked at the Elf. “The perspiring begins to alarm me,” 
he said.

“Yes, dehydration lies in wait, and that could be fatal in his condition.”

“Can’t we give him something?” Aragorn said desperately. “Something to drink?”

“You can try that,” Istion said. The good man held his composure, but he, too, 
sounded distressed. “But I don’t think he will swallow in this condition.”

Aragorn felt like he could pull out his hair in frustration. “Must the rest of the family 
not be warned?”

“Not yet. That would cause panic and uproar and that’s the last thing he needs.” He 
lay one hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I am going to consult my books one more 
time, to see if there’s any way to administer some fluids to him. Warn me 
immediately if you sense any change.”

Aragorn nodded and the healer left. Aragorn stared after him, long after the door 
had fallen shut. Silien stood and approached him.

“Do you need anything, Estel?” she asked kind-heartedly, despite her worry. “You 
have been up nearly all night; you must be exhausted.”

“My lady,” he replied, “you are very kind, but my condition is of no importance 
right now.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“You are stubborn,” Silien said. “I will go to the kitchen and ask the servants to 
prepare a cordial for you. It has the same effect as miruvor, it will lift your spirit a 
little.”

Aragorn wanted to tell her to save herself the trouble, for only Legolas’s recovery 
would have that effect on him, but she was resolute. “I will be right back,” she 
announced, then left.

Aragorn felt close to desperation. He kneeled beside the bed and again took one of 
Legolas’s hands in his own. “Stay with me, Legolas,” he said, “you can survive 
this.” He spontaneously brought Legolas’s slim fingers to his lips and kissed them.

“I love you.”

He started. Who had said that? He looked at the Elf. No, not Legolas; he was 
completely oblivious of his surroundings. Yet they were the only ones in the room.

It had been his own voice of course. His own voice speaking words of love to the 
Elf. However unexpected, the words felt true. It was not the first time Aragorn had 
felt the urge to speak those words to Legolas; feelings more intense than friendship 
had stirred in the Man more than once. But never, never had he dared to give in to 
those feelings. He had ignored them, pushed them away, not wanting to endanger 
his friendship with the Elf. During his travels, he had pursued his pleasures with the 
women of Gondor and Rohan, trying hard not to imagine what it would be like to 
do all those things with Legolas. Legolas, who, being the fair, enchanting prince he 
was, could have anyone and would certainly not share his body with a shabby, 
mortal Ranger. Aragorn knew Legolas loved him as a friend; but the Elf did not 
desire him physically. He knew that for a certainty.

Aragorn shut his eyes. Why had Legolas got to fall ill before he would admit to 
himself how much he loved the Elf? Before he would realize how much Legolas 
really meant to him? Why had he been so stupid?

“Legolas.”

No response came, except for the heart-wrenching, long-drawn moans still issuing 
from Legolas’s throat. The Elf was obviously in great pain and Aragorn’s heart bled 
for him. “I wish I could do something to make you feel better,” he told him softly. 
“I wish I could take the pain away.”

Once again he realized how limited his healing skills really were. He could heal 
many wounds and cure some illnesses, but he was helpless here. Never before had 
he been faced with an illness he so badly wanted to cure. But all he could do was 
hoping that his presence would somehow be comforting for Legolas.

Legolas’s tongue came out to lick dry lips, but it helped little. He unconsciously 
repeated the move over and over again; the sight tore Aragorn apart. His eyes 
flicked to his water cup on the bedside cabinet. It was worth a try…

He dipped one finger in the water and held it against Legolas’s lips. Legolas 
instinctively opened his mouth and sucked greedily on Aragorn’s finger. Aragorn’s 
heart made a quick leap of joy. He sat down on the bed and gently pulled Legolas 
onto his lap. Supporting the Elf’s head, he held the rim of the cup against Legolas’s 
lips.

No reaction. “Come, Legolas,” he pleaded softly, “you must drink something.”

He slightly tilted the cup, so that the water touched Legolas’s lips. They parted and 
Aragorn succeeded in pouring a small amount of water into Legolas’s mouth. He 
watched intently, his heart beating fast. He frowned when the water started 
trickling from the corner of Legolas’s mouth. He wiped it away. “If you’re thinking I 
am going to give up, you’re wrong,” he murmured. He repeated the procedure. 
“Come on,” he whispered.

Legolas swallowed. Aragorn let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 
“That’s it, Legolas,” he said, trying not to feel too triumphant.

Bit by bit, Aragorn managed to let Legolas drink a reasonable amount of water. It 
wasn’t much, but it was something and it gave Aragorn new hope. Istion, when he 
returned, was pleased too. Aragorn got off the bed again and together they made 
Legolas as comfortable as possible. Legolas was still shivering and breathing 
raggedly, but the moans came with longer intervals and overall, it seemed to go a 
little better.

As the healer was once again examining Legolas, Aragorn stood in front of the 
window and looked out, into the darkness. Behind him Legolas grew restless again.

“He’s quite stable,” Istion concluded. “Keep a close eye on him. I’ll be in the next 
room for a bit of rest. Wake me if something happens.”

The healer left and Aragorn once again sat down next to the bed. Legolas was 
clutching at the sheets restlessly. One hand reached out and accidentally brushed 
Aragorn’s cheek.

“Aragorn…”

Aragorn stiffened in his seat. It had been nothing but a hoarse whisper, but 
Aragorn didn’t think he’d ever heard something so beautiful. His hand caught 
Legolas’s and pressed it against his cheek. “I am here, Legolas, I am here.. Can 
you hear me?” He reached out to stroke Legolas’s face. “Can you hear me, 
Legolas?”

But Legolas gave no response. His eyes still had no focus. But Aragorn knew that 
Legolas was vaguely aware of his presence. That was enough for now.

Silien returned with the cordial and smiled happily when Aragorn told her about 
what had happened during her absence. Not much later, she was relieved by 
Túrgwaith. The stars faded in the sky and Legolas, after an hour of feverish tossing 
and turning, finally drifted off in a dreamless sleep. The sky grew lighter; night was 
slowly turning into morning. For a while, Aragorn listened to Legolas’s regular 
breathing, in the meantime watching Legolas’s slender fingers, entangled with his 
own. He rested his head on the sheets and closed his eyes. For just a few minutes, 
he thought. Just a few minutes…


To be continued soon in the third chapter, in which we will see what dawn will bring 
for Legolas and Aragorn.

Chapter 3

When Aragorn woke, the first hesitating rays of sun fell through the 
window. It couldn’t be later than 7 o’clock in the morning. I’ve fallen 
asleep, he vaguely realized. Fantastic. While I should have been keeping 
an eye on Legolas.

Suddenly, he became aware of a touch upon his head. A slender hand 
hesitantly stroking his scalp. Aragorn shot upright and gasped.

Legolas lay on his side, facing Aragorn. Awake. And smiling weakly at 
him.

“Legolas! How… when…” He was too stunned to make a coherent 
sentence. He gave up and cupped Legolas’s face instead. It was still warm, 
but a healthier kind of warm. “Legolas… by the Valar –”

“Good morning, Aragorn,” Legolas said, and he managed a smile again. 
His voice sounded scratchy, but Aragorn didn’t even notice.

“Oh, Legolas –” He took Legolas’s hand in his own. “You’re awake. 
You’re alive. I can’t believe -” His eyed darted to the other side of the bed. 
The chair standing there was empty. “Where is…?”

“Arorod just left to warn everyone. He wanted to wake you, but I told him 
I would take care of that.” Legolas smiled at the Man.

Aragorn let out a shaky breath and kissed Legolas’s fingers, not even 
noticing he was doing it. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

“I’m thirsty.”

Aragorn stared at the Elf, who stared back at him. And there it was 
actually, right there in the Elf’s blue eyes, a hint of all the gaiety that was 
Legolas. A sudden tidalwave of love engulfed Aragorn, and he started 
laughing and crying at the same time. Legolas looked at him in silent 
wonder. “Do you think you can sit?” Aragorn asked him between sobs.

He helped Legolas sit upright, arranged some pillows so that Legolas 
could lean comfortably against the headboard. He then gave Legolas the 
cup, which was still half full. At that moment, Istion came in. His face 
brightened when his eyes fell on Legolas. “Good morning, my prince,” he 
said. He felt Legolas’s forehead. “How are we feeling?”

“On top of the world,” Legolas replied before taking a slow sip.

The healer smiled as he continued his examination. “Could you please 
leave us for a moment while I examine him, Estel?” he asked the Man 
kindly. Set as ease by the improvement in Legolas’s condition, Aragorn 
complied. He stepped outside, closed the door and leaned back against the 
wall, overwhelmed by a joyous feeling. Legolas would be all right; he 
knew it.

Thranduil was the first to arrive. “What happened?” The king was slightly 
out of breath, for he had been trotting all the way. “Did he wake? Is he all 
right?”

“He seems to be,” Aragorn replied. “He’s got his big mouth back at any 
rate.”

Thranduil stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Let’s consider that a 
good sign.”

Istion came out and smiled at the king. “Good news, sire. It appears that 
his body has dealt with the poison. He is out of danger.”

Thranduil leaned against the wall. “Out of danger…” he repeated. He 
rubbed his hand over his face.

“Will the poison have a lasting effect on his body?” Aragorn asked the 
healer. “Did it do any permanent damage?”

“It’s too early to be sure,” the man said, “but I have good hopes that it is 
not the case.”

Thranduil rushed into the room and Aragorn followed him. Legolas 
looked up and a smile broke through on his face. “Father!” He stretched 
out his arms in such a touching, childlike gesture that Aragorn thought his 
heart was going to break, and he didn’t try to stop his tears as Thranduil 
embraced his youngest. “Legolas, my dear boy… I was so worried about 
you.”

Soon Thranduil’s other children came running in, equally overjoyed. In 
the midst of joyful chaos, Silien took Aragorn apart. To his surprise, she 
took his hands in her own and kissed them. “You truly have healing hands, 
Estel,” she told him.

“My lady,” Aragorn protested, “I didn’t do anything. Legolas did it all 
himself, with the help of the healers of course.”

“Your presence was important for him,” she said simply. “I know that for 
a certainty.”

Istion finally begged of the royals to leave, for Legolas was still weak and 
needed rest. Legolas, who indeed still looked pale and tired, sought 
Aragorn’s gaze across the room and stated: “I want Aragorn to stay.” The 
healer was about to protest, but a nod from Thranduil stopped him. 
Aragorn would stay.

Aragorn closed the door behind them and turned. Legolas was watching 
him. When their eyes met, a little smirk appeared on Legolas’s pale lips. 
“You look terrible, my friend,” he told Aragorn. “You’re covered in Orc 
blood and you look dead tired. Haven’t you been sleeping?”

Aragorn smiled. “Barely. I had more important things to do.”

Legolas put his cup away and motioned for Aragorn. The Man came and 
sat down on the bed. Legolas smiled hesitantly at him, then suddenly 
reached out, took Aragorn by the shoulders and pulled him close. They 
embraced. A brotherly embrace. Of course. Aragorn wanted it to last 
forever, but in the end, he had to let the Elf go.

“I want to take a bath,” Legolas said, leaning back.

Aragorn frowned. “You can’t. Istion says you must stay in bed today.”

Legolas looked dismayed. “But I’m fine!” he stated rebelliously.

Aragorn smiled, studying Legolas’s pale lips and the blue-ish skin beneath 
his eyes. “You don’t look fine, my proud little Elf,” he said.

“But I feel foul,” Legolas protested. He looked down and tugged at the 
collar of his tunic. “Look at me. I have been *sweating*.”

Aragorn chuckled, amused by the familiar Elven snobbiness. “I have a 
better idea.” Aragorn got up. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned not much later carrying a basin, filled with warm water, and a 
piece of cloth. He was followed by a servant carrying clean clothes for 
Legolas. The servant left and Aragorn placed the basin on the bedside 
cabinet.

“You are the best,” Legolas said with a smile. Aragorn helped him to the 
edge of the bed. Legolas reached for the laces of his tunic with slightly 
trembling fingers and Aragorn assisted him with shoving it down 
Legolas’s arms. Aragorn had seen Legolas’s torso several times before, 
and it stole his breath away, as usual. He secretly cursed himself for 
thinking such things now that Legolas had just escaped death. He was 
distracted from his thoughts when Legolas winced as a stab of pain shot 
through his left arm; but he smiled bravely at Aragorn.

Aragorn drenched the cloth in the water, wrung it out and handed it to 
Legolas, who accepted it thankfully and started washing himself. In the 
meantime, Aragorn changed the sheets on the bed. When he was done, 
Legolas turned to him. “I can’t reach my back. Will you help me?”

Aragorn exhaled slowly. “Certainly.” He sat down next to Legolas and did 
as he was asked, carefully avoiding the bandage.

When he was finished, he helped Legolas to put on the clean tunic, 
avoiding the Elf’s gaze as he tied the laces for him, one by one. He then 
politely looked away as Legolas replaced his breeches with the clean ones. 
Aragorn tucked the Elf in again. “How do you feel now?” he asked him.

“Better already,” Legolas said with a smile, “I feel refreshed and cleaner 
than before.”

The Elf leaned back against the headboard with a sigh. “Now, if I’m really 
forced to stay in bed all day, you’d better help me kill the time.” He pulled 
the sheets up, folded his arms and stretched his legs comfortably. “Tell me 
a story.”

Aragorn smiled and complied. He couldn’t say ‘no’ to Legolas when the 
Elf gave one of his displays of youthful enthusiasm and eagerness.

***

In the days that followed, Aragorn dedicated himself fully to Legolas’s 
recovery. He was with the prince almost every moment of the day. It was 
thanks to Aragorn that Legolas *did* stay in bed that first day, as the 
healer had told him to. But the day after that, not even Aragorn could stop 
him.

That day, the second day, Legolas took his much-desired bath and ate his 
first meal, much to the joy of his family. Aragorn watched Legolas’s 
progression with silent gladness. He thanked the Valar every day for 
Legolas’s recovery, and he never forgot his resolution to be thankful for 
their friendship, instead of taking it for granted. The focus on Legolas’s 
return to health helped Aragorn to forget his confusing feelings for a 
while.

It could not stay that way, of course. They returned five days after 
Legolas’s first day out of bed. After a week, Legolas was more than 
willing to get out of the palace. The weather was fair and the healers had 
finally given their consent. During breakfast, Ithilion came over to 
Legolas; Aragorn knew him well, the Elf was archery instructor to 
Mirkwood’s youngsters. “My lord,” he said to Legolas, bowing politely, “I 
received the joyful news that you are allowed to go outside today. If it 
pleases you, I suggest that you come to the archery range this morning. I 
will be giving first archery lessons to the young ones. I think that the 
presence of Mirkwood’s best archer will be very inspiring for them, and it 
will be a perfect opportunity for you to catch some sun.”

Legolas had accepted with a happy smile. Ithilion had left and Aragorn 
had suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “Will you join me, Aragorn?”

Aragorn did not have to think long. And so, he found himself an hour later 
on his way to the archery range, with Legolas at his side. Ithilion was 
already there, together with a group of very young Elves, uneasily 
carrying their small bows. Upon their arrival, the children started 
whispering excitedly to each other. “Look! It’s Prince Legolas…” And 
they eyed him with shy admiration, for Legolas’s skills with the bow were 
well-known, even by the smallest ones.

Legolas and Aragorn sat down next to the range and watched for a while. 
Legolas clearly enjoyed being outside, and Ithilion’s suggestion had been 
a good one. Legolas watched the young archers with a smile on his face, 
and Aragorn knew the Elf’s fingers were probably yearning for the 
polished wood of his own bow; but his left arm was his bow arm and had 
not yet regained its former strength.

After a while, Aragorn searched the bag he’d brought with him and 
retrieved his long-stemmed pipe. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked Legolas.

Legolas tore his gaze from the range. He wrinkled his nose, but smiled 
forgivingly. “Go right ahead.”

Aragorn began preparing his pipe, grinning. “The disgust that slips into 
your voice every time the subject of discussion is smoking, never fails to 
amuse me, Legolas.”

“Well, it *is* a disgusting habit,” Legolas said. “Why did you start it, 
anyway? I’m sure the Elves of Rivendell didn’t encourage you.”

Aragorn lit his pipe and inhaled. “It all began when I left Rivendell and 
started meeting the wrong people, I guess,” he said, and his voice sounded 
slightly muffled by the pipe between his lips. “Horse and pipe are a 
Ranger’s only friends.”

“I thought I was your friend.”

Aragorn turned to the Elf. “Yes, of course you are. What I meant to say 
was: horse and pipe are a Ranger’s only companions on his lonely 
travels.”

Legolas smiled and waved his hand, coughing. “I understand, Aragorn. 
Please do not look my way when you’re smoking.”

“Forgive me. But I think you should try it yourself, just once. Maybe 
you’ll find it to your liking,” Aragorn smirked.

“I will do no such thing!” Legolas said. “Just imagine…” he muttered, “an 
Elf with a pipe; ridiculous.”

“Prince Legolas!” Ithilion called, “these children have some difficulty 
fitting an arrow to the string correctly. Would you come and help me 
showing them how it’s done?”

Legolas cast a glance at Aragorn, who smiled. “Go on. I’ll watch.”

And so Legolas got up and approached the group. Aragorn watched the 
Elf kneel down next to the children to teach them; he couldn’t suppress a 
smile when he saw a little elf girl blush fiercely when Legolas addressed 
her. In the meantime, the Man enjoyed the sunshine on his face. Ah – how 
he loved to be here. Mirkwood wasn’t Rivendell; but the Elves were just 
as kind and hospitable, and of course, there was Legolas. Aragorn let out a 
sigh; he loved the Elf, that was a fact. But he had no idea what to do with 
that knowledge. Confessing it to Legolas was not an option. But the option 
of taking his love with him into the grave did not hold appeal either. All he 
could do was hope that he would get over it one day.

Aragorn suddenly realized that he’d never heard Legolas say anything 
about one special Elf in his life. Legolas was most secretive about his love 
life; never had he given Aragorn any reason to be jealous and that was 
probably why Aragorn had never fully realized how much he loved the 
Elf. The thought alone of Legolas being touched by another was enough to 
make him madly jealous.

Aragorn leaned back comfortably, in the meantime smoking his pipe. He 
stretched out his long legs and closed his eyes, letting small puffs of 
smoke escape his lips. One part of him could get used to this. But the other 
part… He frowned unconsciously. The day of his departure drew near. He 
did not want to think about it just yet, but it was the truth. He had to move 
on; Gandalf relied on him. They had an appointment; Aragorn would pass 
over the Misty Mountains, visit his family in Rivendell and then travel 
further westwards. He would meet Gandalf in Bree on September 15th. He 
had to go.

Don’t think about that now, he told himself. Focus on this moment. 
You’re with Legolas now; concentrate on that. He opened his eyes when 
light laughter tickled his ears. Legolas was standing several yards away, 
busy instructing the young pupils, and judging by his expression, he was 
enjoying it immensely. Aragorn smiled. It was hard to imagine that long 
ago, Legolas himself had been one of those little archers.

When Aragorn and Legolas returned to the palace later that day, Legolas 
was bouncing beside the Man like a puppy. Aragorn smiled, happy to see 
the Elf’s flushed with excitement instead of fever. Thranduil noticed it, 
too, and was delighted. That night, he announced that there would be a 
feast in three days, to celebrate Legolas’s recovery. This news was 
received with delight by everyone.

Thranduil turned to Aragorn. “You will still be here over three days, won’t 
you, Estel?”

Everyone turned their faces to the Man. “Yes, Estel,” Arorod said, “for 
how much longer will we be able to enjoy your presence?”

Aragorn cast a quick glance at Legolas, who was watching him intently. 
He cleared his throat. “I am expected to be in Bree halfway September, 
which means that I will be taking advantage of your hospitality for at least 
another month.”

The royals all expressed their happiness at hearing this, but it was 
Legolas’s wordless smile of delight that nearly brought Aragorn’s heart to 
a full stop.

***

On the day of the feast, as the evening was growing near, Aragorn found 
himself in his room, getting ready. He had been given some elvish clothes, 
so that he didn’t have to attend the party in his shabby ranger outfit. He 
put them on after a bath and studied his reflection in the mirror. How 
different he looked in those fair, delicate clothes! Silien had picked them 
out for him; she had chosen black leggings and a deep red tunic 
embroidered in gold. Apparently, she thought red was his color and, 
Aragorn decided contently as he studied himself, she had a point.

He went to Legolas’s room, wondering if the Elf was ready to go down. 
He knocked.

“Come in,” Legolas called from inside.

Aragorn entered, but stopped abruptly. What he saw needn’t have 
bothered him, but it did.

Legolas was sitting in a chair, wearing only his leggings. But this time, it 
wasn’t the Elf’s naked torso that caught Aragorn’s attention. It was the 
pretty maidservant standing beside Legolas, combing and braiding his 
long hair. Sudden jealousy flared through Aragorn, even though he was 
quite sure that it meant nothing.

Legolas eyed him. “Is everything all right, Aragorn?”

“Yes.” Aragorn closed the door behind him. “Everything is all right.”

“This is Galadhwen,” Legolas said, indicating the girl, who curtseyed with 
a shy smile. Aragorn nodded. “I asked her to do my hair. I still can’t raise 
my arm long enough to do it myself,” Legolas explained. “Sit down.” He 
pointed at the bed. “It won’t be long.”

Aragorn sat down and watched as Galadhwen was busy doing Legolas’s 
hair. She’d clearly done it before; her fingers moved swiftly and in perfect 
harmony with the comb. Legolas’s half-nakedness didn’t seem to have any 
effect on her, but still, Aragorn felt slightly jealous. 

Galadhwen was soon finished with the thin braids at Legolas’s temples. 
She then started on the thick braid on the back of Legolas’s head. Aragorn 
listened as the two of them conversed together. Galadhwen treated 
Legolas with the usual reverence, but she seemed to be very comfortable 
around him. Aragorn felt his jealousy fade away and allowed himself to 
relax and appreciate the situation. He admired Legolas’s profile and the 
masculine curves of his arms and chest. How he yearned to feel those 
curves under his palms and fingertops…

Galadhwen finished the last braid. “Finished, my lord.” She had used a 
leaf-shaped pin to secure the thick braid, which Aragorn thought was a 
nice touch, and she had adorned the crown of his head with a fine, silver 
headband. It curled delicately across his forehead and disappeared beneath 
his blond hair at both sides of his head.

“Fantastic. Thank you, Galadhwen.” He smiled at her. “You can go now.” 
She curtseyed and left.

Legolas got up, took his tunic off the bed and put it on. “Well, Aragorn,” 
he said as he tied the laces, “I hardly recognize you in those clothes. They 
look good on you.”

“You think?”

The Elf didn’t look so bad himself either. The silver-grey tunic contrasted 
beautifully with his dark-green leggings and fitted him well; graceful 
patterns were delicately stitched on the chest flaps and the sleeves, which 
widened slightly at the wrists. He looked alltogether breathtaking.

Soon they were on their way downstairs, to the dining room, which was 
magnificently decorated and lit by probably a thousand candles. Judging 
from the stares Legolas was getting, Aragorn wasn’t the only one noticing 
how beautiful the prince looked.

The feast was a success. There was excellent food, and wine, and song; 
Aragorn was allowed to sit at the royal table and he enjoyed listening to 
the playful jests being exchanged between the the king and his children as 
the evening wore on. Legolas sat across the table so Aragorn could watch 
him whenever he wanted.

“Everyone’s eyes are on you as always, little brother,” Silien said to 
Legolas at one point.

Legolas smirked. “Mayhap it is *you* they are looking at, dear sister. That 
is a lovely dress you’re wearing; but you must admit it leaves little to the 
imagination.”

Everyone roared with laughter. Silien was wearing a dress that covered 
most of her body, but the feminine curves of her body could be discerned 
beneath it, and her smooth shoulders and a part of her back lay bare. She 
looked stunning in it, but Aragorn had to admit he had seen dresses more 
decent than that.

“Yes, Silien,” Faelon said with a mischievous grin, “this is a feast 
celebrating Legolas’s recovery, not an opportunity for you to ensnare a 
good lay.”

The siblings laughed. Thranduil looked away, but Aragorn could see a 
smirk on the king’s lips, too. The Elves’ openness on the subject amazed 
him every time.

“Ignorant fools you all are, my brothers,” Silien said snobbily. “Just that I 
like to wear a beautiful dress doesn’t mean I’m planning on ‘ensnaring’ 
someone.” She turned to Aragorn. “Brothers,” she sighed, rolling her eyes, 
“what’s the use?” She eyed Aragorn for a second, then asked: “What do 
you think, Estel?”

“Of what, my lady?”

“My dress. Is it too much?”

Aragorn felt suddenly uneasy, knowing all the royals’ eyes on him. But he 
smiled at the princess and said: “No, my lady. But being a man and not of 
your blood, I dare say it is definitely a dress that catches a man’s eye.”

The princes laughed and Silien smiled coyly. At that moment, Thranduil 
stood and raised his wine goblet. All guests went quiet and looked at the 
king. “I would like to propose a toast,” he began, “to Legolas my son, who 
recently gave us the scare of our lives – and not for the first time,” he 
added with a smile, and everyone laughed. “As an elfling, he almost 
drowned seven times, fell out of a tree more than forty times and off his 
horse more than – oh, a thousand times.” Again, everyone laughed, 
Legolas the loudest. “But we wouldn’t have him any other way,” 
Thranduil concluded. “Here’s to you, my son. Secondly, to our fine 
healers, thanks to whom Legolas is still with us these days… and last but 
not least, to our friend Estel.”

Aragorn’s head snapped up and he felt heat spread across his face. 
Everyone was looking at him now. “Yes,” Thranduil continued, “Estel has 
played a major role in Legolas’s road to recovery. On behalf of the whole 
family, I would like to praise him for his cool use of intellect and 
knowledge when Legolas was in peril, and to thank him for his never-
waning dedication to my son, displayed in the past two weeks.” Thranduil 
held Aragorn’s gaze, and it seemed to Aragorn that the king’s eyes were 
expressing a thought which his mouth did not wish to voice in the 
presence of all the guests. Do not feel guilty for what happened, those eyes 
told him. It was not your fault.

“Estel,” Thranduil said, “there is no need to say this, but I will say it all 
the same: once more I would like to emphasize that you can consider 
yourself a close friend of the Wood-Elves of Mirkwood and of the royal 
family in particular, and that our home will always be open to you.”

The speech had ended. Thranduil raised his goblet once more and there 
was an applause. Aragorn’s cheeks felt hot and he guessed his face was as 
red as ripe cherries from Thranduil’s orchard. His eyes met Legolas’s 
across the table; his friend was smiling warmly at him.

Soon, the room was filled again with murmur and laughter. Aragorn sat 
silent, feasting on the magnificent food and in the meantime pondering 
Thranduil’s words. They had made him uncomfortable, but he was 
thankful for them. Yes, he had made a mistake back there in the forest, but 
it was a mistake he would never make again. He could put it behind him 
now.

His eyes sought and found Legolas sitting across the table. The young 
prince was engaged in conversation with Sidhir. The crown prince said 
something to Legolas, and it must have been amusing, for Legolas’s lips 
curled up in a smile. Aragorn’s heart fluttered. Legolas had such a lovely 
smile. Suddenly he wondered what it would be like to kiss those luscious 
lips, to trace them with his tongue… Sudden heat flushed his cheeks as he 
imagined himself licking his way down Legolas’s throat, further down, 
exploring every inch of that firm chest… He noticed with embarassment 
that the thought alone made him hard. He unconsciously shook his head. 
He shouldn’t be thinking such things. He wondered if Thranduil would 
have spoken such kind words if he had known that Aragorn had sinful 
fantasies featuring his youngest son?

He looked at the Elf. Legolas was still listening to his older brother, his 
eyes lowered to half-mast, one corner of his mouth curled up in a smile. 
He was staring at his own hands, which were playing with his wine goblet 
absent-mindedly. Aragorn followed his gaze; ah - Legolas’s hands. How 
many times had he admired those slender, beautiful hands, and imagined 
them on his skin? He’d lost count. He’d held those hands while Legolas 
was ill; how he longed to hold them while Legolas was awake. He would 
bring them to his lips and kiss those long fingers one by one.

Those hands could do more than play with a goblet, Aragorn realized. 
Oftentimes he had wondered what kind of lover Legolas would be. 
Although Legolas never spoke of it, Aragorn didn’t doubt that there were 
several Elves who had experienced at first hand what it was like to lay 
with Legolas. Those lips had been kissed before. Those pointed ears had 
heard husky words of love and admiration many times. Those fair 
features, now calm and smooth, would at times be flushed with desire. 
How Aragorn longed to be the one to bring Legolas pleasure.

But Aragorn wanted more from Legolas than only the pleasures his body 
could provide. He wanted to see the Elf’s every smile, to dry his every 
tear. It was not to be. But only to know that Legolas returned his love 
would be enough to keep him going on all his travels. If only…

“What about you, Estel?”

Aragorn startled. The royals were watching him, apparently expecting an 
answer. “Excuse me?” he said, blushing fiercely. They laughed. “Ah, our 
friend’s thoughts were elsewhere. With a certain lady, mayhap?”

“Lady?” Aragorn had no idea what they were talking about.

“Yes. We were discussing how hard it most be for a Ranger to bind 
himself. Is there a certain lady somewhere who can boast the possession of 
your heart?”

“Er, I – I, well…” The unexpected question caught him by surprise. There 
had been women, yes. Several, in fact. To his own amazement, many 
women seemed to find him attractive. They would share their body with 
him, and some seemed to be willing to give him more than that. He always 
kept his distance. No woman of Rohan, Gondor, or any place of Middle-
earth could take the place of the one he really loved.

“I, er…” he stammered again, irritated by his own inarticulateness. He 
knew he was blushing and that irritated him even more. He cast a quick 
glance at Legolas and saw to his horror that the Elf’s face was ivory-pale. 
“Legolas! What is the matter?”

Everyone looked at Legolas now. Startled by his expression of misery, 
they started firing questions at him and stretching out their hands to feel 
his face, but he waved them away. “It’s nothing,” he said, “I’m just tired.” 
But he pressed a fist against his chest and his expression told Aragorn that 
he was in pain.

Silien looked at Aragorn, then at her brother, and stood resolutely. “You 
must rest,” she said. “You were on the edge of death only a week and a 
half ago, and it’s growing late already. Come.”

Legolas’s immediate acquiescence spoke volumes of his condition. 
Normally Legolas wouldn’t let himself be dragged away from a party so 
easily. Silien took him by the arm and led him away. As they walked past 
Aragorn, Legolas weakly smiled down at him. “Don’t worry, Aragorn. I’ll 
be fine.”

Aragorn wished he could be sure of that. It took long before Silien 
returned. Too long. Just as he was about to get up and go check on the 
prince, Silien returned. “He’ll be fine,” she told the family, “he is just 
exhausted.” She placed a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “He wishes to see 
you, Estel,” she said. Aragorn didn’t hesitate for a second. He excused 
himself and practically flew up the stairs leading to Legolas’s room. He 
knocked.

“Aragorn?”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

Aragorn opened the door, expecting to see Legolas in bed. But the 
opposite was the case. Legolas was standing in his room. He’d changed 
his clothes; he had replaced the exquisite leggings and tunic with the ones 
he usually wore when he went outside, and over his tunic he now wore a 
dark brown jerkin. He was just busy fastening a long, hooded cloak about 
his neck.

“Legolas,” Aragorn said slowly, “what are you doing?”

Legolas turned to him and Aragorn felt a flash of relief when he saw the 
color returned to the Elf’s face. “You should be in bed.”

“Nay,” Legolas replied.

“Apparently you are planning on going outside.”

“Yes, and you are coming with me.”

“What?”

“You are coming with me, Aragorn.”

Aragorn began shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you crazy? You can’t 
go out now! You were unwell, you need rest.”

“Indeed, I was unwell,” Legolas admitted, “but it is not rest I need. I need 
you to go outside with me.”

The Elf was being serious, Aragorn realized. Legolas had a determination 
over him which Aragorn could not deny.

“You are serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Go to your room, put on some more comfortable clothes and meet 
me by the stables.”

“I can’t go. Not without explaining to your family…”

“Silien is taking care of that.” Legolas came over to him and placed his 
hands on Aragorn’s shoulders. “Do as I say,” he said, looking Aragorn 
into the eye. “Do not go back to the party.”

Aragorn had no other option. He complied.


To be continued soon in chapter 4, in which we will see where Legolas 
will lead Aragorn, and why.

(Is the sexual tension killing you? *chuckle* Forgive me, I like to take my 
time for character development. It will be worth the wait, trust me.)



Chapter 4

Aragorn felt like a trespasser when he sneaked out of the palace only minutes 
later. The guard didn’t take notice of him; perhaps he had been warned by Legolas. 
Aragorn found Legolas outside the stables with two horses; his own stallion, 
Amloth, and Aragorn’s, saddled and all. Legolas had covered his head with the 
hood. He silently handed the reins to Aragorn and they mounted.

“Where are we going?” Aragorn asked when Legolas immediately set off in a 
certain direction.

“You’ll see. Not very far.”

They rode for about twenty minutes. They were soon leaving the palace far behind 
them and found themselves surrounded by nothing than trees and darkness. This 
did not please Aragorn at all; he had brought only his sword and Legolas a long 
knife. If attacked by Orcs or spiders, they would not have a very good chance of 
survival.

They rode up on a hill. On the top was a small clearing, with in the middle, one 
solitary tree. A giant, obviously ancient oak tree. Legolas let his horse halt under 
the tree and dismounted. Aragorn followed his example and looked around him. He 
had never been in this place. It was enchanting in some way. The night sky was 
towering over him; there weren’t many places in Mirkwood where you could see 
the sky. The sky was clear and the moon was shining brightly.

Legolas walked over to the tree and placed his hand on the stem.

“What are you going to do?” Aragorn asked him.

“I’m going to climb this tree,” Legolas replied. He grabbed a low branch and pulled 
himself up in one quick movement. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, 
Legolas was climbing up the tree at rapid speed.

Aragorn watched him go, bewildered. Legolas was climbing up, swiftly as a squirrel, 
even with his nearly useless left arm. Only a few seconds later, Legolas sat down 
on a high limb, one thick and strong enough to carry his weight. Aragorn looked up 
at him, a little surprised to say the least. Legolas sat there, one knee bent, one 
foot dangling down, his arms folded casually, as if he were just having tea instead 
of balancing on a branch many meters above the ground. Aragorn had seen his 
friend climb trees before, of course, but…

“Well?” Legolas said, “What are you waiting for?”

“You don’t expect me to climb up after you, do you?” Aragorn said after a short 
silence.

“Yes, I do, in fact.”

“Why?”

“There is something I wish to share with you, Aragorn,” Legolas said and he 
sounded unexpectedly serious.

Aragorn sighed. “But I never climb trees.”

He heard Legolas chuckle. “Now, come, Aragorn, don’t tell me you’re afraid of 
heights, for I would be hugely disappointed if you were.”

“I am *not* afraid of heights,” Aragorn said, feigning irritation.

“Prove it then.”

Aragorn walked to the tree. “You’ll be surprised, Legolas. I’ll be up there before you 
can say ‘bow and arrow’.” He grabbed a branch like Legolas had done and pulled 
himself up. His movements were not as smooth as Legolas’s, but his arms were 
strong and he mastered the first branch without great difficulty, be it not as 
gracefully as Legolas had done. But as he stood there, he realized that problems 
were only just beginning. His eyes scanned the tree for a suitable limb, but at first 
sight there did not seem to be one.

“In my head, I have said ‘bow and arrow’ about twenty times already, Aragorn,” 
Legolas teased.

“Don’t distract me, little Elf,” Aragorn said. “There is no branch here that I can 
use.”

“Of course there is. How do you think I came up here?”

“I am less experienced than you. Elrond may be wise, but he never taught me how 
to climb trees.”

“Then maybe it’s time I did. Use that one right above your head.”

Aragorn looked up. “It’s too high. I cannot reach it.”

“Come, Aragorn, you have to be more inventive than that. Men with short arms 
must use their legs. Jump.”

“Jump?? Do you want me to break something?”

“You won’t fall.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I say so. Come.”

Aragorn looked up again. Perhaps he *could* reach it, with a well-calculated 
jump… He looked down. It was not that high. If he would fall, perhaps he would be 
lucky enough not to break something.

“Bow and arrow,” he heard above him.

Aragorn sprang up. His hands managed to grab the branch and he pulled himself 
up. A few seconds later, he rose to his feet slowly, balancing on the branch Legolas 
had pointed out to him.

“Well done, Aragorn,” Legolas said, “do you think you can manage from there on 
without me helping?”

“Wait and see.” Aragorn seized another branch and continued his way up. He tried 
not to look down and focused on the limb Legolas was sitting on. Just a few 
meters…

It became less difficult. As he climbed higher, there were more branches to choose 
from and with increased confidence, Aragorn neared his goal. Legolas moved aside 
to make place for him and finally, Aragorn stood beside him, both arms tightly 
wrapped around the trunk.

“Very good,” Legolas said.

Aragorn cast a glance at him. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you sit down and relax?”

Aragorn slowly and quite clumsily lowered himself, his hands seeking support at 
the tree and Legolas’s shoulder. At last, he sat down next to the Elf, close to the 
trunk, one arm around it. He looked down and swallowed when he saw the depth 
below him.

“Don’t look down,” Legolas said, “look around you.”

Aragorn lifted his head and did as Legolas said.

“What do you see?” Legolas asked.

“Trees,” Aragorn said dryly.

Legolas laughed. “And…?”

“Stars.” Aragorn looked up. “The moon.”

“Good enough. Use your other senses too. And you don’t have to bring it under 
words. Just enjoy it.”

Aragorn listened to the sounds of the forest. The wind, the rustling of leaves, the 
occasional call of a bird. He inhaled the fresh air; it smelled of pine, and oak, of 
wood and water. Gradually, his muscles started to relax and he began to feel more 
comfortable on that limb high above the ground. The presence of the Elf was 
reassuring.

“How do you feel?” Legolas asked after a while.

“Good, in fact,” Aragorn said. “It is beautiful up here.”

“No fear of heights, then?”

“I’m not sure,” Aragorn said, looking down. “I guess I’ll get used to it.”

Again they were silent for a few minutes, enjoying the view, and the smell and 
sounds of the forest.

Legolas finally broke the silence. “I haven’t yet thanked you for all that you have 
done for me, Aragorn,” he said.

“You don’t have to thank me, Legolas.”

“Yes, I do.” He placed one hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I want to thank you for 
being here for me. I never told you, but it means everything to me.” He shrugged, 
struggling to bring his thoughts under words. “I just wanted to say: thank you for 
everything.” Legolas’s eyes locked with Aragorn’s.

Aragorn nodded his head in acknowledgment. “It’s all right, my friend.”

Legolas turned his face from him and looked ahead. “I never brought anyone 
here,” he said softly.

“This is a special place for you?”

“Yes. I come here ever since I was little. I already climbed this tree before I had 
my first archery lesson. Oftentimes I come here to think things over.”

“And why did you bring me here tonight?” Aragorn dared to ask.

Legolas said nothing.

“I feel priviliged, Legolas, that I am the first one to come here with you; but 
frankly, I am very confused. You suddenly get unwell during dinner, you leave; and 
then suddenly there seems to be a sort of plot between you and your sister, you 
drag me into the wood, force me to climb a tree –“, at this, he smiled, “- and this is 
supposed to heal you, you say? How then? I don’t understand.”

Legolas still did not respond, but Aragorn could see a tear slide down the Elf’s 
cheek. This caught him by surprise; he had never seen Legolas shed tears before.

“Legolas –” He reached out and gently caught Legolas’s chin, forcing the Elf to look 
at him. He slung one leg over the branch, so that he could fully face the Elf. He 
took him by the shoulders and looked deep into the bright Elven eyes. Another tear 
spilled over the long lashes and fell. “Legolas, tell me what is going on,” he said 
softly. “Is there something you wish to tell me? Is that why you brought me here?”

Legolas nodded. “I thought it would be easier to say it here,” the Elf whispered.

“But it isn’t?”

Legolas shook his head. “I can’t say it… I’m afraid…”

“Afraid of what?” Aragorn softly squeezed Legolas’s shoulder when the Elf looked 
away. “Please tell me. I want to help you.”

Legolas took a deep breath. “I am in love.”

“In love?” Aragorn had to fight the urge to cover his ears. He did not want to hear 
this, but he’d said that he wanted to help. “Then why such sorrow? Being in love is 
supposed to be a joy.”

“True. But I suspect that the one I love doesn’t return my feelings.”

Aragorn laughed softly. “Nonsense. Who could not love you, Legolas?”

Legolas impatiently wiped a tear away. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Aragorn began, taking Legolas’s chin between his thumb and index 
finger, “look at you. You are the most beautiful, enchanting being I ever laid eyes 
upon. Honestly, who could refuse your affection? That person I would call 
downright stupid. Have you told her?”

“No,” Legolas replied, “and it’s not a female I am in love with.”

“Oh.” This surprised Aragorn. “Well, tell him. I am sure he won’t refuse you.”

Legolas was silent for a moment. Then, he said, “So you really think I should tell 
him?”

“Yes.” Coward, Aragorn said to himself. Advising Legolas to confess his love, but 
too scared yourself to tell Legolas what you feel. Still, it had been a good decision 
to keep his quiet. A relationship would not have a future anyway; Aragorn being a 
Ranger, and Legolas a prince of Mirkwood. But a nasty little voice in Aragorn’s head 
said: is that really what you believe? Or is it just a way to silence your conscience? 
Aragorn was startled from his thoughts when Legolas spoke.

“It’s you.”

Aragorn slowly turned his face to Legolas, who was looking back at him. He was 
not smiling.

“Excuse me?” Aragorn said.

“You are the one I was talking about.” Aragorn suddenly realized that his hand was 
in Legolas’s, and that the Elf was nervously playing with his fingers. “I am in love 
with you.”

Aragorn almost fell off the branch. His head spun. Had he heard correctly? Was he 
not misinterpreting those words? That seemed not possible… Legolas avoided his 
gaze, but Aragorn cupped the Elf’s face with his hands and forced him to look at 
him. Tears fell on his hands, but he barely noticed.

“I’m sorry,” Legolas choked. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I was scared… 
scared you would shy away from me; scared it would bring our friendship to and 
end. And that’s the last thing I want; so I said nothing. Besides, I’ve heard that 
Men usually prefer partners of the other gender. And then I fell ill and I thought I 
was going to die without having said the words to you. I had all those strange 
dreams about you; I dreamt that you were touching me and telling me that you 
loved me.” He took a deep breath, for he had said this all very quickly. “But when I 
woke, I realized that it had just been a dream, and once again I was too afraid to 
say anything… And tonight they asked you questions about women, and it made 
me feel so miserable… Silien told me she knew what I feel for you. I never told her, 
but she must have guessed it; and she advised me to tell you, and said that you 
would not hate me for it. And you advised me the same thing. So I decided to take 
the risk.”

He gasped for breath, for he had been crying and talking at the same time. 
Aragorn eyed his beloved, not believing his ears. Legolas…loved him? Him?

“It was not a dream.”

A quick frown passed over Legolas’s face. “What?”

“It was not a dream, Legolas. I held your hand that night, I touched your face; I 
told you I loved you.”

Legolas stilled. “Why?” he whispered.

Aragorn traced the tear track on Legolas’s cheek with his fingertips and heard how 
Legolas held his breath. “Because I do. I love you. I have for a long time, I only 
never realized it. Almost losing you finally made me realize how much I need you. 
But I, too, was afraid to tell you.”

Legolas’s wide eyes were staring at him in disbelief. “No,” he said softly.

“Yes. I love you. I forget to breathe every time I look at you. My hands yearn to 
feel your skin every second of the day. On all my travels, I never really bonded 
with anyone because my heart is yours.” His thumbs slid along Legolas’s 
cheekbones, wiping the tears away. “You can have it if you want.”

Legolas took a shaky breath. “I want it more than anything.” He started to smile 
through the tears. “I have something to offer in return.”

“What’s that?”

“Mine.”

Aragorn smiled lovingly at the Elf. A thousand questions whirled through his head, 
but he decided to ask them later. Not now.

If it hadn’t been for Legolas, they’d probably never shared that first kiss. Aragorn 
was staring at the Elf in a strange mix of admiration, disbelief and happiness, 
momentarily unable to do anything. Legolas smiled; he took Aragorn by the 
shoulders and leaned forward.

Legolas’s kiss was both a shy exploration and a greedy fulfillment of a long-
cherished fantasy. As soon as Legolas’s lips touched his, Aragorn could swear the 
tree was giving way under them. The Elf’s lips were sweet and soft, as Aragorn had 
imagined them to be. The Elf’s hands lay on his shoulders so lightly, it was almost 
as if they weren’t even there. Legolas’s breath was warm on Aragorn’s face. His 
sweet body scent filled Aragorn’s nose. Stars wheeled overhead. It all was so light 
and beautiful that Aragorn would have thought it a dream, if not for the tip of 
Legolas’s tongue that suddenly slid wetly over his lower lip. Aragorn gasped for 
breath. He felt himself grow hard despite the tenderness of the moment.

Legolas pulled slightly back to look at him. “Have you had fantasies about this?” he 
asked the Man.

“More than a million,” Aragorn replied.

“Is reality as good as those fantasies?”

“Better.”

Legolas smiled and leaned forward. He again brought their lips into contact, and 
again his tongue flicked out, this time asking for entrance more urgently. Aragorn 
did not even once consider denying him that; as soon as his lips parted, Legolas’s 
tongue slid smoothly into him. Legolas then started a thorough exploration of the 
Man’s mouth, lapping at his tongue in shy curiosity. Every swirl of the slick muscle 
sent a shudder down Aragorn’s spine and when the full length of Legolas’s tongue 
curled around his, he groaned. There was a strong stirring in his groin.

Legolas suddenly sucked Aragorn’s tongue hard into his mouth. His hands left 
Aragorn’s shoulders and clutched at the back of his head, forcing greater contact as 
he started milking Aragorn’s tongue with sudden eagerness. Aragorn let out a 
moan of delight. His body longed for greater contact with Legolas, but their 
positions high in the tree were making that rather impossible.

When his mouth was freed, he stared at Legolas.

“You are a good kisser,” he said breathlessly.

Legolas smiled coyly. “Thank you.”

“Legolas,” Aragorn said huskily, running his thumb over Legolas’s moist lips, “shall 
we go back to the palace?”

“I’d rather not,” was Legolas’s reply. “Do you not like it here?”

“I do.” Aragorn gave Legolas a quick kiss, parting the Elf’s lips with a flick of his 
tongue. “But I prefer a soft bed to a tree branch, if you don’t mind.” He couldn’t 
suppress a smile when those words brought a blush to Legolas’s cheeks. But his 
eyes burned with something Aragorn had never seen there before: unconcealed 
desire.

“A compromise, then?” Legolas pointed down. “We’ll go down… but not back to the 
palace. Yet.”

Aragorn frowned. “I don’t know, Legolas. I’m not so sure about this place. We’re 
only lightly armed.”

“We’ll be fine,” Legolas said with a smile. “Trust me.” And with these words, he 
lightly slipped off the branch. He descended a meter or two before looking up. 
“Coming, or not?”

Aragorn cast a glance downward. “Do you think I’ll live to tell the tale?”

Legolas’s soft laughter was like the tinkling of a silver mountain stream. “Come on, 
follow me.”

Aragorn pushed himself off the branch and did as Legolas told him.



Chapter 5

Aragorn descended, following Legolas’s lead. It didn’t take long before they were 
both standing upon the grass beneath the tree.

“Well done,” Legolas said, “after a little more practise you’ll climb like an Elf.”

“Hmm. I’ll climb every tree in Mirkwood if such a kiss is what I’ll get as a reward,” 
Aragorn said as he moved closer to the Elf.

“You found it enjoyable then?” Legolas said, curling his arms around Aragorn’s 
neck.

“I did. I liked it so much I need more.”

This time, Aragorn took the lead in the kiss. Aragorn’s tongue, asking for and being 
granted entrance and filling the Elf’s sweet mouth. When he slowly sank to his 
knees, he pulled Legolas with him without breaking the kiss. Trembling fingers 
began undoing the fastening of Legolas’s cloak. Legolas pulled back, smiling, and 
did it himself. As soon as the piece of clothing was removed, he undid Aragorn’s 
cloak too.

Legolas looked so ethereal, so beautiful and so calm in the moonlight, that Aragorn 
suddenly felt inexperienced and clumsy. Legolas must have sensed something, for 
he moved up to Aragorn and embraced him. “We’ll go back to the palace if you 
really want,” he whispered into Aragorn’s ear. “I want us both to feel comfortable.”

Aragorn buried his face against Legolas’s silky hair and inhaled its sweet scent. 
“No,” he said. “You seem certain enough that no one will find us. And it is a lovely 
place.”

He cupped Legolas’s face with his hands and looked his Elf in the eye. “You are so 
beautiful,” he whispered, “so beautiful, Legolas; do you know that?”

“I have been told before,” Legolas said with a little smile. “But I never thought I 
would hear you say it. And you? Do you know how beautiful *you* are?”

“I’d love to hear it from you,” Aragorn said with a grin. He quickly sealed Legolas’s 
lips with his finger. “But perhaps I’d like it even better if your body told me so 
*without* words.” Legolas blushed at this insinuation.

“’Tis not fair, Aragorn,” he muttered, “I should be the one making *you* blush.”

“Shh,” Aragorn soothed. “It’s just my big mouth. I am, in fact, very nervous.”

He joined their cheeks together and sighed happily. Suddenly, his eyes fell upon 
Legolas’s delicately pointed ear and he remembered something. When he was 
young, busy shedding off the last remainders of childhood, one of his brothers, 
Elrohir, had taken him apart. “Now that you’re almost an adult, Estel,” he had said, 
“I think it’s time I told you something about Elves you do not know yet. Maybe one 
day you’ll find yourself in an intimate situation with an Elf, and then you may want 
to know how to pleasure her or him.” He had winked impishly and Aragorn had 
blushed fiercely, but his curiosity had gotten the upper hand.

“Are there special ways?” he had asked his brother.

“Elves have some erogenous zones that humans have not,” Elrohir said slowly, 
enjoying the moment.

“What are they?”

“Before I tell you, you have to promise me you’ll never use this knowledge against 
an Elf. Use it only on someone whose consent you have, someone who is already 
willing to lay with you.”

“I promise.”

“Well, then. The back of our spine is very sensitive, especially the area between 
our shoulder blades. Even a light touch has a strong effect. Then there is this spot 
–”, he indicated the hollow of his throat, 
“- and finally, our ears. Especially the tip.” A naughty smile had appeared on 
Elrohir’s lips. “I hope this knowledge will be useful in the future.”

It very well might, Aragorn thought. He’d never lain with an Elf before, so he’d 
never had to use his knowledge, but mayhap it was now time to see if his brother’s 
lessons were worth something. Aragorn leaned slightly forward. His tongue snaked 
out and he ran it upwards over the outer fold of Legolas’s ear, beginning at the 
lobe and ending at the tip.

And Legolas responded to it, oh yes. The Elf’s reaction did not disappoint. He 
stiffened as soon as Aragorn’s tongue touched his ear lobe and when it swirled 
around the tip, Legolas let out a surprised moan. Aragorn’s heart tripped at that 
unfamiliar sound from the Elf’s lips. He had wondered for so long what it would be 
like to hear Legolas respond to his touch. Now he knew; and it was addicting.

Aragorn continued to lap at Legolas’s ear. Legolas’s hands grabbed the collar of his 
tunic and he slightly turned his head, encouraging the Man to continue. When 
Aragorn caught the point of Legolas’s ear between his lips and began to wetly suck 
on it, the Elf’s hands tightened on his tunic and he let out an inarticulate sound of 
pleasure. Aragorn brought his hand to Legolas’s other ear and set to stroking it 
with his thumb, in the meantime using all his tongue’s suppleness on the other. 
Legolas shuddered and gasped, pushing against him.

“Aragorn,” he moaned, “something tells me you’ve been with an Elf before.”

“No,” Aragorn murmured before giving the ear a slow lick, “but you see, I have this 
brother… Elrohir, who once gave me some *very* useful information.” His fingers 
left Legolas’s ear and slid along the rim of Legolas’s tunic until they came across 
the hollow of Legolas’s throat. Aragorn let his fingertips graze the sensitive skin 
lightly.

“I’ll have to thank him then,” Legolas said. “Ai – yes, definitely.”

Aragorn continued running his fingers over that sensitive spot at the base of 
Legolas’s throat, greedily registrating the Elf’s reactions. Legolas threw his head 
back and moaned as Aragorn stroked him.

“It’s hard to grasp that this brings you so much pleasure,” Aragorn said with a 
smile.

The corners of Legolas’s mouth curled upwards. “There are things I would enjoy 
even more,” he said huskily.

“Really? Tell me.”

Legolas dragged his eyes open. “I think I would like you to find out yourself.”

“Ah, a challenge.” Legolas apparently liked playing games. Although Legolas was 
doubtlessly far more experienced at playing such games than Aragorn, the Man 
decided he would play along and see where it would bring them. “I accept.”

He reached for the laces of Legolas’s jerkin and began undoing them. Legolas kept 
his eyes on Aragorn’s face, a little smirk on his face. “Undressing me already, 
Aragorn? I’d expected more patience from you.”

“Just the jerkin, my Legolas,” Aragorn replied, hoping Legolas would not feel the 
trembling of his fingers. “You can keep the tunic on for a little while.” He untied the 
last lace, lifted the garment over Legolas’s shoulders and shoved it down his arms. 
Then he threw it aside.

With the fingers of one hand, he grabbed Legolas’s chin and tilted the Elf’s head to 
the right and slightly upwards; for a moment, he just studied Legolas’s profile in 
sheer admiration. Legolas’s pulse raced beneath his fingertips. He then let his 
fingers slide down the length of Legolas’s throat, slowly. He traced the curve of 
Legolas’s collarbone and once again found the sensitive spot there. When Legolas’s 
lips parted with a soft moan, Aragorn felt the vibration beneath his fingertips.

“I am going to experiment a little, Legolas,” he said huskily, “with your approval, 
that is.”

“I suggest, Aragorn,” Legolas said, “that you stop talking and show me what other 
skills your tongue has.”

Aragorn’s heart made a quick leap at those words, but he fought hard not to betray 
himself. By the Valar, Legolas was good at this game. Aragorn would have to make 
a real effort to offer at least some resistance.

“Spare me your suggestions, Elf,” he said grimly, “I know how to pleasure my 
partners.”

“Make me believe you,” Legolas said with a smile.

“I intend to.” Aragorn leaned forward and dragged his tongue upwards between 
Legolas’s collarbones. Legolas moaned softly, and louder when Aragorn sealed his 
lips over the sensitive skin and began to suck, his tongue circling rapidly. Aragorn 
then sat up and took the point of Legolas’s ear between his lips again and 
continued the procedure on that equally sensitive part of Legolas’s body, delighted 
to hear Legolas moan in response.

“Do you find this pleasurable, Legolas?” Aragorn murmured into the Elf’s ear before 
giving it another lick, “does it make you hard when I do this?” He smiled secretly 
when the Elf shuddered, delighted he’d succeeded in affecting Legolas.

“Do you expect me to answer that question, Aragorn?” Legolas asked, slightly out 
of breath.

“Unless you want me to find out myself,” Aragorn retorted.

“Mayhap I do want that.”

“But I don’t,” Aragorn replied, “not yet.” He reached for the laces of Legolas’s tunic 
and started fumbling with them.

“You are afraid,” Legolas smirked.

“Afraid? Why would I?”

“You dare not touch me there, or even see me. Afraid I will disappoint, maybe?” 
Legolas’s smile was maddening.

“It’s not a matter of daring, Legolas,” Aragorn said, forcing himself not to break 
eye contact. The Elf was gauging him, playing with him, as if he knew that Aragorn 
found it slightly uncomfortable to discuss Legolas’s genitals so shortly after they’d 
turned from friends into lovers. Maybe Legolas *did* know. “Now who is the 
impatient one here?”

Legolas only smiled.

Aragorn peeled the tunic off Legolas’s arms and soon, the garment joined its mate 
on the grass. “Lie back,” Aragorn instructed, and Legolas complied. Aragorn 
crouched on top and claimed Legolas’s mouth in a kiss, a gentle one. A little too 
gentle to Legolas’s liking, and Aragorn knew that. He continued to lightly graze 
Legolas’s lips until the Elf tore his mouth away and looked up at Aragorn in 
frustration. “Are you afraid I’m going to break or something?” he said. “Now give 
me a real kiss.”

“Have patience, my Elf,” Aragorn said with a smile, “have patience.”

Aragorn continued to lightly kiss the Elf, but in the end, the urge to possess 
Legolas with his mouth became too great; he pushed his tongue inside without 
further introduction, to begin a thorough exploration of Legolas’s mouth. Legolas 
welcomed this with a muffled groan.

Aragorn pulled back and crouched backwards just a little. He slid his hands over 
Legolas’s chest, mapping the curves there. Legolas shifted ever so slightly beneath 
him when his fingers brushed a nipple, and when those fingers returned to pinch it, 
the Elf twisted and groaned.

Aragorn, smiling, bent down and curled the tip of his tongue over the pink circle of 
flesh; a surprised moan from Legolas was his reward. He licked his way across 
Legolas’s breastbone and began to suck on the other nipple. He continued to do so 
until Legolas thrashed beneath him, his hands tugging at Aragorn’s tunic.

“Oh, gods, Aragorn,” Legolas gasped, “stop it already. You’re driving me crazy.”

Aragorn continued his way down, caressing every inch of skin with his tongue 
affectionately. Legolas was sweet and soft; a delicacy. When his tongue quickly 
darted in and out Legolas’s navel, the Elf gasped and his hips involuntarily moved 
upwards.

Aragorn, in the meantime, found that his own body was far from unresponsive; the 
beauty of Legolas’s hard and supple body, and the way it responded to Aragorn’s 
touch were too arousing by far. His member was impatient and pulsed with need 
between his thighs. If this had been a regular round of lovemaking, he would have 
taken his pleasure by now; but this was so new and unfamiliar in so many 
respects… ah, damn it, but he was nervous. What would Legolas expect from him? 
Would the Elf want to be taken, or to be the dominant one himself? And if Aragorn 
was to play the dominant role, what should he do? What would Legolas feel like? 
Would it be different from making love to a female?

All these thoughts filled Aragorn’s mind as he continued to lick his way down 
Legolas’s belly, until he reached the waistband of Legolas’s leggings. He crawled 
backwards and took Legolas’s left leg in his hands in order to remove the Elf’s boot. 
Legolas then lifted his right leg to help him. Aragorn crouched forward again and 
his tongue flicked into Legolas’s navel. The Elf moaned and lifted his hips. “Come 
on, Aragorn,” he whispered, “stop this torment. Take me into your mouth. Please.”

Aragorn slowly exhaled; he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of the Elf’s 
leggings and hesitantly shoved the garment down Legolas’s long legs, revealing the 
evidence of Legolas’s desire. A sigh escaped Aragorn when his eyes fell on the hard 
shaft of pale flesh. Legolas was lovely, even more so than Aragorn had expected. 
He knew Legolas’s eyes were on him but he did not look up. He had never done 
this before, but he knew what he himself liked and decided to use that knowledge 
to pleasure the Elf. He bent down and gave Legolas’s pulsing flesh a first, probing 
lick. Legolas’s hips flew up again, but Aragorn grabbed them and pinned them 
down. He settled between Legolas’s wide-stretched thighs and curled his tongue 
around the head of Legolas’s erection. Legolas moaned loudly; his arms lay folded 
over his face, his hands above his head, and his back arched off the ground. His 
hips strained beneath Aragorn’s firm grip.

Aragorn ran the tip of his tongue over the underside of Legolas’s shaft, from the 
base to the tip, and listened contently to the sounds of pleasure escaping from 
Legolas’s lips. He was beginning to find his footing. He looked up and eyed the Elf 
lying naked before him; the sight stole his breath away. Legolas caught him staring 
and rose up, leaning on an elbow. “Why are you looking at me?” he asked, smiling 
seductively.

“I would be nothing less than a fool if I didn’t,” Aragorn replied. “You are beautiful, 
Legolas.” He bent down and continued his teasing licks on Legolas’s heated flesh. 
He knew Legolas was watching him do it and he felt his face grow hot, but he did 
not stop. He rapidly swirled his tongue around the head and into the slit until 
Legolas’s arm gave way and he fell back against the grass, trembling with passion. 
“Oh, Aragorn, I beg you, do not tease me thus,” he gasped.

“What I do with you is up to me,” Aragorn said with a cruel grin. Legolas sighed in 
frustration but nearly jumped from his skin when Aragorn’s tongue started to lap at 
the globes between the Elf’s thighs. The Man did not have to do this long before 
Legolas was squirming uncontrollably in his grip, moaning and whispering 
Aragorn’s name.

Aragorn gave him another slow lick upwards, from the base to the head, and then, 
without warning, swallowed him. He had to use all his strength to hold Legolas 
down; the Elf’s scream echoed within the clearing, bringing goosebumps to 
Aragorn’s skin. First, Aragorn held only the head in his mouth, swirling his tongue 
around it in a teasing rhythm; when he began to suck, Legolas’s back arched off 
the ground. “Harder, Aragorn,” he gasped, “suck me harder.”

Aragorn groaned and complied, taking Legolas as deep as he possibly could. He 
then took Legolas firmly between his tongue and his palate and moved upwards, 
tearing a long-drawn moan from Legolas’s throat. He continued moving upwards 
until Legolas almost slipped from his mouth, and then quickly moved back down.

“Ohh, that feels so good,” Legolas groaned. “Yes, like that; take me deeper. Don’t 
stop!”

Aragorn repeated the procedure several times, increasing his pace until Legolas 
wriggled and wailed with unfulfilled passion.

Aragorn found unexpected satisfaction in pleasuring Legolas thus. The Elf clearly 
enjoyed what Aragorn was doing to him and this encouraged the Man to go on; he 
quickly found out which particular movements brought the Elf the most pleasure 
and he used this knowledge to full extent.

“Enough, Aragorn,” Legolas finally gasped, “stop this, before I spend myself 
prematurely.”

Aragorn pulled back, but not before he’d given Legolas a last, teasing lick. He 
crawled forward and seized Legolas’s mouth in a passionate kiss. It took a while 
before he realized that Legolas was busy undoing the laces of his tunic and his 
breath caught in his throat. His nervousness returned with full force. He shut his 
eyes as Legolas stripped him of his tunic and a gentle breeze touched his bare skin. 
Suddenly, Legolas moved beneath him and only a second later, Aragorn found 
himself on his back, Legolas straddling him. It was easy to forget how strong 
Legolas really was.

Legolas crawled backwards and removed Aragorn’s boots. Aragorn let his gaze 
linger on the stars for the slightest of moments. He was just starting to relax a 
little when Legolas suddenly yanked his leggings down. Aragorn nearly jumped 
from his skin and had to fight the urge to cover himself. “Gods, Legolas…” he 
whispered, avoiding the Elf’s gaze.

Soft fingertips slid down his chest and over his stomach. “There is no need to be 
nervous, Aragorn,” Legolas said gently. “You are beautiful.” A slender hand found 
Aragorn’s erection. “In every respect.”

Aragorn groaned when Legolas began stroking him. “Look at me, Aragorn,” Legolas 
said. So Aragorn turned his face to the Elf sitting on top of him and watched him. 
He knew Legolas could read the uncertainty in his eyes but he forced himself to 
keep his eyes locked with the Elf’s, even when Legolas changed his pace on 
Aragorn’s erection.

Legolas finally broke eye contact and bent down. His tongue began licking a path 
down Aragorn’s throat until it reached the hollow at its base.

“So strange that this is a dull zone for you, Aragorn,” Legolas said.

“Oh, it feels good; but indeed, it doesn’t have the same effect as it has on you.”

“No matter. There are other ways.”

Having said this, Legolas began moving downwards, taking his time to explore 
Aragorn’s chest with his tongue. Aragorn shut his eyes and surrendered to the Elf’s 
touch, allowing himself to relax a little. He felt Legolas’s lips curve into a smile 
when he came across the small amount of hair growing on Aragorn’s chest. “I’ve 
oft wondered what that would feel like,” Legolas said.

Aragorn smiled. “And?”

“Not unpleasant.” Legolas let his tongue linger on Aragorn’s nipples before moving 
further down. Aragorn lifted his hand and brushed some strands of blond hair from 
Legolas’s shoulders before letting his fingers slide down between Legolas’s shoulder 
blades. Legolas’s tongue stilled for a moment and the Elf arched his back, almost 
like a cat, straining for contact. Aragorn began rubbing the sensitive spot and 
smiled when Legolas wriggled and moaned under his touch.

Legolas continued his way down, and by the time he reached Aragorn’s belly, it 
was the Man’s turn to squirm in passion. By the Valar, Legolas was good with his 
tongue. This was by far the most pleasurable thing he’d ever experienced. Legolas 
looked up and smiled at him. “Before I continue, I must fetch something.” All 
Aragorn could manage was a whimper. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” Legolas 
promised.

Legolas stood and walked to the horses, standing a few meters away. He returned 
quickly, holding a small jar in his hands. Its contents were color- and scentless. 
Legolas gave Aragorn a coy look as he slicked the fingers of his right hand with it. 
He then settled between Aragorn’s legs and swallowed Aragorn with one smooth 
movement. Aragorn’s head flew back against the ground so hard that it hurt, but 
he barely noticed. “Oh, gods, Legolas,” he cried as the Elf swallowed him 
completely. Aragorn’s hands clawed in the grass uncontrollably; the Elf’s throat was 
tight and warm around him, and when Legolas began using his skilful tongue as he 
rhythmically moved up and down, Aragorn nearly lost it.

Legolas’s fingertips grazing at his entrance brought him somewhat back to reality. 
He stiffened unconsciously, not sure if he was ready for this. But the lubrication, 
whatever it was, did its work; one of Legolas’s fingertips slid inside before Aragorn 
knew what was happening. A sudden swirl of Legolas’s tongue on his flesh 
momentarily distracted him and Legolas’s finger continued to slide in without 
encountering resistance.

Aragorn was vaguely aware of the unfamiliar feeling, but he’d felt no pain and 
therefore he groaned encouragingly when a second finger joined the other. Legolas 
held his fingers still for a moment, but then curved them slightly and began moving 
them back and forth.

“Oh, gods!” Aragorn felt like he was struck by lightning. What in the name of the 
Valar was Legolas doing to him? Light flashed before his eyes everytime the Elf’s 
fingers moved inside of him. “Legolas,” he panted, “oh – love, what are you 
doing?”

Legolas let Aragorn’s shaft slip from his mouth and smiled. “Didn’t Elrohir tell you 
about this?”

“No…”

“Hmm, well, I’m glad we share at least this one,” Legolas said, stroking him again.

“Oh, gods, me too.”

“Did you know,” Legolas said slowly, insistingly stroking Aragorn over and over 
again, “that you can become undone like this without me doing anything else? It 
would take a *long* time, but it is possible. Since you seem to enjoy a little 
teasing, I think I would like to try.”

“No!” Aragorn bucked uncontrollably, wanting to be released from that tormenting 
touch within him, but at the same time pushing against Legolas’s fingers, forcing 
them to probe deeper, harder. “I beg you, Legolas, don’t do that to me.”

Legolas chuckled. “Calm. I was jesting, Aragorn. I’m not that cruel. I have other 
plans.”

That said, Legolas pulled free, smiling when Aragorn whimpered. He sat down on 
Aragorn’s thighs, his knees at both sides of Aragorn’s hips, and reached for the jar. 
“Do you want to be inside me?” he asked Aragorn.

Aragorn groaned. “Yes…” He rose up, assuming that Legolas wanted to be taken 
upon the ground, but Legolas pushed him back. “No. You stay where you are.” He 
slicked his hands with the lubrication and ran them over Aragorn’s erection, 
noticing a flash of unease in the Man’s eyes. “What is it, Aragorn?” he asked 
tenderly, “have you never done it in this position before?”

Aragorn blushed. “No.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy it thoroughly.”

Aragorn couldn’t help smiling, despite the lust consuming him. “You are passionate, 
Legolas.”

“You would be, too,” Legolas muttered, “after more than twelve years of 
abstinence.”

Aragorn’s smile faded. “Twelve years?”

A hint of shyness was in Legolas’s smirk. “Yes. Well, to humans it may seem an 
eternity, but for Elves, it’s not *that* long.”

He brought his hands to his head and removed the silver headband; he carefully 
lay it aside, then reached behind his head and undid the pin holding his braid 
together. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair and soon, it cascaded freely 
onto his shoulders. In the meantime, Aragorn’s eyes hungrily slid down Legolas’s 
naked body, a picture of perfection. Delicate muscles moved beneath the smooth 
skin. Aragorn’s heart swelled at the beauty in front of him; was his deepest, most 
sinful fantasy really coming true?

Legolas shifted, so that his buttocks hovered over Aragorn’s erection. The gaiety 
had fled from his face, which now had a tense expression. “I haven’t been touched 
there in a long time, Aragorn, so I’ll do this slowly,” he said, biting his lip.

“Take all the time you need, my love,” Aragorn said.

Legolas took an audible breath and slowly lowered himself until the tip of Aragorn’s 
erection pressed against his opening. He licked his lips and reached for Aragorn’s 
hand, intertwining the Man’s fingers with his own. He looked almost afraid and 
Aragorn loved him more at that moment than he had ever done before. However, 
less coherent thoughts filled his mind as Legolas eased himself further down. 
Sweat broke out on Legolas’s brow and collarbones as the head of Aragorn’s 
erection slid into him and his lips parted. He stilled for a moment and exhaled.

“Are you all right?” Aragorn asked him, concerned.

“Yes,” Legolas gasped, “it’s just been a while and… and by the Valar, you’re big, 
Aragorn.”

“My sweet Elf.” Aragorn grabbed Legolas’s other hand and brought it to his lips. He 
took one finger in his mouth and began to suck on it, concentrating on that instead 
of on the maddening tightness around him. He had to restrain himself from pushing 
his way in.

Legolas continued to impale himself upon Aragorn’s shaft, taking it into him inch by 
inch, holding Aragorn’s gaze as he did so. His fingers squeezed Aragorn’s quite 
hard, but to Aragorn, nothing mattered but the sensation of being sheathed within 
Legolas’s body, and the delicious friction it caused. That, together with the color 
that broke out upon Legolas’s cheekbones and the knowledge that the Elf could 
*feel* Aragorn inside of him, nearly undid the Man. He’d never experienced 
anything so arousing and so beautiful at the same time.

Finally, Legolas settled fully upon Aragorn’s lap, shuddering with passion. Aragorn 
eyed him with unconcealed hunger. Legolas was tight around him and he hoped 
with all his heart that he would last long enough to find his release together with 
Legolas.

“I love you, Aragorn,” Legolas whispered, his face flushed.

Aragorn looked up to meet his gaze. “I love you too, my lovely,” he replied 
tenderly. “Did it hurt you?”

“No.” Legolas smiled. “You feel good, and I think I’m about to find out what 
advantages your size has.” With those words, he started moving.

He slowly lifted himself, holding Aragorn’s gaze, then dropped back down, impaling 
himself fully upon Aragorn’s length with one smooth move. Aragorn groaned and 
grabbed Legolas’s hips, encouraging the Elf to continue. Legolas moved upwards 
again and he braced his hands upon Aragorn’s before slamming back down, driving 
Aragorn impossibly deep. “Oh, gods,” he moaned, throwing his head back, his 
golden hair streaming upon his shoulders. The wild look that appeared in Legolas’s 
eyes told Aragorn that his cock had hit the sensitive spot inside the Elf.

“Feels good?” Aragorn gasped.

“It sure does,” Legolas said breathlessly, “oh- ‘tis pure torture.” He swiveled his 
hips to bring Aragorn’s erection into greater contact with his prostate and cried out 
in delight when he succeeded. He began to move faster, moaning as he did so. 
Aragorn hungrily watched the Elf take his pleasure, guiding the movements of 
Legolas’s hips with his hands. The sight of Legolas moving upon him was 
breathtaking, intoxicating. Aragorn had never seen anything so arousing, and he 
knew this could not last very long.

One of Aragorn’s hands left Legolas’s hip and found the Elf’s neglected erection. 
Legolas groaned in response and he increased his pace, driving his erection into 
Aragorn’s cupped palm. Legolas’s hand seized Aragorn’s shoulder and yanked him 
up. He pulled the Man against him, his fingers intertwining with Aragorn’s hair. 
“Aragorn… oh, gods, this is too much!” The Elf was on the verge of seeing stars and 
only another few twists of his hips were enough. He threw his head back as 
Aragorn’s touch, both within him and around him, pushed him over the edge; his 
hands pulled on Aragorn’s hair. A long-drawn cry accompanied his orgasm, a cry 
that sent a thousand shivers down Aragorn’s spine. He grabbed Legolas’s hips with 
both hands and pulled the Elf fully into his lap; he thrust up one final time and 
bucked within Legolas, his seed shooting into the Elf.

Aragorn collapsed back onto the ground, Legolas following him. Aragorn braced his 
hand upon the back of Legolas’s head and pulled him close for a kiss, tasting the 
salt of the Elf’s sweat. Legolas eased himself upon Aragorn’s body; they were both 
heaving with exhaustion. “Legolas…” Aragorn murmured, “by the Valar, I love you.”

“And I you, Aragorn.” Legolas’s lips grazed Aragorn’s brow. “This was… exquisite.” 
He collapsed and nuzzled against Aragorn’s neck. “Hold me,” he murmured.

Aragorn smiled and folded his arms around Legolas’s slender form. “Never have I 
heard a command that was sweeter to my ears,” he said.

They lay contently for a few minutes, until Legolas rose up slightly and looked 
Aragorn in the eye. “Shall we go back now?” he asked, and there was an impish 
glimmer in his eyes, “we will take a bath together and then we’ll pleasure one 
another a second time.”

Heat crept to Aragorn’s cheeks. “Elbereth… you don’t beat around the bush, 
Legolas.”

“Hmm.” Legolas gave Aragorn a light kiss. “I’ve been waiting twelve years for this, 
Aragorn, and I’ve always had a healthy libido.”

Aragorn grinned. “Then let’s get back immediately, so that you can show me.”

Legolas smiled too. “Whatever you wish, my love.”

***

Legolas *did* have a healthy libido. As soon as they were in Legolas’s room, the Elf 
attacked Aragorn in a most sinful way. He pulled at Aragorn’s clothing, yanked the 
Man’s tunic over his head and shoved his leggings down his legs.

“My goodness, Legolas,” Aragorn laughed, “there is no mistaking your intentions.”

“Good,” Legolas said, impatiently removing his own boots and leggings. He then 
pushed Aragorn on the chest, so that the Man fell backwards to the mattress, and 
crawled on top of him. He kissed the Man passionately. “Forget about that bath I 
was talking about. Take me,” he whispered against Aragorn’s lips. “Take me in 
every way possible. I burn for you.”

“Don’t forget, Legolas,” Aragorn gasped, “you are still recovering from your illness. 
I have to be gentle with you.”

“No you don’t.” Legolas stretched himself full-length upon Aragorn and smiled 
when Aragorn shuddered. “You can feel all of me, can’t you?” he whispered into 
Aragorn’s ear, “every inch of me.”

“Ahh, yes,” Aragorn groaned and he lifted his hips, straining for contact with 
Legolas’s groin. He felt himself grow hard again. Valar, he thought, this Elf has 
secret powers.

Later that night, Aragorn found himself lying on top of Legolas. He felt completely 
drained and boneless, but also incredibly content. His body pressed against 
Legolas’s, nothing separating them but a thin film of sweat. Legolas’s quick 
breathing tickled his ear and the Elf’s arms were holding him tight.

“Hmm, that was good, Aragorn,” Legolas murmured. “You’re a quick learner.”

Aragorn smiled. “Thank you.” Suddenly, a dark thought rose within him, unbidden. 
Legolas heard him sigh and asked, “What is it, Aragorn? Not tired, are you?”

“No… I was just thinking, leaving Mirkwood will be even harder now. I don’t want 
to leave you, Legolas.”

“And I don’t want to see you go.” Legolas stroked Aragorn’s back. “But you must, 
Aragorn.”

“I know.” Aragorn buried his face against Legolas’s neck and sighed again. “Where 
is this leading us, Legolas? Are you sure you want this? No matter what happens, 
you will loose me one day; you will live on and I will be nothing more than a 
memory…”

“Shh.” Legolas caressed Aragorn scalp tenderly. “Don’t say such things. It’s true, I 
know, and it saddens me too, but don’t let it control you. Enjoy what we have right 
now. Don’t despair; everything will work out fine.”

“Hmm.” Aragorn caught one of Legolas’s hands and interlaced his fingers with the 
Elf’s. “You are sweet.”

“You know what, Aragorn? There will be a great festival this summer, celebrating 
my father’s anniversary as king, so I can’t be missed; but if you come back to 
Mirkwood after your meeting with Mithrandir in September, then I will leave with 
you and travel together with you for a couple of months.”

Aragorn lifted his head and looked at the Elf. “Really? Would you do that?”

“I would. I’ve never been in Gondor; I’ve always wanted to see it sometime. I 
would like to go there together with you.”

“Are you sure?” Aragorn caressed Legolas’s cheek with his fingertips. “It could be 
quite dangerous.”

Legolas chuckled. “So? I’m not made of glass, Aragorn. I am a warrior, not a 
spoiled princeling.”

“All right then.” Aragorn smiled. “I accept your offer.” He caught Legolas’s chin 
between his fingers and kissed him, gently at first, then harder and more 
passionately. “We will be able to make love out in the open,” he said, “under the 
stars, like we did a few hours ago.”

“That’s a pretty prospect.”

“Then again, let’s enjoy the advantages of a soft bed while we have one.” Aragorn 
kissed Legolas again. He sucked Legolas’s tongue into his mouth and nibbled softly 
on it. “Hmm, you taste so good,” he murmured lovingly. “I want to taste more of 
you, my Elf. And I think I know how.”

“Really?” Legolas smiled. “How then?”

Aragorn moved down and ran his tongue over Legolas’s nipple. The Elf groaned. 
Aragorn licked his way further down, until he reached Legolas’s already stiffening 
member. “That’s good,” he said, eyeing the Elf’s beautiful erection with admiration. 
He gave then Legolas a teasing lick and said, “I would like to finish it this time. I 
want to know what you taste like.”

“Valar, yes,” Legolas sighed, “please do so. Show me what you can do.”

“I will.” Aragorn grinned. He was going to use all his skill to see how far he could 
push the Elf. This was going to be interesting…

Fifteen minutes later, Legolas cried out in frustration when Aragorn pulled back, 
denying him his release for the sixth time. Legolas’s weeping member throbbed 
almost painfully, and Aragorn gently, too gently licked away the small amount of 
fluid trickling from the slit. Legolas shuddered and bucked and thrashed beneath 
the Man, but Aragorn was in control. He was sitting on his knees, his own legs 
pinning Legolas’s to the bed, and he had a firm grip on Legolas’s wrists.

“No, Aragorn!” Legolas almost sobbed with impatience and unfulfilled lust. “For 
pity’s sake, finish it already!”

“Not yet,” Aragorn said for the sixth time, a cruel smile on his face.

“Fine.” With great effort, Legolas tore his arm free from Aragorn’s grip and reached 
wildly for his erection. “Then I’ll do it myself!”

Aragorn grabbed Legolas’s wrist and pinned it down again. “Patience, Elf, 
patience.”

“I’ll make you pay for this,” Legolas hissed, struggling, “you can count on that.”

Aragorn smiled. He usually wasn’t this cruel, but hearing Legolas beg for him was 
too arousing by far. But maybe the torment had indeed lasted long enough now. 
Maybe it was time to grant Legolas his release.

“Fine,” he sighed, “if you really can’t wait any longer… How do you want me to 
finish it? Like this…” - he swirled his tongue around the head of Legolas’s erection – 
“…or like this?” He then took Legolas deep into his mouth. Legolas screamed and 
thrashed with renewed vigour, but he was almost immobile within Aragorn’s grip.

“Yes, like that… no, harder! Oh, please, Aragorn,” he begged frantically, bucking 
beneath the Man, “don’t stop this time. Oh, yes, that’s it!”

Aragorn rubbed his tongue rapidly against the underside of Legolas’s cock, in the 
meantime sucking hard and moving his head up and down. His own patience had 
left him too now. He had tortured the Elf quite long enough, and the prospect of 
the Elf culminating in his mouth was appealing. He sucked again, hard, and 
shivered when Legolas let out a cry powerful enough to wake every creature in a 
one-kilometer radius. The Elf’s cock bucked in his mouth and Legolas’s semen 
spilled over Aragorn’s tongue. Aragorn closed his eyes, savouring the Elf’s sweet 
taste.

He let go of the shaking Elf and crawled up to him. “Kiss me,” he murmured 
against Legolas’s slightly parted lips, “push your tongue inside my mouth and taste 
yourself.” Legolas shivered and complied, letting out a soft moan when their 
tongues played with one another, sharing Legolas’s taste.

Aragorn finally broke the kiss, bit Legolas’s lower lip affectionately and settled 
beside the Elf, gathering him in his arms. “My dear Elf,” he murmured, kissing 
Legolas’s neck. The Elf’s chest was heaving violently and it took some time before 
Legolas had caught his breath.

“I’d never expected you to be so cruel, Aragorn,” he muttered. “And surely 
everyone in the palace knows by now what we are doing.”

“I think so too.” Aragorn smiled and kissed Legolas’s lips. “Arousing, isn’t it?”

Legolas chuckled weakly. “Shut up,” he said, “I’m spent. I will never have an 
orgasm again in my entire life.”

Aragorn laughed. “Care to make a bet?”

Legolas smiled. “No.” He wrapped an arm around Aragorn’s waist and nuzzled 
against