Title: The Good Whore 
Author: Major Clanger 
Email: majclanger@aol.com 
Category: PWP/angst 
Pairing:  Legolas/Boromir
Rating: NC-17
Warning: none
Status: Complete 
Summary: Finally the fellowship can enjoy some time together away from 
the pressures of the journey to destroy the One Ring. It doesn’t go quite as 
planned.
Disclaimer: All LOTR characters, settings etc. belong to Other People. 
That is, not me. No copryright infringement or offence is intended. This 
story was written primarily for my own enjoyment – if others have fun 
reading it then that is an added bonus. Any original characters and 
situations are the property of the author. That is me – and I write under the 
name of ‘Major Clanger’ for reasons which are unclear, even to me – so 
please leave them alone. The story may not be posted elsewhere without 
my consent – although since I’m a shameless self-publicist, if you write 
and ask the it is highly likely that I will agree. 
Author's notes: I love Boromir, and I think he gets badly treated by a lot 
of people, so I thought this might be nice for him. Thanks to Gracie for the 
beta. This is for TC who, unbelievably, didn’t fancy Legolas until she read 
this!

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

The gentle rasp of Sam’s snoring roused Legolas. He lay for a short while 
relishing the sense of security that being among his own kind gave him: 
Hidden in the forest far from the prying eyes of the Dark Lord’s spies.

Legolas smiled as he looked around at his travelling companions. As usual 
the hobbits were grouped together, Frodo sandwiched between Sam and 
Merry. None of the halflings appeared to be losing any sleep over the noise 
Sam was making.

Allowing his eyes to travel over the various mounds of the sleeping 
fellowship, they alighted first upon Gimli. He remembered the way in 
which Gimli had rejoiced on finally having the opportunity to comb out 
the knots from his beard; the elf had watched in fascination as the dwarf’s 
stubby fingers expertly re-braided the coarse-looking hair. The next pile of 
blankets concealed Aragorn. Legolas had felt an instant rapport with this 
man. At the beginning his interest was merely piqued by the variety of 
names by which the man was known: Estel, Aragorn, Strider, but the more 
Legolas thought about it, the more the various names reflected the many 
facets of Aragorn’s character.

Finally Legolas looked at Boromir. His custom had been to sleep on the 
outer edge of the group, and even here in Lorien he slept facing the 
direction from whence any potential threat might come. Legolas had tried 
to question him about this, but Boromir had shrugged helplessly – it was 
obvious to the elf that he did not know why he did this. The elf assumed 
that it was force of habit and left it at that. The warrior had removed his 
outer clothing but not his boots, and he slept, as always, with one hand 
upon his sword. Boromir’s other hand rested on the horn which never left 
his side. Legolas wondered if this artefact comforted him, if it helped him 
bear the pain of his obvious longing to return to Gondor. It was no 
ordinary homesickness, Legolas acknowledged: The man burned with the 
desire to bring help to his people.

Boromir’s face was more handsome in repose, the lines and creases of his 
waking hours reduced and smoothed. Legolas realised that he knew almost 
nothing about this man – had wanted to know nothing. Now, however, 
seeing Boromir like this Legolas wondered at the man who had made such 
a perilous three-month journey alone, looking for something his brother 
had seen in a dream. Had he left a wife behind? Did any children await 
their father’s return? What about his father and brother? Boromir was an 
enigma and Legolas knew that in the future it would be dangerous to rely 
upon an unknown quantity to watch his back in battle. He resolved to try 
to know Boromir better, if the man would allow him. This would be no 
easy task given the man’s mistrust of elves but Legolas relished the 
challenge.

He was tired but his mind was racing and he knew that sleep would elude 
him for several more hours. Legolas hated to admit it, but the very fact that 
he was in the fabled realm of Lothlórien excited him. The thought did not 
please him, he knew that these elves regarded him – however politely – as 
a cousin from the backwater and he tried to remain cool and aloof in their 
presence.

Rain pattered lightly on the canvas roof, calling him to come and feel of 
the soft drops on his skin. A moment later he was outside, clad only in his 
undershirt and leggings, revelling in the damp texture of the soft moss 
under his bare feet. Suddenly he did not care what the Galadhrim would 
think if they saw him; it had been so long since he had been able to enjoy 
the simple pleasure of being alive. Immersing himself into the smells and 
sounds around him, Legolas moved away from the sleeping quarters and 
stepped lightly among the Mallorn trees. He trailed his hands on their cool, 
smooth bark, inhaled the scent of damp earth, listened to the spatter of the 
rain and felt the ground soak up the moisture. He sang softly, no longer the 
plantive lament for Gandalf from the evening before, but a joyful 
celebration of life.

The thin, silky undershirt became damp quickly, clinging to him and 
causing goosebumps on his skin, but Legolas did not mind the cool night 
air. He gathered his long hair in elegant fingers and let it fall down his 
back, smoothing stray tendrils off his face. As he sang he spread his arms 
wide and turned slowly, face upturned to the gently falling rain. The tree 
canopy obscured most of the night sky, but occasionally as he turned he 
caught a glimpse of a twinkling star above, and he sang to those too.

He felt the man’s approach before he saw him but did not break off his 
song. Legolas continued his slow circles, palms up to catch the raindrops, 
which were now falling heavier and faster, until he faced where his visitor 
approached.  “You cannot sleep, Boromir?” The elf gave a lazy smile as he 
noticed Boromir’s discomfiture at being recognised.

The man, becoming more used to the ways of elves as he spent more time 
with the Fellowship, quickly recovered. “I heard you leave,” he grinned. 
“You invited me.” It was not a question.

“You have learned a much of our ways, Boromir.”

“Yet there is much more I have to know, it seems.”

Legolas ceased his movement and stood in the small clearing. His clothes 
clung damply to his lean body, his pale skin, he knew, would appear to the 
man to glow in the starlight. The elf gave a small bow in welcome. “Take 
off your boots, Boromir, enjoy the forest fully.”

“I think not. Who knows what foe lurks, waiting to spring on us when we 
are least prepared.” He tightened his grip on his sword as if he expected a 
horde of Orc to attack at any moment.

Teasing him, Legolas cupped a hand around his ear. “I hear nothing, 
Boromir. Unless you know something I do not?”

“My arms-master told me always to expect the unexpected,” Boromir 
looked slightly wistful and Legolas felt a stab of guilt at his teasing. 
Boromir gave a sudden grin. “And never to remove my boots.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“In that case, Boromir. I beg of you to keep them firmly on your feet.” The 
elf’s answering smile was coy.

The rain began to fall in torrents, plastering Boromir’s hair to his head, 
making a dull thudding sound as it hit the leather of his garments. Legolas 
pointed through the trees. “We  can shelter from the rain, if you have no 
wish to sleep. Perhaps we can learn more of each other’s ways.” Without 
waiting for an answer Legolas ran to the hollow tree in the next clearing.

As the elf had suspected there were blankets inside the shelter and some of 
the elven waybread. There were such trees and caves in Mirkwood, ready 
for travellers who might need shelter and food for a night. Legolas 
watched with interest from inside the cavernous tree as Boromir slowly 
approached. The man had his eyes half closed, his head tilted to one side – 
almost like a bird – with his mouth slightly open.

A root caught Boromir’s foot as he entered and he stumbled, cursing as he 
sought to right himself. “You folk may be able to see perfectly well at 
night, but I cannot.”

“Apologies. I did not think,” Legolas looked at Boromir with curiosity. 
“Although, you found me.”

“Hearing is improved with an open mouth.”

“Your arms-master taught you that?”

“My father,” again the wistful look. Boromir shook his head. “We could 
use some light.”

“Again, I must apologise. I fear there is nothing here with which to make 
fire.”

“Would that be wise, inside a tree?” Boromir ran his hands around the 
inside of the tree-trunk, surprised to find it completely smooth, apart from 
some carving at head height. He traced the unfamiliar words with his 
fingers, but did not understand the strange, archaic elf language. “What is 
this place?” 

“A shelter for travellers, or maybe guests who prefer not to climb to a 
Talan. Just enough for a party of four or five; not big enough for our 
fellowship.”

Completing his circuit of the interior, Boromir had not failed to notice that 
Legolas neatly skipped out of his way when he approached. His foot hit 
something with a dull thud. “What is in the box?”

“Blankets, food, water. Probably some cooking utensils.”

“Cooking utensils? So it might be possible to make a fire?”

Legolas rummaged in the chest and nodded. Remembering that Boromir 
could not see him he flushed at this oversight and spoke. “Yes, a 
cauldron.” He set it in the middle of the floor.

“Then we could make a small fire, I think?” Boromir reached inside his 
clothing and withdrew a small pouch. He clucked with impatience. “Of 
course, if you would tell me where it is, this would be easier. Or are you 
testing my night vision?”

Wordlessly Legolas took Boromir’s hand and pulled him, not too gently, 
until he stood by the cauldron. He pushed until the man knelt, then placed 
his hand on the pot. Legolas lingered with his hand on top of Boromir’s, 
feeling the warmth come through his skin, feeling with his slightly 
calloused palms, the slight prickle of the hair on the back of the man’s 
hand. Boromir flushed, and feeling this Legolas moved abruptly away.

Boromir busied himself and within a short space of time a small fire 
burned, bathing their faces in its warm, orange glow. He looked around 
with interest, but the fire only made the darkness around its small sphere 
of light blacker, and he could see nothing. He felt the need to break the 
silence and spoke again. “The engravings,” he indicated the wall, “what do 
they say?”

Legolas spoke without looking up at the writing. “Dear friend, take only 
what you need, replace what you take and leave something for those who 
follow.” He pulled some thick woollen blankets from the chest and spread 
them on the ground. “Sit. I would hear more of Boromir of Gondor.” He 
sat, cross-legged and looked up at Boromir expectantly.

“A fair exchange then, Legolas. I would hear more of your folk.” As 
Legolas nodded, he too sank to the ground, sitting with his sword across 
his lap. “Where should I start?”

The pair sat for some hours in the hollow tree, exchanging stories of their 
youth, their fathers and brothers. At first they spoke haltingly, in a 
curiously formal language. But as they began to realise that they had more 
in common than either of them could have guessed, they became more 
relaxed. By the time the first light filtered through the opening of the tree 
each had reached a better understanding of the other, although they were 
still slightly wary.

Suddenly Legolas stiffened and held up his hand. Boromir stopped talking 
as his hand flew to his sword, which he had unbuckled and placed by his 
side. They waited, tense and alert until Legolas relaxed and turned his head 
towards the mouth of the tree as something cut out the light. “Aragorn. 
Come and join us.”

The elf noticed that their visitor was more welcome to him than his 
companion, and sighed inwardly as he saw Boromir’s lately warm, relaxed 
attitude freeze back into the polite stiffness of before. 

Aragorn folded himself into a cross-legged position next to Legolas. “You 
should have stayed with us,” he remonstrated gently. “Avail yourselves of 
the chance to rest, who knows when we will have to leave here.”

Boromir visibly bristled at being told when to sleep, but Legolas laughed. 
“Unless you plan to stand guard over us each night, Aragorn, we will take 
our rest at a time and place of our own choosing. Eh, Boromir?”

The man nodded and got to his feet. “I think that time has come upon me, 
if Sam has stopped snoring?” He gave a stiff incline of his head before 
disappearing through the entrance to the hollow tree.

“The halflings are already enjoying their second breakfast. If you hurry 
you might find a crumb or two.” Aragorn raised his hand in salute but 
Boromir had already left. He shrugged and threw an apple at Legolas. 
Switching to the elvish language he continued. “Here, I rescued something 
from the breakfast table.” Aragorn reached into a bag he had brought.

“There is enough here for ten.”

“I thought Boromir might be hungry,” the man chewed thoughtfully on a 
piece of bread. “But it seems that he would rather not spend time with 
me.”

“Nay, Aragorn. Although he does feel alone, I think. You are more elf than 
man – when we are together.”

Aragorn looked thoughtful. “Do you not feel alone, Legolas?”

“No, but as I said, you are more elf than man,” Legolas bit into his apple 
and swallowed before he spoke again. “I would like to know more about 
Boromir. If we are to fight together, I would know the man behind the 
harsh words and hard looks.”

“You need have no fear about his prowess in battle, Legolas. His 
reputation is second to none. However, he does not fully appreciate the 
power of the Ring; I think we should pay him keen attention. Getting to 
know him would be a good idea.”

The two companions remained in the hollow tree for a short while, but 
there was no more talk between them. Lost in his thoughts of Boromir, 
Legolas wondered if Aragorn, too, had a feeling of deep foreboding 
whenever Boromir was near.

~*~

After a few days in Lórien the Fellowship fell into a daily routine. This 
was mostly dictated by the eating habits of the hobbits who would begin 
the day by taking two breakfasts, although it was usually difficult to see 
where one left off and the other started. They would occupy themselves 
until lunchtime, when they would put away another vast quantity of food, 
to the amusement of Aragorn and the amazement of Gimli, Legolas and 
Boromir. After lunch there was a period of blessed silence when the four 
halflings, and often Gimli, would sleep for a few hours.

During that time Aragorn and Boromir practiced their sword-play and 
Legolas busied himself making and repairing arrows, archery and 
practicing with his twin blades. The members of the Fellowship were left 
mostly to their own devices by the Lorien elves at first, to give them a 
chance to recover from their toils. Gradually they got to know more of 
their hosts, especially Haldir the Marchwarden, who was fascinated by the 
hobbits

Haldir had another reason to visit. After his initial distrust of Gimli, he had 
been severely and repeatedly berated – although gently – by Legolas, who 
took it as a personal affront that his friend had been insulted by his kinfolk 
– no matter how distantly they were related. The Marchwarden made great 
efforts to overcome his distrust of the dwarf and although they did not 
become good friends they made great strides in that direction.

As for Legolas, he spent much time with the Fellowship, but also visited 
his brethren, often joining them for archery practice and singing. Aragorn, 
too, spent much of his time with the elves, but also with Frodo who 
seemed to be suffering still from the wound he had sustained at 
Weathertop.

Legolas watched Boromir. Since their conversation in the hollow tree, they 
had not spoken again except for generalities. It grieved the elf, that 
Boromir seemed to be withdrawing from the Fellowship, and he did not 
know how to bring him back in. He spoke of this to nobody, not wanting 
to draw negative attention on the man with no reason. Finally he decided 
to approach Boromir directly.

The next day he got his chance. Frodo was listless and depressed. The 
other hobbits, Aragorn and even Gimli stayed after the afternoon nap to try 
to amuse him. Legolas watched them for a while, but when Haldir and 
several of the other Lorien elves arrived to join the impromptu party he 
excused himself.

He searched for only a short while before finding Boromir in the hollow-
tree.

Stopping outside he observed the man for a few minutes. Boromir was 
examining the interior, tracing the unfamiliar elven lettering with his 
finger, frowning with concentration as he appeared to spell out the strange 
dialect.

Legolas coughed.

“Come in, Legolas.” Boromir did not turn around.

“I see you have been taking instruction in the language.”

“Yes, from Aragorn, I can read this but the meaning of the words is 
unclear,” Boromir jabbed his forefinger at a word. “This one I know 
‘friend’, but I cannot recognise the others.”

“It is an ancient dialect, one that I do not read well,” Legolas admitted. 
“The text would be the same wherever you saw it in elven lands.”

“We, too, have such emergency shelters. Although they are little used 
now, and many have fallen into disrepair. They are well hidden: Only 
those of us who know their locations could find them. But my life has 
been saved in the past by such shelters, and I intend to have them repaired 
after...” Boromir’s words died on his lips. The unspoken part was not lost 
on Legolas. After the war when I return to Gondor – when the King has 
relieved the Steward of his duties and I have little else to do.

“He does not seek to take Gondor from you, Boromir.”

“But he will nevertheless. The King will return.” Boromir checked 
himself. “I do not mean that we will not honour him but it falls hard on us 
to give back what we have ruled for so long, to a King we do not know.”

“Is that what troubles you?”

“How do you mean?”

“We have missed your company these past days, Boromir. Do you no 
longer feel part of the Fellowship?”

Boromir studied his hands. “I do not belong in the Fellowship.”  

“Yes you do. And we are glad to have you.” Legolas sat on the chest.

“Even Aragorn? But maybe his intention is to keep me under his eye?” 
Boromir looked sceptical.

This irritated Legolas. “Is it always so with men? That you suspect 
everyone’s motives? You have a reputation as a brave warrior, a good 
leader of men. This much I heard from Aragorn himself, and why would I 
not believe him? Your journey to Imladris was long and hard, yet you 
undertook it for the good of your people. Such a man can only be a benefit 
to a Fellowship such as ours.”

“Mayhap you are right.” Boromir still looked exhausted. He rubbed his 
face and yawned.

“You do not sleep well?”

“I dream.” Boromir studied his boots, he spoke quietly. “I dream that it 
calls me. That I must take it to Gondor. It is unbearable.”

“And so you lie wakeful at night, and come here to sleep by day?” Legolas 
stood. “I will disturb you no longer, in that case.” He put his hand on 
Boromir’s shoulder. “Aragorn could give you something to help you sleep 
if you ask him”

“There is no need.”

Exasperation flared in Legolas. He bent low so that his mouth was close to 
Boromir’s ear. “It would not be showing weakness,” he whispered. The 
man’s stubbly face was close to his cheek. His nostrils filled with the smell 
of warm leather and Boromir’s hair, mixed with Boromir’s own natural 
scent. It was not unpleasant. Legolas stepped away quickly, suddenly 
embarassed to realise that he had lingered longer than necessary. He 
gestured the ground. “It does not look comfortable here, for sleeping.”

“I am a soldier,” came the reply. “I can sleep anywhere.”

As Legolas left Boromir absently stroked his cheek.

~*~

The days passed in a haze and of the Fellowship only Legolas had any real 
sense of time. He found himself watching out for Boromir more and more, 
although he couldn’t say why. He thought about the man constantly, 
intrigued by his mysterious companion in more ways than one. For his part 
Boromir continued to spend most of his time alone, joining his 
companions for mealtimes and to sleep, keeping his conversation to a 
minimum.

Aragorn was more concerned with Frodo’s condition, as were the other 
hobbits. For his part Gimli had struck up an unlikely friendship with 
Haldir and his two brothers.

Legolas was left to his own devices. He made a project out of getting to 
know Boromir. It seemed to the elf that Boromir did not object to spending 
time with him. He made no attempt to disguise his daily visits to the 
hollow tree, almost as if he were inviting Legolas to join him; so Legolas 
took him up on the unspoken offer. Often they sat outside the tree, 
enjoying the fine weather. They spoke sometimes of their childhood or 
their customs; other times Legolas sat in silence or sang quietly while 
Boromir smoked his pipe.

It seldom rained, but when it did, Boromir did not hide his amusement as 
Legolas immediately removed his boots and leather jerkin, and allowed 
himself to enjoy the damp forest.

“Do all of your folk behave in such a strange way, Legolas, or is this one 
of your peculiarities?”

“One of my peculiarities?” Legolas stood dripping before the man, who sat 
just inside the opening of the tree.

“Perhaps that is not the correct word.” A puff of blue smoke and the sweet 
smell of pipe-weed accompanied his words.

Legoglas pushed past him to sit by the fire he knew Boromir had lit. He 
pulled off his undershirt and sat warming himself. “I was not aware that I 
was so ‘peculiar’ as you put it. Since you ask, I do enjoy the rain more 
than some. It is different here than in Mirkwood. Warmer.”

Boromir moved so that he was directly behind Legolas. He reached out a 
hand and touched the elf’s wet hair. “Is it usual among your folk to sit 
around half clothed?”

“No,” Legolas shivered.

“You are cold?”

“No.”

Even closer now Boromir stroked the damp blond hair, then trailed his 
fingers slowly down Legolas’ spine. He spread his hands flat and Legolas 
allowed them to roam over his back and only stilled his trembling when 
they stopped on either side of his waist.

“Legolas?”

The elf’s reply was to lean back against the man, resting his head on 
Boromir’s shoulder. This exposed his throat and the length of his body to 
Boromir, who accepted his acquiescence. Moving slowly he stroked his 
large hands over Legolas’ skin, marvelling at the softness, the smooth skin 
covering hard muscle. Boromir had not been a retiring violet when it came 
to women, but he had never experienced such pleasure in simply touching 
another’s skin before.

Legolas allowed Boromir to touch him where he would, keeping perfectly 
still while he enjoyed the sensation of the man’s large, rough hands on his 
body. It seemed to the elf that wherever Boromir came into contact with 
him his skin glowed. Legolas pressed back against Boromir stretching his 
neck, inviting the tongue that  left a wet trail from the tip of his slightly 
pointed chin to the hollow at the base of his throat. Warm nimble fingers 
caressed the elf, now skating across his ribs, now drumming a tattoo on his 
breastbone. 

Boromir carefully mapped and learned the unfamiliar contours, as he had 
done on so many previous occasions – he had enjoyed the pleasures of the 
flesh as much as any soldier. But this was new territory for him and he was 
slightly hesitant. He kept his exploration above Legolas’ waist; something 
which did not go unnoticed by the elf.

In a sudden movement Legolas swept Boromir off balance and they found 
themselves lying face to face on one of the prickly woollen blankets. 
Legolas ran his hand up Boromir’s chest, and reached up to stroke his 
beard. “You have me at a disadvantage, Captain Boromir.” He began to 
undo the fastenings of Boromir’s clothing. The man did not cooperate in 
his disrobing and, when it seemed that he was going to pull away, Legolas 
stopped immediately. One slim hand slid inside and came to rest over 
Boromir’s heart, it was beating fit to burst out of his ribcage bringing a 
smile to the elf’s lips.

The smile faded as Legolas looked into Boromir’s eyes. Huge pupils, with 
only the barest hint of an amber outline, betrayed the man’s lust but also 
revealed a hint of apprehension. Legolas removed his hand and pulled 
away slightly; he propped himself up on one elbow and considered 
Boromir carefully.

“I will leave if you wish it,” his voice was husky with his own desire. “But 
I think we have been building up to this; it is something we both want.”

There was no reply. Boromir did not move a muscle, but Legolas sensed 
that he was considering his situation. The elf kept perfectly still, he did not 
want to push Boromir into something that he did not want to do, nor did he 
want to pass up the chance to know the man better. Time moved slowly, it 
seemed to Legolas, but eventually Boromir sat up. He looked down at 
Legolas, who had rolled onto his back, stretching out and putting his hands 
behind his head. A lazy grin spread over his face as he noted Boromir’s 
already large pupils dilate further.

“You would make an excellent whore, Legolas, should you ever find 
yourself needing to make a living.” Boromir peeled the clothing off his 
upper body, pausing to allow the elf to look at him. Then with deliberate 
movements he bent and removed his boots. He sat, crosslegged in front of 
the elf and let his eyes rover over the other’s body. Shamlessly examining 
the elf, he enjoyed the way that this did not seem to disturb Legolas, in fact 
the elf appeared to enjoy being the object of such close scrutiny.

“I am no whore, Boromir,” a graceful, fluid movement had him sitting 
opposite the man. His expression was earnest, matched by his tone when 
he spoke. “It is important that you understand me, Boromir. What I offer 
now is freely given, and I ask that you do the same.”

“I did not mean…”

Legolas cut him off by leaning over and placing a light kiss on Boromir’s 
lips. “I know what you meant, Boromir.” This time the kiss was deeper, 
with the elf’s hands on either side of Boromir’s face. Legolas rubbed his 
thumbs over the man’s beard, and stroked his tongue against his lips. 
Boromir resisted and Legolas did not force the issue. He kept up the slight 
pressure of his lips and pushed gently until they both lay on the ground.

This time Boromir allowed the elf access to every part of him. Legolas 
marvelled at the hair on his chest, alternately stroking and plucking at it 
until Boromir growled at him to stop.

“This does not please you? Let me try something else.” The man squirmed 
as Legolas bent his lips to his nipple and licked and nibbled one while his 
fingers pinched and stroked the other.

Boromir faced an internal struggle. His body reacted to the stimulation 
from Legolas’ fingertips, but his mind told him that what they were doing 
was wrong. Sensing this, Legolas pulled himself along Boromir’s body 
until they were once more face to face. He framed the man’s face with his 
hands and looked into his eyes.

“Boromir,” his voice was low, “if you wish to stop, I will not think any the 
less of you.”

“Legolas, I do not know.” Boromir reached up and touched the elf’s cheek. 
“I think I want to know you. But at the same time I am afraid.”

“Of me? I will not hurt you, Boromir.” Again, the coy smile. “Unless you 
wish it.” Legolas allowed Boromir to reverse their positions so that now 
the man was on top. His wrists were pinned above his head as his body 
was once more allowed to relish the sensation of Boromir’s exploration.

They enjoyed a long kiss, and this time it was Boromir’s tongue which 
eased its way past his own lips and onto Legolas’. Eventually Boromir 
could resist the elf no longer. Legolas writhed under the attention he 
received, pressing as much of himself against Boromir as he could.  Not 
wanting to frighten Boromir, he refrained, with difficulty, from rubbing his 
erection against the man, but it became obvious to both of them that he 
was in an extreme state of arousal. Conscious that Boromir’s culture 
frowned upon such relationships, Legolas allowed the man to take the 
lead, letting Boromir keep his arms pinned above his head with one of his 
large hands.

Used to being in command, Legolas found this reversal a completely erotic 
experience. He closed is eyes and let himself be transported on a wave of 
feelings. It was too much pleasure for him to keep total control and when 
his erection accidentally brushed Boromir, the man pulled away.

“Boromir?”

“I am sorry, I do not think I can do this.”

Legolas reached up and pulled at Boromir’s hand until he lay down once 
more. He looked into his eyes as he placed the hand over his arousal, close 
but not touching. “Forgive me, Boromir, but I think you can do this. Very 
well.” He took his hand from Boromir’s, the decision would be left to the 
man.

For a few hesitant seconds, Boromir did not know what to do. His hand 
remained hovering over Legolas erection, but he could not quite bring 
himself to pull away. He closed his eyes and swallowed, but in his mind’s 
eye he saw Legolas before him. Stretched out as he had been before, with a 
wanton look in his eyes. A light touch on his lips made his eyes open of 
their own accord, and there was Legolas. His eyes radiated trust and safety 
and Boromir knew that he could not resist.

He reached out and tugged at Legolas’ leggings and within a few, short 
seconds Boromir was fumbling with the fastenings of his own breeches. 
Legolas lay quietly, watching him. His eyes never strayed from Boromir’s. 
Time dilated but after what seemed an age they were both naked, stretched 
out on the blanket, simply looking at each other.

Legolas’ pale skin reflected orange in the firelight and glowed with 
something indefinable. Again the elf put his hands behind his head and 
invited Boromir’s scrutiny and touch. He was not disappointed when 
Boromir leaned over and trapped him under his own, heavier body. They 
kissed for as long as they could manage, while Boromir settled back into 
the idea that what they were doing was not wrong. Again he skated his 
large hands all over the elf, as though he wanted to touch every inch of 
him.

With a gasp from both of them the man touched the elf in his most 
intimate of places. Neither was prepared for the tremor which went 
through them; they were immediately overwhelmed by the need to be as 
close to the other as possible. 

The experience was not as strange to Boromir as he had thought it might 
be. He had never lain with a man before – although he knew that among 
some of the soldiers it was accepted practice to offer ‘comfort and release’ 
on the eve of a great battle. With this in mind Boromir approached the 
‘problem’ of what to do with the type of clear headedness he usually 
applied to a military campaign.

Boromir recalled his first ever sexual encounter. He had been a young 
guardsman, serving his two years apprenticeship before being 
commissioned into the corps of officers. It was his first weekend’s leave 
after two gruelling months of soldiering. First there had been a trip to the 
bath house, then a hearty meal at the nearest tavern.

After that his older comrades had taken him and three other green recruits 
to the local brothel, a tradition as old as Gondor itself. Even now he could 
recall the smell of the woman’s perfume, feel the adrenaline rush as he 
realised that he was about to experience the last ritual that would finally 
make him a man. In hindsight he could blush and smile at the thought that 
their all too brief first encounter was rather less satisfactory for her than 
for him. But his second, third and subsequent attempts that weekend were 
much better. She had taught him how to please both himself and his 
partner, whoever she might be. For the sake of his future wife, she had told 
him. Ever nameless the whore had done her job well and had been well 
reimbursed by the young guardsman’s superiors. Boromir smiled now at 
the thought that his later lovers, of which he had had more than his fair 
share, had a lot to thank her for.

The solution to his current dilemma was obvious: He would start with 
what pleased him most, and gauge Legolas’ reaction. Boromir hoped 
fervently that elves did not differ too much from men. Leaning over for a 
kiss, to succour himself before he began his assault on Legolas’ senses, 
Boromir pressed the elf’s arms down to his sides. “Leave them there,” he 
growled, smiling as Legolas’ eyes smouldered at him.

Boromir alternated firm, fast strokes on the elf’s penis with delicate, 
teasing featherlike touches; nips and bites on his body with gentle licks 
and kisses. Whenever it seemed that Legolas could take no more, or if he 
moved his hands, Boromir ceased his movement and bit down on 
whichever part of the elf was closest to his mouth at the time.

Concentrating on pleasuring his companion, and becoming more and more 
aroused by the small sounds of satisfaction coming from Legolas, it was 
some time before Boromir realised that the elf was speaking. Only when 
he felt Legolas’ hands pluck at his hair did he finally look up.

“Boromir,” Legolas’ pale face had a sheen of sweat which glistened in the 
firelight. “Boromir, please stop.”

“Stop? Am I hurting you, Legolas?”

The elf twisted and suddenly, without quite knowing how, Boromir found 
himself on his back. Legolas teased Boromir’s body to an even higher 
level of excitement, without touching him. His hands ghosted a hair’s 
breadth over the surface of Boromir’s skin, making no contact. Legolas 
looked at Boromir and gave another of his coy smiles. Slithering down the 
length of the man’s body he did not break eye contact.

Boromir watched as the elf’s pink tongue extended and ran itself down the 
length of his arousal. He could not tear his eyes away as Legolas nibbled 
with delicate teeth before sliding his mouth over Boromir’s erection. The 
man was brought to the brink of release time and time again, until he could 
take no more.

“Not it is you who must stop, Legolas.” Boromir’s legs were trembling and 
it was this, more than his words, which made the elf give him one last 
slow, lick. He lay alongside the man and stroked the damp hair off his 
forehead. They kissed for endless minutes while Boromir came back to 
himself.

“Why did you want me to stop? You took no pleasure in that?” Light 
fingers traced the curve of Boromir’s ear, along his jawline and around the 
outline of his lips. Legolas drew his fingers along the man’s bottom lip, 
pulling them away and laughing as he tried to suck them in. He leaned 
close and rubbed his cheek along Boromir’s jaw, relishing the feeling of 
the rough stubble against his own smooth cheek.

Boromir stroked his forefinger along the elf’s jaw. “Just like a maiden.”

“Maiden?” came the answering growl. He grabbed the hand and licked 
across the palm and along Boromir’s middle finger. “I am no blushing 
maiden, Boromir.”

“I meant no insult, Legolas,” he reached down and began to stroke Legolas 
once more.

“None was taken, Boromir.” The elf sat up. “You trust me, Boromir?” He 
rummaged in the chest, removing something that Boromir thought looked 
like a small bottle, but he could not see it clearly in the dim firelight.
 
“With my life.”

Once more Legolas made eye contact with the man, saying nothing as he 
wrapped his long fingers around Boromir. The man gasped as cool, oiled 
fingers touched his skin. The elf’s fingers felt slippery as they moved 
slowly up and down the length of him, teasing Boromir back to a 
quivering mass of nerve endings. His eyes widened as he realised how 
Legolas was doing that, but the endless waves of pleasure transported him 
to another plane and he lost the use of his brain.

Time folded in on itself until it seemed to Boromir that he and Legolas had 
been in this secret place since the dawn of time. Again he was unable to 
drag his eyes away from the vision before him, Legolas watched him 
carefully, teasing him from the glittering surface of his dark eyes, but in 
the dark depths of his wide pupils the man only saw love and hope. 
Boromir barely noticed that he had reached out to the elf, his fingers 
moved of their own accord. Legolas shuddered once and rested his 
forehead on Boromir’s, giving him a deep, searching kiss.

Finally the elf took pity on the trembling man in his arms, and allowed him 
to reach his own shattering climax – all the time looking deep into his 
eyes. As Boromir felt the heat spread from low down in his abdomen and 
then pulse through him with an intensity he had never before experienced, 
he allowed Legolas access to the deepest part of him.

Afterwards Boromir lay boneless in Legolas’ arms as the elf wrapped them 
in the slightly musty blanket. It was not cold but coccooned together they 
felt a closeness that they both feared they might never have with anyone 
again. Shared joy became mingled with shared sorrow at the uncertainty of 
what faced them and their companions.

For a long time they lay quietly, listening to each other’s breathing, feeling 
their racing heartbeats slow back to normal, enjoying the simple fact of 
being. Boromir at last understood Legolas’ need to commune with nature. 
He wondered if he would have the courage to wander on naked feet 
through the golden forest – but even as he thought he might he knew deep 
inside himself that he would not.

Legolas, for his part, now understood the blaze of passion that was the 
short human life. The millennia available to the elves to experience joy 
and sorrow love and loss contracted into the few years of a man’s life and 
concentrated them to what would be an unbearable level for an immortal. 
Boromir’s burning desire to save Gondor, to bring peace and prosperity to 
his people was no more than a desperate struggle against time. One that he 
would lose – and they both knew it.

Elvish fingers traced a pattern on Boromir’s chest, and the man tried in 
vain to make out what it was. “You are marking me for your own?” The 
caustic words were negated by the soft tone he used.

“It is merely what is written around the tree, Boromir,” he smiled. “Dear 
friend, take only what you need, replace what you take and…”

Boromir finished the sentence for him. “…leave something for those who 
follow.” He brushed his lips against smooth elvish skin. “You are sure 
there will be another?”

“In these dark times we can be certain of nothing, Boromir. But I am sure 
that you plan to marry and raise a family?”

“You think I could be content with woman, after experiencing what 
Legolas Greenleaf has to offer. No, after this night together I fear I must 
swear to be a chaste knight.”

Legolas smiled. “I am sure your father will have something to say about 
that. As would mine.” His face fell as he remembered his home. 
“Although since there are no elf-maids suitable for a Prince of Mirkwood, 
I may be spared.”

It was Boromir’s turn to smile now. “Not all elves are lovers of males?”

This made Legolas laugh. “No more than all men are.” He stroked 
Boromir’s face. “To us it is of no matter if our lover is male or female, 
although we do choose a mate of the other sex. Otherwise there would be 
no elf-children. But it is not that way with men, I have heard.”

“Indeed not. I think you must have bewitched me, Legolas, until this day I 
would never have considered laying with anything other than one of 
Gondor’s daughters.” Boromir sat up suddenly, his face clouded with 
confusion.

“’twas no spell, Boromir, but I am sorry if you are now feeling regret. For 
my part, I am thankful for your gift to me.”

“Gift?”

“Boromir,” Legolas sat up and noted with sadness how Boromir forced his 
eyes away from his body, as though he were ashamed. “Boromir, the gift is 
in the giving and in the receiving. We have shared something that must 
only ever be freely given. If you think I have taken something you did not 
wish to give, you must tell me.” The elf moved so that he had no more 
physical contact with Boromir, but remained close enough that he could 
feel the man’s pulse racing, the warmth of his body, the confusion 
coursing through the man.

“No, Legolas. I do not regret anything. You took nothing that I did not 
willingly offer.”

“Then why the melancholy? I thought that this would help us trust and 
understand one another better.”

“Melancholy? Only for something that has passed, Legolas. Our time here 
is short, who knows what awaits us?” Boromir pulled on his clothes 
slowly, paying careful and unnecessary attention to the fastenings. Finally 
he was finished and raised his face to Legolas with a shy smile, which 
touched the elf’s heart. “I think I will never be truly happy again, as I have 
been here today.” The smile changed nature to something altogether more 
earthy. “I think the maids of Gondor will not thank you for having spoiled 
me, Legolas.”

“No, but perhaps their fathers will!” Relief that he had not miscalculated 
flooded through the elf. He too felt a tinge of regret that he would never 
again lie with Boromir or experience the raw passion of which the man 
was capable. Something inside of him, too, had been touched by their 
lovemaking and Legolas wondered if he too were now spoiled for the 
‘maids of Mirkwood’. The feeling of foreboding that he had previously 
felt from Boromir’s presence was not gone but it was now tinged with 
sadness; whatever fate was in store for the the man would touch Legolas 
deeply.

They were both now fully clothed, although for Legolas that did not mean 
much, dressed as he had been in only a light shirt and leggings. As had 
become his recent custom he was barefoot. On impulse Boromir caught 
one of those feet in his large hands and stroked the underside almost 
absently, smiling when Legolas made as if to pull it away.

“You really are soft as a maid, Legolas, if only the Dark Lord knew that all 
he has to do is send an army armed with feathers against your folk.” The 
elf twitched his foot, but did not withdraw it. “You must think me ugly 
when you compare your unblemished self against the corns, callouses and 
scars of a soldier.”

“No, Boromir, I see the beauty of your soul. And although you do not 
believe it, you are as beautiful on the outside as in.”

“There are dark places you have not yet seen.” Boromir dropped Legolas 
foot and stood, awkwardly looking down at his companion, arms folded 
across his chest – putting a barrier between them. “Dark places that would 
repell you, despite your kindly words.”

Swiftly Legolas was on his feet. He rested his hands on Boromir’s 
forearms. “No, we all have darkness inside of us. You said once that it 
calls to you, do think you are the only one? It calls only to those who are 
strong enough to carry its burden – but you are also strong enough to 
resist. What we have shared adds to your strength; together we will prevail 
against evil. Or we will give our lives trying.”

“You do not have darkness inside of you, Legolas, I cannot believe that.”

“Boromir, you have only seen the smallest part of me. I have lived many 
times the lifetime of men, although I am but a young one of our people, I 
have seen such darknesses as you could not imagine. Please do not forget 
that it is down to my fear that Mithrandir is no longer among our number. 
My fear overwhelmed me – that is a darkness indeed.”

They stood for a while, neither wanting to break the contact, both knowing 
that they would shortly be summoned to take their leave of the Lord and 
Lady of Lórien. Legolas turned his face to the opening in the tree.

“They will seek us soon if we do not return. I had not planned to stay so 
long.”

Boromir arched an eyebrow. “Really? It seemed to me that you planned 
everything to the last detail.”

“And you played no part in these plans, Boromir?” They both smiled. “It is 
the oldest dance in creation, and we both know the steps well, I think. 
Perhaps if the Valar give us grace we may yet dance again.”

“It is a thought to sustain me through the next dark days, Legolas. But I 
fear it is not to be.”

Legolas slid his arms around Boromir, who seemed taken aback but 
followed his lead. They kissed in parting, a slow, chaste, farewell, then 
stepped back to take a long look at each other. Legolas picked up 
Boromir’s sword, running his hand lightly along the scabbard before 
giving it to him. While Boromir fastened it about his waist, the elf held the 
Horn of Gondor caressing it, feeling its smooth interior, running his finger 
around the mouthpiece.

“I promise you this, son of Gondor. If ever I hear your call, I will do 
everything in my power to aid you.”

Anything Boromir might have said in reply was bitten back as they heard 
someone approach. Gimli appeared in the opening, and Aragorn could be 
seen behind him.

“So, Master Elf, this is where you pass the time? Our company is not good 
enough for you?”

“On the contrary, Master Dwarf, your company is highly valued. But I am 
not your nursemaid to watch over you while you sleep.” The friends 
grinned at each other.

Boromir had assumed a neutral expression as soon as he heard the others 
approach, now as Aragorn entered the hollow tree he became once again 
his usual, stiff and formal self. Legolas already missed the animated man 
with whom he had shared so much.

Aragorn coughed and the awkward mood dissipated. “We will leave on the 
morrow. The Lady will speak with us before then.”

Boromir left the tree, ducking his head back in to speak to them. “I will 
make ready for the journey.” As he turned to leave Gimli followed.

“Wait, Boromir, I will never find my way back. These trees all look the 
same to me.”

Aragorn and Legolas listened as the sounds of the others receeded into the 
distance. “You have spent much time with Boromir of late, Legolas. Have 
you learned everything you wanted to know?”

“More than that,” Legolas kept his expression neutral. “But I fear it will 
not help us. He despairs of our quest, and he fears his own weakness. I am 
afraid his self-doubt will be his undoing.”

“Then we must do all we can to remove those doubts, Legolas. He is one 
of us, one of the Fellowship. If one falls, a part of all of us falls with him.” 
Aragorn looked into Legolas’ eyes and he softened his voice. “I ask the 
Valar that if Boromir is that one, he does not take too much of you with 
him.” He exited the small chamber and went back to join the others.

The elf stayed for a few minutes. He put things to rights then, with a heart 
full of foreboding, rejoined his companions; wondering, as they all did, 
what new adventures awaited them.

~the end~
 
 
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