Title: Warrior Elf
Author: Nessa  
E-mail: nessa_tulcakelume@hotmail.com  
Pairings: Boromir/Legolas, Aragorn/Legolas, Legolas/Haldir, Legolas/Aragorn/Haldir
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Boromir lusts for Legolas and wants to claim him for his own. 
Will the Elf submit? How will Boromir react then? 
Disclaimer: Characters does not belong to me. This is purely a product 
of my imagination. Knowledge of characters based on movies.  
Warning: Violence, Graphic Sex  
Authors Note: For comments, compliments, criticisms 
or you just want to yell at me for favoring Boromir over Aragorn, e-mail 
me. 



Warrior Elf - Lust and Desire

An overwhelming feeling of sorrow engulfed the company. Nine there were when 
they first left Rivendell but was now reduced to eight – Gandalf they lost in the Mines. 
The road to Mount Doom had been perilous and meandering, riddled with many battles 
and many foul beasts. But it was a road that proved necessary to take for the One Ring 
had been deemed, by the Council, to be the bane of all that lived in Middle Earth and it 
was with brave hearts that the Nine volunteered to partake the task.

Yet, all the heads were now bowed with sadness and fatigue. Even Legolas, who 
was usually light of heart, seemed to be greatly burdened, his eyes lowered and brows 
furrowed with thought. "Alas the day," he sighed, "that we must lose so great a leader in 
the cursed darkness of Moria. I fear that my heart had been true all along. It was a path 
we should never have taken."

Such uncharacteristic despair was there in Legolas' voice and the anguish that 
was reflected on his fair elvish face that the pain of losing their most dear friend seemed 
too terrible to bear.

Aragorn's eyes accessed Legolas, watching the clear display of emotions on this 
otherwise serene face and his heart contracted with pity. He laid a consoling hand on the 
elf's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his fingers. Their eyes met, blue against gray 
and the pain that radiated from the elf's eyes threatened to unman him. Yet Aragorn said, 
"Be stout of heart, dear Legolas, for we must now make haste for the safety of the woods 
of Lothlorien. It will be as Gandalf desires were he still standing amongst us" 

With a last backward glance at the death trap that was Moria, they fled into the 
wilderness.

*********


They kept up a grueling pace for three days and three nights and it was on that 
third night, reaching the edge of a forest that Aragorn decided that they must stop to get 
much needed rest. It was something that they could not do for a long period of time for 
they were always in danger of being spotted in the open fields. 

The Hobbits lay gratefully down under a tree, making a bed of dead leaves and 
soft moss, falling asleep immediately, lulled by the sound of the trees rustling its leaves 
in the breeze. Gimli leaned against a trunk, hands folded on his chest and eyes closed in 
the quiet bliss. Only Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas remained awake, the Men too tense 
to sleep and the Elf, needing none at all. Legolas relieved himself of the burden of his 
weapons, carrying only his knife and wandered away from the company to savor the cool 
green feel of the forest especially after being in the dark, damp of Moria. Aragorn 
watched the Elf's retreating back thoughtfully, smoking his pipe.

"An amazing creature, the Elf," broke in a deep voice, laced with an expression 
that Aragorn could not identify. His eyes slid to Boromir, eyebrows drawn together, but 
he just blew out a cloud of smoke and said nothing.

"Beautiful beyond mortal belief, yet distant and cold as the morning dew that 
settles upon the tips of leaves. On their faces, a ready smile upon their lips, yet they are as 
elusive as a dove that shies away from mortal touch. Can one ever fully understand them? 
Why, if he had not shown sorrow over Gandalf's departure, I would not have thought that 
he could feel at all!" Boromir drawled, his eyes never taking off the spot where Legolas 
was last seen before the Elf had disappeared amongst the trees. Tension could be heard in 
Boromir's voice, creeping around the edges of his seemingly nonchalant comment, and 
there was something else… The frown on Aragorn's brows deepened as he watched the 
other man clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I do not understand the urgency behind your words, Boromir, son of Gondor, nor 
your curious description of our comrade," Aragorn said in a measure tone, in his voice a 
subtle note of warning .Boromir turned to him and Aragorn could see a forced smile upon 
his face.

"Surely," he began, his eyes burning with a fire that Aragorn had never seen 
before. "Surely, Aragorn, even you are not immune to the Elf's beauty? I have seen the 
way you looked at him, your hungry eyes following his every move, your ears registering 
his every foot falls upon the ground. You desire him do you now?" 

A dark flush crept up Aragorn's neck and he opened his mouth to give a biting 
retort. But Boromir was not finished.

"Do you not yearn to press your lips against the delicate petals of his, to taste the 
honey of his tongue, to feel the strength of his body against yours? His blue eyes looking 
into your very soul even as you caress him, causing him to shatter in mindless ecstasy in 
your very arms? Tell me the truth Aragorn," said Boromir, his voice trembling with the 
now identified emotion; passion and pure animal lust.

With a snarl, Aragorn grabbed the other man by the collar of his tunic. "Take 
heed of who you speak of!" he bit out, his eyes boring into Boromir's. "Have you taken a 
leave of your senses? Legolas is our comrade, not an object of your fantasies or an item 
to feed your own perverse desires!"

But his own words fell flat even against his own ears, for he knew deep within his 
heart, that Boromir was right. Long had he watched the Elf, his heart singing whenever 
Legolas chanced to look his way, smiling that half smile of his. Boromir, seeing the 
conflict in Aragorn's eyes, shrugged out of Aragorn's grasp and smirked.

"Perhaps," he said slowly, his smile widening insultingly, "it is you who have 
taken a leave of your senses if you think that you could live without sampling the 
treasures our beautiful friend have to offer." Aragorn dropped his eyes in defeat, and was 
silent.

**********


The Elf stood on a rock, amidst the clearing, moonlight bathing his face. His 
every skin and hair seemed to glow with a soft light and an equally soft smile played 
lightly upon his lips. With his face turned towards the light of the moon, it was exactly 
how Boromir of Gondor found the fair Legolas, and heat rapidly surged through his very 
veins, warming his blood. He stepped forward from the shadows from whence he hid. 
The Elf turned, but was not startled by the intrusion.

"Does sleep elude you, friend Boromir?" he asked, his eyes a blinding shade of 
blue, seemed to look deep into the very core of the Man's being. He could not bear to 
look for long into those eyes, so frank and trusting. Instead, he turned away and 
shrugged.

"I will find no rest here," he murmured. There was a short silence and then 
Boromir felt the Elf approach him, first leaping lightly from his perch and slowly moving 
towards him. With every step, the Man's chest tightened almost painfully and his breath 
quickened. The Elf seemed to hesitate before resting a cool hand on his shoulder in 
comfort.

"You feel grief for Mithrandir," said Legolas quietly. "Perhaps I will leave you to 
your thoughts." He began to walk away but Boromir grabbed the Elf's arm, preventing 
his departure. Legolas started, his eyes flickered uncertainly to Boromir's. Gently but 
firmly Boromir drew Legolas close to his body till their noses were merely inches away 
from one another. Silence again, as blue eyes peered into the stormy green.


"Perhaps," Boromir said silkily, his blood rushing to his head at the heady 
combination of the light, masculine scent of Legolas as well as the brush of the Elf's tall, 
slender and strong body against his. His responding member throbbed with anticipation. 
"Perhaps," he continued, "I might be in need of company tonight." His eyes roamed 
hungrily over the exquisite features of Legolas and racked boldly over the contours of his 
body before resting over the spot where the Elf's leggings seemed to stretch across his 
groin, giving a slight outline of the Elf's masculinity. Legolas remained silent still, but 
his gaze was steady and watchful.

Trembling with a desire that he could not fathom, Boromir lifted his hand to 
stroke Legolas' face. His fingers brush against the finely arched brows, then traced the 
outline of the soft but unsmiling lips. Meeting no resistance, he grew bolder in his pursuit 
and those same fingers continued its pleasurable exploration down the while column of 
neck before resting to feel the pulse at the base of the Elf's throat. What he felt there 
filled him with a surge of anger – the pulse was completely calm as contrasted to 
Boromir's own racing heart.

"I do not know what it is that you really want of me, Boromir," the Elf said 
evenly, his eyes now cold. "But I do not wish to partake in this mindless game of yours." 
With that, he walked away, leaving Boromir absolutely seething with rage and desire.

With nary a warning, the Man launched himself at the Elf. Legolas turned 
quickly; ready to do battle but speed was no match for pure, brute strength. With a 
primitive growl, Boromir felled the slender Elf to the ground. The impact of Boromir's 
weight was incredible and all the air in the Elf's lungs seemed to escape with a great 
'whoosh'. While Legolas lay on the ground in a daze, Boromir quickly gathered Legolas' 
arms, pinned it behind the Elf's back and after removing the knife which Legolas wore at 
his hips, turned him over and straddled him. They then faced each other, the Elf beside 
himself with rage.

"Let me up!" he hissed with cold fury, repeatedly bucking beneath Boromir, like a 
horse trying to unseat his rider, and at the same time trying but failing to free his arms. 
Boromir whispered sweet nothings into the Elf's ear, stroking his long hair, like a groom 
trying to calm his frightened steed but Legolas put up a terrific fight, twice nearly 
succeeding in his desperate attempt to escape. Finally, eyes narrowed, Boromir raised his 
great hand and smashed it across his captive's face. This he did repeatedly, savagely, but 
not a sound, not even a whimper escaped from the lips of the Elf. Abruptly he stopped, 
breathing heavily and looked down at Legolas. The force of the blows left ugly, red 
marks on the otherwise fair and unblemished skin. A trail of blood trickled out from his 
nose and yet Legolas' eyes registered no pain, just undisguised scorn and anger.

"So here lays the elf maiden," he taunted silkily, once again putting his fingers to 
Legolas' lips, softly stroking the bruised flesh. "Trapped underneath her captor." And 
with that, he allowed himself to toss his head back and released a short bark of laughter. 
It proved to be his undoing for Legolas reared up suddenly, smashing his skull against the 
bridge of Boromir's nose, causing the larger Man to loosen his hold of his victim. 
Desperately, Legolas' hand strained towards his discarded weapon that lay a few precious 
inches away from whence he lay, but Boromir recovered quickly and seeing the Elf's 
intent, swore profusely under his breath. Green eyes blazing with the fires of lust and 
anger, he grabbed Legolas by the throat, cruelly choking him,

"You wish to kill me Legolas?" he hissed, and pressed harder into Legolas' 
throat. The Elf gasped for want of air, eyes clenched shut and on his face, a grimace of 
pain. Eyes flashing Legolas returned the favor, his own hands curling around Boromir's 
throat. But the Elf's strength had been fast fading due to Boromir's previous treatment 
and gradually his hands slipped from Boromir's neck and flew to the ones at his own, 
trying urgently to tear at the constriction to his air passage. Boromir was relentless 
however and squeezed tighter.

"You wish to kill me Legolas?" he repeated, his voice softened dangerously as his 
eyes observed almost dispassionately at the twitching figure beneath him. As the Elf's 
eyes fluttered back into his head, his lips opened in a silent cry, Boromir leaned forward 
and press his lips against Legolas' ear and whispered, "You cannot kill one that have 
never been truly alive! I am cursed, Legolas and you will free me from that curse!"

With an oath, he released Legolas, shifted down the length of the Elf's trembling 
body and began tearing at buttons on Legolas' leggings. Ignoring Legolas' shuddering 
gasps as the Elf drew invaluable air into his tortured lungs, Boromir reached into 
Legolas' pants and drew out the long and elegant proof of the Elf's masculinity. He eyed 
it appreciatively and promptly lapped at it. Legolas gave an involuntary cry of dismay. 
"Nay!" he choked out and attempted feebly to push Boromir away. "Nay, stop this 
madness! You cannot touch me thus!"

Boromir answered with a kiss, sealing his lips over the drugging softness of the 
Elf's lips. Legolas opened his mouth to make his protests known but Boromir took the 
opportunity to slip in his tongue, tasting the honey in the Elf's mouth. It was as sweet as 
he had imagined it to be, and he groaned in rapture, lips assaulting the Elf's, taking him 
in every angle, tongue first tasting, then teasing and then claimed those lips for his very 
own.

He broke off the kiss and laid his forehead against Legolas', his hands running up 
and down the Elf's arms, trying to soothe his panic and prevent his renewed attempt at 
flight. The increasing dread was reflected clearly in Legolas' blue eyes and Boromir 
looked down at him with something akin to pity, yet he would not let Legolas go. 
Wrapping his fingers around Legolas' throat again, Boromir effectively quelled the Elf's 
struggles.

"Boromir," came the choked voice, its pleading tone was like a knife being 
pierced into Boromir's heart. "Please. No. More." Fingers trying once again to peel 
Boromir's unrelenting fingers away from this neck. Only when the Elf threatened to lose 
consciousness once again did Boromir released him and returned his administrations to 
the Elf's exposed member. Cupping its weight in this palms with something similar to 
reverence, he lavished it with his attention, first licking up and down the regal length of 
the Elf's hardening Elfhood and then slipping it into his mouth, eyes closed in 
contentment. His tongue seemed to work his magic upon the Elf for once again his eyes 
rolled back into his head but it was not one of pain but response to the exquisite torture 
that Boromir put upon him.

Legolas trashed around in denial, trying to elude the sensations that Boromir 
evoked in him. "Boromir! Saes! No more!" he gritted out, the expression in his eyes 
alternating between anger and awakened passion. But Boromir was not satiated. The Elf's 
member seem to disappear into the cavern of the Man's mouth and Legolas bit back a 
moan that threatened to spill out from his lips.

"Never," he thought determinedly, "I'll never succumb to this shameful feeling." 
But when Boromir's teeth grazed lightly over the sensitive shaft, his hips started to thrust 
forward on its own accord. His control snapping, Legolas grabbed Boromir's head and 
held it between his hands, controlling the movements. Delighted by the Elf's response, 
Boromir looked up and saw the awakened storm in the eyes of Legolas, whose desire was 
so clearly seen in the expressive depths. Desire made the Elf's eyes turn almost black and 
he panted with the strain of trying to control his raging passions. Boromir sucked at 
Legolas' root relentlessly until the Elf responded with the feverish thrusts of his hips, his 
back arching in reluctant surrender. When a low growl emitted from the throat of 
Legolas, Boromir with his own manhood straining against his breeches, allowed the now 
engorged shaft to slide out of his mouth.

Legolas gave a harsh sound of dismay at the loss of the wet warmth that encircled 
the source of his desire, but Boromir swallowed the Elf's protests with a searing kiss and 
began to strip off his breeches. Legolas watched with wide eyes has Boromir's member 
sprang free but did not protest when Boromir desperately disposed the Elf from the 
confines of his leggings. Pushing his willing captive onto his back, Boromir brought the 
Elf's knees towards the Elf's chest. Legolas waited with abated breath as Boromir held 
his eyes for a moment then bent forward to lap at the heavy sac that lay beneath the 
manly splendor of the Elf's member. 

Legolas gritted his teeth at the sensation and gave a lusty cry when Boromir found 
his opening and prodded at it with his tongue. The Man's tongue slipped deeper and 
deeper into the sweet entry of Legolas' body and Legolas writhed in ecstasy as Boromir 
worshipped him with his tongue.

"It will always be like this between us, if you allow it my fair Elf Prince. You do 
not know the power you have over me, your willing servant. I worship you!" Boromir 
said, his voice husky with passion. He reared up and positioned himself for penetration. 
Legolas' eyes held Boromir's – blue meeting green. Neither looked away and when 
Boromir slid in his weeping member into the Elf, Legolas' hips bucked at the extent 
pleasure and he nearly cried out from the sweet pleasure of it. Together they rocked back 
and forth, muscles straining to seek fulfillment.

The cords at Boromir's neck stood out and perspiration broke out as he strove to 
seek the summit of his pleasure. The Elf was tight and hot around his shaft, squeezing 
and massaging as it pressed in and out of Legolas' body. And then it happened. With a 
harsh bark of completion Boromir found his release and collapsed onto the Elf's 
quivering body.

It took a while before it registered in Boromir's befuddled brain that the Elf was 
still trembling beneath him. He raised himself up, supporting his weight on his arms and 
peered worriedly into the Elf's face. To his surprise, he found that the stormy passion that 
he saw in the Elf's eyes were not gone. Legolas' hips continued to shift restlessly, 
striving to gain contact from Boromir's groin in a desperate attempt to seek his own 
release.

Boromir's mouth dropped open and he would have been a little embarrassed at 
the realization that he had reached his fulfillment but had selfishly left his lover 
unfulfilled. He had forgotten that Elves were lusty creatures by nature and only the ones 
with the most stamina would be able to keep up with an Elf whose passion is as roused as 
Legolas.

"Forgive me, my Prince," Boromir said, giving a wry chuckle, his hand finding 
Legolas erect member. An emotion flashed across Legolas' eyes, something so fierce and 
terrible that Boromir nearly stepped back in fear. With a restrained snarl Legolas shoved 
Boromir forcefully, so much so that Boromir fell with a loud thud and light exploded 
behind his eyes. Dazed he opened his eyes to see that Legolas had stood up and loomed 
ominously over him, that fearsome expression still carved into his granite features. An 
odd calm settled over the Man as he closed his eyes and gave a fleeting thought that he 
would gladly die under the hand of one as splendid as Legolas Greenleaf.

But death did not come. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he found Legolas 
forcefully removing the remaining clothes upon his back and when Legolas turned to 
Boromir naked as the day he was born, Boromir could not help but gaze in awe at such 
perfection. A fine sheen of perspiration covered the Elf's magnificent body. Tall and 
strong as the trees in Mirkwood from whence he came from, Legolas was a sight to 
behold. Muscles ripples in his arms, chests and thighs with every movement and coupled 
with the Elf's shaft, standing like a soldier upon the battle field, Boromir felt himself 
hardening at such wondrous and wild beauty.

With another growl, Legolas fell onto Boromir, lips locked onto the Man's. This 
time he was the aggressor and the Prince would not be denied. Tongues meeting in a wild 
and heathen dance, Legolas tore at Boromir's confinements until the man lay naked and 
trembling beneath the Elf Prince's cool and calculating gaze. Legolas pressed Boromir 
determinedly into the grass, and Boromir hissed at the delicious contact of Legolas turgid 
nipples dragging against his heated flesh. 

With great skill and speed, the Elf managed to awaken the desires of Boromir's 
manhood, stroking and caressing life into the now hardening shaft. Boromir gasped and 
begged for release but Legolas was merciless. A small smile played across his lips but his 
eyes were hard and dangerous. Grabbing Boromir's root hard, he leaned forward his lips 
only just grazing the Man's nipples and with a sharp nip at its point, Legolas looked 
straight into Boromir's passion filled eyes. The Man looked back, helpless, and his hips 
moving in a desire to achieve release.

"You used force to make me succumb to you. And now I shall use force of my 
own to remind you that Legolas Green Leaf is not a toy you can play with and then 
discard when you tire of it. You will remember this night for a long, long time Son of 
Gondor." Said Legolas in a quiet voice, yet the hint of power and the promise behind the 
words alone could have cause Boromir to spend himself had Legolas not grasped his 
shaft so tightly.

The next hour was torture. Legolas lingered over the Man, teasing him to the 
brink and then retreating, extending the torment. "Take me!" Boromir gritted out, his 
head trashing from side to side. "I cannot bear it!" But Legolas ignored him. He put his 
finger into his mouth, licked it with relish, never taking his eyes off Boromir's who was 
shaking like a leaf blown in the wind. Legolas then slipped his finger into the entrance to 
Boromir's body. Boromir nearly screamed in pleasure as the Elf proceeded to tease him 
in a most interesting fashion, finding the spot deep in his body that he had no knowledge 
of.  Boromir nearly wept at the havoc that his passions was creating upon his senses.

"Legolas, I beg you. Please." he said, not caring if there were tears in his voice. 
Legolas smiled, his beloved face both radiated power and compassion for the Man's 
plight. And he gave in.

Sliding his shaft into Boromir's he worked his magic again. Now rolling his hips, 
now thrusting it so deep that Boromir felt that he and his Elf are one. With each thrust, 
Legolas stroked Boromir's member in the same manner, timing each stroke perfectly so 
much so that with a cry of surrender, both Man and Elf sought their fulfillment together 
and lay on the ground, shuddering in each other's embrace while Legolas' name was 
played repeated upon the Man's lips.

"Legolas. My Elf warrior. How I worship thee," Boromir murmured and promptly 
fell asleep.

When he awoke several minutes later, he saw that the Elf was dressed and was 
sitting beside him, deep in thought, eyes fastened upon Boromir's. Boromir looked back 
uncertainly, the memory of what transpired between them coming back to him. There 
was a short silence before Legolas reached out to stroke the frown away from the Man's 
face, his expression unreadable.

"You do not know what you have done," he said quietly and with that ominous 
decree, he stood up and walked away, leaving Boromir to his own confused thoughts.


Warrior Elf - Hope and Anguish  

The wind blew coldly through the trees and before them, wide gray 
shadows loomed. If it were any other forest, such sights would have 
struck fear and terror in the hearts of Men, Elves or Hobbits. Yet, it 
was with eager hearts that the eight friends carried with them as they 
finally reach within sights of the woods of Lothlorien.  
 
"Lothlorien!" breathed Legolas, his voice, a prayer, his eyes shining 
with awe and supreme joy. In the gloom of the night, even the shadows 
of the trees seemed to reach out to them, beckoning them, their leaves 
glimmering under the starlight. With a sigh, Legolas fell on to one 
knee, his head bowed in gratitude and awe.  
 
The rest of the Company was not unaffected. The peaceful beauty of 
Lothlorien was a balm to their senses and Aragorn allowed himself to 
savour the feel of the wind blowing through his hair, and he felt all 
his fears and sorrows melting from his very bones – each breath seemed 
to cleanse his very soul and strength seemed to surge through his weary 
heart, willing him to carry on. A small, wistful smile was upon his 
lips.  
 
Legolas stood up; his head tossed back, his long hair fluttering in the 
wind. "Here lays the woods of Lothlorien," he said, addressing his 
comrades, his eyes sparkling with his excitement, "where the fairest of 
my people dwell. Let us hasten! Too long have we dwelt in sorrow that 
we forget how it feels to have peace residing within our breasts once 
more." And with that, his footsteps quickened, the fervor in his 
expression brought about renewed vigor in the tired limbs of his 
friends.  
 
Boromir smiled to himself, registering the light steps of Legolas as 
they pressed on towards the welcoming sight before them. It lightened 
his heart to see the Elf smiling once more, his eyes gleaming with 
anticipation of passing through the legendary woods of his kin. For 
several days, he had not been certain of the thoughts going through the 
Elf's mind for he had remained quiet and thoughtful, especially after 
the incident in the woods where they had rested many nights before…  
 
'You do not know what you have done.' The Elf had said and had left him 
afterwards, as guilt coursed though his body at the thought of having 
sullied what was once so pure and precious. But Boromir refused to feel 
regret over what he had done. How could he when the very thought of 
Legolas in his arms made his blood quicken and his heart sing at the 
memory of the embrace they had shared?  
 
Still, the Elf had changed after that night. His expression was 
carefully masked whenever Boromir chanced to speak to him, his eyes 
giving nothing away. He would not even look at Boromir in the eye, and 
it was something that brought about great anguish to the Man for he 
longed to have the Elf look upon him with the honest, trusting eyes 
that he had once bestowed upon him prior to the unfortunate encounter. 
He would not have minded even if Legolas looked upon him with contempt. 
Any emotion was preferable to the distance that Legolas placed between 
them.  
 
And yet, Boromir thought, and yet there were times that he felt that 
the Elf seemed to follow him, bright eyes watching him from a distance, 
while they trudged through the wilderness. Thoughtful and solemn eyes 
they were too, whenever Boromir chanced to glance at Legolas when he 
thought the Elf wasn't looking. And when they sat down to rest, he 
imagined Legolas' legs brushing against his, and when they lay down to 
sleep, he imagined Legolas sitting next to him… his eyes filled with 
something… something that Boromir could not name, dare not hope for… 
something that warmed Boromir's heart and make him long to weep for a 
caress of the Elf's fair hand upon his brows once more.  
 
'But it was just a dream,' Boromir thought, as Pippin gave a cry of 
delight as they entered, finally, into the very woods of Lothlorien. 
Thoughts of Legolas were temporarily erased from his troubled mind as 
he noticed for the first time the beauty that surrounded him. The woods 
consumed him, filling his senses with a heady perfume of the greenery. 
It was indeed a sight to behold. The trees were tall; their branches 
seemed to stretch up to the heavens. He smiled and when he glanced 
around, he saw the same smile upon his friends' faces too, Frodo 
looking happier than he had ever been, ever since they had lost Gandalf 
in the Mines of Moria.  
 
"We shall rest here. Orcs would not dare enter these woods for they are 
well protected by the powers of the Lady Galadriel," said Aragorn, as 
he relieved himself of his weapons and rolled his shoulders tiredly. 
Gimli gave a snort of disbelief, for he had heard many stories of the 
Lady of the Woods; none of them were complimentary. Aragorn just 
ignored him, but Boromir could see that the Ranger had a smile on his 
face which he had trouble concealing.  
 
The Company built a small fire and before long the air was scented with 
food and filled with the sounds of the chatter of the Hobbits and of 
Gimli engaged in conversation with Aragorn. 'They are probably debating 
over this Lady Galadriel,' thought Boromir with a smile. He had grown 
to be fond of the Dwarf's quick temper and his grumbling. His smile 
quickly faded as he felt Legolas settling down next to him. Not too 
near to be able to feel the heat that he knew radiated from the Elf, 
but near enough to make his heart skip a beat. Legolas must have felt 
him tense, for he gave Boromir a half glance before proceeding to stare 
into the fire once more.  
 
Aragorn felt the familiar stirrings of jealousy as he saw the Elf 
seated next to Boromir as he had done so many times before when they 
needed to rest. Legolas had rarely showed partiality to any of the 
members of the Fellowship and had almost always only talked to Aragorn 
about matters of the Elves and to consult him over something that was 
troubling him. And yet, there he was, a few feet from Boromir, not 
speaking but in the lines of his body, Aragorn saw the Elf's emotional 
inclination towards his friend. The Ranger wondered what had transpired 
between the two to have the Elf drop his defenses towards one who he 
had spoke against, in his anger, during the Council of Elrond.  
 
Suddenly, Gimli's conversation seemed to be bothersome and he felt more 
tired then he had ever felt before. He was just about to beg leave of 
it and suggest that they get some sleep when he heard Boromir gave a 
cry of alarm as Legolas sprang to his feet in horror and stood in front 
of Boromir, bow and arrow ready to fire at the invisible intruder.  
'Daro,' came a voice from up the trees. Aragorn started, for he had not 
notice anyone else that would be watching them when they were busy 
making themselves comfortable. He paled visibly as he realized that 
this folly of his would have resulted in the danger of the Company's 
lives. His hand crept towards his sword, his mind racing as he tried to 
find to source of the voice, wondering desperately if it belonged to a 
friend or foe.  
 
Light laughter rang out, and Legolas dropped his weapon, his fear 
giving way to delight. "Haldir!" he cried out, joyfully. Aragorn once 
again was startled when three Elves dropping down from the very tree 
that he had been leaning against.  
 
Haldir of Lorien was a tall elf, pride lined his every features and his 
hair shone, reflecting the red glow of the little bonfire that they had 
made. With him are two other elves of similar looks and height and 
Aragorn knew that they were Rumil and Orophin, brothers to the handsome 
elf that was smiling at the Company. The Hobbits stared at the Elves 
for they had not seen any as fair as the three that stood before them, 
except, possibly Legolas, whose beauty stood out like a diamond amongst 
a band of gold.  
 
"Well met, Legolas! Too long had time pass since we last graced each 
other's presence," Haldir said, moving forward to lock Legolas in his 
tight embrace which the slender Elf returned. Boromir looked away, a 
grimace passing swiftly over his face. It did not go unnoticed to 
Haldir who smiled, maybe not a pleasant smile, as he regarded the Man 
with cool eyes.  
 
"I wanted to go by unnoticed while I try to find out whether you are 
friend or foe. But apparently you saw me, Human, and your surprised 
outburst had caused Legolas to lift his weapon against an old friend," 
said Haldir amiably enough, but in his eyes, Boromir saw a different 
story.  
 
Aragorn noticed the exchange, and rubbed his face wearily. He felt that 
he had aged twenty years looking at the youthful Elves before him, 
proud and beautiful. "Haldir," he began, addressing the Elf who had 
locked his eyes onto Boromir's. The Elf turned slightly around and 
noticed Aragorn as if for the first time. 'Too much unwanted attention 
is placed upon Legolas,' Aragorn thought to himself grimly as he saw 
Haldir turning around to his brothers, speaking softly in Elvish, words 
for their ears alone. As his brothers ran off, Haldir turned to Aragorn 
and smiled.  
 
"Son of Arathorn. Well met. I know what is it you want to ask of me, 
for the Lady of the Woods had told me of your desires for protection," 
Haldir said, pausing for a moment with a raised eyebrow as he waited 
for Aragorn to deny that fact. When Aragorn said nothing, Haldir 
continued. "Rest if you must. Tomorrow, I will lead you to meet the 
Lady Galadriel and her Lord."  
 
Legolas gazed into the face of his beloved friend, his heart singing 
with joy. Haldir had spoken to Aragorn a little more and after a 
consensus had been made, Haldir turned once again to him. His familiar, 
beautiful smile drew a similar one from Legolas' lips. Haldir moved 
towards him, and held out his hand, which Legolas eagerly took, 
registering his friend's firm grip upon his fingers.  
 
"Come my friend," Haldir said. "There is much we have to talk about!" 
Then, hand in hand, Haldir led Legolas away from his friends.  
Boromir watched Haldir walk away with his treasured possession, and it 
seemed that with every step that Legolas took that led him away from 
Boromir's side was as if every footfall was crushing his own beating 
heart. So acute was the agony at the sight of Legolas smiling into the 
handsome face of his 'lover' that Boromir closed his eyes, trying to 
block out the taunting face of Haldir's.  
 
'You are not worth the dust he walks on….Man,' came that voice in his 
head which he knew to be Haldir's. And Boromir knew, deep in his heart, 
that the Elf was right. But it did not make the pain any easier for him 
to bear. He stood up suddenly, and decided that tonight was going to be 
another night where he would not be able to find peace in sleep.  
 
**********  
 
Legolas and Haldir had been walking for some time, without any clear 
sense of direction before the larger Elf stopped and held Legolas by 
his shoulders. With a sigh, Haldir lowered his lips towards Legolas' 
and tentatively tasted them. His tongue slipped into the moist cavern 
of Legolas' mouth, tasting the sweetness of Legolas' own tongue, his 
lips stroking and seducing, coaxing Legolas into responding to his 
drugging assault.  
 
It seemed long to Haldir, before he realized that Legolas was not 
responding. He broke off the kiss and peered into the expressive blue 
eyes. The look in Legolas' eyes took his breath away. There was love, 
yes, but he also knew from that very look in those eyes that Legolas 
will never see Haldir as anything more than a friend. And the thought 
left a bitter taste in Haldir's mouth.  
 
'It's the man isn't it?' he said in Elvish. 'You have learned to care 
for him, although he had been nothing but ruthless in his pursuit of 
you.' Legolas remained silent but his eyes never looked away and 
instead holding fast into Haldir's own stormy ones.  
 
'Why did you give your heart to him Legolas? He is but a man, a mere 
mortal. He will never be good enough for you,' Haldir said, frustrated, 
his hands repeatedly running through Legolas' long hair and his face, 
as if touching him would persuade him to change the course of his 
heart. Legolas' steady gaze on his friends face confirmed what the 
other Elf had already suspected.  
 
'I do care for him Haldir, but it is not a burden to give my affections 
to him, no matter what you may think,' Legolas began hesitantly. He 
slipped out of Haldir's embrace, and walked several steps away from him 
and paused, as if trying to find words to justify the emotions he feels 
for Boromir. When Legolas met Haldir's eyes again, he saw heart-
wrenching sorrow in his friend's eyes and it breaks his own heart for 
he knew that Haldir was devastated that he could not return the 
affections that was desired of him.  
 
'The Man is weak, yes. But in his weakness he sought to find strength 
within himself. It tortures him night and day to struggle with his 
desire for the ring and perhaps he confuses that desire with his own 
desires for me. I could feel that war and anguish within him, 
tormenting him although he is not aware of the extent of its control 
over his own mind and sanity,' Legolas said, pacing back and forth, 
almost talking to himself while Haldir's eyes followed his every move. 
He then stopped suddenly, his bright eyes upon Haldir's. If Haldir 
haven't fallen in love with Legolas, he would do so now, just because 
of the look that Legolas placed upon him.  
 
'He needs me, Haldir. I am his strength, his love, his life, his only 
hope and now I am bound to him, body and soul. It is a burden that I 
gladly partake for the Man is not without gentleness even in the summit 
of his passions. I know that I bring out the best in him for his eyes 
tell me so.'  
 
Legolas moved towards Haldir, a soft, sad smile upon his lips and he 
laid a hand upon his friend's cheek. Haldir covered that hand with his, 
and stared into those captivating azure eyes, blazing with emotion.  
'He does not know what he had done. He does not know that by taking my 
body, he has gained my undying devotion to him, till Death itself comes 
to claim either one of us. It is my gift to him. I have sworn to 
protect him, to keep him from harm. I will become his Warrior Elf,' 
Legolas said, smiling as if reflecting on some fond memory. Their gaze 
held and after what seemed like eternity, Haldir allowed his lips to 
break into a reluctant smile.  
 
'Then I hope, my friend, that he will treat you well, and behave in 
such a way that is deserving of the affections of the Prince of 
Mirkwood, Son of Thranduil,' Haldir said, gathering Legolas into his 
arms again, this time in offer of friendship.  
'  
Ah,' said Legolas, his eyes sparkling with amusement, 'I said that I 
will care for him and protect him. But I said not that he will behave 
in a manner that is appropriate towards a Prince. Perhaps I do not want 
him to be tamed just as yet.'  
 
The two friends laughed and Haldir kissed Legolas' lips in friendly 
affection. They sat down then, side by side, heads leaning against each 
other with familiarity, a small smile upon their fair faces. They did 
not notice someone sneaking away from the scene like a thief in the 
night.  
 
*********  
 
Boromir ran blindly through the forests. Danger or no, he had to escape 
the image of Haldir and Legolas together, arms locked in a tight 
embrace, as if they will never let go. Every step he took was a 
reminder of his own imperfections, his own flaws. This was why he was 
running away, because he knew that he would never look as Haldir did, 
like he belonged in the strong arms of Legolas Green Leaf. And at last, 
with a small cry of despair, he flung himself to the ground and pressed 
his cheek against the cool ground, his breathing ragged. There was 
little comfort for him in this loneliness; too small perhaps, to last 
for long, but it was comfort non-the-less.  
 
He turned around, his heart troubled and heavy; eyes stared forward 
into the night sky. The wind caressed his cheeks, the rustling leaves 
seemed to be a lullaby. And against all odds, Boromir found that he was 
so weary that when he shut his eyes, he drifted into slumber and as he 
did so, he imagined Legolas' face in front of his, those lips once 
again smiling that half-smile Boromir loved so much…  
 
Voices. Footsteps. And the hiss of metal brushing against armor. 
Boromir's eyes flew open and his hand moved instinctively towards his 
sword at his side. A hand gripped his, stopping its advance and he 
would have given a shout of panic had not a cool, but firm hand pressed 
against his open lips.  
 
"Hush," cautioned a voice. Boromir's eyes shot towards its source and 
he flushed when he saw Legolas hovering above him. He wanted to ask 
what the matter was but the wariness and apprehension in his Elf's eyes 
made him stop short. Legolas was crouching in a manner that he had seen 
before: it was a posture Legolas adopted whenever danger was near. The 
Elf's eyes turned this way and that, cocking his head to one side as if 
listening intently, brows creased in intense concentration. And then 
there it was again; those voices and footsteps that do not belong to 
elves or man.  
 
'Yrch,' hissed Legolas, springing up to his feet, on his face an 
expression so terrible and fierce that it took Boromir's breath away. 
He pulled the Man up to his feet and then backed up against the nearest 
tree, pressing their backs against it. Legolas was tense against 
Boromir's side as the foul voices of the Orcs seemed to draw nearer.  
Then suddenly, Legolas sprang to life and leapt up the tree nimbly. As 
he perched upon a large branch he extended his arm to the worried Man 
below.  
 
"Hurry," Legolas whispered, his eyes still darting about uneasily, 
"they are coming this way!" Boromir wasted to time in heeding the Elf's 
advice. He grabbed the extended hand and with surprising ease, the Elf 
pulled the heavier Man onto the branch with him.  
 
Their perch gave an alarming quiver but held fast, supporting their 
weight. Legolas again pushed Boromir against the tree trunk and 
hunkered down before him as if trying to conceal him from sight. 
Boromir could see the wisdom in that decision for Legolas was garbed in 
the colours of the forest and would be easier to conceal amongst the 
leaves rather then the colours of the garb that Boromir wore. They held 
their breath in apprehension while the Orcs finally came into view 
several stones throw away from them.  
 
There were many of them and Boromir knew that their lives depend on the 
effectiveness of their concealment for two virtually unprepared 
warriors were no match against a band of Orcs. Besides, they could not 
risk open war, for the lives of the Ring bearer would be in jeopardy 
and the ring itself would be in danger of being stolen. It was a 
thought that Boromir strangely could not bear.  
 
Legolas hardly seemed to move; his every limb as still as stone as he 
was locked in his crouching position, and the back that was presented 
to Boromir was straight as a rod and stiff as steel. The Orcs were 
moving directly under the tree that they were in and would they chance 
to look up, the two friends would indeed be discovered.  
 
Legolas slowly moved his back closer to Boromir until it made contact 
with the Man's chest. Boromir seemed to forget how to breathe, so tense 
was he in his fears of being discovered and so achingly sweet was the 
feel of Legolas' strapping form against his once more. The two were 
pressed so close together that they seemed to be one, for it was a 
matter of life and death, to make two figures blend as closely to the 
shadows as possible to avoid being seen.  
 
Legolas head seemed to turn this way and that, as if waiting for 
something or someone. And then their silent prayers were answered. A 
soft chirrup of an unseen bird was heard in a nearby tree. Legolas 
turned his head to the direction where the sound came from and answered 
back with a call of his own. The Orcs were oblivious to the exchange 
but Boromir saw what Legolas did see. Although the Man does not have 
the keen eyesight of an Elf, he could barely, just barely make out two 
figures crouching in the tree nearest to them – they were Haldir's 
brothers and their eyes were locked upon Legolas'.  
 
There seem to be an exchange of thoughts although no sound was made but 
a mutual understanding was achieved and the two brothers proceeded to 
create several distractions. They shifted in the trees, causing the 
leaves to rustle and the Orcs turned immediately to the direction of 
the sound.  
 
Reacting quickly, Rumil and Orophin began speaking in high voices, 
mimicking the voice of the hobbits and with astonishing speed they sped 
off into the night, leaping with extraordinary litheness from tree to 
tree, and the Orcs pursued their voices, cursing and growling as they 
ran off into the heart of the forest.  
 
It was a long while before the tension left Legolas' body and when 
there was absolutely no sound to be heard from around them, he turned 
around to face Boromir, relief etched into his beautiful features. He 
smiled, the glamour and intensity of it reaching deep into the Man's 
heart and seemed to squeeze painfully.  
 
"They are gone. Rumil and Orophin will lead them to a trap. None of the 
Orcs will come back alive," he said with a sigh, his eye held Boromir's 
in a steady gaze. The Elf was still pressed lightly against him and 
Boromir found that he could not look into the Elf's fair face and not 
feel wretched and miserable.  
 
"I think we had better return to our friends," Boromir murmured, 
looking anywhere but into the eyes of his Elf. Legolas' silent perusal 
of Boromir was disconcerting. Then without a word, he reached forward 
to run a hand through Boromir's matted hair.  
 
"You should not have been alone. It would have been dangerous. You 
might have been killed had I not found you in time," he said quietly, 
his eyes lowering sadly. Boromir turned an angry look towards the Elf. 
But Legolas did not cringe, instead, he held that gaze but without any 
expression.  
 
"And you would have gotten your revenge," Boromir said coldly, and 
tried to move away form the unsettling feel of Legolas' warmth against 
his body. Legolas' hand reached out once again to stop him, the Elf's 
eyes impaling him upon his gaze.  
 
"It will give me no pleasure to see you hurt, Son of Gondor," said the 
Elf in a soft voice that would have been lost in the wind had Boromir 
not been so close to him. But his eye never left the Man's face. 
Boromir closed his eyes in anguish and sighed long and loud.  
 
"Why do you torture me so? I cannot but look at you and I feel as if 
I'm strong and yet weak. I feel anguish in my very soul yet hope 
dwelled there as well. And you have only to barely touch me and I am 
falling apart. You are making me go mad!" he said wearily.  
The answer he got was firm lips covering his own and Boromir opened his 
eyes in disbelief.  
 
But Legolas continued to press warm, firm kisses upon the Man's 
trembling lips and when Boromir parted his lips to speak, the Elf 
slipped his tongue into Boromir's mouth. A moan escaped into the air, 
as Legolas pushed himself against Boromir's body, pinning the plaint 
form against the tree trunk, his hands cupping the bearded cheeks, 
deepening the kiss. Slowly, Legolas rubbed himself against Boromir's 
hard arousal like a cat, causing the Man to pant with suppressed 
desires.  
 
When it all seemed too much for him to bear, Boromir reluctantly tore 
his mouth away from Legolas'. "Haldir," he began to say but Legolas 
stopped him with another kiss.  
 
"He is nothing more than a dear friend to me," the Elf whispered as he 
bestowed soft kisses down Boromir's sensitized neck. Boromir gasped as 
the Elf's tongue lapped at the soft skin there and the Elf's knowing 
hands stroked the Man's throbbing member through its breeches.  
 
"But I saw you with him!" he choked out, trying to maintain a measure 
of coherence as he struggled to bite back a groan. Legolas stopped his 
sensuous assault on the Man's senses and regarded him in silence before 
a slow smile passed over his lips. Boromir narrowed that that 
suspicious-looking smile.  
 
"Ah, so that was why you sought to be alone," Legolas all but smirked 
in typical male self-satisfaction, his eyes sparkling with mirth. 
Boromir sulked, if it were not disrespectful to say that a grown man 
who have fought many battles to do so.  
 
"Yes. I did not think you wanted to be disturbed," he said sullenly, 
while his fingers unconsciously played with Legolas' long hair, glowing 
silver in the moonlight.  
The Elf laughed quietly and pressed his forehead against the man's. 
When he met Boromir's eyes again, he was relatively quiet but now on 
his face was another smile, warm and kind. Hope flared into the heart 
of Boromir.  
 
"But Boromir," Legolas said in a voice husky with passion. "You were 
the one who constantly disturbed my thoughts. Not Haldir. There was no 
need to get jealous," he teased. Boromir gave a mock gasp of outrage 
afore with a growl, he wrapped himself around his Elf, grounding his 
lips and body against his lover's strong form, his heart beating a 
wild, erratic tempo. The Elf returned his kisses, his head slanting 
first this way and then that, in an incredibly seductive manner, 
devouring the Man's lips, as if he wanted to swallow the Man whole.  
 
'I can't ever get enough of you, Legolas, my love,' Boromir thought in 
the midst of his passion. He felt Legolas stiffened slightly and he 
wondered if he had voiced his thoughts out loud. The kiss broke off and 
Legolas stared deep into the Man's green eyes. Boromir stared back, not 
realizing that all the love he felt for the Elf is reflected into the 
green depth. And there was confusion as well… and desire. Legolas' eyes 
darkened with response to what he saw before him and with a low growl 
in his throat, his nimble fingers undid Boromir's breeches. The Man's 
manhood sprang out and proudly stood at attention at the appreciative 
perusal of his lover's gaze and he had the grace to blush a little.  
 
But all pretense of decorum disappeared as Legolas lightly stroked the 
hard length, causing Boromir to quiver violently. It was only when he 
started panting and his back arched in a desperate attempt to reach his 
fulfillment that Legolas swiftly took off his own leggings with amazing 
skill considering that they were still perched upon the branch like 
birds. That very thought brought a grin to Boromir's lips and his 
laughing eyes met Legolas, who grinned back, eyes filled with mischief 
and laughter at the situation that they were in.  
 
But laughter turned quickly to moans of ecstasy as Legolas settled 
slowly upon his erect member, his opening squeezing and massaging the 
engorged organ, a clear proof of the Man's desire for his beautiful Elf 
prince. Their breathing quickened as Legolas began to move rapidly and 
determinedly up and down the Man's length, setting the rhythms of their 
love-making with a ferocity and hunger that fanned both their 
heightened desires. The branches quivered alarmingly in time to their 
movements.  
 
Every downward stroke of Legolas' opening to the base of Boromir's 
member was sweet agony, and although the Man's head bumped repeatedly 
against the trunk with the force of their union, it went unnoticed. All 
that matters was the building heat in his loins and that if Legolas 
slowed down or stopped, he would die…  
 
And then it happened; as it had many nights before. With a guttural 
oath, Boromir attained his release, and his Elf followed suit, his pace 
never slowing, lips opened in a quiet exclamation of wonderment. But 
with a final wobble of the branch, the lovers felt it tip them over and 
with a cry of surprise; they fell to the ground, unhurt but bemused. 
Legolas was the first to recover from the rude interruption to his own 
pleasure but stared opened-mouthed as the tree quivered once again and 
then gave a loud 'harrumph' of discomfort. It blinked its yellow eyes 
seemingly in a daze and then proceeded to stretch its roots, or rather, 
its feet and walked away from the scene, rumbling with displeasure.  
 
"I say, Legolas. I believe that was an Ent," said Boromir after a 
moment of stunned silence. The two looked at one another for a moment 
before allowing themselves to laugh merrily. And it was no wonder 
because there they were upon the ground: two warriors both alike in 
passion and spirit, breeches pooling at their knees, satiated for the 
moment after their torrid love-making only to be chastised by a *tree*. 
The situation was indeed ludicrous and they collapsed on the ground, 
positively howling with glee.  
 
Boromir then stopped suddenly, his eyes shining with a love that he 
could not restrain and opened his mouth to say so. But Legolas 
realizing his intent pressed his own mouth to Boromir's in a quick, 
chaste kiss, stilling the words that threatened to spill out. Boromir 
looked at Legolas with uncertainty, but the Elf just smile, his eyes 
telling the Man all he wanted to know even without words. There was 
more than hope after all: there was love. And it is something that will 
be cherished and treasured by Man and Elf alike.  
 
And with that thought warming their hearts and souls, hand in hand, 
they returned to their comrades and settled down, awaiting dawn in the 
woods of Lothlorien…  


Warrior Elf - A Cry in the Dark  

Caras Galadhon. A city of the Galadhrim, where dwelled the 
Lady of the Woods. A place unequaled to any other places of 
dwelling with the beauty of its silver light and the 
soothing sounds of its running waters; the combination, a 
balm to the most troubled of minds. The Company had already 
laid down to rest, exhausted after their toil and the 
Council they had with the Lady Galadriel. But one Man was 
not contented in his heart as he kept pacing to and fro 
like a caged beast, waiting to break out of its 
confinement.  
 
Yet, it was not a physical prison that Boromir, Son of 
Gondor sought to flee from, but a shackle that existed in 
his very mind, taking hold of his sanity. Everyday, his 
heart grew heavier and dark were the thoughts that crossed 
his head as he struggled daily to rid himself of the shadow 
that clouded his senses. His brows creased into a frown and 
he gritted his teeth in an attempt to reign in his growing 
frustrations.  
 
‘By the honor of Gondor,’ whispered the thought, unbidden 
and unwelcome in the deep and secret recess of his heart, 
‘the Ring belongs to my people.’ A grimace passed swiftly 
over his face before he quickly smoothed it away irritably. 
An anger that he could not control seemed to grip him, 
depriving him of air and he clenched his teeth together to 
stem that surge of fury in his blood. Gondor was weak, he 
thought, and it needs the strength that only the Ring of 
power could provide. The weapon of the enemy should have 
been used against it, not to be destroyed! Why could people 
not see the folly in throwing away something so precious? 
Why did people think that the Men of Gondor are not strong 
enough to resist its supposed evil? After all, true-hearted 
men, such as he, can never he corrupted by such a little 
thing. “Gondor needs the ring and to it the ring shall go,” 
he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a strange fire.  
 
“Boromir,” a voice called out, breaking into his troubled 
thoughts. Boromir turned swiftly around towards the 
direction of the voice. He immediately tried to school his 
features into a semblance of a smile. It could have been 
successful had he tried to deceive any other person. But 
Aragorn was no ordinary man for he was quick to notice what 
many others could not, and in the larger Man’s eyes, he saw 
something that chilled his bones.  
 
“Aragorn,” Boromir replied, the strained attempt at a smile 
still evident upon his face, as a flush crept up his neck. 
His eyes were blazing with such a wild light that was 
unsettling to the Ranger.  
 
“You should rest, Boromir,” said Aragorn, his eyes locked 
upon the other Man’s. “These borders are well protected. It 
would be wise to take advantage of such rare and precious 
moment as this.”  
 
A frown once again marred those proud features. “I will 
find no rest in this accursed place,” he muttered, his lips 
compressed in an expression of disgust. So deep was he in 
the darkness of his thoughts that he became startled when a 
firm hand rested upon his shoulder and squeezed in what 
Boromir thought was a warning. Green eyes snapped in 
annoyance towards Aragorn’s as his lips curled in a sneer 
at the touch that was so unwelcomed.  
 
“It is best that you do not speak ill of the sanctuary that 
we seek refuge in,” Aragorn cautioned, eyes holding the 
gaze steadily, not understanding why Boromir was so angered 
by the simple touch of comfort.  
 
“Sanctuary? I think not. What do we know of the Lady and 
her Lord and who can say what designs she has with regards 
to the Ring Bearer?” he hissed and shrugged out of 
Aragorn’s grip. The Ranger narrowed his eyes.  
 
“Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel. You know not of what 
you say if you think that she has evil intentions. There is 
in her and in this fair land no evil unless a man bring it 
hither himself!” said Aragorn, his voice soft but the 
rebuke behind it was unmistakable. Boromir closed the 
distance between them at an alarming speed, gripping 
Aragorn’s tunic; his face pressed close, lips curled and 
his teeth bared in aggression.  
 
“Evil? What evil have I brought with me? Do not accuse me 
of something you know nothing about!” he snarled and would 
have proceeded to shove Aragorn backwards had someone not 
restrained him, strong arms physically holding him back.  
 
“No, Boromir!” said a voice in a hushed tone. There was no 
mistaking the owner of that voice and immediately the Man’s 
eyes widened at the prospect of what he was about to do. He 
became in turn ashamed and shocked at the manner of which 
he was behaving.  
 
“Legolas,” he murmured as he turned to face the Elf. 
Legolas stood before him, solemn and still, but in his eyes 
a fear registered in their depth. Suddenly, Boromir was 
inexplicably and unavoidably afraid for himself. With a 
last nervous dart of his eyes towards the direction of 
Aragorn, who stood rooted to the ground, his face 
inscrutable, Boromir fled from the two as if the very Devil 
was after him. Legolas started to follow but Aragorn held 
him back.  
 
“Leave him be. Let him go. He needs to be alone,” he said, 
eyes following the retreating back of Boromir’s. But the 
Elf stepped back from the Man’s touch, his eyes cold.  
 
“We have lost one of our numbers in the Mines of Moria. I 
do not wish to lose another, Aragorn,” Legolas said, his 
blue eyes holding Aragorn’s captive while Aragorn’s widened 
in his confusion.  
 
“You misunderstand me, Legolas. I merely wish to give 
Boromir time alone to collect his thoughts. His mind 
troubles him greatly,” he said soothingly, palms held 
upwards in a silent appeal for understanding. But the Elf 
just stared back and when he did speak, his voice held 
barely concealed anger.  
 
“Alone? It is in loneliness that a mind succumbs to 
corruption, Aragorn. The mind has no place to turn to 
except within itself and into its heart. And what then if 
that heart is weak? What then if it is also so easily 
seduced by evil?” Legolas said, his voice rising slowly in 
volume as he grew more passionate in his outburst. Aragorn 
said nothing but continued to look into the stormy blueness 
of Legolas’ eyes.  
 
“Corruption? Weakness? What is it you are trying to tell 
me, Legolas?” he asked in a measured tone, his thoughts 
racing as he came to realize what Legolas was saying. But 
the Elf clamped his jaw shut and said not another word, his 
eyes raised defiantly against Aragorn’s. Aragorn gave a 
sharp intake of breath as he slowly understood the 
importance of the Elf’s words.  
 
“Boromir. He wants to take the Ring for himself all this 
while,” he whispered to himself, disbelievingly. Legolas 
remained quiet and still as a statue. With an oath, Aragorn 
made as if to follow Boromir but Legolas grabbed the 
Ranger’s arm forcefully.  
 
“Do not think to speak to him of it!” he hissed, his eyes 
snapping in cold fury. “Do not think to rebuke him for his 
desires for the ring! It will drive him to madness if you 
but mention the Ring in his presence!” Aragorn turned 
slowly towards his friend, and sorrow was etched in his 
face.  
 
“So you think that you could make him forget his hunger for 
the ring then, Legolas,” he said quietly, his eyes, never 
taking off the beautiful face before him, reflecting an 
expression of regret and a trace of pain. It hurts him to 
realize that the object of his affections has feelings for 
Boromir. Legolas was silent for a long while. But it was in 
his silence that Aragorn felt the strength and love that 
radiated from that slender frame that stood proudly before 
him; love that belonged to Boromir. Legolas lifted his chin 
as an answer to the challenge that was put forward before 
him by the Ranger.  
 
“I will keep on trying Aragorn, for I have to believe that 
I could bring him back to us, and lead him away from that 
dark path of which he is irresistibly drawn to,” he said 
quietly, his voice belying the tempest in his heart. 
Aragorn continued his perusal of his beloved, memorizing 
his every feature, wondering at the same time when he had 
lost his chance of claiming this wonder that stood before 
him.  
 
“You think highly of your ability then, if you believe that 
you can achieve what Boromir himself could not,” Aragorn 
said finally. He waited for the passionate outburst once 
more and he was not disappointed. There was no mistaking 
the awakened rage in the Elf’s expressive eyes.  
 
“You think I do not know him,” he gritted out. “Well I do 
know him, Aragorn. I know him in every sense of the word. 
When he looks at me I understand him. When we kiss I love 
him and when we touch I worship him.”  
 
Legolas then stood toe to toe with Aragorn, eyes flashing 
still. Aragorn thought that he had never seen the Elf look 
so beautiful in his regal posture and his eyes blazing with 
the fires of anger.  
 
“And,” he said, almost tauntingly, “When we make love, I 
could feel every emotion in him, all his fears and desires. 
I know him in every way, Aragorn, and I will be his 
salvation or ‘Legolas’ no longer shall my name be!”  And 
with that, he walked away, head held high and he never 
looked back to see Aragorn staring at him, all the hurt and 
sorrow he held in his heart clearly shown for all to see.  
 
“So be it, Legolas. You do what you think is best…my love,” 
he whispered achingly, but only the wind caught his words 
and it kept them a secret, never to revealing it to anyone 
evermore.  
 
**********  
 
Boromir ran till his lungs burn. Elves turned to stare at 
him as he blundered past them, eyes clenched in the misery 
and the conflicts that resided in his breast. When he 
chanced to open his eyes again he found himself at the 
river bank and he skidded to a stop, his chest heaving 
after his sprint. He sank to the ground, exhausted both 
physically and mentally, the words of Aragorn coming back 
to haunt him.  
 
‘There is in her and in this fair land no evil *unless a 
man bring it hither himself*.’ Aragorn had said and Boromir 
wondered despairingly if the Ranger had known of the war 
that he had within himself. He brought his knees to his 
forehead and rocked to and fro. ‘I am not evil,’ he kept 
chanting in his mind. ‘I do not wish evil to befall 
anyone!’ And yet his heart still burns with the desire for 
the ring. He could not understand it still. And then he 
remembered the words of the Lady that had so stirred the 
intense and painful longings for the Ring of Power.  
 
‘What if you could persuade the Ring Bearer to lend you the 
ring? What will you do then?’ Her voice echoed like thunder 
in his brain and he clutched his head at the agony of its 
memory. But the voice was relentless. ‘You would just have 
to extent your hand to the Halfling and he would not have 
the strength to resist you. Not if no one knows of your 
true intentions’ A cry escaped Boromir’s lips. ‘No! No! Do 
not tempt me further! Have mercy!’ screamed his feverish 
brain and he looked up wildly for some reprieve for the 
growing madness. It was as if that screaming in his mind 
was nothing, but a cry in the dark; for no one knows of his 
sufferings, no one could find him in the deepening abyss 
nor rescue him from his own agony or the darkness of his 
thoughts. It was hopeless.  
 
Swearing vehemently, Boromir started to tear off his tunic 
and boots. Without bothering to undo his breeches, he dived 
towards the river and started swimming, the bite of 
freezing water upon his skin was almost enough to drive 
away the monsters in his mind. And he swam for a long time 
until finally, after his muscles screamed in protest, he 
waded wearily back to the shore. With a moan he sat upon 
the edge of the river, his tired feet trailing in the 
running waters of the river and he once again brought his 
knees to his chest and remained still, eyes closed as the 
shadowy thoughts faded for the moment into the dark alcove 
of his mind.  
 
For how long he sat there, he knew not but it was only when 
two warm arms encircled him from behind that he realized 
that goose bumps had formed on his skin. He was freezing 
cold and he gratefully leaned into the warmth that the 
embrace provided. A hand cupped his chin and a blond head 
descended upon his, lips touching Boromir’s in a tender 
kiss. The heat from his lover’s lips brought about an 
involuntary moan from the Man and he shuddered violently 
both with the cold and with awakened desire. He threaded 
his fingers through the long mane of silky hair, pressing 
himself more firmly against the sensuous assault and 
groaned once more as a firm tongue slipped into his mouth, 
tasting his manly essence.  
 
Legolas broke off the kiss and cradled Boromir’s body to 
his, repeatedly stroking the trembling body as if to dispel 
the Man both from the cold and from the troubles of his 
mind. He passed his hands all over the Man’s frame so 
tenderly and lovingly that it nearly brought tears to 
Boromir’s eyes.  
 
‘I do not deserve him,’ he thought miserably as he pressed 
his cold cheek against Legolas’ warm ones. His teeth that 
were chattering uncontrollably were the only sound that 
filled the air. He huddled close to the protective cocoon 
of Legolas’ arms and it was there he found his peace. 
Legolas stroked his hair as if he would do to a child.  
 
“You should not be here alone, Boromir,” he whispered. It 
did not matter what the Elf said for Boromir was glad to 
hear Legolas’ voice that was so soothing to his tangled 
senses. He said nothing but just rubbed his nose and lips 
against the Elf’s slender neck, not in a sexual manner but 
to seek comfort. Legolas shivered at the contact of the 
cold flesh against his warm ones. He stood up, and helped 
Boromir to his feet, arms still locked around one another.  
 
“Come with me. I will take care of you,” he said soothingly 
as if talking to a frightened child. Without a word, 
Boromir allowed himself to be let away from the river. They 
walked for a while, seemingly aimless in its direction, but 
Legolas knew exactly where he was going. They walked 
amongst the shadows, quietly and sneakily so that no one 
could fix their inquisitive gaze upon them; seeing two 
males, a Man, half-naked and an Elf walking hand in hand 
looking like they belonged together – to each other.  
 
They then entered a small tent near a fountain, and judging 
from the bow and arrows that were left carefully in the 
corner, Boromir knew that he was in Legolas’ sleeping place 
(which was adorned only with a chest, a small lantern and a 
plush couch). The tent was situated rather a distance away 
from the rest of the Company and for that Boromir was 
thankful for, for he do not wish to see anyone at that 
point of time; especially not Aragorn or the Ring Bearer. 
His face contorted as if he was in pain.  
 
The Man stood in the middle of the tent, wet and miserable. 
Swiftly, Legolas took a blanket out from the chest and then 
proceeded to undress Boromir. With quick, expert fingers, 
he undid the buttons on Boromir’s breeches and slowly took 
it off. Boromir’s manhood sprang free from its constraints 
and he bit back a groan that was brought about by the 
delicious contact of his wet breeches sliding down against 
his hot shaft. He found himself grew harder by the moment 
and avoided his gaze from Legolas’ in embarrassment as he 
stood before Legolas,  naked as the day he was born. But 
Legolas ignored Boromir’s responding member and proceeded 
to carefully dry Boromir’s hair with the blanket.  
 
The Man gave a sigh of contentment as Legolas rubbed and 
patted the wetness out of his skin, working his way 
meticulously from the top of his head downwards. Boromir 
clenched his teeth as Legolas’ clothed hands brushed 
against his turgid nipples, causing it to tighten in 
response to the teasing friction of cloth against flesh. He 
held his breath as the Elf worked his way downwards, 
towards his source of desire and bit his lips when Legolas 
carefully used the cloth to stroke his shaft. Blue eyes 
flickered upwards towards green and they understood the 
passion that smoldered in those green eyes. But Legolas had 
barely begun his attempt at seducing his lover to the peak 
of his desires.  
 
Discarding the now thoroughly wet cloth, he took another 
one from the chest and proceeded to repeat the process 
again. Boromir’s length was hard – very hard but Legolas 
was not to be distracted. Not even when the Man pressed 
himself against the Elf, his arms wrapping around the 
slight figure before him when the Elf started to dry his 
hair again. Legolas merely dislodged himself from the Man’s 
crushing embrace.  
 
Legolas saw the naked longing reflected upon Boromir’s 
flushed face and the confusion at the Elf avoidance of his 
caresses. But Legolas merely smiled and said softly. “You 
will not touch me Boromir, for tonight you are my King and 
I wish to do you service.”  
 
Blood rushed into Boromir’s already hard member, its long 
shaft almost pushing into his navel. But he said nothing as 
Legolas brushed the soft cloth against his face, as if 
trying to rid the lines of worry and strain from its 
surface. Legolas gently brushed the cloth against Boromir’s 
parted lips, and Boromir nearly moaned aloud when his lover 
leaned towards him, using his tongue to trace the firm 
outline of the Man’s lips. And when Legolas passed the 
cloth against his nipples once more, Boromir’s knees nearly 
buckled under him when Legolas’ enticing tongue lashed out 
to lap at its pointed peak.  
 
Boromir tossed his head back, his throat working as he 
tried to hold back his moans of pleasure. Legolas’ tongue 
had begun tracing the outline of the nipples, and when the 
Elf finally sucked at them, a hissed escaped from his lips 
as he arched his back as if to lose himself into the sweet 
cavern of Legolas’ mouth. But the Elf was not done with his 
seductions.  
 
Legolas went onto his knees and Boromir felt his mouth 
going dry as the Elf positioned himself directly in front 
of his erect member. Their eyes met once more and Legolas 
understood the look that Boromir sent. It was a look of 
pure yearning and anticipation for what he knew would 
occur. And Legolas did not disappoint him. The Elf bent his 
head towards the organ that was weeping for his caresses 
and his warm breath caused Boromir to give a choked cry 
that sounded something similar to pain. With his hands 
holding Boromir’s hips to prevent him from thrusting into 
his mouth, Legolas carefully traced the triangle of hair 
that surrounded the engorged member with his tongue, 
working it around its edges.  
 
Boromir was delirious with unfulfilled need and his flexed 
his hips restlessly as his eyes were drawn helplessly to 
the sight of Legolas’ tongue wetting the curls at the 
junction of his thighs. He tried to take hold of the Elf’s 
head, desperately wanting to control its movements but 
Legolas leisurely removed himself from Boromir’s grip and 
continued with maddening thoroughness in his quest to 
service his lover.  
 
“Oh God, Legolas, please,” he gasped, his hands, deprived 
of any hold or anchor to reality clenched and unclenched 
helplessly at his sides. Legolas looked up, his expression 
innocently inquisitive but his eyes sparkled with gentle 
mischief.  
 
“Please? Please what?” he teased as his hand grasped firmly 
the hard evidence of Boromir’s need. The Man gasped aloud 
at the contact and began to rock his hips back and forth, 
pushing himself into Legolas’ strong hands. However, 
Legolas would not allow it and Boromir cried out in dismay 
as he Legolas removed his hands from Boromir’s shaft. The 
Man’s hands flew to his organ with the intention of 
stroking himself to the peak of his fulfillment but Legolas 
slapped his hands away and gripped Boromir’s firm hips, 
controlling its agitated movements.  
 
“No, Beloved. Be patient and let me love you,” the Elf 
murmured but his calm voice only served to inflame the 
heightened passions that surged through Boromir’s veins 
like wild fire. He moaned then, his voice rough and his 
tone pleading, begging Legolas to have mercy and to give 
him what he needs.  
 
And mercy was shown, for the Elf finally took Boromir into 
his wet, hot mouth and sucked hard and deep. Boromir cried 
out in sheer ecstasy, his head thrown back as he voiced his 
appreciation of the Elf’s expert administrations of his 
quivering member. His hands fluttered to Legolas’ head that 
was moving rhythmically up and down his length, frantically 
searching for an anchor to prevent him from losing himself 
in the mind-blowing sensations that his Elf evoked upon his 
senses. Legolas took him so deep into his mouth that the 
wet hair that lined his flesh at that particular spot 
tickled Legolas’ lips as he lapped and squeezed Boromir’s 
appendage with firm strokes of his tongue.  
 
And then Legolas stopped and Boromir made his protests 
known. But once again, he Elf paid no heed as he led the 
Man’s trembling body towards the couch, pressing him down 
into the softness. Boromir sat up, his limbs trembling with 
yearnings as Legolas rummaged in his bag for something. 
When he returned, the Man’s eyes darted curiously to the 
bottle that the Elf held in his hands. Softly, Legolas 
entreated Boromir to turn around and proceeded to 
positioned him in such a way that his firm buttocks were 
raised towards Legolas as if in offering. A hiss escaped 
Boromir’s lips when he felt a finger coated with oil 
probing at his opening, his eyes shut against the wonderful 
sensations of Legolas caressing him.  
 
Two fingers joined the first, and then another. By then 
Boromir was lost, his chest heaving as he fought to draw in 
huge gulps of air into his lungs. His forehead was pressed 
into the plush cushions and his mouth opened in a silent 
scream of pleasure whenever Legolas’ fingers brushed 
against that secret part of his body. And then he snapped… 
Straining to look back at his sensuous assailant he choked 
out…  
 
“Legolas, please! I cannot bear it any longer! God, just 
take me! Do not torture me so!” he moaned, his voice 
sounding as if he was on the very brink of tears. And 
Legolas complied.  
 
“Turn around, Beloved. I want to see you when I make love 
to you,” the Elf said, his own voice trembling with an 
effort to reign in his desires. Boromir turned to face 
Legolas, his beautiful Elf, his breathing ragged. His eyes 
feasted on the sight that was set before him as the Elf 
slowly took off his clothing. It was both maddening and 
exciting at the same time as piece by piece, the 
confinements were removed to reveal strong, smooth flesh 
beneath. With the final whisper of his leggings being 
stripped off, he settled between Boromir’s legs.  
 
The Man’s heart constricted as the Elf gazed upon him with 
such loving eyes. ‘No,’ he thought to himself, ‘Do not love 
me Legolas. I am not good enough for you.’ And tears formed 
unbidden in his eyes. Legolas leaned forward and licked 
away the drops that escaped from his eyes.  
 
“Why do you weep? I love you. I am here. Your Beloved is 
here. Do you not love your Beloved?” he said quietly, in 
his eyes shining with emotions and on his lovely face a sad 
expression. Boromir said nothing for he was too choked with 
his own conflicting emotions but merely reached out to 
Legolas.  
 
It was a union that both accepted eagerly. Legolas was 
gentle and oh, so thorough, moving in ways that gave his 
Beloved the utmost pleasure. Boromir barely heard Legolas’ 
murmured praise of Boromir’s perfection against his sweaty 
skin, shivering every time the Elf pressed soft kisses 
against them. Their breathings became more rapid as their 
straining bodies move perfectly in tandem with one another, 
Legolas’ hands wedged between them, stroking their organs 
at the same time. Then with a harsh bark of pure rapture 
from Boromir and a long, soft sigh from the Elf, they 
soared upon waves after waves of tremors that passed 
through their bodies and hearts as they reached the summit 
of their pleasures. With a lingering kiss, both slumped 
against one another, contented, bodies still joined 
intimately.  
 
It was a long time before either of them said a word. 
Boromir broke the comfortable silence between them, his 
voice harsh with emotions. “I do not deserve this, Legolas. 
I am weak and so tempted by what I could not and should not 
have. They know that now, both the Lady and Aragorn. It is 
hopeless and I am lost,” he said, his eyes staring up at 
the ceiling, lips trembling. Legolas lifted his head from 
Boromir’s strong chest and his eyes that were looking down 
at him were sad as he brushed those lips with a cool 
finger.  
 
“Then no one knows you like I do,” he began, his eyes 
brimming with all the love in the world that he held for 
his one Man. “They? Who are they Boromir? They do not know 
you and they do not understand. They do not know that when 
you are in my arms, you give so much of yourself to me that 
I hunger for more. That when we touch, your eyes take on so 
many colors it steals my breath away.” Boromir felt wetness 
drip onto his face and realized that Legolas was weeping 
softly, his mouth compressed together in a thin line and 
Boromir felt the tears that he held at bay began to fall 
freely.  
 
“That when we make love, you make me lose all sense of 
time. And when I look in your eyes I then know one thing 
that is true,” he said as he cupped Boromir’s chin and 
stared deep into his very soul, “And that is – a Man who is 
so honest about what he feels is no weakling. You admit 
your flaws freely to me and it is there that strength lies, 
Boromir. Even if you cannot say what is in your heart I can 
see it by looking upon your face, by the way you move and 
by the expression in your eyes. And I know that you are 
more than you what you believe yourself to be”  
 
He paused for a moment, gently wiping the moisture that 
collected upon Boromir’s eyes. “And,” he continued in an 
even softer voice, “If you chance to lose your way, I will 
find you no matter where you go and no matter how deep you 
fall… I know this much is true, Beloved, and this much I 
can promise you.”  
 
Boromir’s eyes were locked upon Legolas’ and without 
another word they kissed long and hard, Legolas’ lips and 
hands chasing away the bleakness in Boromir’s breast. They 
lay down for a long time, safe in the knowledge of their 
devotion and love to one another, neither realizing that 
throughout the time they had been lovers, Boromir had said 
not one word nor declaration of love aloud for Legolas to 
hear. Neither realizing that this was the last time that 
Boromir would be as himself… and the Gods looked upon them, 
granting them bliss at least for this short amount of time 
that they have together.  
 

Warrior Elf - The Passing  
 
The Company sailed through the waters of the Silverlode, its currents 
taking them from the land of Lothlorien out into the body of the Great 
River. For many miles they traveled together southward, growing ever 
closer to their destination. Yet, their hearts were divided, for each of the 
company desired to take different routes in their Quest to destroy the Ring 
of Power. Should they abandon their boats, taking the western roads to 
Minas Tirith? Or do they bear their boats to Rauros, only to take to water 
again, heading to Amon Hen, where there they would seek each other’s 
advice on the right path to take?  
 
Many days passed and slowly their minds became troubled and hearts 
heavy at the thought of the unseen peril that lay ahead. Aragorn and 
Legolas frequently sought each other’s council, the quarrel they had at 
Lothlorien forgotten at such pressing times. They spoke together in 
whispers, their expression solemn as they contemplated the possible 
dangers that lies ahead. Already they had been ambushed by Orcs as they 
navigated through the River and they had barely escaped, thanks to the 
gray cloaks of Lothlorien that they wore, reaching the relative safety of the 
river bank opposite to where the Orcs patrolled in the Eastern Shores.  
 
“Whither shall our course take us now, Aragorn?” Legolas was saying, as 
they were once again resting along the river bank, his brows creased in 
thought. “The time must come for us to decide. We must not linger. Do we 
go with Boromir to Minas Tirith? Or do we turn east towards Mordor?” 
Boromir lifted his eyes towards Legolas from where he was seated; his 
eyes were bright and eager at the mention of his homeland.  
 
The Company had ceased their whisperings, their attention narrowed to a 
point upon the two tall figures that stood before them, tensed and troubled. 
Frodo looked into the Ranger’s face, tired and withdrawn at the dilemma 
that he had to face. Their eyes met and their gaze held. Aragorn was silent 
for a moment before speaking.  
 
“I cannot choose the road for the Ring Bearer to take,” he said, finally. 
“Let us rest for a moment before we come to any consensus for we are all 
weary.” Boromir muttered to himself in disgust and left the Company to 
attend to his own thoughts. Aragorn’s eyes followed him thoughtfully as 
the figure before them struggled up the slope that led away from the river 
bank and disappeared from view amongst the trees and huge limestone 
boulders that littered the forest floor.  
 
“He only wishes to protect his people. War is upon Gondor and he must 
answer his people’s call,” Legolas said, quietly, his eyes seizing the 
Ranger’s. Aragorn ran his hand wearily over his face, his eyes troubled as 
they chance to look upon Legolas’ once more.  
 
“I know, Legolas, and it is right that he should seek to fulfill his 
responsibilities. But we are given the task of following Frodo, to take him 
to Mordor where the Ring is to be destroyed. It is a hard road to take and 
the responsibility that is placed upon us is greater than any wars put 
together.” Here, he stepped forwards towards Legolas and laid his hand 
upon his shoulder, feeling the strength and the tension in his body. “We 
must not forsake him now. Not when we are so close to the last stage of 
our Quest.”  
 
Legolas looked away, his eyes downcast as he struggled with his own 
conflicting thoughts. “Then perhaps it is time we go our separate ways. Go 
with Frodo if you must and I shall hither to Minas Tirith with Boromir. 
The rest will choose their path as they see fit.” There was a sharp intake of 
breath from the rest of the Company.  
 
“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,” said Gimli, his 
voice harsh but in his eyes there was sorrow. The Hobbits looked on upon 
their exchange with abated breath and they each had to come to terms with 
what they had long ago suspected – and that is the Fellowship is slowly 
but surely falling apart.  
 
“Yet upon us no oath or bond is laid to go further then we will,” the Elf 
argued, his head held up and eyes holding on to the many eyes that were 
looking at him. There was silence before Frodo speak up, his face 
shadowed with worry.  
 
“I know that haste is needed but yet I cannot choose. The burden is heavy. 
Perhaps we should all be left alone and think upon our next course of 
action.” And that was exactly what the Company agreed to do.  
 
Aragorn walked along the banks, deep in thought while Gimli stomped 
and muttered his way towards the thick undergrowth of the forest. The 
Hobbits sought each other’s council, sitting in a circle, while Frodo set 
apart from his friends, his eyes lowered, his brows furrowed with the 
burden he carried. Legolas wandered up the slope and entered the forest to 
seek solace in its greenery, his heart troubling him more and more.  
 
It was as if a shadow had passed over his mind, clouding what was left of 
his bright and happy memories. It was a disturbing sensation, chilling him 
to the very bone for he felt the danger that seemed so distant and yet felt 
so near; and a ball of ice seemed to settle at the pit of his stomach. So deep 
was he in his thought that when he passed by a large limestone statue, he 
let out a startled cry when two arms suddenly reached out around his waist 
and dragged him out of plain sight behind the sculpture, roughly bringing 
him down to the ground.  
 
Legolas was knocked and pinned to the forest floor, winded and unable to 
free himself. A hard, unyielding mouth descended upon his and started to 
kiss his lips. The mouth clamped over his in hunger, seeking to possess 
and devour him whole. Legolas clutched at the body above his, a moan 
forming at his throat as it began to grind against his, arousing his passions 
with terrifying speed. He struggled to breathe as those lips began their 
sensuous trail down from his lips to the long, white column of his neck, 
gasping when the bearded chin scraped against his soft flesh.  
 
“Boromir, nay, not here. The others… they will hear us. They will know,” 
he groaned, but his body belied his words as his hips began bucking 
frantically as a large, calloused hand reached between them to cup his 
hardening arousal, stroking him towards oblivion.  
 
“Let them,” was the curt reply as he continued his ruthless assault, taking 
Legolas to the edge of his endurance with his hands and lips. Boromir was 
calculating in his moves; touching, kissing and licking Legolas in all the 
right places – movements that were designed to bring one to the brink of 
madness in their desires but not enough to bring about the completion that 
they sought desperately to have and Legolas writhed under the assault, 
helpless to resist.  
 
Boromir rapidly removed Legolas’ tunic, and his firm tongue slid across 
the turgid pink nipples that were bared to his hungry gaze. Legolas’ vocal 
appreciation sounded through the air before he quickly clamped his jaw 
shut, on his face a pained expression of pure pleasure. His back arched and 
his hips were jerking so hard in his attempt to gain the much needed 
friction at his groin that he threatened to throw off his lover who was 
stretched out atop him.  
 
His leggings were next to be taken off, and his member sprang free of its 
constriction, standing proud and eager, as Boromir slid down the quivering 
length of his body and bent his head towards Legolas’ source of desire to 
lavish it with his attention. A cry threatened to fall from Legolas’ lips but 
he held it back, biting his lips so hard that he could just barely taste a hint 
of blood that leaked out from the small wound he incurred onto himself.  
 
“Legolas?” came a voice that was certainly unwelcomed at this point of 
time. It was Aragorn – and he sounded as if he were close by. Certainly 
close enough to hear every moan that escaped from Legolas’ lips should 
he make any sound. He stiffened in apprehension but Boromir was not to 
be distracted as he continued to squeeze and stroke the hard arousal with 
his tongue and mouth. Legolas tried to stop him but Boromir retaliated by 
sucking harder onto his root. The Elf’s eyes fluttered back into his head… 
‘Leave me be, Aragorn,’ he thought to himself, desperately, as another 
wave of pleasure, almost unbearable in nature, swept across his shaft as 
Boromir lapped hungrily at the tip of the Elf’s organ that was oozing with 
his seed.  
 
“Legolas?” the voice persisted and it sounded uncomfortably nearer than 
before. Suddenly the statue that shielded the lovers from the gaze of their 
comrade seemed to be too small and the Elf panicked. He tried to wriggle 
away from Boromir but the Man was heavy. With a soft sound of 
displeasure, Boromir allowed the pulsating organ to slip out of his mouth, 
but he was not done. He moved up the Elf’s body, pressing his lips onto 
one of those delicate ears and began to trace it with his tongue. Legolas 
gave a strangled moan, clinging to Boromir as if to keep from losing 
himself in the tempest that the Man evoked upon his senses.  
 
“Answer him, or he will see me driving myself into you, your face 
registering your delight at every stroke of my member that penetrates your 
sweet body,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with need as he struggled to 
undo his breeches…  

**********  
 
“Legolas!” Aragorn called out, worry lining his face. He could have sworn 
he had heard the Elf cry out and he wondered if he was hurt. His eyes 
darted around, as he walked rapidly towards where he thought Legolas’ 
voice came from. In his heart, he felt the stirrings of unease. And then he 
heard it again, a gasp followed by a groan, coupled with frantic rustling of 
the leaves on the forest floor. It sounded as if the Elf was trashing about 
amongst the fallen leaves.  
 
“Legolas, can you hear me? Speak to me!” he cried out, picking his way as 
quickly as he could over the forest ground so as not to trip over the thick 
roots of the trees protruded from the ground. There was that stubborn 
silence again before a voice choked out.  
 
“Leave me be, Aragorn,” it said, its voice had a strained quality and a hint 
of a tremor beneath it. There were the sounds of heavy breathings as he 
approached a fallen limestone statue. For some reason, he hesitated to look 
behind it.  
 
“Are you hurt? I heard you cry out,” he said, still looking carefully at the 
statue and listening to the odd noises and whisperings that emitted from 
behind it. He took another step closer as the rustlings paused for a moment 
and then resumed. He took another step.  
 
“Nay! I am not hurt! Just leave! Please! Oh God!” his voice rang out, 
jarring and strident, sounding as if he was on the brink of tears. The 
sounds that followed then sounded muffled, as if he was clamping his 
hand over his mouth to prevent Aragorn from hearing his cries of distress. 
Aragorn started to walk away but faltered as he heard the Elf drew in a 
shuddering breath and emitted soft cries. He had never seen or rather 
heard the Elf so distraught and he wondered at the cause. He stood still for 
a moment and still the cries did not stop, if anything, it became more 
desperate…  
***********  
 
Legolas’ body was on fire, his every limb twisting and his hands grabbing 
hold of Boromir’s head as its tongue worked its magic upon his shaft. He 
wanted to find his release, to cry out in rapture at the ecstasy that he knew 
only Boromir could bring. But the Ranger still stood just on the other side 
of the statue, and the Elf could have screamed in frustration.  
 
“I would leave, if you but tell me what is wrong, Legolas!” Aragorn said, 
his voice sounding worried and annoyed at the same time. Legolas opened 
his mouth to answer but Boromir captured his lips in a searing kiss. 
Spreading the Elf’s long, muscular legs, he settled between them and 
slowly slid his engorged member into Legolas’ opening. The Elf trembled 
at the sensation as Boromir began pressing in and out, slowly and 
thoroughly stimulating the sensitive spot deep inside his body. His eyes 
were clenched shut his hands grabbed onto the shoulders of the heaving 
body above him.  
 
“If you do not answer me, I am going to come to you to find out exactly 
what is it that is wrong with you,” he warned, his footfalls getting 
alarmingly nearer every time. “Aragorn…Saes… I… oh God… I just… 
need to be alone,” he stammered out, his breathing ragged and chest 
heaving, as he reach closer and closer to the peak of his fulfillment. His 
breathing increased in tempo and volume as Boromir’s knowing hands 
stroked the source of his desire in time to the movements of their hips, his 
mouth opened in a silent cry of wonder as they strained to reach for their 
completion.  
 
There was another agonizing silence before he heard Aragorn slowly 
move away. And then immediately, Legolas’ body seemed to burst into a 
thousand stars as he reached his release, his slender body shuddering with 
the force of it. He cried out into Boromir’s hot mouth, tongues meeting 
wildly, sucking and teeth biting at each other’s lips in a raw and 
animalistic hunger. With another lusty cry, Boromir joined his lover in 
achieving the summit of their pleasures and they lay against each other, 
spent.  
 
Legolas lay in a daze as Boromir pressed hot kisses on his face, lips, neck 
and shoulders. It was as if he could never get enough of his Elf. There was 
something so hungry and so sad about the way Boromir touched him that 
it nearly brought tears to Legolas’ eyes. Their eyes met and held. Boromir 
reached out to run his hand through the silky tresses, slowly and gently 
removing the leaves that were entwined in his hair.  
 
“You could have waited for nightfall before taking me,” Legolas said 
wryly, on his lips a small smile. Boromir’s heart constricted at the honest 
smile as his hands continued to caresses the Elf’s face lovingly but he 
remained silent, eyes gazing intently into his lover’s.  
 
“I wanted you to see me in daylight so that you will never forget how I 
look, be it night or day,” he murmured and Legolas wondered at the 
statement. But time had slipped by quickly and they heard in the distance, 
the raised voices of the Hobbits. Legolas quickly put on his clothing while 
Boromir followed suit, but at a slower pace, his eyes downcast and his 
movements jerky. The Elf regarded his lover with watchful eyes, 
registering Boromir’s jaw clenching and unclenching as if he were deep in 
a thought that he was reluctant to entertain.  
 
“I will go to them first. It’s best that they do not know we were together,” 
Legolas said, as he stood up cautiously. He started to move towards their 
camp when Boromir grabbed his hand. He started and stared into the green 
eyes of his Beloved. Once again that same shadow seemed to flit around in 
his mind and the chill of unease settled at the base of his spine.  
 
Boromir saw the love and concern in the Elf’s expressive eyes but still 
said nothing as he tenderly pressed his lips against Legolas’ eyes and 
gently turned him around. “Go,” he whispered and turned his back 
towards the Elf as he continued to dress. With a last long look at Boromir, 
Legolas walked quickly to where the rest of the Company stood, well 
aware that his Beloved watched him as he went…  
 
Aragorn was the first to notice the Elf, and on his face he wore a mask of 
calm but his heart was raging with an emotion that he would not give 
name to. Images flashed in his mind, making a mockery of what he had 
seen and heard behind the statue, confirming what he had already known 
in Lothlorien; and that was, Boromir and Legolas were lovers in all sense 
of the word. But knowing it did not lesson the agony after he saw the Elf 
pinned under the weight of Boromir’s, his slender body undulating and 
trembling with desire as Boromir speared him with his instrument. He 
found that he could not look at the Elf in the eyes anymore.  
 
“Have we come to a decision then?” the Elf asked, coming next to him. 
The Ranger could smell the scent of Boromir upon his fair skin and he 
looked away, shaking his head in answer. “We cannot come to a decision 
without the Ring Bearer. He had already requested for an hour more to 
make up his mind over the matter,” Aragorn said, his calm voice a 
contradiction to what he felt.  
 
Minutes passed in silence, and then the hour came and went and still there 
was no sign of the Frodo. Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, his fears 
increasing with each passing minute. Legolas seemed restless too, his keen 
eyes darting towards the forest not far behind them, as if looking for signs 
of Frodo… or Boromir…  
 
“Boromir,” Aragorn whispered and suddenly he understood why he was 
so worried. Frodo was gone and Boromir did not return although Aragorn 
had last seen him with Legolas. The Elf’s head snapped towards Aragorn, 
his face registering the misgivings that the Ranger himself carried in his 
mind. And then the Company sprang to their feet in horror at the thought 
of what could have happen in the last hour. Where had Frodo gone? Was 
he killed? And worse still, did Boromir kill him and take the ring for his 
own?  
 
Immediately a search party was sent out, the Hobbits going with Gimli 
and Legolas followed Aragorn as they sprinted through the forest. They 
searched behind every tree and every stone and they still could find neither 
the Ring Bearer nor Boromir of Gondor. Fear struck a chord deep in their 
hearts and although their lungs burned with fatigue, they did not stop 
running. Wildly they called out their friends’ name, all hoping that they 
would be in time to stop the inevitable, should Boromir be alone with 
Frodo.  
 
Aragorn pressed on, his sword bouncing upon his hip and Legolas, with 
his Elvish knives, bow and arrows forgotten in his haste. On and on they 
seemed to run without any signs of their companions until finally, they 
heard a loud squawk and saw Frodo tumbling down from his perch on top 
of a statue. Legolas rushed towards the Hobbit to give aid but Frodo yelled 
in fright and shrank from his touch, on his face were bruises that were 
fresh and large. Legolas stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with dismay 
as Frodo wept into his hands. Aragorn moved forward, his palms held out 
as if to calm the frightened Hobbit.  
 
“Frodo, do not fear us. We are only your friends, Legolas and Aragorn,” 
he said soothingly but did not touch the trembling body for fear of him 
running away like a frightened rabbit. Frodo looked up, his swollen lips 
quivering. “The Ring. It had taken Boromir,” he choked out.  
 
“Did he take it? Where is it?” demanded Aragorn, his voice harsh with 
emotions that he could not identify; a terrible mixture of sadness, anger 
and regret. But Frodo cringed from Aragorn and scampered away on all 
fours in a pitiful manner. It breaks Aragorn’s heart to see the little one so 
wretched.  
 
“Frodo! Please, we do not seek to harm you. We swore to protect you,” 
Aragorn said, moving cautiously towards the small figure, huddled on the 
floor as he bore the burden of the world upon his neck. “But can you 
protect me from yourself?” Frodo cried out, reaching desperately for the 
Ring that hung on a chain and thrusting it towards them. “Would you 
destroy it if it were given to you?”  
 
Aragorn approached Frodo, an inscrutable expression in his eyes. The ring 
seemed to call out to him and yet, he knelt before him and closed the 
Hobbit’s fingers over the hateful treasure, looking deep into those large 
Hobbit eyes. “I would have gone with you into the very fires of Mordor,” 
he said, his voice clear but they are not without emotion for he knew that 
the fate of the Ring no longer lay in the hands of the Fellowship, but in the 
hands of this one little Half-ling, doomed to his fate. The Hobbit and Man 
stared into each others eyes, and when Frodo ran off into the forest once 
more, Aragorn and Legolas did not follow.  
 
“Alas, what will become of the Fellowship now?” said the Elf, distressed, 
as his eyes followed the small figure, running through the forests. “I had 
thought that whatever road we take will be to our benefit, not to our ruin.” 
Aragorn’s answer was cut short when Gimli burst out of a bush before 
them, blundering into their arms.  
 
“Where are the little ones?” said Legolas, his voice sharp with worry. 
Gimli shook his head urgently, his breathing harsh. “They ran off! Gone! 
Calling out for Master Frodo they did! And Sam took off in another 
direction!” he panted, his eyes wild. And then they all heard it, the deep-
throated call of a great horn that blew, the blast of it reverberating off 
every tree and every stone, rising in a mighty shout against the roaring of 
the falls nearby.  
 
“The Horn of Gondor,” cried Legolas, his breath catching in his throat. 
“Boromir,” whispered Aragorn, his eyes wide with horror. “He is in need! 
We must hasten to his side!” But Legolas had already sprinted like a deer 
towards the call of his Beloved.  
 
Legolas dashed onwards, ignoring the loud beating of his heart, ignoring 
the calls of his friends to stay together and ignoring the arms of trees that 
slashed his cheeks open as he brushed past them. All that matters was that 
Boromir needed him and nothing will stand in his way. “Boromir!” he 
screamed, his voice cutting through the closed air of the forest like a knife. 
Again and again he called out Boromir’s name, desperate to locate his 
love as he followed the sound of the blowing horn that was going 
alarmingly fainter, as if Boromir was growing wearier with each passing 
moment. And then all of a sudden it ceased and Legolas’ heart nearly 
stopped in his breast.  
 
Putting on a last burst of speed, he dashed on over the slope of a hill and 
the sight that greeted him below filled him with horror… there were 
multitudes of Orcs, surrounding a fallen figure, leering at him menacingly. 
Boromir had fallen to his knees, his body pierced with many black 
feathered arrows. He was barely alive.  
 
“Nooo!” Legolas screamed, in his eyes a wild fire of rage and hate as he 
brandished his white knives, slicing his way through the sea of foul Orcs, 
one by one felling them to the floor. But they stood in his way, some 
laughing as they strived to keep him away from Boromir and some jeering 
as they let arrows fly towards his direction. But no one could stop him 
from reaching Boromir as his knives flashed out like blots of lightning, 
slashing their loathsome throats. And then he made a mistake of looking 
into Boromir’s eyes.  
 
There was such grief in them, and such painful regret. His swollen lips 
were parted as if he wanted to speak words that Legolas could not hear. 
He was so close to Boromir now, so close that if he but took a few more 
steps, he would be able to reach out and touch him. But the consequence 
of being careless made him pay dearly. Legolas let out a cry of pain as an 
arrow pierced through his left shoulder, the force of the shot pinning him 
to a tree, effectively immobilizing him. A trembling hand reached up to 
remove the imbedded arrow but the pain was excruciating as every 
movement served only to tear a larger hole into his shoulder. But it was 
nothing compared to the pain that the Orcs had in store for him.  
 
“Nay!” he cried out desperately, as an Orc, the largest of the band, took 
out his sword and traced the outline of Boromir’s face and neck with its 
tip, drawing blood as the sharp point grazed the soft flesh. The Man 
looked up towards his executioner, completely at his mercy and yet his 
eyes held no fear, just that same melancholic expression that Legolas had 
seen before. Again and again the Elf screamed out, as the enemy’s sword 
cruelly carved lines onto his love’s flesh, his struggling causing the arrow 
to increase the hurt in his flesh, and blood gushed warmly from his wound. 
Boromir just stayed on his knees, accepting the torture upon his body. And 
when the Orc finally positioned his weapon at Boromir’s throat, it turned 
to Legolas, its hideous face splitting in a mocking smile. Just when he 
thought that all was lost, he heard a cry. “Elendil! Elendil!” the voice rang 
out. Aragorn had come.  
 
With renewed strength, Legolas lifted his hand again and broke off the 
feathered end of the arrow. Gritting his teeth against the burning pain, he 
dragged himself away from the arrow that impaled him, its stem sliding 
cleanly out through his body, the tip still embedded into the trunk of the 
stubbly tree as he staggered towards Boromir. Aragorn and Gimli made 
short work of those that were foolish enough to remain behind but there 
was only one who Legolas had his eye on. The Orc chieftain. Grabbing his 
long knives, a fierce battle ensued between the Orc and the Elf. Both were 
kin, no matter how distant, and their moves matched each other perfectly. 
But Legolas had become a fighting machine. He ignored the burning in his 
shoulder as with a great cry, he thrusts his knife into the belly of his 
enemy and unseamed it from its navel to its chin. It fell to the ground, 
dead, entrails spilling onto the forest ground.  
 
The pain in his shoulder burned still and the Elf was driven to his knees 
due to blood loss. But still he crawled painfully towards his Beloved, who 
was now lying on his back. He was not moving. “Beloved. Beloved,” 
Legolas called out, “I am here. Your Beloved is here.” He dragged himself 
towards Boromir, his blood leaving a trail along the forest floor as finally, 
he reached Boromir’s side. Legolas sat up and propped his love onto his 
lap, stroking his face and hair with his good hand. Boromir’s face was 
barely recognizable under the bruises, cuts and blood that oozed out from 
the wound inflicted by the Orc’s sword. His lips were still moving, as if 
trying to form words he has little strength to say.  
 
“They took the little ones,” he choked out, gurgling in his own blood. 
Tears trickled down his face, leaving a clean trail down his dirty cheeks. “I 
tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I have failed you all.” His eyes fluttered 
in his head, his breathing shallow and ragged. Legolas wept openly, his 
head pressed against Boromir’s.  
 
“Nay. Frodo still lives. You spared his life and you protected the others 
with yours. All is not lost,” Legolas whispered, cradling Boromir in his 
arms. Boromir’s lips moved again as he strived to maintain eye contact 
with Legolas and it was clear that he was fading fast. “I did not tell you. I 
lo-…,” But it was too late. A shudder passed through the large frame and 
then he was still, his eyes locked unseeingly into the face of one he had 
not the chance to reveal his love to.  
 
Legolas buried his face into Boromir’s shoulder, crying and calling his 
name. “Beloved,” he said repeatedly, the name a prayer upon his lips and 
he did not notice Aragorn and Gimli approaching him, and in their eyes 
were tears of sorrow. Aragorn laid a hand upon the heaving shoulder, 
racked with anguish. Gimli was quiet, lost in his own grief. And as the 
night falls swiftly over the forest, basking the trees in its shadows, the 
darkness was almost kind as it seemed to lament the passing of Boromir, 
Son of Gondor.  


Warrior Elf – The Emptiness of Space

“We must move on, lad. It is best we do not linger,” Gimli’s voice came 
through the curtain of grief that Legolas hid behind, his cherished burden 
lying in his arms. Legolas shook his head wearily, tears coursing silently 
down his face. Aragorn gathered the broken pieces of Boromir’s sword, 
bent with his own troubled mind. Thoughts flashed through his brain as he 
wondered at the path for which they had to take. He stood silently next to 
the Elf as he contemplated the course of his next actions.  
 
Finally he spoke. “Boromir said that they took the little ones. We must 
hasten and rescue them. We cannot leave them to torment and torture,” he 
said slowly, his eyes moving towards the direction where the Orcs had 
fled in terror when faced with their fierce assault. Legolas raised his head, 
his eyes now devoid of any emotion. Gimli clasped the Elf’s unwounded 
shoulder encouragingly.  
 
“Then what of Boromir? We cannot leave him lying like carrion amongst 
these foul Orcs,” he murmured, his hand never ceasing to stroke 
Boromir’s hair and face, every now and again he leaning forward to kiss 
the cold lips of his Beloved. “We will put him in our boat with his 
weapons and send him over the Rauros,” suggested Gimli, “But we must 
do it soon.” A look of pain passed swiftly over the Elf’s face but he 
agreed.  
 
After tending to the Elf’s injury, Gimli and Aragorn carried Boromir 
towards the river bank. It was no easy task, for the Man was large and 
heavy. Legolas’ wound had by then stopped bleeding, for Elves heal 
quickly. But he still did not have the strength to help with the task of 
bearing his Beloved. They placed their comrade in one of the remaining 
boats and Legolas knelt beside it, his eyes roving hungrily upon his love’s 
face. Gimli looked around and saw that there was only one boat left… and 
Sam’s baggage was gone, along with Frodo’s.  
 
“Think you that Sam went with his Master?” asked Gimli, his eyes 
troubled. Aragorn paused for a moment before nodding his head in 
affirmative. “I think he did. You said that he went in a different direction? 
Then it means that he was not with Merry and Pippin.” There was a short 
silence and then he turned his attention towards the Elf.  
 
“Come, Legolas. It is time. We must let him go,” he said gently. Legolas 
was silent as stone, eyes fixed intently upon the unmoving figure that was 
laid in the boat. And then without a word, he took out his knife and 
proceeded to cut off a lock of Boromir’s hair. Folding it carefully, he then 
placed it in the pocket of his tunic, next to his heart and he stood up, a 
determined light in his eyes. He was ready. And together they pushed the 
boat into the river, watching in silence as the Elven boat rode the falls and 
foaming pools, bearing the body down towards the direction of Osgiliath, 
never to be seen again…  
 
**********  
 
That had been several long hours before and they still pressed on, 
searching for signs that Merry and Pippin might yet be alive. For many 
hours they travelled, night breaking into dawn, the footprints of the Orcs 
still freshly imprinted onto the ground. It was not until Gimli called for 
Aragorn to halt that the Ranger realized something was amiss. He stopped 
in his tracks and turned around to look at Gimli. His heart nearly stopped 
when he saw that Legolas had fallen, his head pressed against the ground 
and his body was shaking uncontrollably, hands clenched in a fist.  
 
“Legolas!” he cried out, alarmed and rushed to the Elf’s side. He gathered 
the body in his arms and became frightened at how pale the Elf looked. 
Quickly he inspected the wound at Legolas’ shoulder for fear that it had 
become infected. Legolas was cold to the touch and his eyes had taken on 
a frighteningly glazed expression, something that was extremely rare 
amongst Elves for they always have a very intense look in them.  
 
As the Ranger unwrapped the Elf’s bindings, he gave a sharp intake of 
breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The flesh had healed remarkably, 
but the area around the shoulder had taken on a horrible shade of black. 
“Poisoned!” Gimli gasped out in horror as he bent down to grab hold of 
the Elf’s legs which were trashing about uncontrollably. The poison 
seemed to be spreading quickly in Legolas’ body, and before long, despite 
Aragorn and Gimli’s desperate attempt to soothe their comrade, his body 
was shaking violently, his laboured breathing was rapid and shallow.  
 
“Aragorn, look to Legolas! I will see if I could find some herbs to ease his 
pain,” Gimli said, his fear for his friend’s life mounting with terrible 
speed. Without looking back, he dashed into the forest, looking for the 
ingredients to make an antidote that might combat the poison that surged 
mercilessly through Legolas’ body. He knew not what concoction the Orcs 
used but he was willing to labour on the whole day just to find a cure – 
except that he did not have much time. Aragorn barely noticed Gimli 
running off as quickly as his stout legs could carry him.  
 
Legolas was in terrible pain. His body was racked with violent tremors of 
the chill that seemed to pierce through the very core of his being. Ice 
seemed to flow through his veins instead of warm blood. He was felt so 
wretched and cold that in the deep recess of his mind, he slowly 
succumbed to the temptation of leaving the mortal world.  
 
Aragorn, unaware of the incoherent thoughts that were going through 
Legolas’ pain filled mind, had in the mean time built a fire in a desperate 
attempt to provide sufficient heat to warm the Elf. When that was done, he 
grabbed the blankets that they carried with them, wrapping it securely 
around Legolas’ trembling body – but the shaking did not cease. He then 
cradled the body to his chest, hands trying their hardest to bring some 
warmth into his comrade’s flesh but it was no use. It was as if the Elf was 
giving up his attempts to fight the poison as it threatened to claim his life.  
 
“Nay, Legolas, you mustn’t give up,” the Ranger whispered achingly, his 
lips pressed to the tip of the perfect Elven ear. He rocked to and fro gently, 
seeking to bring comfort to this beautiful creature in his arms that was 
struggling to draw breath. Aragorn wept at the agony that the Elf was put 
through – already his laboured breathing seemed to grow softer and chest 
barely moving with each intake.  
 
“You cannot leave us now, Legolas. Not when there are those who still 
love you. We need you. Do not forsake us… Do not forsake me,” he said 
softly, tears trickling down his cheeks and a lone tear dripped onto 
Legolas’ face. The Elf shuddered once more at the warmth of the droplet 
upon his cold skin, his lips parting as if to form words. Aragorn bent his 
head closer to catch the strangled sound that escaped from the Elf… and 
then he heard it. “Beloved,” Legolas choked out, struggling to remain 
focused.  
 
What choice does the Ranger have but to use the only tool that he had to 
bring his love back? “Yes, Legolas. Your Beloved is here. He is waiting 
for you. He is alive. You cannot leave him now. Do you not love your 
Beloved?” Aragorn said, his voice harsh as he wept. The Elf made several 
indistinct sounds, as if he were struggling to speak and Aragorn knew that 
the battle to get the Elf to the world of the living was half won. The Elf 
fought back, desperate to return to the realm of consciousness once more – 
to be with the one Man he loved.  
 
For several long minutes, Aragorn spoke to the Elf; speaking words of 
encouragement and words of love. And throughout those long minutes, the 
Elf responded to the Ranger’s voice, his chest heaving with each painful 
breath that was drawn into his lungs. Every minute seemed to be an 
eternity as Legolas writhed under the agony inflicted by the poison.  
 
And then, mercifully, Gimli’s heavy footsteps could be heard running 
towards them. In his palm, he clutched an assortment of plants and herbs. 
Quickly, the two friends started to work. Taking fresh water from their 
water skin, they poured it into a metal bowl that they had chanced carried 
with them. Gimli set the bowl on the fire and toss in a measured amount of 
the herbs and waited for the water to boil. Aragorn looked on anxiously, 
his arms wrapping themselves possessively around Legolas, bending every 
now and then to brush his lips against the Elf’s forehead. A few 
unbearable minutes later, the antidote was cooled and ready.  
 
Picking up the bowl carefully, Gimli handed it to Aragorn. “He must drink 
this. It will be foul to the taste but he would benefit from it,” he said. 
Aragorn carefully laid Legolas on the ground, taking the bowl from Gimli. 
The smell that emitted from the concoction was terrible and he dipped his 
finger into the warm liquid and tasted it. Immediately he spat it out again.  
 
“This is poison!” he exclaimed in dismay and made as if to toss away its 
contents, but Gimli stopped him. “Nay! He must drink it. I know a little of 
the ways of the Orcs for my people had long since had trouble with them. 
They are cunning, and their weapons are laced with poison that no 
antidote can cure. It is only with another poison that the venom will be 
purged from his body and, hopefully, the pain will lessen.”  
 
There was a long silence, broken only by Legolas laboured breathings. “It 
must be done. Poison will thwart poison, Aragorn. Trust me.” Gimli 
entreated, his voice shaking with emotion. Aragorn closed his eyes; his 
heartbeat seeming to drum in his ears. “So be it,” he said, his voice 
emotionless but when he opened his eyes again, Gimli could see the fear 
and doubt.  
 
Cautiously, Gimli propped Legolas against his chest, causing the Elf to sit 
upright. His body seemed to be deadweight against the dwarf’s and 
Aragorn held the bowl to the Elf’s lips. But the Elf was too weary to 
swallow and the medicine dribbled down his chin whenever the Ranger 
tried to pour it into his mouth. Gimli started to despair before Aragorn 
tried another way of feeding the medicine to the Elf.  
 
Taking Legolas into his arms, he lifted the bowl to his lips and drew some 
of its content into his mouth. And then, he pressed his lips to the Elf’s cold 
ones, and slowly released the potion into the Elf’s unresisting mouth, 
careful not to feed the Elf too much at a time for fear of him choking. “Do 
not swallow it, Aragorn,” the Dwarf cautioned as the Ranger repeated the 
process, putting his life in danger to safe another. Such was the extent of 
love Aragorn had for Legolas.  
 
Finally the last drop of the antidote was given to the Elf and Aragorn 
rinsed out his mouth with some fresh water. His eyes were fixed intently 
on the Elf, his expression wary. “How do we know that it will work?” he 
asked, his misgivings clearly seen in the blue depth of his eyes. Gimli 
shook his head. “We know no such thing. The Orcs’ venom will kill him 
anyway if we do nothing. The only thing left to do now is to wait.”  
 
A deep sense of fear seemed to uncoil itself at the base of Aragorn’s spine. 
“Wait? What for what?” The answer to his question came swiftly as a hiss 
escaped from the Elf’s lips and his back arched frighteningly like a bow. 
“Hold him, Aragorn! It is the medicine that is affecting him thus!” Gimli 
said, perspiration beading at his brow as he strived to pin the bucking body 
to the ground. Aragorn placed his weight onto the body that was trashing 
about even more violently then before. It took both the strength of Man 
and Dwarf to hold Legolas in place as tremors racked through his body. 
The Elf’s eyes were rolled so far back into the back of his head that only 
the whites could be seen and his chest heaved in a most alarming manner.  
 
“Come on lad. Do not give up now,” murmured Gimli as Aragorn spoke 
words that were meant to sooth the Elf. It seemed to go on forever until 
finally, with a piercing cry that was wrenched from his throat, froth began 
to spew out from Legolas’ mouth – its colour was as black as night.  
 
“Up she comes. There you go lad. Easy… Easy,” whispered Gimli as he 
turned Legolas onto his side as the poison proceeded to spill out from the 
Elf’s mouth. And then the trembling of his body suddenly ceased – the Elf 
had become motionless, as still as Death. “Legolas, come, my lad. 
Breathe. That’s it now. It’s alright,” Gimli said, his voice shaking with 
fear as he fought to get the Elf to sit up, rubbing his back at the same time. 
But the Elf did not move, and his body limp and pliant under the frantic 
administrations of his friends.  
 
Gimli and Aragorn continued to speak to the Elf, gently slapping his face, 
stroking his back as if trying to rub life into his body. Just when they 
thought all was lost, the Elf’s back curved backwards suddenly as Legolas 
finally gave a loud, shuddering gasp as air filled his lungs once more. It 
was as if he were a swimmer bursting to the surface from the depth of a 
deep pool that he had lingered too long in. The last shivers raced down his 
spine before Legolas slumped into Aragorn’s arms, his chest moving up 
and down gently with every breath he took. He was fast asleep.  
 
Relief rushed to their hearts and the two friends allowed themselves to 
give one another a shaky grin. Gimli sighed, fatigue showing in every line 
of his face but his eyes were bright and happy now that Legolas had 
braved the worst of his ordeal. He gave an unceremonious snort. “I should 
have known that the Elf would be too stubborn and too proud to die before 
me anyway,” he joked as he burst out in a rare chuckle. Aragorn just 
looked at the Gimli, his hand reaching out to clasp the Dwarf’s shoulder. 
“Thank you,” he said simply, his eyes telling the Dwarf all of what his 
tongue could not. And suddenly they seemed to just realize that the day is 
filled with colours and sweet sounds of the birds once more. It was a long 
time before any of them spoke again.  
**********  
 
Legolas continued to rest throughout the whole morning and well into the 
afternoon, drifting in and out of consciousness. The insides of his body felt 
as it they had been scrubbed out with gravels. Every now and again he 
would give a slight shudder as the reaction of the chemicals in his body 
seemed to engulf his senses in pain, but they were sporadic now, and more 
bearable. But always, always, he would be aware of a figure next to him, 
gently wiping off sweat from his brow and tenderly dabbing at the corners 
of his mouth with a cloth when the poison chanced to escape from his lips. 
Sometimes when the pain seemed to be too much to bear, causing the Elf 
to moan, he could feel soft, warm lips pressing against his brow and a 
strong hand held his, stroking it lightly as Legolas lay down, inert, as if in 
sleep.  
 
Aragorn sat beside his love, his heart swelling with emotions. The Elf was 
so beautiful and so perfect, even when he was at the brink of Death. But 
that was a thought he refused to entertain. If Legolas were to die then, he 
would have gone mad in his grief. He loved the Elf. He admitted it freely 
to himself now as he trembled at the thought of how close he was to losing 
his love. Carefully he lay down on his side, next to Legolas. He drew the 
warm body close to his heart and promptly fell asleep, his arm wrapped 
around the Elf as if he could not bear to let him go…  
**********  
 
Aragorn’s eyes snapped open. He wondered what was it that had actually 
awoken him until he realized the cause – Legolas was no longer next to 
him. He sat up drowsily and peered into the darkness of the forest. It was 
nightfall and the wind was blowing gently through the trees. Gimli was 
leaning against a tree, fast asleep, snoring gently as he did – but Legolas 
was no where to be found. He stood up, listening for the sounds of the 
Elf’s footsteps or some sign of where Legolas had gone off to. Slowly he 
wandered towards a stream not far away from whence they slept. He knew 
not what drew him there but when a sight greeted him, he suddenly 
understood…  
 
Legolas stood knee deep in the midst of the running waters, a cloth in his 
hand as he washed himself. He was naked; and the pale skin seemed to 
glow with a soft light. His back glistened with droplets of water, muscles 
rippling as he passed the cloth slowly but thoroughly over the contours of 
his body. Aragorn felt his mouth go dry and took an unconscious stepped 
from the safety of the shadows towards the water edge. Legolas 
straightened his back, but he did not turn around. Aragorn knew from the 
way the Elf held his back, stiff as a rod, that his presence had not gone 
unnoticed. There was a long but not uncomfortable silence.  
 
“I have not thanked you for saving my life,” came the voice, clear as 
crystal but devoid of any emotion. Aragorn took a hesitant step towards 
the water as if he feared that any sudden movements might startle the still 
figure before him. “There is no need to thank a friend, Legolas,” he said, 
carefully matching the expressionless tone of the Elf as he moved closer. 
He stood at the very edge of the stream, unwilling to shorten the distance 
between him and the Elf, but equally unwilling to turn back. Legolas’ head 
turned slightly towards the direction of the Man, and from an angle, 
Aragorn saw a small but terribly sad smile upon his face.  
 
“Legolas?” came the pained whisper. “Who is he? He no longer exists. He 
died when he could not keep the promise he made.” Aragorn was silent as 
they both remembered the dispute they had at Lothlorien. ‘I will be his 
salvation or ‘Legolas’ no longer shall my name be’ came that angry echo 
in his mind and his heart constricted at the suffering he heard in the Elf’s 
voice.  
 
“Boromir’s death is not of your own doing, Legolas,” Aragorn murmured 
as he finally mustered enough courage to wade through the shallow body 
of water and placed a hesitant hand upon the Elf’s shoulders. Legolas 
barely flinched at the touch but his entire body began trembling with 
emotions that he no longer had the strength to constrain.  
 
“No? But where was I, Aragorn, when madness took him? Where was I 
when he fell into the darkness that I had sworn to protect him from?” he 
said, achingly and when he turned to face the Ranger, all the feelings that 
he had kept in check was laid out for Aragorn to see. “Where was I,” he 
asked again, his voice even softer and quivering as if he was on the brink 
of tears, “Where was I, when he fell to his knees, completely at the mercy 
of his enemy and my name lingering upon his lips?” He spun around, his 
shoulders hunched and head bowed under the weight of his guilt and 
sorrow.  
 
“You were in his heart, right till the very last breath he took,” the Ranger 
said quietly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Legolas as those 
shoulders began to shake with grief. “I failed him,” Legolas said, his voice 
now hollow, as if all that he had lived for had been taken right out of his 
hands. It was as if there was nothing left in his heart – nothing but the 
emptiness of a space that he could never fill.  
 
Aragorn stepped towards Legolas and gently but firmly turned him 
around. He stared deep into those pain-filled eyes, and the love that 
radiated from the Ranger was too much for the Elf to bear. Legolas looked 
away, his lips compressed in a thin line. “Do not love me Aragorn,” he 
murmured as Aragorn took the cloth from the Elf’s limp hands and 
wrapped it round the curve of his buttocks.  
 
“But it cannot be helped, for my heart only feels what it does… I cannot 
stop myself from loving you,” the Ranger whispered, his voice strangely 
hoarse, as he held the edges of the fabric and slowly brought the Elf 
against his body. Legolas closed his eyes as if he were weary. “Then you 
must tell your heart what it already knows, for I will never be able to 
return your love – not while I still feel that I am bound to another.” 
Aragorn leaned forward to kiss the Elf’s ear, running his tongue along its 
sensitive edges and Legolas trembled with the sensation that it provoked 
in him.  
 
“Then my heart must be mad for it will not listen,” said Aragorn, his eyes 
now locked upon the Elf’s. Their eyes held for a long time and then, with 
a soft sigh, Aragorn pressed his lips against Legolas’ in a tender kiss. 
Gently, he brushed his lips against the Elf’s, their breath mixing as he 
coaxed his lips apart. Aragorn slanted his head and took Legolas’ mouth 
whole, not giving himself a chance to think, only to act in reaction to what 
the Ranger knew his heart desires. The Elf tasted of his own unique 
essence – as sweet as honey, thought the Man and in an instant, his body 
hardened against the Elf.  
 
Legolas stiffened and seemed to shiver away from the Ranger’s assault but 
the cloth that was around his hips served to imprison him in Aragorn’s 
arms. Each tug of the Ranger’s mouth was pure pleasure and as Aragorn 
bent his head to lay kisses upon Legolas’ neck, the Elf arched his back, his 
hand clutching the Ranger to him.  
 
A tongue lashed against his nipples which had tightened in the cold and 
Legolas let out an involuntary moan, his head tossed back in helpless 
surrender. Aragorn stopped suddenly, and when he gazed into the eyes of 
the Elf, his breath caught in his throat for they were dark with awakened 
passion. What happened next was inevitable.  
 
Within minutes, the two figures were on dry land, near the stream, where 
Legolas had discarded his garments. Aragorn struggled with his clothing, 
his eye fixed upon the Elf’s hard arousal. When the last item had been 
removed from his body, he stood before Legolas, his breathing ragged and 
the evidence of his desire stood like an exclamation point from his body. 
Legolas looked away, biting his lips at the conflicting emotions that 
dwelled in his heart. But Aragorn would not allow the Elf to attend to his 
thoughts.  
 
Swiftly, he closed the distance between them and enveloped the Elf in a 
crushing embrace, lips locked upon one another, tongues tangling as 
Aragorn pushed Legolas down onto the soft ground beneath them. The 
first sizzling contact of their erect members brought about a hiss from 
Legolas and a groan from the Man. Aragorn proceeded to torture them 
both by rolling his hips, their members brushing against one another in a 
wicked rhythm, the friction causing so much pleasure that their breath 
quickened with anticipation.  
 
Legolas grabbed onto those broad shoulders, his nails biting into the 
Ranger’s strong back and Aragorn began to give comfort to his love the 
only way he knew how. It first began at the Elf’s lips. The Ranger’s 
tongue darting out to lap at those beautifully sculpted flesh, causing them 
to part; the breath that came out from them were harsh. Aragorn kissed 
and licked his way down towards the one place where Legolas needed him 
the most. And when he reached his destination, he looked straight into the 
Elf’s eyes. Legolas was tense with expectation, his hips flexing and his 
eyes were glazed with desire.  
 
With a soft sigh, Aragorn placed the tip of Legolas’ shaft into his mouth 
and began his sensuous assault. Legolas’ hip bucked repeatedly in his 
desperate attempt to bring his member deeper into the hot and wet mouth 
of the Ranger but Aragorn would not allow it. Grabbing hold of those slim 
hips, he pinned it to the ground, effectively quelling the restless 
movements, as his tongue and lips continued to taste and nibble on the 
pulsating organ.  
 
Legolas was delirious with need, his eyes shut and his head trashing from 
side to side as he gritted his teeth to keep hims