Title: Hidden Wounds
Author: Lyllyn  yllyn@yahoo.com
Pairing(s): Aragorn/orc, later A/L
Rating: R
Summary: After the battle on Amon Hen, Aragorn is
captured by orcs, and must survive the consequences
and find healing. First chapter is dark and somewhat
AU.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns it all. It's probably a good
thing he can't see what we do with it.
Warning: rape, not graphic
Authors Note: I have read several Legolas stories
where he is raped by anyone and everyone, then
comforted by Aragorn. I wanted to explore a reverse of
that, keeping the protagonists as much in character as
I could, given the storyline. I hope you enjoy it, but
I'd love to know either way. I also welcome any
critique, nitpick, etc.
Thanks to my betareaders; MR, Joey, and Iocane. Much
thanks also to AfterEver and Amanaishalez who did more
than beta, they gave me wonderful encouragement and
suggestions; and best of all, made me laugh.

Chapter 1    Captive


Aragorn woke uncertain. He was used to waking easily,
knowing the risks of his surroundings, instantly
alert. Now his senses were dull, as if he had drunk
too much wine. Twigs and rocks pressed into his cheek,
and his hands were caught under him, bound together by
strong cord. He opened his eyes slowly and took in the
details around him as Elrond's sons had taught him,
years ago. His sword was gone and his knife sheath no
longer hung at his belt. He could not tell if his
spare knife still rested in his right boot, but the
boots were still on his feet, so there was yet hope. 

He lay on the ground in the forest, and orcs, perhaps
a score of them, moved among the trees and brush. He
saw no other captives. His spare knife would be little
use as things stood, and he would not be able to
retrieve it unnoticed as long as his hands were tied
and the orcs were alert. 

Why was he alive? They had taken Merry and Pippin
first, carrying them off and leaving the rearguard to
delay what remained of the company. He would have
expected them to kill him as they had killed Boromir.
They had made no special effort to take him alive, he
had barely evaded several sword thrusts before the
head blow from behind. It must be vengeance that the
orc captain desired.  

What evil did the orcs plan for him? Perhaps they
would wait until they reached Isengard before exacting
retribution, giving him time to find a way to win
free. If not, he had no doubt that it would go very
ill for him. 

He continued to watch the camp; absorbing the
placement of sentries, supplies, weapons. Two orcs sat
nearby, probably guards. Of the others, the largest
had a white hand badge and yellow eyes. He gave orders
to many, and took them from none; he would be the
captain, then. Two others appeared be in some lower
position of authority, one with a fanged grin, the
other with a foul, bloody cloth wrapped around his
forearm. These three would be the most dangerous of
the orc-band.

A guard loomed over him and prodded. ?Ai, the filthy
tark is awake!? The large orc and his followers joined
the two guards around him. 

One of the orcs kicked him contemptuously. "Why are we
wasting time with this one, Urgat? Our orders were to
kill all but the halflings."

"We will, Gorbaz; we will," said the one he had marked
as the leader. 

"This one gave us much trouble and cost us many good
fighters. He will repay that. He ought to be good
sport for the journey."

Sport.

He had seen results of orc "sport" and knew more of
their delight in cruelty than most men in
Middle-earth; more than any sane being would wish to
know. He shivered, and called on his memories of
escapes from other evil places. The scars on his body
attested to previous trials of his skills of survival;
he feared the ordeal ahead would test him as never
before. For his own sake, for the sake of the young
hobbits and his promise to Boromir, he must find a way
to survive.

When it was full dark, Urgat shouted orders. Others
cursed but moved to obey.

"On your feet" the orc nearest him snapped, "if you
delay us you will regret it!" Aragorn managed to roll
to his side despite the pain of his bruised ribs, and
after several tries, to stand. When the orcs had
picked up their packs and gathered into a mob, Gorbaz
moved behind him and shoved. "Run!" He ran, sneaking
glances at the stars occasionally to check direction.

Gorbaz used a whip frequently when he slowed or
stumbled, and sometimes for no reason. The orc's eyes
glittered as the lash curled around the man's legs or
cut sharply across his bound arms or back. Aragorn
ignored the thong as best he could, concentrating on
staying upright. His thoughts strayed to Merry and
Pippin; the image of their cheerful faces marked with
pain and tears haunted him as he ran.

When the group stopped at dawn he was pushed to the
ground and the sudden motion caused his head to spin.
He clamped his mouth shut so as not to retch, and lay
still as he waited for the pain and nausea to pass.
After the orcs had fed, Gorbaz brought water and dry
bread and dropped it beside him. "Waste of food." he
sneered, "but you won't need it long." It was many
minutes before Aragorn could force his bound hands
down to pick it up and eat.  

He fell into an uneasy sleep, waking as he heard harsh
voices around him.

"Not as pretty as an elf, but he may last longer,"
said one. 
 
"If he does, I'd find a use for him." said Gorbaz,
lust in his voice.
 
"You'll have your chance to play. We shan't hurry the
game. Today he's mine!" The orc captain growled. He
turned and stalked toward his bound captive, with an
evil laugh. "Ai! Now for the fun."

Aragorn braced himself for what would follow, hoping
for the strength to endure. He knew not what Urgat
intended, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. He could
goad the creatures into killing him, and so escape;
but he had not the right to abandon the others. He
tried to hold fast to that thought as the leader came
toward him.

He watched as a clawlike hand reached down to him,
holding a dark, evil-looking dagger. Inwardly Aragorn
shuddered, but kept himself still. The misshapen face
bent to his and he smelled the orc's foul breath as
Urgat's jagged blade sliced through the ties of his
tunic and jerkin, scoring the skin beneath to leave
lines beaded with blood. The yellow eyes above him
feasted on the body thus exposed. The others gathered
around and jeered as the cloth and leather parted. He
fought to take deep breaths and master his fear. The
knife moved on to the tie that held his breeches. 

He saw lust in the captain's eyes, and understood it
was lust for the pain of his body, more than for his
body itself. Aragorn had known pain before, but here
were cruelties worse than simple bodily pain, torments
that threatened other paths to despair. Following in
the ways of their dark master, the orcs would revel in
breaking spirit as well as body. 

'You are the heir of Kings and of the strength of
Westernesse. You must not fail those who depend on
you.' He told himself that repeatedly through the pain
and humiliation. Hate had had no place in his mind
before, but now it colored his every thought. He
caught himself imagining many painful ways to kill the
creatures as he gritted his teeth. He would hold onto
such dignity as he could. The sweat that poured from
him and low grunts were the only signs of his ordeal,
until the end. When the orc captain took his final
pleasure, Aragorn's screams rang out in the clearing
to the laughter of the watchers. 

Afterwards they turned away and so allowed him to
clumsily tie up his garments as best he could. He
counted it an unexpected mercy.

He lay amid the dirt, rocks and brush; nauseated and
sweating with the aftermath of his torment. Every
muscle screamed with rage, and the desire to kill
churned in his belly. He found himself reflexively
testing his bonds, as if knots could unravel by his
will alone. 

He knew too well the tale of Celebrian, so poisoned in
spirit from her brief captivity among the orcs that
even the Lord Elrond had been unable to heal his
beloved wife. She had left Middle-earth, sailing West
and leaving the sorrow to Elrond, and the rage to
Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn had learned to kill orcs
at the side of his foster brothers, but their path and
purpose was not his. He reached within himself,
damping down the torrent of anger that threatened to
engulf him, and turned to thoughts of escape, weighing
plans and chances.

The camp settled again, but no sleep came to Aragorn.
He felt the eyes of the sentry, lingering greedily on
him between glances at the forest. With nightfall he
was once again prodded to his feet, the guards
clapping and jeering at his struggle to stand. The
running was harder this night, the agony of his
earlier torment added to the sting of the whip. 

Despair loomed ever before him; this enemy, the most
difficult to defeat. He looked up at the stars and
desperately sought the comfort Legolas had always
taken from them. Legolas and Gimli; did they still
live? They had been high on Amon Hen, and had stayed
to cover his back while he answered the summons of
Boromir's horn. If they survived, had they followed
Frodo and Sam to Mordor or did they follow the
captives? It would have been a sore choice to make,
and Aragorn was unsure which path he would have taken
in their place. 

He could not even bear to think of Arwen now, ever a
source of hope and comfort in the past. 

They ran through the stony hills and scrub, over rock
and ravine. His arms and shoulders ached from the
unchanging position of his tied hands. His back and
buttocks burned with wounds and bruises. He was
desperately weary, yet he feared the moment when the
night would end, and the orcs would think again of
their cruel games. He turned his thoughts away from
his own fear and considered the hobbits. They faced
the same and worse, he knew. And however brave and
sturdy of spirit, their bodies were small and frail
compared to his. How could they bear what might be
happening even now? There was nothing to be done for
them but endure, awaiting a chance for escape. And at
his back there was only the laughter of Gorbaz as he
muttered evil promises to his captive, and wielded the
cruel whip like a blade. 

When he was flung to the ground at daybreak, he fought
to steel himself to face the day ahead. As the grey
morning mist thinned, Aragorn heard a sudden crackle
in the brush on the far end of the encampment and his
eyes swept the forest around him. 

The orc captain turned towards the noise. "Shagrat,
you and your lads go check that."

Shagrat snarled, but started for the area that had
been disturbed; and four others followed, grumbling.
When the brush stirred again, it was with the whistle
of an arrow in flight.

An orc to the rear of the scouting group screeched and
went down with a shaft in his back, and all the orcs
turned, searching for the arrow's source. A knife
landed on the ground near Aragorn's side. With arrows
now falling amid the orcs he could roll enough to
grasp the knife and push the rope against the blade,
heedless of injury in his haste to free his hands. The
captain turned back toward him and took a step as
Aragorn rolled back and threw, piercing the orc
through the neck with the blade. An echo of dark rage
flared through him, and he tasted the sweet, poisonous
satisfaction as Urgat died. He sprang to his feet,
with his knife from his boot in his left hand, and
scooped up the fallen captain's sword in his right. It
was a heavy and clumsy weapon, but served to keep the
few orcs near him from closing in.

Then Gimli was there, swinging his axe against those
orcs left on the near side of the camp, the deadly
rain of arrows forcing the scouting group further into
the forest for cover. Aragorn backed up in step with
Gimli, the crude orc blade slashing through the guards
around them, turning to run only when the last orc
fell to Gimli's axe. Together they ran past Legolas as
the elf knocked and loosed arrows too quickly for the
eye to follow. The archer retreated behind his two
companions, ready to discourage any attempts at
pursuit.

Gimli looked at him with concern as Aragorn gasped and
stumbled over the uneven ground. 

"We must move further away from their camp. Can you
continue on, Aragorn?"

"I will go on." 

"I will ease you as I can when we reach a sheltered
place. It is but a little way further," said Legolas.

He could no longer keep track of where their path led,
but he kept moving. His steps had become slow and
clumsy indeed, when Gimli and Legolas finally halted.
He cast himself to the ground and closed his eyes in
weariness as the others made camp around him. 

He felt a touch on his shoulder and began struggling,
his hand lashing out. A strong hand caught his wrist,
but simply held it, and the touch on his shoulder
stayed gentle. When he opened his eyes he saw golden
hair. "Be easy, Estel; it's Legolas." Aragorn sagged
back to the ground in relief as the grip on his wrist
was released. "You are safe now, drink and then rest."
A slender, pale hand brought a cup to his lips. He
drank thirstily of the cool clean water, then sank
back into sleep.

When he woke again it was dark, and a small fire
crackled in a hollow next to him. Sleep was gone, but
exhaustion still claimed him; he lay still,
unthinking. Gimli stood, scanning the hills around
them, and Legolas lay unmoving close by. After some
minutes the dwarf shook Legolas awake, whispered a few
words and stretched out on the other side of the fire.
The elf came to his feet in a single, swift motion;
his eyes swept the forest as he paced about the small
camp. He paused where Aragorn lay.

The man had become friends with the elf in Rivendell
while waiting for Frodo to heal enough to attend
council. He had found Legolas habitually reserved,
though lighthearted and even impulsive at times. He
was an enjoyable companion and a formidable warrior.
How could he speak to him of this? He could not even
speak of it to himself. Urgat was dead, and it solved
nothing. The orc's death would not change what had
happened; would neither heal wounds of his body, nor
the bitter wounds within. He closed his eyes and lay
as if still asleep.

"I know you do not sleep."

Aragorn pushed himself up wearily to sit leaning
against a tree.

"Aragorn."  The musical voice was soft. "You cannot
turn away from this. It will follow you if you do not
turn back and face it."

"I am alive. There is nothing to face." He turned his
head to look blankly at the fire.

His face was gently caught and brought back toward the
elf. Legolas held his gaze. "Is there not? I tended to
your wounds as you slept, and they tell a tale of much
ill use. Foul indeed was their treatment of you." 
Legolas caught the wince on Aragorn's face, and then
another expression followed, replaced too quickly to
read. "One of the Firstborn would have been dead and
their spirit in the Halls of Mandos ere this. You have
great courage and strength of spirit."

The man looked at the fair, luminous face and saw
compassion, and still more precious to him, respect.
"You know what was done." It was not a question.

"I have seen such once before, to my sorrow. He was a
friend of my youth, taken by orcs. He did not survive.
Although he had no killing wound, when we drove off
the orcs his spirit had already fled." There was pain
in Legolas? eyes. "I would not lose another friend to
this evil."

"I will not die of this, though I may now wish I had."
Aragorn said.

"That you will not die I am glad of. I, and the rest
of the company, could ill afford to lose you, my
friend." 

Legolas crouched by the fire and fished a small bundle
out the coals with a stick. He scraped the charred
leaf wrappings off the skinned rabbit and handed it to
the man, along with a flask of water. Then, resuming
his watchful position, he left Aragorn to the rabbit
and his thoughts.

~~

"Tark" is an epithet used by the orcs for a Man of
Numenorean descent, much as "whiteskins" is used by
the Uruk-hai for the Rohirrim. 
See RoTK "The Tower of Cirith Ungol" chapter.




Chapter 2		Chase


The wounds of Aragorn's body were healing. 

His head still ached from the blow that had felled him
on Amon Hen, but the nausea had ceased. Bruises
darkened the back of his body, from shoulder blades to
calves. And the sharp pain on the side of his chest
told of ribs bruised, probably cracked. Any incautious
breath or turn reminded him of the recent ordeal. He
knew the pain of his body would soon dull and fade,
for he had seen its like before. And the other, deeper
wounds? He would not think of those now. Time enough,
he told himself, when the other captives were found.
He stretched, reveling- despite the fierce jolt of
pain- in unbound hands, and came to his feet.

Gimli lay sleeping. Legolas stood against a tree,
watching the dawn over the hills. Legolas turned
toward him, and smiled. "It is good to see you on your
feet." 

"Yes." He hesitated. "I am in your debt, and that of
Gimli." He looked around the small camp, and then
back. "How long has it been?" he asked Legolas.
 
"It is a full day we have rested here. How is it with
you now?"

"Well enough. I will travel today, if not as fast as I
wish." Aragorn looked somber. "There is a group of
orcs ahead of the ones that you attacked. That is the
larger host which carried off Merry and Pippin.
Boromir fell defending them. Alas! I came too late to
save him, and when their rearguard came upon me, I had
to leave him as he was."

"He lies there no longer. Gimli and I arrayed him as
was fitting, and laid him in a boat, and let Rauros
and the Anduin take him to the sea."

Aragorn was silent a moment and his face was etched
with grief. When he looked up again he said, "I
believe Frodo escaped and set off for Mordor. I do not
know the whereabouts of Sam, but I fear the worst." 

"That fear I can relieve," Legolas replied, "for the
footprints of two hobbits were where the missing boat
had been moored, and Sam's pack was not on the shore
with the others. From all the signs, Sam followed
Frodo into the black lands. But you give me hope of
Merry and Pippin. We had thought to find you and the
young hobbits together. When we did not, I had grieved
to think them dead, and I rejoice to know myself
wrong."

"And I am glad to hear your news of Sam." Aragorn
replied. "As to Merry and Pippin, they were alive when
captured, and although the orcs have little enough
care of their captives, they may live still. We must
start after them."

Legolas nodded and went to Gimli, touching his
shoulder to wake him. After a hasty meal they gathered
up what gear they had, and Legolas took from the pile
on the ground a scabbarded blade. 

"My sword? I can scarce believe it!" Aragorn cried.

 "The orcs like not the feel of that which the elves
have made. They cast away all such. You will be glad
of that, for they left these also." Legolas held out a
hand, and there was his knife with elvish runes on the
blade, and, on a broken chain, the token of Arwen
Evenstar. Aragorn looked long at the jewel, then
wordlessly put it into the small cloth bag on the
leather belt, both borrowed from Legolas. The silence
was awkward at first, as they packed up camp. 

Legolas led them back to where they had departed from
the orc trail. "There are the two groups now, both
ahead of us. There were few left of the group that
took you captive. I do not know if they have joined
the others."

Aragorn took his accustomed place at the front,
seeking signs of passage as the thinning forest gave
way first to scrub and then to occasional patches of
grass on the dry and stony hills. The others followed
his lead, allowing him to set the pace as the
companions made toward the ridge marking the end of
Emyn Muil. 

Legolas spied the shapes first, at the foot of the
slope that began the Western ridge. "Look!" Under the
lowering sun, several orcs lay, sprawled lifeless on
the ground. "Are there friends about? Folk who hunt
orcs would be welcome allies." 
Aragorn shook his head. "I do not think that these
died at the hands of any friends of ours. See, here
are orcs from their rearguard; I have seen this one
before. And their blades are stained with orc-blood. I
think they caught up to the larger band, and were
slain in a quarrel with the others. But I find no sign
of the hobbits here."

Gimli pointed to the "S" rune on the shield of one
slain orc who bore also the mark of a white hand. "We
saw these signs on some orcs at Amon Hen. I guessed
then that "S" stood for Sauron. If so, why did they
not cross the Anduin?"

"Sauron does not use white," Aragorn replied, "nor has
he used the elf runes since he revealed himself as the
enemy of the elves, a long age ago." Aragorn searched
the ground around the bodies for several feet. "Many
footsteps, a large group of orcs, continued on West,"
he said thoughtfully. "I fear that the "S" is for the
traitor Saruman, and that they make for Isengard." He
pointed to faint marks disturbing the scattered tufts
of coarse grass. "We can follow the trail for a few
hours and perhaps cross the ridge while there is yet
light for tracking." They set off once more in
pursuit. Aragorn did not say that one of the dead orcs
was Gorbaz; and that he was sorry to find him dead,
for he had thought to slay that one himself; but
relieved also that he need not fear the heat of his
own vengeance.
    
The three hunters had descended from the escarpment
that formed the East Wall of Rohan when Aragorn
declared it too dark to continue. His pace had already
slowed some way back, during the descent down a steep
ravine, and his face now was pale and drawn. When he
asked Gimli to wake him for the second watch, the
dwarf gruffly told him to go to sleep and be glad that
Legolas wasn't by the fire to hear his foolishness. He
smiled, and protest died on his lips; he well knew
that bravado could put all that remained of the
fellowship at risk. He slept.

They rose at dawn and saw before them the plains of
Rohan, covered with sweet, thick, grass, and smelling
of growth and the promise of spring. 
Legolas breathed deeply. "The green smell! It lifts my
heart, more than sleep or food." 

"And the long grass lifts my heart as well," Aragorn
added, "for it makes the orcs easier to track on this
flat plain. We can run faster without struggling
through the stony hills. Let us go!" This day Aragorn
could set as fast a pace as Gimli could keep.

To the others, Aragorn seemed driven and grim,
grudging himself any rest. As he ran he could not keep
his thoughts away from the young hobbits. His heart
was chilled by images of Merry and Pippin being abused
even as he had been. And, he thought guiltily, he had
gotten off lightly, having been released after a
single night of torment by only one of the foul band. 
Would worse befall his young friends? Could they
survive such an attack by creatures so much larger
than themselves? Each time he thought of them, still
in pain and peril while he was free, he found his feet
running faster while his heart pounded within his
chest and his stomach clenched.

"Stay. Do not follow!" he cried, and ran along a small
offshoot of the trampled path. He reached among the
matted blades of grass and held aloft a shining green
leaf shape, wrought of precious metal. 

"An elven brooch!" Gimli exclaimed.

"Yes," Aragorn said, "and here are the footprints of a
hobbit. Pippin's, I think, from their size. Whatever
has befallen them, Pippin at least is alive, and has
the strength to run and the wits to leave a token. It
is clear this was cast away from the trail, for any
who might follow to find." 

"Let us hope he did not pay too dearly for his
boldness," said Legolas.

"So we must hope. Let us run!" said Aragorn, and
sprang forward. He was heartened to know the young
hobbit alive, but concerned for what would come of
Pippin's brave deed. And... what of Merry? Was he in
like health? Aragorn now grudged every moment that
kept him from discovering the hobbits, and avenging
himself upon any who may have harmed them. Ever the
fear of what ill treatment they might receive at the
hands of the orcs burned within him. Surely Saruman
would have forbidden his minions to harm such
potentially valuable prizes? He prayed it was so.


The orc-trail they followed now turned Northwest
toward the Entwash, glittering in the distance. They
neared the river as the sun sank, and they stopped to
take counsel of their course. 

"It is a hard choice," Aragorn said, as each ate a
wafer of lembas. "We may go on in the dark and risk
losing the trail, or we may rest the night here, and
chance that the orcs may get further ahead, to the
peril of our friends."

"Surely the orcs must rest as well?" asked Gimli.

"They will not stop at night," Legolas replied, "and I
fear we may lose any chance to overtake them."

"Yet now I must rest to run the better on the morrow.
It burns my heart to stop while Merry and Pippin are
captive, but even the strongest of the dwarves must
sleep," said Gimli.

"So be it," said Aragorn at last, with some regret.
"We will not run in the dark, and chance going astray.
I deem it the greater risk to find at daybreak that we
must search again for the trail."

 They took a cold night's rest, which permitted
Aragorn and Gimli only fitful sleep as Legolas kept
watch. In the grey dawn they began their third day of
pursuit, nearing the river and the dark forest beyond.
Searching ahead, Aragorn saw the blur of motion that
only Legolas' elven sight could separate into tall
riders on proud horses.

"There are one hundred and five of them. They bear
bright spears, and there are three horses with empty
saddles," Legolas said. "I do not see the hobbits
among them," he added sadly.

Aragorn's breath left him with a sigh, and he closed
his eyes briefly. "We will await them here," he said.



Chapter 3		Rohan and Return


The companions sat watching the great horses bear down
upon them, but the Riders did not stop, or take any
notice of the three figures sitting wearily in the
grass. Aragorn came to his feet and called out, "What
news do you bear, Riders of Rohan?"

The Riders wheeled and encircled the companions, and
the three stood pressed together in the center of a
ring of spears. The leader rode closer yet to them,
and his spear-point came to rest little more than six
inches from Aragorn's breast, yet Aragorn did not
move. And none but Aragorn knew the effort it took to
keep himself still, and his hand from the sword at his
side; though Legolas may have guessed. 

"Who are you, who crosses the Riddermark?" the Rider
holding the leveled spear asked brusquely.

"I am called Strider. I am hunting orcs."

"Why should you track orcs across our land?" the Rider
demanded. 

"The orcs of whom I speak hold two of my friends
prisoner. I believe they go to Isengard," Aragorn
replied steadily. "And what name shall I give to he
who leads this éored?"

The Rider looked at him with some wonder. "I am Éomer
son of Éomund, and Third Marshall of the Riddermark.
These are men of my household. It is clear you know
somewhat of our land. But I do not know you, and you
have yet to give me a right name!" 

"I have come out of Imladris, as it was called in past
ages. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of
Isildur, son of Elendil who sailed from Númenor." He
stood stern and resolute, his bearing that of the
kings of old. Wisdom and strength shone from his face,
such that before him, Éomer and his riders felt as
young boys playing at soldier. And Legolas looked at
him in wonder for his majesty, and grieved for the
pain that lay upon him.

Awe was written upon the face of Éomer. "Imladris!
Lord, it is as if you sprang from a legend! For
Boromir of Gondor sought that land, sent by dark
visions and dreams. Did he come there? Do you know
aught of him?"

"Yes," said Aragorn with sorrow in his eyes. "We
traveled in company from Imladris through the perils
of Moria and then on from the land of Lórien to
Rauros. He was a man brave and valiant, but he fell
there, slain by the orcs we pursue." 

"That is ill news for Gondor, and for all who stand
with them!" said Éomer, dismayed. A murmur ran through
the riders massed about him. "But you need pursue the
orcs no more, for we slew all in battle at the edge of
the forest two days ago, and the ashes of their
carcasses lie smoking still."

"And saw you none among them that were like to
children of your kind?" Gimli asked, concerned. So
high only," he held his hand at his chin, "beardless
and barefoot?" 

"There were none but orcs that we found, some smaller,
as those we have seen in the past, and some larger and
more fell which bore the white hand. But there were no
dwarves or boys among them," Éomer answered.

"Our friends were halflings," said Gimli.

"Halflings! In our land halflings are figures from old
tales, and do not walk the green earth."

"These halflings do indeed walk the earth, and we know
one at least lived and walked on the plains beneath
the East Wall, for we found a token, and his
footprints," added Aragorn. "And I have seen no sign
that any took a path away from that of the orc-band."

"This is most strange, for we saw them not." 

"Yet you saw us only because I called out to you, and
they were likewise garbed. Perhaps they escaped your
riders in the night. My duty is to seek them."

"But it is the law of Théoden, King of Rohan, that no
stranger may come into the Mark save by his leave. You
must come before him ere you continue," Eomer said.

Aragorn looked at him directly, and his voice was not
cold, yet none doubted the steel within. "I will not
leave my companions to an evil fate while I yet have
strength to search. They may be in need, or wandering
about the forest, lost."  And then he spoke a tongue
that Gimli and Legolas knew not. "Éomer, Éomund's son,
I have been in this land, years ago, and ridden with
an Éored, and fought Rohan's enemies. What justice is
the law of the Mark if it would ask that I abandon my
friends, maybe to their death?" 

Éomer, hearing the tongue of Rohan, was abashed. He
said, "I do not know how to choose, which choice would
be for good or ill. I follow the King's law, but maybe
it will not matter much now to my fate, or that of the
Riddermark, which I shall choose. For the times are
dark, and the counsel given to the King darker still,
to my mind. And as I think Saruman has friends that do
not dwell in Isengard, so perhaps Rohan may have
friends, not all of whom dwell in Gondor." He
straightened. "Very well. I will aid you, for though
my life or fate may so be determined, yet I see no
brighter hope than that you may bring, Lord. For
indeed we have need of such! Seek your friends. Come
then after to Edoras with your sword, and Gimli with
his axe and Legolas with his bow; and I think it
likely that we shall need your weapons raised
alongside the sons of Eorl in battle before long."

He gestured to another rider, and bid horses be
brought for the travelers. "Here are Arod and Hasufel,
and? " 

Gimli looked at the great horses, and planted his feet
obstinately. "I will not ride. I prefer my own two
feet to any beast with four."

"Come," said Legolas with a smile, "do not trouble
yourself, we shall ride together. One horse shall bear
us both, and we will go more swiftly than any of us
could afoot." 
Gimli was ill at ease, but suffered himself to be
lifted to sit behind the Elf, and he clung there
nervously. But Legolas sat easy, and the horse was
quiet and biddable beneath his hands, and the
companions rode on to follow the trail left by the
Riders.

The travelers came to the edge of the forest, and
unable to find signs of what they sought in the dark,
they made camp and set watch. The last watch fell to
Gimli and he shivered in the early morning cold by the
scant fire. The forest before him seemed looming and
ominous, the air heavy with foreboding, so that he was
glad to see the dawn, and to have his companions awake
beside him. As Aragorn searched the ground for any
trace of the hobbits, the three hunters saw suddenly
appear from among the trees a man bent with age, and
in ragged grey robes. What manner of creature was
this, so silent that not even Legolas could hear his
footsteps? Gimli grasped his axe and cried, "There is
something uncanny here, to escape the sharp eyes and
keen ears of an elf!"  Legolas had strung his bow, and
fitted an arrow to the string, and Aragorn loosened
his sword in its scabbard. Yet within his heart was
not fear, but rather the hush that awaits some
momentous event. 

They watched intently as the old man approached, face
shadowed by the hood he wore. "What do you seek,
father?" asked Aragorn. 

The figure now stood straight and tall and imposing;
and when the grey rags parted, flashes of white
gleamed from him. "An elf, a dwarf and a man...What do
you here, I wonder?" he asked as he walked toward
them. "But then, perhaps I know some of your tale
already." His hood fell back, and his gaze was like a
blade, cutting to the heart of them. As Gimli raised
his axe, and Aragorn gripped his sword, the grey rags
of the wanderer fell away and he raised his staff and
seemed clothed in the living light. When he smiled,
there was no longer a question who stood before them.
Out of all expectation, beyond all hope, Gandalf had
returned. 

He was revealed as a being of light, briefly shining
with radiance and raw power that burned in their eyes
before he cloaked himself again. And though the light
was veiled, there shimmered still about him a
brightness and an air of power, and there was wisdom
in his eyes. 

"Gandalf! This cannot be!" Aragorn said with disbelief
in his voice. Legolas let fall his bow, and Gimli
dropped to his knees in awe. 

"How is it that you return to us? How did you escape
from the abyss and the Balrog?" asked Gimli. 

"And how came you here now?" Aragorn asked.

"I cannot tell you all now, not if we had thrice the
time to tarry," Gandalf said. "It was long that we
fought, and the memory is very evil. I was marked by
fire and by ice, by darkness and by shadow, and
wearied beyond words at the long chase and battle. In
the end I prevailed and my enemy was cast down, and I
wandered out of all knowledge of the world for a time.
At last I was returned, and bid to abide until my task
is done. In Lórien I was healed of my hurts, and clad
in white, and now I am not Gandalf the Grey whom you
knew, but Gandalf the White." He was silent for a
moment, musing. "There is more, but the fuller tale
must keep, for we must ride to Edoras swiftly. War
will be upon us soon, and we must act while we may.
Come!" He turned then, and gave a clear whistle and
soon they heard the sound of hoofbeats. A great horse
galloped toward the forest, his coat glimmering in the
morning sun, and his head proud and fair. He slowed,
and then trotted to where Gandalf stood, and whinnied.

"But what of Merry and Pippin? I fear greatly for
them, in the hands of the orcs. Those foul folk
delight in cruelty and torment of their captives. Tell
us news of them!" Aragorn urged.

Gandalf's eyes upon him were wise and compassionate.
"You need have no fear for the hobbits, unless it is a
fear that they will wish to tell too long a tale when
next you meet them," Gandalf laughed. "They are in the
care of Treebeard among the ents of Fanghorn, and he
will let no harm come to them." Legolas and Aragorn
looked amazed, and Gimli was puzzled. 

Aragorn asked, "Then the old legends about the
shepherds of trees are true, they live still?" 

"Yes indeed, they dwell as ever in the forest. The
hobbits have brought tidings that roused the ents, and
the ents will rouse the forest. But what they will do
with their wrath, I do not know. I do not think they
yet know either. But for Merry and Pippin, their road
lies not with ours for a time; they have a different
part to play. But be comforted, for they are well, and
took no hurt."

Aragorn was comforted, and some of his dread left him.
He had had dark fears of what might have happened to
his friends, visions of finding their battered bodies,
cruelly tortured. He had despaired that the hobbits,
so much less able to withstand, had been left to face
that which he had escaped. Legolas and Gimli, equally
heartened by these tidings, mounted and prepared to
ride to Edoras.

As they rode Gandalf fell silent for a time, then
turned his piercing gaze on Aragorn. "I see that the
shadow has touched you also," he said. 

Aragorn fixed his eyes ahead. "You see truly. Would
that I could be renewed and sent back whole as you
have been." 

"You must find your own way to healing, but I doubt
not that you will."
Gandalf said no more of this, and Aragorn was content
to have silence on the matter.




Chapter 4                     Battle and Conflict



The four companions had come before the Gates of
Edoras, and the watchmen challenged them and seemed
little satisfied with the answers. But the mounts of
the travelers, proud horses of Rohan, they welcomed.
Shadowfax permitted himself to be led with the others,
and suffered the guards to handle him, but where
Hasufel and Arod were tired and sweat-covered, he
tossed his proud head, and seemed strong and fiery as
if he was ready to start out afresh on a great
journey. With the care of their mounts assured, one of
the watchmen led them through the dark gates and
toward the crown of the hill, where stood the Golden
Hall.

As the travelers came to the head of the stairs that
led to the terrace of Meduseld, a guard spoke a
welcome in the fashion of Rohan. He was goldenhaired,
and mail-clad, and girt with longsword. Then he said,
"I am Háma, the door warden. You may not come before
the Lord of the Mark armed; it is his will that you
lay weapons aside here." Aragorn stiffened slightly. 

Legolas saw the tension on the Man's face, and stepped
forward first, unbuckling his baldric. He gave to the
door warden his bow and quiver, saying, "keep these
well, for they are gifts of the Lady of the Wood." He
removed also his long white knife, and placed this
beside the others.
Aragorn stood, still hesitating and uneasy. Legolas
thought that after the torment the man had endured, it
must be a fearful thing to put aside his blade and go
without weapons among armed men. 

Gandalf looked at Aragorn from under his bushy
eyebrows, his gaze understanding but firm. "Our errand
is pressing and time is short, we must not delay. We
are all enemies of the one enemy, and so we should be
friends among ourselves! But a king will have his way
in his own hall. So although it is folly to concern
yourself with this, I give you Glamdring, made by the
elves long ago." And Gandalf laid the ancient sword
down beside the bow and quiver of the Golden Wood. He
looked expectantly at Aragorn. 

But Gimli came forward next and gave his axe into the
door warden's hand, saying "keep my axe well, that it
be ready when next there are orc-necks to hew." Hama
smiled, and set the axe down leaning against the wall.
At last Aragorn's hands went to his belt buckle and
loosened it, and he took his sword and laid it beside
Gimli's axe. Long he seemed to let it rest there, but
finally he straightened and turned toward the great
doors.

Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli stood to the side as
Gandalf spoke with Théoden. A guest-house was prepared
for the weary travelers, for the King had summoned all
who could ride and bear weapons in Edoras, and they
would not assemble until the morrow. Éowyn,
sister-daughter to Théoden, in courtesy brought them
drink and spoke with them of their travels. At last
she bade them be at ease, and showed them a chamber in
which to rest as Theoden and Gandalf conferred. 

Gimli slept, but Aragorn was restless. Legolas woke to
see the Man standing by the window, and his face was
haunted. "How is it with you now, Aragorn?" 

"I do not know," he sighed. " I am unhurt, the wounds
of my body have healed."

"But not all wounds?" Legolas asked. "I have seen you
shed tears for Boromir. Have you no tears for
yourself?"

"I cannot shed them," Aragorn said. "And yet, I cannot
rest easy. My mind is troubled when I chance to think
of what has passed, and I find myself wondering, is
this what women or nessi feel when they lie with us?"

"Nay, you cannot believe that. You know that some
among the neri, especially when young, lie together,
and it is not like that for them either. It is the joy
in each other that makes it a different thing, a
blessing of the gods rather than a foul deed." 

"Have you known such a blessing, Legolas?"

"I have known such, many long years ago. The friend I
spoke of, who was captured by the orcs, he was a
source of great joy to me."

Aragorn turned his head away. "I knew such joy once.
Now, under a lover's caress, I fear my mind would
taunt me with the memory of a harsher hand. I would
not go to my lady with any less than the joy she
deserves. How can I bear to have her see me flinch
from her touch?"  

Legolas looked sadly upon his friend. "I hope healing
comes to you before journey's end. Is there nothing
that comforts you?"
Aragorn regarded him steadily. "Your friendship
comforts me."

The sun had barely risen when the horsemen began
gathering before the gate. This day the éored would
ride out, and the King himself would ride with his
men. Éowyn, like to Éomer her brother, was fair and
noble, but she stood as if carved of steel. No light
was in her face as she gazed out on the éoreds
assembling, and there was naked longing in her eyes.
But women did not join the warriors on the field, and
brave shieldmaiden as she was, she grieved to be left
behind.

Legolas saw how Éowyn watched Aragorn, and how her
hand trembled after Aragorn took the cup of farewell
from her fingers. And passing the stairs and leaving
the gate, the companions waited for the King and his
men to bring their mounts up, her eyes still upon
them. Legolas followed Aragorn's eyes back toward the
hall of Edoras, and the figure of Éowyn as she stood,
still and straight after bidding them farewell. The
elf glanced back at the face of his friend, but said
nothing.

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, do not fear, I well know
that is no answer for me. I would only feel myself
further shamed by such a course," he said soberly.
Then he laughed, "I do not need to learn about lust;
any Man who has attained eighteen years of age has
learned that lesson well enough. I would not be the
cause of another's pain to salve my own. And yet
Legolas," he said, "it is my deeds, my freedom to ride
to battle, my command of men, that she truly craves
for herself; she desires these far more than my
affections. I merely seem admirable to her, as does a
great captain to a young soldier." So saying, Aragorn
turned Hasufel to where the mass of Riders waited, and
Legolas followed, turning away from the piercing gaze
of the Lady of Rohan.

Then the King rode up with Éomer, and the horns were
blown as the banners with the white horse on green
rippled above the host. The spear points glittered as
they set off, and Éomer rode with Aragorn and Legolas
and Gimli in the van. Gandalf rode on Shadowfax before
them all, and his robes gleamed as if they were the
finest mail; and all eyes looked to the White Rider
and his companions with hope as the host rode to
Helm's Deep.

The battle would be uneven, and cruel. The orc-host
filled the coomb and spilled into the vale, a vast
field of torches and seething motion under a darkening
sky, heavy with the threat of storm. Arrows whistled
over the parapet, and ladders were readied at the base
of the Deeping Wall. Éomer had ordered his troops so
that the men of Westfold were behind, and the Riders
were on the wall. Many of the Riders felt despair in
their hearts at the sight of so great a host, but
their hands were upon their swords, and their bows
were bent, waiting. The great storm broke over the
Deep, lightening slashing through the sky to reveal
the massed hordes beneath the walls, thunder
punctuating the din of battle. And the Rohirrim knew
that no quarter could be asked, or given. One did not
negotiate with orcs.

Ladders were swung up as the invaders scaled the
walls, and the Men of Rohan were soon engaged at close
quarters on the wall. Where the fighting was heaviest,
there sooner or later one or more of the three
companions would make their way to join the battle.
And always out in front, there Aragorn's sword
flickered, rallying the defenders. The cry of
"Elendil!" heartened the weary men of Rohan again and
again as the onslaught of orcs seemed tireless and
unending. When the battle ebbed for a moment from
where he stood, Legolas spared a glance at Aragorn.
Legolas had feared that the orcs would awaken only
rage and fury in Aragorn, and that all thought would
flee; but it was not so. The Man fought as he ever
had, focused, controlled, and deadly. He had still the
stern aspect of command; the dignity of ancient kings
that called others to his service, whether or not they
were so bound. Éomer, as so many others on the walls
that night, felt that call.

As another wave of assailants swarmed up the ladders,
an overwhelming roar split the air, and a blast shook
the battlements. The Deeping Wall had been breached!
The enemy poured through, orcs and wild men of
Dunlending. Step by step the defenders were pushed
back, those on the south side retreating to the caves,
those on the north to the Rock, the already too small
force split in half. Many fell or took great hurt
covering the retreat. On the north side there was only
a single stairway to escape the enemy and gain the
Hornburg. Aragorn stood at the bottom of the steps,
sword in hand, guarding the way for the retreating men
of Rohan. 
Legolas knelt on the top step, bow taut, ready to
shoot with his last arrow. "Aragorn!" he called.
"There are none of ours left alive beyond the wall.
Come up!" 

Aragorn retreated up the stairs, giving ground slowly,
bright sword flashing in the torchlight as he hewed
his assailants. Halfway up the stairs he thrust his
blade through a large orc and then pushed him down
upon the others behind with his foot. He turned and
ran up the stairs, but stumbled in his weariness on
the wet, slick rock. Orcs pushed past their dead
comrade, yelling, ready to fall upon the man. He
regained his feet as the orc reaching toward him,
blade in hand, fell with an arrow in his throat, and
the next behind him was stopped by a thrown knife.
Aragorn reached the rear gate, which slammed shut
behind him.

He looked out over the Deep, and the writhing mass of
Saruman's army that poured still through the breach in
the wall. "Things go ill, my friend," he said as he
turned to Legolas.

"Ill enough, but not yet hopeless while we have you
with us."

He looked up at the elf, standing on the walls of the
outer court. "Ever you have been a friend indeed, and
given me hope in dark times.  But now we must turn our
thought to defense of the Hornburg. Come, I must speak
to Théoden. Would that dawn were here!"

~~

Nessi : female elf
Neri: male elf





Chapter 5		Healing


As dawn neared, they defended still the caves, the
rock, and the tower. They were not yet broken,
although the precariousness of the defense was lost on
none. Aragorn took counsel with the King who paced,
fretfully, in his chamber in the tower. 

"What choice have we, bottled up behind these halls of
stone, strong though they be?" the King asked. "I
grieve to sit and do naught but wait for the enemy to
overwhelm the defenses. Well may it be that this is my
last riding, and I would it end on the field, with a
spear or sword in my hand, and an escort of dead
enemies before me to ease my way. I will lead my men
to ride down upon them at sunrise."

"I and my sword will be at your side, lord," said
Aragorn. And he walked among the Riders as they
readied for the last, desperate charge. All who could
ride were mounted, and as the sky paled they rode out
to face the hosts of Saruman. 

When the great gates opened, and the wild horns
sounded, it seemed as if every hill sent echoes into
the Coomb, and then resounded from North, South and
West to hearten the riders. Forth they rode, prepared
to sell their lives dearly, for they had scant hope to
see sundown. The battle was fierce, but the proud
Rohirrim on their great horses cut their way to the
Dike, and there Théoden, with Aragorn beside him,
stopped in wonder. The Coomb was no more. Where the
grassy dale had been, now a dark forest stood. The
orcs were mad with fear, caught between the Riders and
the ominous trees whose branches tangled together, so
that none could pass without stooping and entering the
shadowed arches. In their fear they wailed and cast
off their weapons, and charging the living branched
barrier, they ran into the dark caverns beneath the
bare trees, and none survived who passed into that
wood.

The clash of arms was over, and the healers took up
their own battle. Éomer and Aragorn walked among the
wounded, speaking words of encouragement and comfort
and Aragorn helped the healers as he could, for he had
been taught by Elrond. One Rider, moaning as he
awaited the healers' attentions, clutched at Aragorn's
arm as he walked past, seeking a few words to distract
him from his pain. Legolas and Gimli stood nearby, and
they saw the flinch, the effort it took for the Man to
stand his ground, neither fleeing nor throwing the
injured man's hand from him.

The elf and dwarf regarded their comrade, pity and
sorrow in their eyes. "He is strong", Gimli said, but
his voice lacked its usual conviction. 

"The strongest of Men," Legolas agreed, "may the Valar
grant it will be enough."

Later, when one of the soldiers who had fought near
him clasped Aragorn's shoulder from behind, only the
elf's sharp eyes saw Aragorn's face tighten and his
hand jerk to his scabbard. Legolas was instantly on
his feet and moving toward the pair. Before he had
taken three steps, the hand had fallen from the sword
hilt, and the two were talking amiably. No one else
seemed to have noticed.

At last all that could be done, was done; and many who
were weary with the hours of battle sought ease. Gimli
insisted he could not bear to leave without again
visiting the Glittering Caves. Legolas, laughing, had
declined to accompany him. "What, master dwarf, would
you revisit holes in the rock to remember where you
fought, at bay?" 

"Holes!" snorted Gimli. "These are a marvel of
Middle-earth, places of rare beauty, fair with the
music of waterfalls and the glimmer of gems. I will
not leave without gazing upon their glory again." He
turned to Éomer. "Do the Men of the Mark see nothing
of their beauty? Do they see aught beyond a place to
fly at need?" 

Éomer smiled. "Very well, Gimli, you shall show me
this beauty that my eyes have missed these years past.
For though I fought there at your side, I had not the
leisure to notice the glory you speak of. I will
accompany you on this pilgrimage to the halls of
stone. For if you will sit a horse, I can walk in a
cave." In good cheer, Éomer and Gimli passed beyond
the Deeping Wall, and made for the Glittering Caves of
Aglarond.

Legolas wandered to the stables and saw that Arod and
Hasufel were well settled, while Aragorn went to rest
in a chamber in the Hornburg. 

Once there, his thoughts strayed to Arwen. As so many
times in the past years, he imagined her at his side;
her beauty, her merry smile, her fair form. Her clean
sweet scent lingered in his memory, and he imagined
her skin under his fingertips, white velvet against
the black satin of her hair. So it had felt to him in
times of laughter and play amid the trees of
Rivendell, when they sat together on the grass and she
touched his cheek tenderly as he leaned close to press
his lips to hers. 

He had longed for her during his travels in every way,
his heart remembering her quiet companionship, his
arms remembering her soft weight cradled within them,
his chin remembering how her head tucked beneath to
rest with her cheek against his breast. He had long
since learned to master himself and be patient for
that which he desired, whether the throne of his
forefathers, or the pleasures of the marriage bed. Yet
still he had ached for her, recalling tender moments
that stole his breath.

He shuddered then, as the hateful thoughts set a chill
in his heart while sweat sprang to his brow, for in
his mind's eye the delicate hand that touched his
cheek had become scaly and coarse, the sweet,
intoxicating scent overlaid with a foul reek. Alas,
that the memory of the fairest thing in Middle-earth
was now tainted, and a source of such delight was
turned to a source of pain. He understood now the
despair of Celebrian. Had Elrond truly known why she
had no choice but to leave? Had she shuddered under
his touch, not out of passion, but because every
loving caress recalled only horror? And if Elrond had
known, surely this had torn his heart to shreds, to
see his beloved wife recoil from him. Was there no
healing this side of the sea?

When Legolas sought the guest-chamber, he saw that
Aragorn was yet wakeful, and came to sit beside him.
"You have neither rested nor slept. What dark thoughts
sit upon you uneasy?" Aragorn's voice was full of
torment. 

I have commanded men for years. I have commanded
armies. How is it that now I cannot command myself?"
he cried.

"You think to command yourself to forget?" Legolas
asked, gently.


He reached out to place a consoling hand on the man's
shoulder. Aragorn shuddered and his muscles became
rigid under the light touch. His eyes looked like
those of a hunted animal.

Legolas drew back. "Time has not yet brought you
healing. And you fear perhaps there is none?" 

"I have seen none. And I know not how to seek it,"
Aragorn replied, anguished. 

"You said once that my friendship brought you comfort.
Perhaps it can bring healing as well." Then the blue
eyes locked on his as a slender hand slowly reached
forward again, and rested a fingers breadth from his
own. Legolas regarded him steadily, a questioning look
on his face.

Aragorn sat very still, looking at the hand, but he
did not withdraw. After a few moments he looked up at
the face of his friend, his mouth suddenly dry. "I do
not know if I can do this," he whispered. 

All was silent for a time, and then Aragorn spoke
again, his voice low. "You offer me a great gift, one
I do not know if I can accept. But certainly I cannot
take it without knowing the cost to the giver."

There was a soft, musical laugh. "The passion of men
cannot be sustained for the lifetime of elves," he
said. "I love you well, Aragorn, but it is not love
such as you and Arwen will share. I mourn the hurt to
your spirit and the shadow on your future joy. I would
offer you such healing and comfort as I can." Looking
at the elf's face, Aragorn could not doubt his
sincerity.

At last the Man nodded. He leaned forward as if
forcing himself, and eyes open, pressed his lips
briefly to the other's before moving back to sit on
the pallet. He took a deep breath then, as if to
steady himself for a difficult task.

Legolas stood and put aside his weapons, so he bore
neither bow, nor quiver, nor his long white knife. He
put aside also the leather bracers and suede jerkin he
habitually wore, and stood clad in a tunic that
gleamed like pearl against the dark green leggings.

He was beautiful. 

He was beautiful, as all elves were beautiful, for to
gaze upon them was to see the glory of Ilúvatar
reflected in a well-polished mirror. Their radiance
shone in the eyes of mortals, dazzling many. But to
Aragorn, raised in the House of Elrond, the radiance
did not blind, but rather beckoned, familiar and
comforting. Legolas came to his side.

The slender, tapered hand was laid near to his, but
did not touch him. He took a long breath and moved his
own hand as if the inches were leagues and he pushed
against a great weight. Their fingers touched. Legolas
did not move. Aragorn's breathing slowed and gradually
his muscles relaxed.

Slowly, slowly, his hand covered the paler hand, and
slid gently along the planes of wrist and forearm, and
softly brushed up the length of the arm to the
well-muscled shoulder and smooth neck. He reached for
the clasps on the shimmering tunic. When nothing
remained to keep his fingers from the soft skin, his
palm traced a path down the center of the chest.

Legolas did not stir, but his breath caught and then
stilled, and he felt his heart quicken its pace. He
waited. This was not for his pleasure, though pleasure
indeed there was. This was for healing. He kept
himself still and composed.

The sound of that sudden indrawn breath lit a flame
that allowed-- that  encouraged-- Aragorn to go on.
The strong fingers quested gently over limbs and
chest, abdomen and groin; eliciting gasps in their
passing. Each sigh from his friend's lips was a gift,
each sudden motion beneath his skilled hands a reward
that set his own pulse racing. And as he continued,
the slender body made the small movements and sounds
that betrayed pleasure, then the more abrupt ones that
betrayed mounting need, and at the last, release and
joy.

Aragorn was caught up in the fire he had created,
warmed by passion's reflected heat. He felt it burn
within him, kindled by the pleasure he had given. When
his friend lay spent, he drew back into himself.
Although his mind still knew fear, his body demanded
to receive attention. He looked at the flushed,
luminous face and bent to bring their mouths together,
their tongues dancing within. The fire ignited him,
rousing desire, burning low in his belly. He
straightened, and after a heartbeat, his hands moved
to his borrowed clothing, and hesitantly he removed
jerkin and tunic. 

Legolas? eyes followed his movements, admiring the
strength and courage of the man. But still Legolas did
not touch him, for surely all choice and control must
belong to the one whose wounds had not yet healed.
 "I will do what you wish, as, and when, you will," he
offered. 

Aragorn reached forward and took the hand once more,
kissing it and pressing into the palm that moved to
cup his cheek. "I would learn to trust again."

Legolas sat up, and moving slowly, eyes ever on the
face of his friend, slid his palm along the
dark-shadowed jaw and neck. His hand stroked the dark
hair softly. "And I would learn what pleases you." The
pale hand trailed up the inside of the arm, and then
wandered to collarbone and chest; bringing ragged
breaths in its wake as the slow, teasing strokes found
ever more sensitive skin. He smiled, knowing the
shudders under his hand were not of fear now, but
rather born of desire. When next Legolas paused to
ease all barriers from his way, he heard a moan, and
the hips below curved up to meet his hand, hardened
flesh seeking again the rough callus of the archer's
palm. He turned mouth as well as hands to the task of
pleasing, and soft blond hair trailed over hip and
thigh.

Dark thoughts had been driven away by the delicate
fingers and knowing lips. The touch of these left room
only for the aching need at Aragorn's center. And when
that need and the touch that fed it had built to
unbearable levels, low groans turned to louder cries,
and all thought ceased, swept away by the wave of
pleasure that engulfed him.

When he could think again, he knew that it was the
pleasure he gave rather than received that was the
greatest gift. That he could take pleasure himself was
a relief, and a promise, but it was less to him than
the knowledge that he was able to give. 

"Le hannon an ant hen, a mellon vell," Aragorn said,
strength in his voice.

"Sen ant an anim a an Arwen i anim mell," Legolas
answered, and kissed him softly.

Loosened and relaxed for the first time in days,
Aragorn stretched, rose and washed himself, then lay
quiet in the arms of his friend. Legolas looked down
at him and saw Aragorn's face was at peace, sleeping,
the fires banked. He spread his cloak to cover his
friend warmly, and sang softly so as not to awaken
him.


-----------


"Le hannon an ant hen, a mellon vell."
Thank you for this gift, dear friend.
"Sen ant an anim a an Arwen i anim mell."
It is a gift to me as well, and to Arwen who is dear
to me.  

(I did my best on the Sindarin, but I am far from
comfortable with it. Corrections cheerfully accepted.)


For anyone who has enjoyed this, thank also AfterEver
and Naturluver who took the time to make wonderful
comments. A good betareader is an author's best
friend!