Title: Into the Wood (The Gift)
Author: Milady Hawke
E-mail: juliebgood001@hotmail.com
Feedback: Oh yes - I am a feedback whore. Writers need to know that
somebody is reading their stuff - so tell me you love it, tell me you hate
it, just tell me!
Disclaimer: Not mine, the immortal Tolkien's. No monetary gain, no sue.
Summary: A/L slash! Companion piece to "Out of the Wood" from Leggy's POV. Sweet, sexy, and philosophical story set in Lothlorien. Legolas gives Aragorn more than he'd bargained for. Typical slash fare - but the poetic style recommends the story. The NC-17 version is at the Yahoo group, Slashlords.
Author's note: For Elisa, The Muse - thanks for the inspiration. And a shout out to all the girls at Lassegalen's Laire. Thanks especially to my wonderful betas, Cheysuli and Kirbycrow. Don't I feel honored to have the help of such outstanding authors!
In "Into the Wood," note that the line referencing Middle Earth is paraphrased from the Anglo-Saxon poem, "The Wanderer" - from which Professor Tolkien took the name "Middle Earth." He took many other names, ideas, and incidents besides from Old English literature. So go find yourself a scholarly article detailing what he drew from Beowulf, like the incident of Bilbo stealing the golden cup from Smaug's laire and awakening the dragon. The connections are really cool. Also, for those of you who haven't read the books, Aragorn lives for several hundred years (that potent Numenorean blood Elrond mentions in the movie), and he is pretty damn old during the quest, 60 or so if I remember rightly, but he looks to be in his prime.
Into the Wood
It has been an age since I have felt such desire.
For millennia I have watched the leaves of my home turn and fall like the passing of years. I have seen varied peoples rise from the earth and return to it again, becoming mere legends in the memory of men. Now my own people fade, crossing over nine waves, and I feel the call of sea-longing stirring my blood, pulling me thither as surely as the moon beckons the tides with needful caresses.
And yet, I have not felt such desire as this.
You valiantly attempt to mend your clothes but I see you are lost in your thoughts as well, which I suspect are of me. In my mind I can almost hear you whisper my name. You have felt my thoughts too, and you know I sense yours, for across the fire you look up furtively with contrite eyes as if I would scold you for pulling my hair and running away as you did when you were a child, begging to be caught.
But the stakes are much higher this time, and this is no game. You are no longer my little Estel, and by the time you had wintered twenty years, my desire awakened, although I think perhaps I had always known I would love you. Forty years have ripened and fallen from the vine, and I have watched you in silence, watched you watching me, both our hearts wrenching though you do not know mine.
There is little an elf fears. Strong, sure, and swift, we are like arrows shot straight through the bosom of time, watching the world pass us by, barely dipping our toes in the eddy of life's currents. I am not like you, Aragorn. Elves were made to endure as timeless as mountains. It is your quick flame of life that awakens my being, more precious and brilliant for the brief season it lasts. My peace and my guilt, were I to pledge myself and become one with you, I would die as well. Forgive me my fear.
You see I have caught you glancing up at me shyly. "Umm, I was just, ah, wondering..." you say, and your embarrassment is precious. "Never mind. My brain is addled," you offer weakly before standing and fading back into the shadow of the wood - but could I watch you fade forever, rooted fast as I am to this Middle Earth by your side for the length of your years? I cannot leave these shores till you are gone, nor can I imagine the time after, when this fire you've kindled in me sputters out with the last of your breath.
I stand in one gliding movement and cross the fire in long strides, following in your wake past the many sets of eyes that look on in wonder at this unexpected display, and in each of them I remember the eyes of the Lady of the Wood boring into me, asking why I falter, why I have done this to us and keep doing it still.
I am soon upon you, and I allow the indulgence of my hand on your shoulder.
"It is indeed a lovely night, Aragorn, mellon-nin. Earendil shines blessings upon us," I say as I glide my hand down to meet the weathered roughness of yours as I have not done in years, pulling you down to sit beside me.
You are lovely to me in a way you would not understand, the moon's light soft upon your features, the full curve of your lips I could become lost in thought of for hours, the sweep of autumn brown hair against your cheek, the pulsing life beneath the contours of taught skin and muscles - and more than anything, the gentleness in your eyes as you look questioningly in mine.
In this one brief shining moment, I know I am lost, and I do not care.
"It is long since I have seen a moment's peace flit across your face," I say. "You carry too much of the weight of us all. And you add a personal grief to it, unless I am much mistaken." As I reach across to capture your chin and turn your downcast eyes toward me, you lean into my hand, testing my restraint most temptingly. Ai, gods.
Suppressing my urge enough to speak, I say to you softly, "I would have you face me, Estel. Since you were a child you could never keep anything from me, nor do I think you ever really wished to. Why do you do so now? Have I lost your confidence?"
You protest that I have not, frustration warring in your face with some other emotion I cannot define, confusion perhaps. "I trust you with my life," you tell me, and I tighten my grasp on your chin in reassurance. Say it, my beloved.
"And with more than that. I always have."
Need I hear more, or shall I speak at this? So much time has been wasted in fear, and so I pull you in close to my mouth to receive the forgiveness I believe you will give. "Perhaps, then, you will trust me now with this," I whisper.
***
In this you are soft, the roughness of your skin and the wildness in your eyes and hair softening under the ministrations of my lips and hands. The gentleness you hide so well behind your callous appearance gives way to tender depths only for me, worshipping reverently as if I were your god. I drown in you now, elven control thrown off recklessly for the sensation of your lips light against mine, the feel of your hands brushing along my cheeks and down the column of my neck, snaking inside my shirt and caressing the sensitive jointure with my shoulder. Ah, Elbereth, I know not what I say as I kiss down the line of your throat and dart my tongue out to lick at the salty sweet sheen of your skin that tastes of earth and sea and the life throbbing in you with potency.
"Do not," you say, pulling away from me suddenly, "play with me, Legolas. Why are you doing this?" After my most un-elven abandon, I cannot stifle a groan. But I will be patient, my child, my love.
"Because I have long known that you desire me," I murmur, pulling you back to me tightly and brushing my lips along your collar bone in a slow torment designed to break you. "Because I have too long been afraid of your mortality." My tongue now teases into the hollow at the base of your throat, dipping in and out and sparking a madness in your eyes I see with satisfaction as I rise to look you full in the face again, trapping it with my hands. "Because on this dangerous quest I have realized that I cannot conceive of losing you," I say.
You're eyes widen in wonder, and the words tumble from you, "Because you love me too."
"Aye," I say gently. "And I will show you if you let me."
I part my lips for you to explore me, and your growing boldness fires my need as our tongues dance around and inside each other, drinking deeply of the hot, heady sweetness. Briefly breaking the kiss, I tell you I love you, watch your lids half close and your neck arch wantonly as I lower you backwards to the forest floor slowly and drown in the warmth of your body and breath, my eyes closing languidly with long-kept desire.
***
I make short work of the knots in your shirt, working it free and over your head before you know what has happened. My tongue glides paths around your nipples, teasing the pert flesh until they harden approvingly, like the keening cries escaping your lips. The little sounds you make are like the music of the Valar, and I yearn to hear more as I nibble and lick along the line of your stomach, gliding my hands down the length of your sides until I hold your hips firmly and delve my tongue in and out of your navel. I slide up you again, our gasping cries mingled from the delicious friction.
As I spread your knees slowly and settle between them, your eyes gleam with the moonlight and undisguised lust, and your hands find my hair, twining in it with need. You whimper most pitifully.
"Patience, beloved," in your ear I breathe hotly, "there are many hours ahead of pleasures to be had."
I do not care that the others may know of us now. This simple act to me is like mingled love and homage, my devotion and desire and friendship for you in one, and I will not waste what little time we have in shameful hiding. They will understand, and so will Arwen. She knows, I think, has always known, and will not begrudge us this precious little time.
"I would do anything for you," you tell me, and I see the utter, heart- wrenching love in your eyes. Gods, I need to take you now, and you offer yourself to me so generously. It is very much like you to do, my friend.
"But if I take you, my love, I will become bonded," I say slowly. "Elves mate for life. You know this, Estel. And I would die with you, for I already know not how I will handle your loss." Though my face remains stoic, I feel one traitor tear slip down my pale cheek.
"No!" you plead fiercely, "You will live, and I will live in you. My duty is with Arwen but my heart is with you. Make love to me now, and never leave my side. Do this for us, Legolas."
I close my eyes slowly and am silent in thought before looking down on your naked form stretched out below me in achingly beautiful glory.
It has always been a strange fate laid upon me. So be it.
"I could never deny you anything," I say as I nod a smile to you laced with bittersweetness.
***
As we make love tonight, I have no regrets, for I am finally alive for this brief season we last. It is you who have given the greater gift.
Disclaimer: Not mine, the immortal Tolkien's. No monetary gain, no sue.
Summary: A/L slash! Companion piece to "Out of the Wood" from Leggy's POV. Sweet, sexy, and philosophical story set in Lothlorien. Legolas gives Aragorn more than he'd bargained for. Typical slash fare - but the poetic style recommends the story. The NC-17 version is at the Yahoo group, Slashlords.
Author's note: For Elisa, The Muse - thanks for the inspiration. And a shout out to all the girls at Lassegalen's Laire. Thanks especially to my wonderful betas, Cheysuli and Kirbycrow. Don't I feel honored to have the help of such outstanding authors!
In "Into the Wood," note that the line referencing Middle Earth is paraphrased from the Anglo-Saxon poem, "The Wanderer" - from which Professor Tolkien took the name "Middle Earth." He took many other names, ideas, and incidents besides from Old English literature. So go find yourself a scholarly article detailing what he drew from Beowulf, like the incident of Bilbo stealing the golden cup from Smaug's laire and awakening the dragon. The connections are really cool. Also, for those of you who haven't read the books, Aragorn lives for several hundred years (that potent Numenorean blood Elrond mentions in the movie), and he is pretty damn old during the quest, 60 or so if I remember rightly, but he looks to be in his prime.
Into the Wood
It has been an age since I have felt such desire.
For millennia I have watched the leaves of my home turn and fall like the passing of years. I have seen varied peoples rise from the earth and return to it again, becoming mere legends in the memory of men. Now my own people fade, crossing over nine waves, and I feel the call of sea-longing stirring my blood, pulling me thither as surely as the moon beckons the tides with needful caresses.
And yet, I have not felt such desire as this.
You valiantly attempt to mend your clothes but I see you are lost in your thoughts as well, which I suspect are of me. In my mind I can almost hear you whisper my name. You have felt my thoughts too, and you know I sense yours, for across the fire you look up furtively with contrite eyes as if I would scold you for pulling my hair and running away as you did when you were a child, begging to be caught.
But the stakes are much higher this time, and this is no game. You are no longer my little Estel, and by the time you had wintered twenty years, my desire awakened, although I think perhaps I had always known I would love you. Forty years have ripened and fallen from the vine, and I have watched you in silence, watched you watching me, both our hearts wrenching though you do not know mine.
There is little an elf fears. Strong, sure, and swift, we are like arrows shot straight through the bosom of time, watching the world pass us by, barely dipping our toes in the eddy of life's currents. I am not like you, Aragorn. Elves were made to endure as timeless as mountains. It is your quick flame of life that awakens my being, more precious and brilliant for the brief season it lasts. My peace and my guilt, were I to pledge myself and become one with you, I would die as well. Forgive me my fear.
You see I have caught you glancing up at me shyly. "Umm, I was just, ah, wondering..." you say, and your embarrassment is precious. "Never mind. My brain is addled," you offer weakly before standing and fading back into the shadow of the wood - but could I watch you fade forever, rooted fast as I am to this Middle Earth by your side for the length of your years? I cannot leave these shores till you are gone, nor can I imagine the time after, when this fire you've kindled in me sputters out with the last of your breath.
I stand in one gliding movement and cross the fire in long strides, following in your wake past the many sets of eyes that look on in wonder at this unexpected display, and in each of them I remember the eyes of the Lady of the Wood boring into me, asking why I falter, why I have done this to us and keep doing it still.
I am soon upon you, and I allow the indulgence of my hand on your shoulder.
"It is indeed a lovely night, Aragorn, mellon-nin. Earendil shines blessings upon us," I say as I glide my hand down to meet the weathered roughness of yours as I have not done in years, pulling you down to sit beside me.
You are lovely to me in a way you would not understand, the moon's light soft upon your features, the full curve of your lips I could become lost in thought of for hours, the sweep of autumn brown hair against your cheek, the pulsing life beneath the contours of taught skin and muscles - and more than anything, the gentleness in your eyes as you look questioningly in mine.
In this one brief shining moment, I know I am lost, and I do not care.
"It is long since I have seen a moment's peace flit across your face," I say. "You carry too much of the weight of us all. And you add a personal grief to it, unless I am much mistaken." As I reach across to capture your chin and turn your downcast eyes toward me, you lean into my hand, testing my restraint most temptingly. Ai, gods.
Suppressing my urge enough to speak, I say to you softly, "I would have you face me, Estel. Since you were a child you could never keep anything from me, nor do I think you ever really wished to. Why do you do so now? Have I lost your confidence?"
You protest that I have not, frustration warring in your face with some other emotion I cannot define, confusion perhaps. "I trust you with my life," you tell me, and I tighten my grasp on your chin in reassurance. Say it, my beloved.
"And with more than that. I always have."
Need I hear more, or shall I speak at this? So much time has been wasted in fear, and so I pull you in close to my mouth to receive the forgiveness I believe you will give. "Perhaps, then, you will trust me now with this," I whisper.
***
In this you are soft, the roughness of your skin and the wildness in your eyes and hair softening under the ministrations of my lips and hands. The gentleness you hide so well behind your callous appearance gives way to tender depths only for me, worshipping reverently as if I were your god. I drown in you now, elven control thrown off recklessly for the sensation of your lips light against mine, the feel of your hands brushing along my cheeks and down the column of my neck, snaking inside my shirt and caressing the sensitive jointure with my shoulder. Ah, Elbereth, I know not what I say as I kiss down the line of your throat and dart my tongue out to lick at the salty sweet sheen of your skin that tastes of earth and sea and the life throbbing in you with potency.
"Do not," you say, pulling away from me suddenly, "play with me, Legolas. Why are you doing this?" After my most un-elven abandon, I cannot stifle a groan. But I will be patient, my child, my love.
"Because I have long known that you desire me," I murmur, pulling you back to me tightly and brushing my lips along your collar bone in a slow torment designed to break you. "Because I have too long been afraid of your mortality." My tongue now teases into the hollow at the base of your throat, dipping in and out and sparking a madness in your eyes I see with satisfaction as I rise to look you full in the face again, trapping it with my hands. "Because on this dangerous quest I have realized that I cannot conceive of losing you," I say.
You're eyes widen in wonder, and the words tumble from you, "Because you love me too."
"Aye," I say gently. "And I will show you if you let me."
I part my lips for you to explore me, and your growing boldness fires my need as our tongues dance around and inside each other, drinking deeply of the hot, heady sweetness. Briefly breaking the kiss, I tell you I love you, watch your lids half close and your neck arch wantonly as I lower you backwards to the forest floor slowly and drown in the warmth of your body and breath, my eyes closing languidly with long-kept desire.
***
I make short work of the knots in your shirt, working it free and over your head before you know what has happened. My tongue glides paths around your nipples, teasing the pert flesh until they harden approvingly, like the keening cries escaping your lips. The little sounds you make are like the music of the Valar, and I yearn to hear more as I nibble and lick along the line of your stomach, gliding my hands down the length of your sides until I hold your hips firmly and delve my tongue in and out of your navel. I slide up you again, our gasping cries mingled from the delicious friction.
As I spread your knees slowly and settle between them, your eyes gleam with the moonlight and undisguised lust, and your hands find my hair, twining in it with need. You whimper most pitifully.
"Patience, beloved," in your ear I breathe hotly, "there are many hours ahead of pleasures to be had."
I do not care that the others may know of us now. This simple act to me is like mingled love and homage, my devotion and desire and friendship for you in one, and I will not waste what little time we have in shameful hiding. They will understand, and so will Arwen. She knows, I think, has always known, and will not begrudge us this precious little time.
"I would do anything for you," you tell me, and I see the utter, heart- wrenching love in your eyes. Gods, I need to take you now, and you offer yourself to me so generously. It is very much like you to do, my friend.
"But if I take you, my love, I will become bonded," I say slowly. "Elves mate for life. You know this, Estel. And I would die with you, for I already know not how I will handle your loss." Though my face remains stoic, I feel one traitor tear slip down my pale cheek.
"No!" you plead fiercely, "You will live, and I will live in you. My duty is with Arwen but my heart is with you. Make love to me now, and never leave my side. Do this for us, Legolas."
I close my eyes slowly and am silent in thought before looking down on your naked form stretched out below me in achingly beautiful glory.
It has always been a strange fate laid upon me. So be it.
"I could never deny you anything," I say as I nod a smile to you laced with bittersweetness.
***
As we make love tonight, I have no regrets, for I am finally alive for this brief season we last. It is you who have given the greater gift.