Warning: You all knew it was coming to this, right? I may have been overly cautious in the warnings for some previous chapters, but I mean every word of it for this one. This is an adult story, and while it stays within the limits of the R rating, it is a hard R. This chapter contains scenes of male/male sexual violence and attempted rape. Please do not read if this offends you. Actually I'd be concerned if it DIDN'T offend and disturb you to a certain degree, but be aware of your limits and please read with caution. Again, everything is ultimately about power.

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Part III: The Breaking

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"What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?"

– William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus

Chapter 24: The Desert

The army journeyed south. Aragorn had determined that they should travel by day and rest at night. The nomadic tribes of Harad were by custom quiescent during the day, even in the spring when the sun had not yet reached her full killing strength. Aragorn knew that they could not avoid the Haradrim's scouts forever, but he wished to delay their discovery as long as possible. A moving army's torches could be seen a surprisingly long way at night.

The going was slow. The soil was a poor mixture of rock and sand that shifted treacherously beneath the feet of men and horses. The sparse grass and shrubs offered little chance for grazing. Here and there a stunted tree clung to the leeside of a hill, dry and twisted by the constant wind. The hills rolled in endless swells around them, their striated bands of red and gold mineral deposits giving a touch of beauty to the barren waste.

"Not very sustaining, is it," Éomer commented during a break on the second day. Legolas shook his head without looking up: he was picking a stone from Arod's foot. The wind had died down for the moment; most of the Men were taking the opportunity to eat their midday rations before the blowing sand forced them to cover their mouths and noses again.

Éomer's own face was reddened and liberally streaked with grime above the loose kerchief at his throat. He took a drink from his waterskin and made a face. "We'd best find that waterhole soon, Elessar. The horses won't take much more of this."

"We'll find it," Aragorn said. He was if anything more filthy than Éomer, but he seemed to take little notice of it. "We will be there this afternoon, if Imrahil's map is to be trusted."

Legolas wondered if he were the only one who heard the suspicion in that statement. "Imrahil has guided us well," he said. "I saw the trees around it when we crested the last hill. It is not seven leagues distant. And see – the horses smell the water."

Indeed the horses nearby had lifted their heads, their nostrils twitching as the wind came up again from the south.

"We ride on, then," Aragorn said. "Have care that the scouts go well ahead. The enemy will likely lay an ambush around the water."

But as the horns signaled the men to mount up again Aragorn lingered a moment by Legolas' side. There was a strange light in his eyes as he looked at the Elf, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. Legolas returned his gaze warily.

"Keen are the eyes of the Elves," Aragorn said. "I am glad you are with us, old friend."

Legolas dipped his head in acknowledgment. Then, taking advantage of the opportunity, he said, "It is nothing, Estel. I wish to help."

Aragorn's eyes darkened, and his brows drew together. "Yes," he said. "So you have said." He lifted a hand and lightly touched Legolas' cheek. "Will you serve me as well, old friend?" His fingers brushed Legolas' ear and combed through the smooth fall of his hair. "Will you do whatever I ask?"

Legolas tensed, ready to strike. But Aragorn stepped back, and after a last searching look he turned away. He swung into Hasufel's saddle and urged the horse forward at a trot, pulling his kerchief up over his nose as he did so. He did not look again at the Elf.

Legolas stood still and watched him go. His fists clenched in frustration. He did not know how long he stood heedless of the Men hurrying around him, but something bumped his shoulder and he turned to find Arod behind him. The horse whickered softly and nuzzled his tunic.

Releasing a long breath, Legolas wrapped his arms around Arod's neck and leaned for a moment into his solid warmth. He closed his eyes. "I'm not reaching him," he whispered. "I try and I try, but he sees only through the shadow now. I do not know if he even hears my words."

He breathed in the comforting smells of horse and sweat and dust. Arod snorted and bent his head over Legolas' shoulder, snuffling at the Elf's hair. "I do not know what more to do," Legolas admitted for the horse's ears alone. "I wish that Mithrandir were here."

But the wizard was gone, sailed over the sea with Frodo and the other Ring-bearers. There was no use in wishing things were otherwise.

Legolas straightened and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "So we go on," he said. "I will not lose him. Not like this."

He leaped up onto Arod's back. The horse responded at once, cantering forward until they rode at Aragorn's side again. The army moved on.

*~*~*

By mid-afternoon all the horses had scented water, and their pace quickened accordingly. Aragorn held the army well back, however, until the scouts returned. Finally one of the Men, a grizzled veteran whose face above his kerchief was nearly black with dust, trotted into the camp and dismounted before his King.

"All clear, Your Majesty," he reported. "Ah've got the others stationed 'round the pond for a lookout, but there's been not man nor beast near for two days, judging by the tracks."

"Well done," Aragorn said. When the Man had been dismissed he turned to Éomer. "We'll take it by regiment. The foot soldiers first, then the cavalry. The men are to circle to the far side of the water before filling their bottles. I want to surround that lake and keep a sharp guard at all sides."

But the precautions proved needless. The oasis was peaceful, located in what would have been a river valley in the wet season. Now several weeks after the end of the rains it had shrunk to a shallow pond perhaps thirty feet across. Deep channels cut in the soft rock of the surrounding hillsides showed where the water had recently flowed. Quick growing grass gave a haze of green to the dun-coloured earth, and the horses fell to grazing as soon as their thirst was slaked.

The men were quick to pitch camp, Rohirrim and Gondorians joining together to stake the tents and care for the horses. Cooking fires soon sprang up around the hills, though they were careful not to touch the few trees that grew about the water. The more adventurous of them took the opportunity to bathe in the shallows while their suppers cooked.

Aragorn frowned when he saw this, and motioned a captain to come near. "Instruct those men not to foul the water," he ordered. "In the desert water is precious and solely for drinking. They can wet their kerchiefs and wipe their faces that way."

"Yes, sire." the man hurried away.

Aragorn resumed pacing in front of his tent, pausing to gaze now and then toward the southward hills. Legolas watched him quietly. Something was clearly troubling Aragorn despite the peacefulness of the scene around them.

The sun had set when Aragorn's cook signaled that the stew was ready. Legolas took two bowls over to the King. He handed one to Aragorn and sat down on a pile of horse blankets with the other. Aragorn accepted the bowl automatically, and once he had it he had little choice but to sit down and eat.

They ate in silence. Legolas had little appetite, but Aragorn scraped out his bowl quickly and set it aside. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the hills. He made no sign of taking out his pipe as he usually did after a meal.

Legolas gathered up their discarded bowls and returned them to where the cook's serving boy was scrubbing the dishes with sand. He was aware of Aragorn watching him as he did so. Returning to the Man, he sat down just out of arm's reach. For a moment he looked up, to where the stars were beginning to appear. Even with all that had happened, the stars remained unchanged. He took comfort in that.

"Is something troubling you, my lord?" Legolas kept his tone deferential. Aragorn seemed to respond better to this approach.

Aragorn did not answer for a moment, and then he nodded. "Look south. Tell me what you see."

Legolas studied the distant hills. His eyes narrowed, and then he rose to his feet. "It is difficult to say with certainty, but I think I see a trail of smoke, as from a camp fire. But the light is poor. It may be no more than a wisp of cloud."

"There are no clouds here," Aragorn muttered. He stood as well. "That is smoke from the enemy's camp. Their army waits just over those hills. They mean to attack tonight."

Legolas frowned. "Even if it is smoke from a fire, there is only one. At most it is a scout, Aragorn, and a clumsy one at that."

Aragorn shook his head. "Then we will ride him down when we destroy his master's army. Summon the men. We ride now!"

"Aragorn, wait!" Legolas caught his arm. "You do not know what is there. It could be nothing more than a herdsman with his flock."

"I know more than you think," Aragorn said. "Leave off, Legolas."

"At least send the scouts ahead first," Legolas persisted. "Aragorn, you cannot take the army blindly into the hills. You would be riding in the dark, and if there is an enemy there then he knows the terrain far better than you do. At best you would risk injury to the horses, at worst you would be falling into a trap. Send the scouts."

"There is no time!" Aragorn snapped. "Most of the scouts would have to be summoned from the hills, and by the time they reported back it would be too late. The Haradrim would be upon us."

"Then send me," Legolas said. "I can travel more quickly and silently than your men, and if there is a spy then I will capture him for you."

Aragorn stopped and stared at him for a long moment. His eyes glittered in the torchlight. Legolas stared back unflinching. Finally Aragorn dropped his gaze.

"Yes," he said. "You would like that, would you Legolas? A chance for you to prove your loyalty."

Legolas fought down the urge to snap in response. "I have already done that, my lord," he said. "I ask only that you trust me as you once did."

Aragorn moved toward him, but Legolas avoided his touch. "By your leave, my lord."

It took him only a few minutes to get Arod from where the commanders' horses had been cordoned. He checked the horse's hooves swiftly, fearing with each passing moment that Aragorn would change his mind and command the army to attack. Satisfied, Legolas swung onto Arod's back and urged him forward. The spirited horse answered readily, though he must have been tired after the long day's march.

Legolas was forced to slow as they left the light of the army's fires behind, but even so he moved more swiftly than a mortal could have done. His eyes were well adjusted to the stars and faint moonlight, and Arod trusted him completely. The horse followed his every touch, trotting easily over the night-dark terrain that appeared in clear shades of grey to Legolas' eyes.

They climbed away from the noise and smoke of the encampment, and Legolas breathed deeply of the clean night air. The sounds of life in the desert came clearly to his ears: the scritch of a rodent's claws in the sand, the call of a hunting bird, the shift and slide of a reptile's scales over sun-warmed rock. But these noises seemed strangely isolated without the continuous melody of a forest's song to support them.

It was too dark now to make out the smoke that he had seen earlier, but as they wound through the hills Legolas thought he spied the flicker of light in the distance. He slowed Arod to a walk, and then finally instructed the horse to wait and continued on foot. Silently he climbed the broken slope of the last hill, and looked down upon a sheltered valley below.

There was another waterhole here, somewhat smaller than the one around which Aragorn's army was camped. A herd of goats was bedded down some distance from its banks, watched over by a boy who sat with his head nodding above his knees. A cooking fire cast a cheery light over the scene. Perhaps twenty dusty tents were arranged in a rough circle on the plain. The inhabitants walked freely among them. They wore the long robes of the Haradrim, but since the wind had died down their faces were not veiled.

Legolas counted some fifty individuals, twenty of whom looked to be men of fighting age. The others ranged from black-haired children who were playing some sort of a game with pebbles and sticks up to an ancient grandmother who sat by the fire and gummed determinedly at a serving of roasted meat.

As Legolas watched a scruffy looking dog nosed across the clearing and lay down next to the old woman. She seemed to ignore it at first, and then as it inched forward she took something from her bowl and passed it surreptitiously down. The dog's tail fanned a wide swath in the sand as she stroked its ears.

Legolas slipped back to Arod as quietly as he had come. He rode slowly until he was certain that he was beyond range of the humans' hearing, and then urged the horse into a trot. He made no effort to conceal his approach to the army camp, but the sentries let him pass unchallenged. He gave Arod into the care of a Rohirric sergeant and crossed to where Aragorn's tent stood at the center of a small clearing amidst the encampment. The guards at the entrance bowed to him.

"Go in, my lord. They're expecting you." The taller of the two guards pulled aside the tent flap and Legolas entered.

The interior was brightly lit and warmed by several braziers scattered amid the rich furnishings. The tent was spacious but still it seemed uncomfortably close and hot after the crisp night air outside. The crowd did not help, either. Legolas blinked, trying to get his bearings. Every captain of Gondor seemed to be crammed in here along with many of Rohan as well. Aragorn sat in a chair at the far end of the tent with Éomer at his side.

He caught Legolas' eye and raised a hand. The company fell silent. "Back already, Lord Legolas. You have news?"

Legolas nodded. "I have, my lord."

Aragorn's eyes gleamed. "You found the enemy's camp. They are close. How many horses have they? How many spears?"

"None, my lord." There was an intake of breath from the crowd. Legolas ignored them, focusing his attention on Aragorn. The King frowned.

"What do you mean? Surely you did not lose your way?"

Legolas resisted the urge to glare in response to that. "No, King Elessar. I found the source of the smoke that you saw. It is a family group. Some twenty Men are camped by an oasis with their wives and children. There is no army."

Aragorn went very still. He held Legolas' gaze as he next spoke, his eyes cold. "I wish to speak with Prince Legolas alone. Leave us."

"Elessar?" Éomer said questioningly.

Aragorn whirled on him. "Leave us! All of you – go!"

A murmur rose from the assembled Men, and several of the Rohirrim cast Aragorn unfriendly looks. But at a gesture from Éomer they subsided. "As you wish, King Elessar," Éomer spoke calmly, though his eyes were hard. "We will continue our discussion tomorrow."

The Men filed out, some casting curious looks toward Legolas as they did so. Éomer paused by his side. "If you need anything . . ." he began.

Legolas glanced at him in surprise. Éomer's brown eyes were full of concern. Legolas felt a sudden rush of gratitude purely for the sight of a friendly face. He bowed. "Thank you, Éomer King. I will be fine."

Éomer clasped his shoulder briefly. "I'll be in my tent," he said, and with a last nod to Aragorn he stepped through the door and allowed the tent flap to fall closed behind him.

Legolas stood alone, facing Aragorn across a stretch of empty carpet. Aragorn was the first to break the silence. "Your weapons."

Legolas blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Aragorn's face was set in thin lines, his eyes unreadable. "It is customary to go unarmed in the presence of the King."

Legolas searched for some sign of jest in Aragorn's expression but found none. He sighed. Wordlessly he set his bow to the side of Aragorn's armory stand and laid his quiver and long knives on the carpet before it. He straightened and met Aragorn's gaze.

The King licked his lips. "All of it."

Legolas gritted his teeth, but obeyed. He slipped the dagger from his boot and laid it next to the quiver. His vambraces were next, with the throwing blades affixed to the inner curve of the leather. Finally he drew a small, six-pointed star from behind his belt buckle and tossed it on top of the pile.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "That's new."

"It was a gift from Gimli," Legolas said shortly.

Aragorn smiled. "I'm surprised that he did not make it an axe." When Legolas did not respond he rose from his chair and crossed to where a small table was laid with bread, cheese and a flask of wine. "You must be tired, Legolas. Come, join me."

Legolas followed warily. Aragorn's change in tone was too abrupt: his attempt at casualness rang false. This was another part of Elessar's game, and he did not trust it. He felt vulnerable, exposed without the familiar weight of the quiver at his back or the vambraces at his wrists. He stopped a few paces beyond the King's reach and waited to see what he would do next.

*~*~*

Aragorn was aware of Legolas' discomfort. Waves of tension positively radiated from the Elf. But Legolas did not protest. He stood quietly, watching Aragorn's every move, waiting, the whisper curled through Aragorn's mind, for your command. Aragorn's heart beat faster at the thought.

"The encampment you found," he said, schooling his voice to calm. "Where is it?"

"Past the southern hills, not three leagues distant," Legolas answered. "They are grazing goats in the valley there."

Lies, purred the voice. See how he lies to his King!

Aragorn kept his back to Legolas. His hand clenched white-knuckled on the wine flask. "I know that the army is there, Legolas. I have seen it." And he thought, Say you were mistaken. Please. Do not make me prove you false.

"I do not know what you have seen, Estel." Aragorn flinched at the old name, but Legolas continued. "Or where you have seen it. But I sense no danger here. If there is an enemy then he is far from this place."

Aragorn closed his eyes. He could see the moves laid out before him like pieces on a board: he knew what the Elf would say, and where it would lead them. Already his heart was pounding, his mouth dry with anticipation. But he had to play the game to the end. He had to give Legolas this last chance.

"Your senses mislead you, Legolas. Men do not foul the earth as Orcs do."

"And the desert is not a forest, Aragorn." Legolas' voice was clipped with wounded pride. "Tell me next that the sea is wet. My senses are as true as they have ever been. Wherever your phantom army is, it is not here!"

Aragorn felt a thrill of satisfaction. He could play Legolas now like a master at his instrument. He had only to press the keys to make the Elf respond. Legolas was angry now, but with a word Aragorn could change that to relief, gratitude, hurt, even joy. Legolas was attuned to Aragorn's every word: his look, his touch. This was true power.

"Perhaps you are right," he said, and hid a smile at Legolas' faint exhalation of relief. "The desert is vast, after all, and no doubt the hills look the same throughout. The Haradrim could be further south."

"It is possible," Legolas said. "I could lead another scouting party in the morning, Estel, and see what lies ahead. You might come with us, if you like."

As he spoke Aragorn palmed a small vial from the pouch at his waist and concealed it in his sleeve. The lip of the flask rattled against the goblets' rims as he poured two measures of wine. His hands were shaking.

It was inevitable, he knew. Looking back, he could see that all these months had been building to this moment. He should be angry at Legolas' deception, at his continued slights and insolence, but he felt only excitement and a vague regret that it had come to this. At last he would lay bare all the secrets that Legolas had concealed from him. At last he would master the Elf, and force him to acknowledge his mastery.

He turned and handed one goblet to Legolas. "I will think on it," he said.

Legolas took the cup. Aragorn tensed, but the Elf did not drink. He regarded Aragorn with a steady gaze. "I hope that you will, Estel. It would do you good to ride out and see the land for yourself."

Aragorn's mouth tightened. "I have seen it," he said. He took a drink from his cup.

"Through the palantír," Legolas said. Aragorn drew a sharp breath, but Legolas continued. "Aragorn, we are in Harad. You have the opportunity now to see with your own eyes. Can you not put that stone aside?"

Aragorn stared at him. "Put it aside? You would like that, would you Legolas? Tell me, what do you fear it might show me?"

Legolas sighed. "I fear nothing, Aragorn. I merely wish that you would seek some confirmation for the visions you have seen. You know the history of that palantír."

"Saruman is dead, Legolas," Aragorn snapped. "And Sauron is destroyed. Do you really think there is anyone left now who can control me?"

Legolas shook his head. "I do not know. But there is something very wrong here, Estel. I wish . . ." he trailed into silence.

"You wish what?" Aragorn's eyes narrowed.

Legolas looked away. "It is nothing. I merely remember the way you were before; when you did not have the cares you carry now. It was a foolish thought." He lifted his cup to his lips.

Aragorn caught his breath, but Legolas lowered his cup almost immediately, wrinkling his nose. "We really must get you a new wineskin, Aragorn. This one has spoilt your wine." He set the goblet aside.

Aragorn breathed out slowly, though his hands clenched into fists. Was Legolas deliberately tormenting him? A red fire was burning in his mind: snatches of words and phrases and half-remembered images rising above the confusion of his thoughts like broken pillars in a haze of heat. The black cloaked legions of the Haradic army that filled the palantír. Faramir kneeling with eyes closed in the Tower room. A drop of blood welling from Legolas' lip.

You are no King of mine.

"I am the King of Gondor, Legolas. You would have me forget my duty to my people."

Legolas shook his head. "Of course I would not, Aragorn. I only ask that you look with your own eyes and see if this threat is real before you lead the attack."

Aragorn slammed his cup down on the side table so hard that wine sloshed over the rim. "I have seen them, Legolas! Harad is marching to attack Gondor, and you dare to stand here and question how I defend my country!"

Legolas stared at him, his eyes wide. "Estel, I did not –"

Aragorn growled. "My name is Elessar."

Legolas gazed at him in silence. His eyes took on an abstract light, though he were looking through Aragorn to something that only he could see. In that moment he seemed untouchable, perfectly composed as he regarded Aragorn with gentle sorrow. He inclined his head.

"Elessar, then. You do not wish to discuss this rationally, so I will bid you good night. Perhaps in the morning you will be in a mood to listen." He turned away.

"No!" Aragorn caught his arm. "You do not have my leave to go." He could feel his control slipping away, the power he had held eroding like a castle made of sand. Legolas did this to him! He had everything in place, the army ready to strike at his command, but with a word Legolas could strip him back to the uncertain, frightened youth that he had once been.

His mind was filled with a buzzing fury, but he saw clearly now. The illusion of control was not enough. He would force Legolas to submit to him. He would make the Elf bow to him, or he would break him. It did not matter how.

He tightened his grip, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath Legolas' skin, the strength that was poised to pull away, but did not. Legolas was frowning, his composure disturbed if only for the moment.

"You will grant me the respect that I have earned, Legolas," Aragorn said. He saw the confusion in the Elf's eyes and his lips stretched in a tight, humorless smile. "You will greet me as your King."

A muscle flexed in Legolas' jaw. "Elessar, I have pledged to follow you as I would no other mortal. But you are not –"

"As you would your father, then!" Aragorn shouted. Legolas flinched. Aragorn took another step forward, closing the distance between them.

"Ithilien is subject to Gondor, Legolas. I am your King, and you will acknowledge me as such or so help me I will raze your settlement to the ground. Yes," he continued, encouraged by the flicker of uncertainty in Legolas' eyes. "Those lands belong to Gondor. Your people belong to me, Legolas. You belong to me."

Legolas stepped back, pulling his arm around and up in a swift motion that broke Aragorn's grip. "You are mad," he said. "Can you not hear what you are saying? This is madness!"

"Is it?" Aragorn said. "I am surrounded by traitors and conspirators, Legolas. I trusted you, and how have you repaid me? With lies. You have betrayed me, you have betrayed Gondor –"

"That's absurd!" Legolas cried. "I have tried to help you! I stayed with you –"

"A family of herdsmen, Legolas?" Aragorn snorted. "Did you really think I would believe such nonsense? You have so little respect for me that you do not even trouble to think of a plausible lie!"

Legolas' eyes flashed. "I have never lied to you, Aragorn," he said. Aragorn felt a thrill at the bridled heat of his gaze, the controlled fury in his voice. "Come with me and see for yourself. They are no threat to you."

"So that's your plan," Aragorn said. "You would get me alone into the hills, where the enemy waits in ambush . . ."

"Elbereth!" Legolas threw up his hands. "You impossible, stubborn, idiotic mortal Man. There is no enemy! There is no conspiracy! What must I do to convince you?"

Aragorn seized his wrist and pulled Legolas close. "Prove it to me," he said. "All your promises mean naught, Legolas, so long as you swear allegiance to another. You are mine, to protect and to do with as I will. Swear yourself to me, and I will listen to what you say."

There was a silence. Aragorn could hear the soft hiss of the braziers, the snap of the tent canvas overhead and the distant sounds of the camp outside. He could feel the heat of Legolas' body close to his. He could smell the dust on the Elf's clothing and the clean scent of his skin.

Legolas turned his head to look into Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn steeled himself to meet the Elf's gaze. He would master Legolas, if took every fiber of his strength.

"And the family?" Legolas' voice was soft.

Aragorn drew breath. "Show me that I can trust you," he said. "Give yourself to me and I will wait until daybreak."

He saw the understanding dawn in Legolas' eyes, growing anger and a hint of fear. Aragorn felt a spasm of desire, painful in its intensity. His heart was pounding, his palms slick with sweat and his stomach a tight coiled ball. He needed Legolas.

"And if I refuse?"

Aragorn's breath caught. "Then I will call the men to arms, and I will ride through these hills tonight and kill anyone and anything in my path. I will find the enemy and I will destroy them all."

Legolas swallowed. "They are innocent, Estel."

Aragorn tightened his grip on the Elf's wrist and was rewarded by a flicker of pain in Legolas' eyes.

"Elessar," Legolas corrected himself. Aragorn felt a thrill of pleasure at this submission. Heat pooled in his belly and tingled along his nerves. He held the grip a moment longer, until his fingers began to cramp, and then relaxed his hold.

"Swear to me, Legolas," he said.

Legolas looked at him searchingly. "All these years I have followed you," he said. "When you were a boy I befriended you; when you grew into a man I fought beside you. Can you not remember? All those years when even your own people looked at you with suspicion – I stayed by your side. I have saved your life, and been saved by you in return. Is that not enough? During your wanderings, when you despaired of ever claiming your inheritance or winning Arwen's hand, I had faith in you. Can you not trust me now?"

Aragorn hesitated. Legolas' words stirred memories of happier times, scenes of peace and laughter that he could yet see in his mind's eye, though they were blurred as if viewed through a grime-smeared glass. Some buried part of him still mourned for the simple friendship that had been, the pure strength of love untainted by desire or power.

But before he could crystallize this feeling into words it slipped away, and he felt again the serpentine coil of the need that had become a part of him. He remembered Legolas drenched in the ocean's spray, the feel and taste and strength of the Elf when Aragorn pulled him back. He thought of Gondor, and of Arwen.

When he spoke his voice scarcely sounded like his own. He was mouthing the words that came into his mind with practiced ease, though he no longer knew their source.

"It is not enough. There must be control."

Legolas held his gaze. There was no quarter in the Elf's eyes. He weighed his options with apparent calm, but Aragorn could feel the rapid beat of the pulse at his wrist. He matched Legolas' stare, reveling in the contest of wills, the final proof of his domination over all who would oppose him.

Finally Legolas looked away. "I have always been faithful to you, as my friend and as my brother. If you must now have me serve you as my King, then I will do that as well."

He started to step back, but Aragorn moved with him, keeping him close. "No," he said hoarsely. "Do it here."

Legolas' head snapped up, and fire flared in his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment. Legolas opened his mouth as if to protest, but then subsided. Averting his gaze, he nodded. Slowly he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

A storm surge of power and sheer lust washed through Aragorn. He had done it! Legolas was his, just as Arwen and Gondor and the free peoples were his. Even Legolas had finally acknowledged his rightful place at his King's feet.

Releasing the Elf's wrist, Aragorn ran his fingers through Legolas' hair. "On your knees," he said. His throat was dry. "Oh Eru, Legolas, on your knees before me."

Legolas stiffened. He started to pull away, but Aragorn was ready for him. Seizing a handful of the Elf's hair he dragged Legolas back. "You swore yourself to me," he snarled. "You will serve me as I see fit."

"Like this?" Legolas cried. "Daro! Aragorn, no!"1

Aragorn scarcely heard him. The pain and fury in Legolas' voice fanned the fire that ran through Aragorn's veins. He pulled the Elf close, pressing Legolas' face to the worn leather of his leggings. He could feel Legolas' hot, panicked breath against his groin, and he groaned aloud. With his free hand he stroked the long curve of Legolas' ear. He saw a shiver run through the Elf's body.

Then with a convulsive leap Legolas jerked free. He fell full-length upon the carpet, panting. As he started to rise Aragorn threw himself upon the Elf, crushing him back to earth. Aragorn pressed his knee to Legolas' back, holding him down while he fumbled for the vial in his pouch.

"Something is doing this to you," Legolas gasped. He tried to rise, and Aragorn had to use his full weight to force the Elf down again. They were both breathing hard.

"Aragorn, please! You would not do this. You would never do this!"

Aragorn tore a long scrap of cloth from the lining of his tunic. With trembling hands he thumbed the cork from the vial and emptied the remaining liquid onto the fabric. "I have to," he muttered. "I have to control – I have to keep you safe."

Legolas rolled violently to one side. Aragorn fell against the table with a splintering crash. Pain lanced through his side from his bruised ribs, but he levered himself up and seized Legolas around the knees. The Elf lashed out with a foot, but caught Aragorn only a glancing blow as he fell.

Legolas tucked his shoulder down as he hit the ground, rolling with the fall. As he came onto his back, preparatory to leaping to his feet, Aragorn caught him. He sprawled gracelessly on top of the Elf, forcing Legolas to still, and straddled the Elf's hips. Legolas twined his legs between Aragorn's, ready to throw him off, but Aragorn leaned down and clamped one large hand over Legolas' nose and mouth.

Legolas' eyes widened as he breathed in the fumes from the saturated cloth in Aragorn's hand. His right hand struck toward Aragorn's inner arm, but Aragorn was ready for that and caught his wrist with his free hand. It took all his strength to force Legolas' hand down to the carpet, despite the advantage of his greater weight and leverage.

Legolas fought wildly then, pinned though he was at wrist and head. He bucked hard beneath Aragorn, struggling to roll and throw the Man off. Aragorn rode him, panting, his blood thrumming in response to the Elf's challenge. He barely heeded the constant murmur of the voice that ran in counterpoint to Legolas' struggles. He is yours. Take him, break him now. Do it. Do it now!

Gradually Legolas' movements slowed. He shifted weakly beneath Aragorn. His free hand beat feebly against the King's arm and then fell to the ground. His eyes were rolled back so that only a crescent of white showed beneath the lids. Aragorn released Legolas' wrist and touched his fingers to the Elf's neck. Legolas' pulse was thready and weak.

Cautiously Aragorn removed the cloth from Legolas' nose and mouth. Legolas moaned softly and turned his head to one side. A shudder of reaction went through him as he breathed the relatively clean air of the tent. Aragorn sat up. Legolas was still making small, abortive attempts toward freedom, and Aragorn gasped as he felt the Elf move beneath him.

He pressed his weight down on Legolas, suppressing a groan as he ground against the Elf's hips. Legolas rolled his head from side to side, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. "No," he moaned, so faintly that Aragorn could scarcely hear him.

The weak protest sparked fire down Aragorn's nerves. He bent down and rubbed his cheek in the disheveled mass of Legolas' hair. "Yes," he breathed against the Elf's ear, not knowing if Legolas could understand him, and not caring. "I am your King, Legolas. I am your master, and you will remember that."

He bit Legolas' ear, eliciting a whimper of pain from the Elf. He moved down Legolas' throat, tasting the salt tang of his sweat, scraping his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin. He tore the collar of Legolas' tunic and ripped down his shirt, baring the Elf's chest. Aragorn buried his face in the juncture of Legolas' neck. He breathed deeply of the Elf's scent and then bit down.

Legolas cried out, his hands pressing feebly against Aragorn's chest. Aragorn sucked hard for a moment and pulled back to see the red mark on Legolas' skin. He would brand Legolas for all to see.

Aragorn moved down Legolas' body, tearing the Elf's tunic out of his way. He trailed small bites across the smooth muscle of Legolas' chest, lifting up each time to watch the bloom of red on the pale skin. The dark rose-tinged nipples received a harder tweak between thumb and forefinger, purely for the gasp of pain that this evoked.

Aragorn reached the fastening of Legolas' leggings. He sat up, tearing at the lacings. He loosened the ties enough to slip his hand under the fabric, forcing his way to the soft flesh within.

Legolas drew a sobbing breath. His eyes were tightly closed, but Aragorn saw the gleam of tears that trailed down his temples. His hands were clenched into fists, pulling at the thick carpet.

"Estel, please," he whispered. "Please. You're hurting me."

Aragorn stopped. He stared down at Legolas, and it was as if he were seeing two separate images superimposed upon each other. There was the Elf sprawled beneath him, his clothing ripped, his hair strewn in tangled disarray, all composure and maddening superiority forgotten. Faint, broken sobs and wordless pleas trickled from his lips. Heat flared through Aragorn in response, lust surging in his need to dominate, to humiliate, to control.

And there was a second image, seen through different eyes. Legolas, his friend, was in pain. He remembered another time when Legolas had lain injured in his arms, and he felt the echo of his panic that day, his desperate struggle to save his friend's life. He remembered how Legolas had submitted to his ministrations, though he was scarcely come of age. Legolas had trusted him far more than Estel had ever trusted himself. And now Aragorn had hurt him, had hurt him in a way that might never be healed.

Aragorn jerked back in horror. Bile rose in his throat. His muscles felt slack and weak. He tried to get up, but his legs would not support him. He crawled, trembling, away from Legolas. He pulled himself into a corner, his back against the frame of his camp bed.

"Elbereth," he said aloud. "Oh Elbereth, Legolas, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He hardly dared to look at the Elf. Legolas lay crumpled and limp upon the floor. His breath came in swift, shallow gasps, his eyes sealed shut. The fabric of his tunic and leggings gaped open to expose the bruises on his skin, mute evidence of Aragorn's violation.

Aragorn wanted to go to him, to cover him and to wipe away the damage he had done. But even as he looked upon Legolas he felt the slow pulse of arousal, and the poisoned whisper curled through his mind. He must pay for his transgressions. See how he is open for you, he gives himself to you. He is yours. Take him . . .

"No!" Aragorn shouted. Tears stung his eyes, and he wrenched his gaze away. He buried his face in his arms, pulling his legs up tight to his chest. "No more," he whimpered. "Please, no more."

Still he was hard and aching, and the shame of that smote him to the core. He shuddered in a paroxysm of lust and pain, excitement and sick fury at himself and all that he had done. He could hear Legolas' soft whimpers and he clamped his hands over his ears to shut them out.

Break him . . .

"He will die!" Aragorn cried. "Don't you understand? He'll die! I can't – I won't hurt him any more. Please, no more!"

There was a pause. The tent was quiet save for Legolas' muffled sobs and Aragorn's labored breathing. The voice was finally, blessedly silent.

Aragorn rested his forehead against his knees as he rocked slowly back and forth. His head throbbed in time with the waves of shame that washed through him. He was exhausted, sick beyond thought or reason but for the mantra that beat unendingly through his mind.

What have I done? Dear Eru, what have I done?

1 Daro: Sindarin, stop.