A/N: Hey, hey, hey. WAYNE'S WORLD!! PARTY TIME!! EXCELLENT!! ::evil
laughter ensues:: Muahahahahahahahaaaaaa! Ahem. Right. So. This is a
prequel to 'Bleed and Fade' so I would recommend that you read that first.
Duh. Major brain cells there, eh? Also. If the slashiness of the
Legolas/Aragorn be bothersome to thee, then, once again, exercise your
brain and hit the back button…Yeah. Flames are not encouraged, but will be
openly mocked and then put to good use as a space heater, it gets cold in
my shoebox. I do, however, appreciate happy reviews and constructive
criticism…Okay. On to the fic now…
The Obligatory Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah. They (sadly) belong to Tolkien. ::sighs:: Why?!
1 Loss
1.1 Tobin
Gazing up from under his lashes, the Elf smiles, taking in the Man before him. A slender hand slips around the Man's waist, lips trailing up the Man's neck, eliciting a small sigh from him. The Elf smiles, the night is young.
Their lips meet again, slowly at first until the kisses are darting and frenzied, unearthing the need in both Elf and Man. Hands twist in fabric, wanting it gone. In the background, forms flit from shadow to shadow, the ranger and Elf are unaware.
*Snap*
Spinning apart, Elf and Man stand at the ready, weapons drawn, arrows fitted.
From out of the shadows appear the Orcs, ringing the small clearing. An arrow flies, followed by a hundred more, taking out many Orcs before they even come within sword range. Anduril flashes in the silvery light, joined now by Elven sabers, spraying blood about the clearing.
But it is not enough; even now the Man and the Elf are tiring, yet the Orcs keep coming, bent on exterminating Isildur's heir. Ducking and parrying, slaying, more replace the fallen, until an archer begins to fire into the fray.
Not the best, he takes out a good many of his own before he hits his target, the shaft of an arrow embedded in the chest of the Elf. Gasping, he falls to the ground, reaching out in his pain for the Man.
"Legolas!" Fighting with a renewed fervor, he spins about, taking out twenty more before he is outnumbered and a well placed thrust slides between his ribs, adding to the bloodshed. The blade twists, he screams is agony, dropping to his knees, fighting still over the body of his Elf.
The blood oozes out and he falls, the Orcs laugh, not caring for their dead, they leave the Man and the Elf in the clearing, the job is done. He gasps for breath, clutching the hand of his Elf, blinking blearily as blood oozes between his fingers.
Hours pass and the sun reclaims its throne, opening emerald eyes the Elf screams is pain, he can't breathe. Someone is draped over his chest, he painstakingly pushes the body off, the night's events coming back to him a bloody blur.
Blood?
No, it is not his, but the Man? In a panic the wounded Elf lurches to his knees, biting his lip until it, to, begins to bleed. He can't be dead; it's just not possible. But the Elf's keen vision picks out the gaping hole in the Man's chest, the stillness of death settled over the body already.
And he screams, sobbing into the man's chest, how can the gods do this?
Eventually the Hobbits find him, gently prying the wounded Elf from the body of his lover, as he sobs and chokes, "Aragorn…No…My Aragorn…"
The Obligatory Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah. They (sadly) belong to Tolkien. ::sighs:: Why?!
1 Loss
1.1 Tobin
Gazing up from under his lashes, the Elf smiles, taking in the Man before him. A slender hand slips around the Man's waist, lips trailing up the Man's neck, eliciting a small sigh from him. The Elf smiles, the night is young.
Their lips meet again, slowly at first until the kisses are darting and frenzied, unearthing the need in both Elf and Man. Hands twist in fabric, wanting it gone. In the background, forms flit from shadow to shadow, the ranger and Elf are unaware.
*Snap*
Spinning apart, Elf and Man stand at the ready, weapons drawn, arrows fitted.
From out of the shadows appear the Orcs, ringing the small clearing. An arrow flies, followed by a hundred more, taking out many Orcs before they even come within sword range. Anduril flashes in the silvery light, joined now by Elven sabers, spraying blood about the clearing.
But it is not enough; even now the Man and the Elf are tiring, yet the Orcs keep coming, bent on exterminating Isildur's heir. Ducking and parrying, slaying, more replace the fallen, until an archer begins to fire into the fray.
Not the best, he takes out a good many of his own before he hits his target, the shaft of an arrow embedded in the chest of the Elf. Gasping, he falls to the ground, reaching out in his pain for the Man.
"Legolas!" Fighting with a renewed fervor, he spins about, taking out twenty more before he is outnumbered and a well placed thrust slides between his ribs, adding to the bloodshed. The blade twists, he screams is agony, dropping to his knees, fighting still over the body of his Elf.
The blood oozes out and he falls, the Orcs laugh, not caring for their dead, they leave the Man and the Elf in the clearing, the job is done. He gasps for breath, clutching the hand of his Elf, blinking blearily as blood oozes between his fingers.
Hours pass and the sun reclaims its throne, opening emerald eyes the Elf screams is pain, he can't breathe. Someone is draped over his chest, he painstakingly pushes the body off, the night's events coming back to him a bloody blur.
Blood?
No, it is not his, but the Man? In a panic the wounded Elf lurches to his knees, biting his lip until it, to, begins to bleed. He can't be dead; it's just not possible. But the Elf's keen vision picks out the gaping hole in the Man's chest, the stillness of death settled over the body already.
And he screams, sobbing into the man's chest, how can the gods do this?
Eventually the Hobbits find him, gently prying the wounded Elf from the body of his lover, as he sobs and chokes, "Aragorn…No…My Aragorn…"