Well, first off I owe an apology to all those who read the first three chapters and waited...and then waited some more for an update that never came. After ff.net deleted all the NC-17 fic I completely forgot that I had another story in progress that was still up until someone recently reviewed and I thought huh? And then remembered the story. So this is for anyone who is still wistfully checking for updates...
"It's amazing! I mean, who would have thought that two little hobbits could do that much damage to a full grown man?"
"Oh, I don't know- they had a lot of rage. Hold your head back Aragorn, if you get blood on my suede boots I'm going to get very angry and finish you off"
"Nnurghhh..."
"Aw, does your head still hurt? You poor dear". The sarcasm with which this last sentence of Legolas's dripped did not go unnoticed by Aragorn, despite his rather addled state of mind at present.
It had all been a bit of a blur really. But there had been fists. And feet. And teeth. Of these things he was sure. He also remembered hearing some very girlish screams.
Which, yes, could conceivably have come from him. Maybe...
...well, it was extremely traumatic.
He had come to with Boromir and Legolas dragging him along by his arms and discussing him in a rather derogatory manner.
"God, he smells terrible, what they must have done to him..."
"Boromir, he smelt like this before- worse in fact! I can't think how Elrond put up with it for all those years."
"Well, as long as you're sure that he didn't soil himself due to fear".
It was at this point an indignant Aragorn had decided to speak up but had succeeded in making only a rather incoherent groaning noise that reminded him quite distinctly of the sort of noise he used to make early into the whole wandering-about-as-a-ranger thing after some of his more unsuccessful berry tasting sessions.
"Oh, so you're awake are you?", Legolas had asked, "you idiotic, useless sod" left unsaid but very much implied.
It suddenly occurred to Aragorn that all elves were, in fact, completely heartless bastards. Well, the ones he had the bad luck to know were...
At this point his musings on the inherent evilness of elves were rudely interrupted by Legolas and Boromir, who attempted to go different ways around a tree and managed to drag him headfirst into it. The world went blissfully dark again.
Legolas was grumpy. Very grumpy. And possibly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
The unearthly, high pitched screaming that had emanated from the forest hadn't particularly helped his nerves- although the realisation that the screams had come form Aragorn had lightened his mood considerably.
He had, using his elf powers of intelligence and persuasion, managed to get Pippin to tell him the whole sordid story. Well, Legolas had poked Pippin repeatedly with the end of an arrow whilst Boromir had twisted his ear. Ahem. End justifying the means and all that...
Pippin had been rather compliant even before they'd started trying to get information out of him. Very compliant and very graphic. Legolas didn't think that he'd be able to look Aragorn or Frodo in the eye ever again.
Hearing about Aragorn's sexual proclivities from Pippin- with his rather disturbing habit of using expansive hand gestures to illustrate what he was trying to describe- had sent Legolas dangerously close to the end of his tether.
Fuming- and ignoring the other's pleas that they and rescue Aragorn- Legolas had counted to 200 in his head. Then he had counted another 100 to give Frodo and Sam time to inflict maximum damage.
They'd actually bumped into Sam when they'd finally started trying to track Aragorn and the hobbits down. He's been on the way back to camp to fetch his frying pan, which Legolas thought boded well for Aragorn's continued existence. They'd left the irate hobbit in the custody of Gimli, Merry and Pippin whilst he and Boromir went on ahead.
They'd found Frodo kicking a prone Aragorn in the head, his mood hovering somewhere between 'wreaking bloody vengeance' and 'battle frenzy'. He'd attempted to calm Frodo down with a burst of Elvish song but that had just made Frodo give him a rather unambiguous look. Unambiguous in that it clearly said "keep singing and I'll rip your pointy ears off and stick them where the sun doesn't shine". So Legolas had stopped singing and simply yelled at Frodo in the most commanding tone he could muster. Which turned out to be surprisingly commanding- he'd even made himself wilt with fear. Although that could just have been his own body odour- if Legolas didn't have a bath soon he was going to go on strike.
When he'd finished being commanding and a sullen Frodo had been suitably reprimanded Legolas had spent ten minutes slapping Aragorn none-too-gently across the face under the supposed guise of trying to wake him up. Well, it was hardly his fault the stupid bastard remained completely unconscious so he to keep hitting him harder was it? Frodo certainly didn't seem to mind this new bout of violence and Boromir- whom Legolas was strongly beginning to suspect of being the product of incest- didn't seem to notice.
So now they were back at the camp, the four hobbits gathered to one side, giving Aragorn baleful looks that promised pain, whilst Boromir and Gimli did what all proper men would do in a similar awkward situation- they sat, silently, smoking their pipes and steadfastly ignoring everybody else. They did this highly effectively, Legolas noted. Well, either that or they were both lying about the contents of their pipes and they were now both too stoned to remember that the group was having a crisis. Either possibility seemed more attractive than playing nursemaid to Aragorn-who certainly didn't deserve any sympathy or nursing anyway, having brought this all on himself. After all, Legolas pondered, 'No kinky threesomes' and 'Don't knock up any travelling companions' were quite possibly golden rules in the handbook for apocalypse-preventing quests. Although he seriously doubted that there was handbook for this sort of thing...he certainly hadn't seen one...unless...Gandalf had been secretly carrying it and it had fallen to his death with him. Stupid old git, Legolas thought rather uncharitably, before realising that his recent thoughts could possibly be said to be the workings of an increasingly...unbalanced mind.
It certainly didn't help that Aragorn was leaning against him and bleeding all over his leggings, although it was the leaning rather than the bleeding that was perturbing him the most. He'd had to be the mature one- everybody else being too scared of Frodo to volunteer- to clean Aragorn up, bandage his wounds and foil any potential homicide attempts by the hobbits. Merry had tried earlier and had actually growled at him-growled!- when Legolas had prevented Aragorn's imminent demise.
So Aragorn had been grateful- profusely so- and had then proceeded to cling to Legolas like a limpet. It was most disconcerting, particularly since in the last half hour Aragorn had started to repetitively stroke his knee. Legolas wasn't entirely sure whether this was merely some early sign of post traumatic stress or something far more sinister- namely the thought that Aragorn was trying to hit on him and that since this was Aragorn, no amount of bad body odour was going to put him off...in fact it could be that it was a bit of a turn-on for him.
Aragorn wasn't entirely sure where he was, the mist of concussion still being prevalent, but he was pressed up against something warm and soft that smelled a bit funny-not rotting corpse funny or anything, just maybe a bit...off. He kept stroking it to try and figure out what it was, and, since it didn't show any signs of being about to attack him, he was going to keep right on stroking it since it was rather soothing considering the kind of day he'd had.
His head hurt, his right arm hurt, both his feet felt like an oliphaunt had walked over them. He was the king of men dammit, he was supposed to be revered and praised, not beaten to a bloody pulp over a few...indiscretions. As soon as he could walk again there were going to be some changes around here. Although that would involve him talking to the hobbits. Which terrified him immensely.
He sighed. God, his life sucked beyond the telling...
"It's amazing! I mean, who would have thought that two little hobbits could do that much damage to a full grown man?"
"Oh, I don't know- they had a lot of rage. Hold your head back Aragorn, if you get blood on my suede boots I'm going to get very angry and finish you off"
"Nnurghhh..."
"Aw, does your head still hurt? You poor dear". The sarcasm with which this last sentence of Legolas's dripped did not go unnoticed by Aragorn, despite his rather addled state of mind at present.
It had all been a bit of a blur really. But there had been fists. And feet. And teeth. Of these things he was sure. He also remembered hearing some very girlish screams.
Which, yes, could conceivably have come from him. Maybe...
...well, it was extremely traumatic.
He had come to with Boromir and Legolas dragging him along by his arms and discussing him in a rather derogatory manner.
"God, he smells terrible, what they must have done to him..."
"Boromir, he smelt like this before- worse in fact! I can't think how Elrond put up with it for all those years."
"Well, as long as you're sure that he didn't soil himself due to fear".
It was at this point an indignant Aragorn had decided to speak up but had succeeded in making only a rather incoherent groaning noise that reminded him quite distinctly of the sort of noise he used to make early into the whole wandering-about-as-a-ranger thing after some of his more unsuccessful berry tasting sessions.
"Oh, so you're awake are you?", Legolas had asked, "you idiotic, useless sod" left unsaid but very much implied.
It suddenly occurred to Aragorn that all elves were, in fact, completely heartless bastards. Well, the ones he had the bad luck to know were...
At this point his musings on the inherent evilness of elves were rudely interrupted by Legolas and Boromir, who attempted to go different ways around a tree and managed to drag him headfirst into it. The world went blissfully dark again.
Legolas was grumpy. Very grumpy. And possibly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
The unearthly, high pitched screaming that had emanated from the forest hadn't particularly helped his nerves- although the realisation that the screams had come form Aragorn had lightened his mood considerably.
He had, using his elf powers of intelligence and persuasion, managed to get Pippin to tell him the whole sordid story. Well, Legolas had poked Pippin repeatedly with the end of an arrow whilst Boromir had twisted his ear. Ahem. End justifying the means and all that...
Pippin had been rather compliant even before they'd started trying to get information out of him. Very compliant and very graphic. Legolas didn't think that he'd be able to look Aragorn or Frodo in the eye ever again.
Hearing about Aragorn's sexual proclivities from Pippin- with his rather disturbing habit of using expansive hand gestures to illustrate what he was trying to describe- had sent Legolas dangerously close to the end of his tether.
Fuming- and ignoring the other's pleas that they and rescue Aragorn- Legolas had counted to 200 in his head. Then he had counted another 100 to give Frodo and Sam time to inflict maximum damage.
They'd actually bumped into Sam when they'd finally started trying to track Aragorn and the hobbits down. He's been on the way back to camp to fetch his frying pan, which Legolas thought boded well for Aragorn's continued existence. They'd left the irate hobbit in the custody of Gimli, Merry and Pippin whilst he and Boromir went on ahead.
They'd found Frodo kicking a prone Aragorn in the head, his mood hovering somewhere between 'wreaking bloody vengeance' and 'battle frenzy'. He'd attempted to calm Frodo down with a burst of Elvish song but that had just made Frodo give him a rather unambiguous look. Unambiguous in that it clearly said "keep singing and I'll rip your pointy ears off and stick them where the sun doesn't shine". So Legolas had stopped singing and simply yelled at Frodo in the most commanding tone he could muster. Which turned out to be surprisingly commanding- he'd even made himself wilt with fear. Although that could just have been his own body odour- if Legolas didn't have a bath soon he was going to go on strike.
When he'd finished being commanding and a sullen Frodo had been suitably reprimanded Legolas had spent ten minutes slapping Aragorn none-too-gently across the face under the supposed guise of trying to wake him up. Well, it was hardly his fault the stupid bastard remained completely unconscious so he to keep hitting him harder was it? Frodo certainly didn't seem to mind this new bout of violence and Boromir- whom Legolas was strongly beginning to suspect of being the product of incest- didn't seem to notice.
So now they were back at the camp, the four hobbits gathered to one side, giving Aragorn baleful looks that promised pain, whilst Boromir and Gimli did what all proper men would do in a similar awkward situation- they sat, silently, smoking their pipes and steadfastly ignoring everybody else. They did this highly effectively, Legolas noted. Well, either that or they were both lying about the contents of their pipes and they were now both too stoned to remember that the group was having a crisis. Either possibility seemed more attractive than playing nursemaid to Aragorn-who certainly didn't deserve any sympathy or nursing anyway, having brought this all on himself. After all, Legolas pondered, 'No kinky threesomes' and 'Don't knock up any travelling companions' were quite possibly golden rules in the handbook for apocalypse-preventing quests. Although he seriously doubted that there was handbook for this sort of thing...he certainly hadn't seen one...unless...Gandalf had been secretly carrying it and it had fallen to his death with him. Stupid old git, Legolas thought rather uncharitably, before realising that his recent thoughts could possibly be said to be the workings of an increasingly...unbalanced mind.
It certainly didn't help that Aragorn was leaning against him and bleeding all over his leggings, although it was the leaning rather than the bleeding that was perturbing him the most. He'd had to be the mature one- everybody else being too scared of Frodo to volunteer- to clean Aragorn up, bandage his wounds and foil any potential homicide attempts by the hobbits. Merry had tried earlier and had actually growled at him-growled!- when Legolas had prevented Aragorn's imminent demise.
So Aragorn had been grateful- profusely so- and had then proceeded to cling to Legolas like a limpet. It was most disconcerting, particularly since in the last half hour Aragorn had started to repetitively stroke his knee. Legolas wasn't entirely sure whether this was merely some early sign of post traumatic stress or something far more sinister- namely the thought that Aragorn was trying to hit on him and that since this was Aragorn, no amount of bad body odour was going to put him off...in fact it could be that it was a bit of a turn-on for him.
Aragorn wasn't entirely sure where he was, the mist of concussion still being prevalent, but he was pressed up against something warm and soft that smelled a bit funny-not rotting corpse funny or anything, just maybe a bit...off. He kept stroking it to try and figure out what it was, and, since it didn't show any signs of being about to attack him, he was going to keep right on stroking it since it was rather soothing considering the kind of day he'd had.
His head hurt, his right arm hurt, both his feet felt like an oliphaunt had walked over them. He was the king of men dammit, he was supposed to be revered and praised, not beaten to a bloody pulp over a few...indiscretions. As soon as he could walk again there were going to be some changes around here. Although that would involve him talking to the hobbits. Which terrified him immensely.
He sighed. God, his life sucked beyond the telling...
