A/N: I'm going to repeat what I said in the initial posting of this story.
WARNING! The following story is rated R due to violence and SEXUAL content. This story will contain a MALE/MALE pairing (Aragorn/Legolas) and contains non-consensual sex acts. It is not pretty, and is DEFINITELY NOT FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 17 TO READ WITHOUT THE CONSENT OF A GUARDIAN.
Can I say more than that?
Yikes! Apparently, I can. I almost forgot to thank my beta-readers (especially after I was so mean about cracking the whip). Doh! My sincerest thanks to Lamiel and Elf Lady for reviewing this chapter before allowing me to put it out. I am extremely grateful to you both for your help with this story!
Heart of the Dream
by IthilienChapter Three: The Nightmare Shroud
The wind did not calm as the day progressed. Much as Aragorn had expected, the sky went gray and the gusts picked up in strength. But camp life was not a thing to be suspended because of dismal weather. All were accustomed, or growing accustomed, to the more rugged climate their travel required. And so it was that the Fellowship settled in for their rest.
Still, despite his adaptability and experience, Aragorn had difficulty finding ease that day. He tossed about in helpless worry, pressed by the power of his most recent failing. His anger, fears and shame revealed to him just this day reared ugly, and belittling thoughts of worthlessness sang harshly in his ears. Though he told himself this was the Ring trying to cut into him further, the fruition of his anxieties revealed themselves through heinous images in his mind. Feverishly he twisted and fought against them. But exhaustion would have its way. After a time, true sleep claimed him and he lapsed into dreams of a nightmarish quality.
The vision was laid before him, drawn by the torments of the Ring. He found he was back on the bluff, overlooking the grey skies and coming rise of Hollin just as he had earlier that morning. And just as in his wakefulness, he trembled as a strong, icy wind blew, only now it was different. Now, it was a great tempest current, bold and cruel.
It was a storm and the wind tangled his hair into knotted coils, whipping his eyes. Tiny particles of icy snow pelted him, assaulting his stinging skin and causing him blindness. His back was to the blustering storm as it beat against him, and so long as he stood just so, neither turning to the left nor the right, he was protected from its full assault. The wind embraced him in its cold arms, and his desperation of mood, carried from his wakeful hours, mimicked that grasp. Shame matched the hard crush of the frigid constriction. Fear and anxiety wrapped around him like ropes, taut and binding, holding him captive with the remembrance of his act against Legolas. He felt humility, even in the dream, and he found himself shivering in that chilly grip.
He shuddered in the blowing wind, and from behind, he could faintly hear the hollow sound of footsteps approaching. He knew that he should be wary of this, but somehow, in the dream, he was not. It felt like he had been expecting the one to approach, though he did not know who it was that did so. Briefly, as if remembering himself, he tried to turn. But the wind whipped him hard, like a cruel lashing, and he could not twist about to see who might be there.
And then that other touched him, two hands upon his shoulders, gentle and soothing, and an instant later he realized he was being wrapped in a new mantle. A cloak, dark and warm was donned about him. It felt heavy and thick, secure and noble. This felt quite right in his dream-laden world, and he found himself buoyed by the completeness of his feelings. He was compelled to laugh then, for suddenly he was free of his chill and former dread.
He looked upon the marvelous robe draping his shoulders. It was sable trimmed with a rich lining of velvety blackness. The black cape billowed around him and the folds swooped and churned with dancing patterns in the wind. He felt invincible having it upon his shoulders, kingly and certain of himself. His earlier shame fell away.
And then, as before, a feeling of rightness came. The other, in an elegant move, came to be at his side, and he was heartened to know he need not be alone. With the one who had shrouded him, innately he knew there was nothing he might fear ever again. He knew whom it was that stood beside him and he felt sudden ease with her there.
And then that other's chilled fingers slid between his, and he gentled them into the heat of his hand.
"I love you," he said. He could not see her, but he knew the loving gesture was Arwen's. Caressing the elegant, smooth hand in his own, he tucked it into the folds of his cape.
His love leaned in closer, an arm sweeping into his garment and around to his waist. It was an affirmation and it felt a comfort to be held so. There was affection in the gesture. Her voice was at his ear, and it sounded of music. "I believe in you, Aragorn," he clearly heard her say. It gladdened him. With Arwen at his side, he could overcome all his failures. Her support was a lifeline to him.
He loved her. He loved her. He was carried adrift in that thought and so he knew then he would show it. The wind's brutal lashing was nothing just then, not when the desire to convey to her his love was the greater of him. He would suffer the wind's assault that he might kiss her. Even protected in the cape, the weather still hurt, but he did not care so long as he might hold her to him as reward.
He turned in toward a blast of icy wind. His skin was pelted with bits of blistering snow, and his eyes were momentarily blinded by the screaming torrent of air. He could not see. His eyes were teary and blurred as he looked. "Arwen," he murmured knowing that if blindness were the price of holding her to him, he would happily suffer.
However, his suffering was greater than he might have considered and immediately his heart lurched as he gained full view of her. He suddenly felt sickened. "Arwen?" he queried in his rising panic, but she was not there.
He had expected to see flying tendrils of dark hair haloing her delicate face, but instead what he saw was a mane of gold and ice blue eyes. Arwen did not stand before him. Legolas did.
"No!" he said stumbling back in confusion. The earlier shame was remembered. Legolas was the last one he wanted to find.
What is this ruse? He knew the timbre of her voice. He had heard her speak. "No," he said again, dropping the elf's hand as he stepped further away. He wanted Arwen! Was she not here somewhere? He needed Arwen!
But the look on Legolas' face stopped him from flight. He saw a horror weighing upon the elf and he felt sudden fear as he took that in. There was sickness here. Death. Legolas was dying. He was cast in a cool light with lips tinted blue and eyes dim. Tears filled the pale orbs giving the only real clue that life was still in the body. In the gaze there was a plea. The elf trembled before the man and Aragorn recovered himself enough to brusquely ask, "What is it? What do you want?"
It took a moment for the answer to come as the wind screamed in his ear. But then the elf spoke and the man felt broken by the word. "You," Legolas whispered.
"No!" Aragorn said as he backed further away. He knew not what else he might say. He only knew this was wrong. His eyes fought the wind as he searched the frenetic storm. Where is Arwen? He tried to make more distance between himself and the elf, but found he could go no further for he stood on the edge of a precipice. He wanted Arwen there to bolster him. He needed her support.
"Do not flee me, Aragorn," Legolas gasped. "Please . . . I need you. I -- I believe in you." The elf's skin was sickly in hue and his eyes were beseeching. He held out his arms, palms up, as if he were surrendering himself. Aragorn found himself torn with pity by the sight. But he could not move. The elf shivered, hunching forward with a sob, and Aragorn stood mute. He could see that the elf was freezing in this unbearable wind, but he dared not act. There was a dread feeling in his gut and something told him that to respond would be to take a forbidden road.
"I cannot --" he exclaimed as he pushed Legolas aside and stepped around the elf prince.
Yet he warred with his thoughts. Under the cloak he felt warm. How could he not relinquish some of his heat to the elf? And looking again, his friend was so seemingly defenseless and weak. His heart felt wretched sorrow for disallowing his compassion. Legolas appeared on the verge of collapse.
What was wrong with him that he would refuse a friend?
A soft whisper spoken on the fringe of a trembled breath made him look at the other. Legolas murmured his words, staggered thoughts really, and the man felt his resolve wavering under the pity he felt. "Please, Aragorn. I am so cold." It was a plaintive moan. "C-c-can you not warm -- warm to me?"
The wind seemed less an obstacle now, and he knew not its direction, only feeling it whisking around him without hindering him. The folds of his cape moved with it, and he marveled at them, knowing, if he chose it, there was room within that he might hold and warm the frigid body. But how might that be seen? It was wrong. It was wrong somehow, though for survival, could he not find it right?
Lips tinted in blue spoke. "Warm to me . . . warm to me," the elf repeated in an oddly forlorn sound, his eyes drooping lazily as if said in a drowse. But his voice was a lost breath, and in the next moment the elf sagged as if in a swoon, and without thinking, the man rushed forward and wrapped his arms about the elf, pulling Legolas into the cloak. He was surprised to find was how easily he could surrender to that which he had refused. He moved his arms to shroud the elf within the folds of fabric and he held Legolas upright in his arms.
"Why do you do this to me?" he whispered as he propped the elf against him. Legolas' head dropped into Aragorn's chest and there was no answer.
"What of Arwen?" Aragorn asked next, trying to find something in his voice that might rouse the elf and make him understand Aragorn's shame for just this. But that ploy had another edge. What of Arwen? he thought. He suddenly became aware that he had forgotten he had been previously seeking her out. Realizing yet another of his failings, he tried to disentangle himself from the elf, pulling his friend to his side, making the embrace that much less intimate.
Legolas looked up, and nodded appreciatively, tiredly. There was a slight moistening sheen on the lower lip. Though still cast in blue, a small smile played there, and Aragorn could not keep his eyes away. The fullness of the elf's lips mesmerized him. "I believe in you," the elf said, leaning his head again into the man's chest. There was something familiar in those words. He had heard them before. They were Arwen's words, but they did something to him. They stirred him. A sense of excitement passed over him. Flesh to flesh. It felt good to be holding the elf so.
They were wrapped in the dark shroud, and the brutality of the storm disappeared. Silence and the thumping sound of his heart made Aragorn realize just how fiercely it was racing. He felt something of protectiveness toward the huddled figure in his arms, and at the same time there was a feeling akin to yearning, to finding closeness even greater than this. He pulled the elf tighter to him, and he could feel the heat of his body passing into his friend. Absently he realized these were not feelings he might normally have considered, but like the adorning cape, they felt right in this world.
"Warm to me," the elf sighed. "Warm. Oh, so warm, Aragorn." Legolas' head rolled back again and breathy words came. "So warm," he said and it seemed that he almost moaned, making the utterance erotic and thrilling. Aragorn could see now that the color had returned to the elf's features, and as he gazed down, he found his eyes again drawn to the wet highlights that glistened on the elf's lips. Legolas' eyes shone with desire; longing gentled the fair one's features. And for Aragorn, all thoughts and words were lost. There was only desire. He bent in to touch his lips to the elf's, oblivious to everything but the sound of air moving around them. He cared no more for anything else. Tangled up within the great cloak, two figures twined together, and he gave himself over wholly to this cause.
Legolas' mouth was sweet to taste, and the playful tease of a tongue performed a small dance on his lips, hinting to him what a deeper, more passion-filled kiss might reveal. It was intoxicating. He was overwhelmed, keenly thrilled that this moment had come. He leaned back only so his eyes could feast upon the beauty before him. He could see the small nuances of the elf's face: the fluttered brush of long lashes, the high slope of fine cheekbones, the gentle pucker of lips gasping at the departure of his kiss. He was fascinated as he studied the lineless skin and the gentle curve of the cheeks. His fingers lifted and he stroked his thumb over the elf's brow and down the temple. The elf leaned into it, and Aragorn rejoiced at the wanton beauty in that motion. He could have spent hours exploring every facet of the elf's face and body, for this was a vantage he did not normally have.
Legolas looked at him then with eyes partly shuttered. At half-mast, they were dreamy and yearning. And then with a sigh, the elf closed his eyes entirely and leaned in for an even deeper kiss. The move caught Aragorn off guard, but he took it, moaning into those reaching lips. He was aroused by just this small contact.
As if reading his hunger, the elf suddenly regained his power and Legola's hands were roaming over the man's chest and body. "I want you, Aragorn." Legolas said. His voice was husky, and the sound of it sent a thrill of excitement into the man's body as the elf ran a smooth finger down his cheek. "So warm. Warm," the elf sighed seductively. "I want you. . ."
Everything else died away. There was no weather then. There was no cold. There was only Legolas, and nothing more was needed to fill the elf's statement. Aragorn knew what the elf wanted, for he wanted it too. His hands, hidden from sight, but not from his knowing mind, mapped out the elf's body from under the cloak. He felt his fingers roam over the flesh of the well-defined chest, trailing down to the heavily ridged torso, and on to the elegant curve of Legolas' back, lastly letting his palms slide over the rising flesh of the firm, muscular buttocks. With passion, he took the elf's lips to his own as he felt their bodies beneath the cloak come together in motions not unlike that of their seeking mouths. He felt as if he could consume the elf as his lips roamed over that smooth flesh. His breath quickened with the mounting desire and he found himself caught in the fervor of one devouring kiss while his body rocked in pressing rhythm to the elf.
But then a new strangeness came into the dream. A part of his mind screamed. Stop this! Stop this now! And though it was his own inner voice that spoke, it was foreign to this scene, terribly absent in what had been building, and now it was harsh enough to make him heed the thought. Conflicted, Aragorn began to pull away, awash in sudden shame. "This is not right, Legolas," he could hear himself say.
"So warm. . . so warm. How long has it been that you have longed to taste my lips, Aragorn?" the elf whispered, pulling the man back into him.
"No," Aragorn protested, remembering himself now. He shook as he recalled the realities. "I desire only Arwen." He turned to try to find her again. Where was she? The cloak only hindered him from moving. It whipped against his body in the violent wind, coiling around the pair as if to join them together.
"Touch me," Legolas said, and with the words, Aragorn turned startled eyes back to the elf. His eyes met the archer's and somehow he found them looking into his soul. Legolas smiled, as if seeing the truth in Aragorn's heart, and the man winced, for everything that had been happening felt so right and true, and that in turn was wrong.
"Please, no. I cannot --" the man began. "I do not . . . It is not in my nature!" Aragorn stammered out, remembering himself and trying to push the elf away, but finding it impossible as Legolas kept him captive with an impossible strength. The cloak twisted tighter.
And then the elf smiled a toothy grin as he leaned in close to the man. His eyes stared directly into Aragorn's, and the Ranger could not tear himself away. So close were they that he could feel the heat of Legolas' body pressing against his skin, and the elf's breath teased his lips with his nearness. Aragorn felt his own breath hitch in his throat and he felt he might choke on the air he held while his heart thundered out a staccato beat. "It seems you would have me," Legolas said mockingly.
"Nay!" Aragorn exclaimed.
"You want me, Aragorn," the elf said as he ground his body into the man's, nearly toppling him in his pressing. "Look to your own body. It answers me," Legolas whispered in the man's ear. Aragorn could feel the elf's body rub, hardened flesh grinding against him. And then, to Aragorn's ultimate shame and humiliation, just as the elf had said, he found his own body responding to the elf's touch.
"Cease this!"
"You should not defy me!" Legolas warned, and those words rang with familiarity. The elf suddenly released his grip and stepped back to reveal his body. Aragorn saw then that the elf was naked. Strangely, it was not a shock. Instead he could feel the ache in his loins answer to the rousing sight and that is what frightened him. Legolas was astounding in his bodily magnificence, and he found his eyes tracing the line of the elf's sculpted chest, caressing the taut muscles of a flat abdomen, the taper of that narrow waist, and taking in those grace-slender hips. He felt his mouth water as his eyes lingered over long, lean legs, and then he repeated the path finishing off at the evocative curves where sternum met throat. He longed to dip his head into that small space and to take in the perfume of the elf's body. Aragorn found he could not turn his eyes away or stifle the growing heat of his own breaths as he looked upon the feast of this handsome beauty.
Then Legolas lay down before him. Elven eyes gazed at him in lust and rapture. At first, the elf's stare appeared distant, as if in a dream, and Aragorn thought that for the first time in his recollection, the eyes did not look through him, but simply at him. He wondered if perhaps the elf were dreaming, but the eyes seemed to focus on him, much like the loving glances he felt under Arwen's gaze. Aragorn gasped, for that look was an intoxicating thing to behold. It was as if instead of looking into the man, the elf were revealing the depths of his own soul and what Aragorn saw there was pure desire, and love.
He knew he should run. This was his opportunity to flee. But he found his eyes locked on the sight of the elf's hands drifting over the perfect body and without thinking, his panted gasps laced over the soft moans of the elf's voice. Long, perfect fingers ran the length of the elf's figure with sensual vigor. Fingertips paused at beaded points of rosy nipples, and the heel of the caressing hand pressed into that flesh. The elf tossed his head under the ecstasy of his own touch, and the invitation to Aragorn was clear. "Ask me to say I want you," Legolas moaned.
Aragorn dropped to his knees. He did not think then. He simply complied as the cloak gathered into a sweeping curtain that billowed up to surround them. "Tell me that you want me," he said between husky breaths.
The elf sighed, a smile curling his lips in a wanton expression. "I want you," he gasped. "I want you. I want you."
That declaration quickened Aragorn's heart and his desires were set to a feverish pitch. He let go of any inhibitions and felt his body move to meet the elf. The cape swept over them to house them in that gentle warmth, and they lived in the harmony of perfect motions and flesh. The darkness of the fabric fell around them, but Aragorn did not care. Without thought, he was gyrating in time with the elf's persistence. He could not stop this. It was bliss and he wanted the fulfillment of what was being offered him. The ecstasy was exhilarating. He felt consumed by his desire.
He bent over the elf, sucking on the flesh that met his kisses. His body felt hot and his breathing rasped loudly in the small hollow created in the curtained space where his face came into the elf's neck. He brushed kisses along the smooth column, his tongue lingering over the taste of the alabaster flesh. The scent of pine whisked in his nose as he nuzzled into the silky hair. His turgid organ, sheathed yet in the confines of his clothing, yearned to lunge forward and rock in rhythm with the body. Fumbling motion between them told the man that a hand reached down to his aching want and attempted freedom. A moment later, he found relief as fingers cupped around the heated flesh. He felt a gasp of tremulous thrill hitch in his throat as his body spontaneously bucked into that wondrous pleasure. Beneath him, the voice of the male elf purred a joyous moan, and just the sound of it nearly undid him. His body pushed with gathered intensity, the fingers about him moving in a quickened pattern, and he arched his back while grinding in automatic motion.
He could find joy in this forever. He wanted this, and he forgot all else but the feelings taunting him, aching for completion.
He was floating, lost, happy in this. "It is a pretty sight," the wind whispered in his ear, and he felt a caress upon his brow given with the words. It fed his want, leading him to feel loved and whole. And yet strangely, when he considered, it was almost as if an ethereal presence had said this. But also, there was a physical quality to the utterance. Still, it was distant and he did not think hard on it; he merely felt. He leaned into the gesture, adoring and agreeing with the speaker. What he was experiencing was indeed beautiful. He felt so alive and so fulfilled and so aching with his need. The words seemed to match that yearning. "I can see how you might choose this."
But the oddity struck him then. It was not the wind speaking. Something caught his eye, and he glanced up. A figure moved past, shrouded in white and pale blues and grays. The wind whipped again, and the great cloak that tented Aragorn and Legolas was flung away. The cold was a shock, as was the sight he found before him, for now he faced the one for whom he had earlier longed. Only that had been before. Now she was the last one he wished to see. He gasped, looking down, realizing his bodily exposure, and that of his lover, and he felt sick with the ugliness of what was now laid out so openly in the blunt chill of the open world. He became caught up in shock as he tried to pull away from Legolas. "Arwen," he murmured.
But her eyes snared him and he was trapped. Like an insect caught in a bell jar, he was made vulnerable to her eyes. Cold. He trembled in fear and sickly shame. He was found, and he could see his failure in her eyes. For all the love she had ever showed him, there was malevolence now. For all the tenderness and understanding she had bestowed upon him prior, there was only hate present. Her eyes pierced him like the eyes of all her kind, and there was a distance he could not breech. It was as if she stood on the other side of an ocean, so great was her aloofness. She was so very far away.
"Arwen, please!"
Aragorn bolted upright, his heart pounding through his chest.
He was no longer on the cliff side, but alone on his bedroll, his cloak drawn about him, and he was in a place surrounded by the sleeping members of the Fellowship. Relief washed over him then. It was not real. Though he could not deny his personal humiliation for what he knew he had been experiencing, at least he knew it was not real.
In the corner of his eye, he saw a golden flash, and he turned to see Legolas standing on his watch, his hair spun gold in the afternoon sun. The elf apparently noticed the abrupt awakening of the Ranger and he looked at the man with scrutinizing eyes. Aragorn could feel his face flush with the sudden attention. Those eyes sliced into his soul and he turned away, the memory of what had been in his dreams still vivid to his waking mind. His humiliation was doubled as his all too real dream actions were recalled. He felt as if Legolas knew in that glance what he had been thinking, and he felt a wave of wretched disgrace slam into him at the indignity forced upon him.
Worse, his body was still at alert, his groin aching with the unspent need of his base lusts. He tried to ease back from the tautness in his breeches. He felt horrible shame that his body had responded so, and more so that he had ultimately given in. He could not believe he had acted so, even if it was just a situation of his mind's own make.
But what really bothered him was the heart of the passion. The Ring taunted him, and it did so by finding a fissure in his front. So certain Aragorn had been that he could not be enticed that he had ignored the more accessible entrances to his heart. The dream was telling. Aragorn had felt lust, and that was both a shocking and repulsive revelation.
It was unfathomable to the man's mind and went against everything of his nature. He had never thought, let alone felt, such a thing before and such desires were alien to him. Never mind that elves seemed not bothered by a pairing so made. Aragorn was not thus inclined! Legolas was male! Never until this moment had he thought such a thing as to mesh his body with that of another male! And yet in the dream, it had seemed so desirable. That frightened him.
His mind immediately went to his Undomiel. "Arwen," he whispered, reminding himself who it was that had snared his heart. He tried to assure himself that the dream was not real, that he could never feel that way about another. At the same time the surprising feelings and gathered wants teased him. Legolas had been so desirable. Even now, in thinking it through, he felt the urge to act further on this yen.
It did not help that his body yet ached. He felt unbalanced, his nerves affray, and the memories of both his real life humility and what had occurred in his dream state rattled him. Though he tried to put it from his mind, his shaky pride would not be freed and his body would not calm. Heedless of his wish to be done with it, the need pressed on him, and the knowledge that Legolas stood but a short distance away only made him shudder with tension. He would have to find relief if he were to be released from his deep agitation. And so he rose, as if to relieve his body of banal needs. He disappeared into the brush, feeling the elf's eyes following his back as he moved.
When he knew he could not be seen, even by the sharp eyes of the elf, he loosened the ties of his garb and released hot flesh. He knew that it would not take much to complete the fulfillment of his heat. He refused, however, to consider the elf in his imaginings. Neither would he sully the vision of Arwen by putting her up against his vile yearning. He was ashamed he should find need of this, and he bit on the inside of his cheek to stifle his moans. His mind returned to the vision of his dream, but he immediately banished the thoughts. He could not let that humiliation taint his mind. Instead, he focused on sensation alone, and within a minute he felt the full rise of his screaming fulfillment. He arched back into it, though he bit back his cry. And as he came to the peak of his bodily spending, a tear slipped loose and trickled down his cheek.
His head dropped to his chest as he exhaled his relief. And then he had the time to consider: what did it mean?
The dream was unkind and strange and the remembrance of Arwen walking away was excruciating. He felt a pain tug at his heart. What if that should happen? What if he should lose her?
And what of Legolas? He had never thought of Legolas in this way. Why would he think of the elf with such desires now?
His mind went back to days before. He remembered considering the elf's hands, his eyes. He remembered being taken with Legolas' beauty, with the perfection of the elf's skin. Never before that moment had he considered the intrigue of the male elf. Now it haunted him. Persistently, he realized, it begged his attention.
No!
He refused to give in to this longing! Thoughts of the elf would not ruin what was his! Legolas would not act as a divider to the love he shared with Arwen! The Ring would not do this to him. It would not destroy him!
And at that moment he hated Legolas. He would not let the imagined loss happen or give in to these primal urges. He was stronger than that and he would endure the Ring's taunts. He would overcome and succeed. He would. He must!
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They stood yet on the talan, and Galadriel continued to probe Aragorn's mind. Long did it seem to him that she pried, though not a word passed outwardly between them. But the mysteries of time were oddly put in the elven realms, and none of the others seemed to notice the lingering focus on the man.
"You could not discern that the Ring put these thoughts into your mind?"
"I did."
"But you hated Legolas for something that was not his doing."
"I despaired. The thoughts of losing Arwen were too overwhelming. I did not think my anger would take over. I thought I could control it and my irritation was just a sign of my weariness."
"You excuse your ignorance still with blame put upon your exhaustion."
"No. I knew it was the Ring."
"Yet you did not fully believe it. You thought it was your doing as well."
"I was confused. It seemed so odd that nothing told me to TAKE the Ring. The feelings were so real, but they said nothing of seeking greater power."
"But that is how It works. It makes you think Its desire is yours."
"I felt nothing but lust and anger."
"Anger for no cause."
"I was blind to It."
"You had been warned of what It could do, Aragorn. Gandalf told you. You turned your eye away from the demons of your mind. You failed."
"I . . . Yes."
"You found yourself corrupted because you thought you might hold It off by pretending ignorance. You chose exhaustion as your excuse, when the reality was your pride would not allow you to believe you were susceptible."
"I fought the impulses!"
"You denied the impulses. You buried them in your soul, and you allowed them to fester and grow more wretched with your false ignorance."
"I did not know it would come to this."
"A life hangs in the balance because of your actions! Can you say he will not die because of what you did to him?"
"Will he? Lady, please tell me. Will Legolas die?
"I cannot determine that as of yet. You must tell me more of what came."
"No. It is ugly."
"I have seen desire just as base as this, son of Arathorn, and though this is not a graceful moment, it does not mean there is no gain to be found in it. Perhaps we will find redemption still."
And then all came to real time. She excused the party then, offering them a pavilion in which they might rest. Her eyes focused on the elf amongst them before turning to Aragorn and speaking to him aloud. "I would speak with you privately, Strider of the Rangers."
"As you . . . as you wish, Lady," he replied, knowing that he had no other choice.
TBCA/N: ::nervous grin:: . . . ahem . . . Soooooo . . . . Reviewer Responses anyone?
Rozzan - There, there. Feel free to console Legolas all you want. I really haven't done anything to him yet, but if it makes you feel better, comfort him all you want now. He's going to need it. Trust me.
Jenolas - Oh, I'm afraid this chapter is really going to make you run away then. It gets worse, if that's possible. ::looks over notes:: Yep, definitely worse. If it's any consolation, Aragorn is about to wise up quite a bit. It won't do him a lick of good, but he's trying.
Anon - Thank you! It was really difficult to write because his emotions were bouncing like a ping pong ball. I'm really glad you liked it.
Mercredi - I agree. In fact I have some thoughts written on that in my end notes. In a way, this story is a testimonial to exactly how brave and strong Frodo was. Thank you for your kind words.
Irena - I saw. I fainted. I freakin' can't believe it. Thank you for coming in to my lair. I think this story might meet to your tastes, though I never once tie him down. Swear. Still, what I have in mind is almost as good as duct tape. Enjoy!
Kalima - I hope this continues to please you. I really love elves and their way of thinking. Sindarin vs. Quenyan? I thought that was rather fun, as well as the time discrimination thing. I have elven senses of humor coming up too.
Nightwing - Ah, I KNEW you would get the wind. Yes, they all have their struggles, though this story is told exclusively from Aragorn's perspective, so it's a little hard to know what is going through everyone else's heads. We'll catch a glimpse of Legolas' thoughts later though. His reaction might make sense once you get the whole picture.
Fliewatuet - Well, I think you are going to have to wait and see what unfolds. I really like that you are trying to read the subtleties though. Very good. I do plant hints. As for Aragorn's lie, he will be remedying that soon. It won't help, but he will be confessing. You are allowed to fear for Legolas now.
JastaElf - Your order is in the kitchen and I'll be bringing it out as it comes. Let me start you off with a salad of immoral thinking, a house specialty. I put the undressing on top. Oops, looks like the guilt is already up. That's okay, it holds well. I'll see how the rest of your order is coming along.
Noone - Sorry, but I just happen to adore cliffhangers. It's part of that 'seeing them squirm thing' I so enjoy. I've been told I'm wicked because of the prevalence of them in my fics. I guess I have a reputation to uphold. Thanks for your review.
Templa Otmena - Wow, what a great review! Yes, yes, the eyes are a symbolic device. I'm going to team you and Nightwing up together, because you both seem to pick up on my clues. Fliewatuet is there too. I'm so glad you are enjoying a look at the Ring's battle in Aragorn's mind. The Ring has not won yet. In fact, it is just testing the grounds -- slippery little device. It will be far less obvious when it does strike.
Theresa Green - What a delight to have you here for two reviews in a row. Thank you. Well, I'm trying to get into Aragorn's head. We'll see if I succeed. As for Gimli, LOL I can just hear him saying that, in exactly the same way too. Love may blossom, but the way it is delivered is by the accord of the lovers, eh? I have a plot bunny coming your way later in the story. Let's see if it finds and nibbles on you.
IMTrinity - Gosh, thank you! I'm delighted, but I'm curious to see what people will think of me after this chapter? It's a tough theme, and there is stuff even harsher to come. Do you still like? If nothing else, I gave you the chapter quick. It's something.
Myra the Archer - That is so sweet. Please do let me know if anything really comes of it. The Ring is a very menacing foe. Aragorn is finally coming to see he cannot fight it off the way he thought he could, and he will do a face to face with his own demons soon. Thanks for the wonderful review!
Serein - Hee hee! I know EXACTLY what you like, and you shall be getting it. All grand gestures aside, truth is, what you like is what I originally set out to write. And then this nasty thing -- a plot bunny -- came and bit me on the ankle and before I knew it the whole thing was swollen into this monstrosity. It sort of ate the rest, but I hope you will enjoy the end result, despite all the literary stuff thrown in for effect.
Gemini969 - I hope it continues to intrigue you. There were times when I worried, "Is this old hat? Has this been done?" I don't know if anyone has taken it where I intend to take it though, even if the basis of the plot is not entirely unique. Thank you for reviewing. I hope to see you here again.
That's it for today. More to come soon. Don't forget to review!