A/N: This is the last time I'll say it -- bad stuff ahead! VERY bad slashy stuff! You've been warned.
Heart of the Dream
by Ithilien
Chapter Five: The Captive Within
Aragorn's hands shook as he mixed the drink. He was nervous for so many reasons, not least of which was the idea that was dawning upon him, and winning favor in his mind. He understood why Gandalf had questioned him before. It was obvious the wizard had heard of the galenolas plant though he might not have known of all its properties. But knowing even as much as he did, he was right to question Aragorn's reasoning. At first, indeed, all Aragorn had considered in suggesting its use was easing Legolas' pain. But the more he considered the drug and all its benefits, the more he thought to use it to its greater effect. Aragorn knew he had convincingly shown his concerns, and that had not changed. Legolas needed rest after his fall and injury. A head wound was nothing to make light about. And as a healer, he had a right to treat his patient, for his patient's good. Of course he had no intention of doing harm, but he knew that if he gave the dried form of the herb to their friend, it would force Legolas to rest. That was exactly the correct course of remedy.
Gandalf did not know this was the thought forming in the man's mind, and Aragorn thought perhaps it was better that way. In this, Gandalf would not be a knowing accomplice. He hated duping the old wizard, but at the same time, refusing treatment was a dangerous tact. In his heart he felt what he did came out of concern. In the evening when the entire party arose to resume their journey, Aragorn would admit his crime. There was little doubt that Legolas, or even Gandalf would be angered with him, but in time, knowing the amusements of the elves, he was sure he could lightly jest the situation away with Legolas (just as the elf teased the man about 'skulking'), and find forgiveness from the Istar. But the only way it would work was if Gandalf could convince Legolas to drink the potion.
The whole of the idea was sharp. Sleep would heal Legolas, and when they awoke all would be well again. Still, as clever as it might seem, Aragorn's hands shook almost uncontrollably, as if something within him were trying to prevent this from happening. But he could easily dismiss that, knowing well that a portion of his worries was just over the simple task of mixing the elixir properly. He had never done so before for an elf. He knew not the right quantities of the dried weed to give, nor if the infusion should be warm or cool. The paste was one thing for he had adhered to the treatment Elrond had shown him. But in this case, he was attempting to sedate the elf into a dream state using, what he had been taught was, a prohibited drug. So he decided to mix it as he would were he giving the pain remedy to a man, and used that amount as his guide. He opened his pouch as Gandalf's back was turned away in complete trust, and he found the dried leaves that he had carefully kept. Now he was not worried about the plant oils touching his hands, for the shriveled plant was safe for mortals in this state.
He crushed a small handful into his mixing bowl, pulverizing the leaves with his stone. The old wizard looked his way, and for good measure, just to make sure Gandalf did not suspect the incorrect ingredients, he added a few of the fresh leaves left from his earlier use into the bowl. He pounded the mix into what at first looked to be a pulpy concoction. But as he worked it, the texture smoothed, and soon it became a fine grind. He added water from his flask and mixed it until it was a pasty consistency. From there he added more water and stirred until he had made a tea-colored drink. He wished he had hot water, for he thought the medicine might have better effect if warmed, but they had not raised a fire for their sup that day, and he was left to work with only the cold.
He did not look up and was yet stirring the brew when he came to realize Legolas stood before him. He nearly dropped the bowl, so surprised was he to find the elf there.
Legolas' eyes sparkled brightly, mild amusement dancing over his pale face to see the man so caught off guard. But when the merriment faded, Aragorn could see again Legolas' pain.
The Ranger held out the bowl to the elf prince, surprised at the sudden ease he found in himself. The tremor in his hands was gone and he supposed it was his surety coming through that did this. "Perhaps you will drink this now?" he asked as he proffered the bowl while turning his eyes to the camp. He noted in his mind that Gandalf stood witness. And even the wizard was now turning, apparently satisfied that he and Aragorn had done their job and finding it well that he retire.
Legolas studied the bowl for a long moment before reaching out to take it. "This will do me no harm?" he asked, and Aragorn smiled.
"Do you not trust me, Legolas?" he asked, wincing slightly as he realized there was little reason that he should.
Legolas gazed at him, his eyes sharp, and then, calmly the elf said, "I believe in you, Aragorn," and the man felt himself choked by the familiarity of those words, so much like the dream, and also by the trust he was knowingly disregarding.
And then Legolas downed the medicine without question, smiling, as if he had had no argument in drinking the elixir. He cocked his head then, changing the flow of their conversation by announcing, as it were, in a very elven fashion, "I would like to wash the blood from my clothes and hair. There is a stream some yards past that rise," he pointed. Courteously he asked, "Would you keep my watch over the camp until I return?"
So quick did it come that for a moment Aragorn did not know what to say. "Leave?" he began, but knew he could not really object without giving himself away. He had, after all, volunteered to take the elf's watch for him. He nodded his head in consent, but said as he did, "Do not tarry."
A moment later he found himself quaking. The elf's back was turned and he was parting their company. Leave the camp? He had not expected the elf would leave the camp!
Haphazard thoughts barraged him. Aragorn immediately saw all the possibilities. He cannot leave!How was Aragorn to know when the brew had taken effect? Was there not potential for greater danger if the elf should succumb when the Ranger was not about to aid him? What if the drug only had a half-effect? Legolas might blindly stumble into some new danger without even realizing it.
But what he could say or do to get out of the situation he did not know. If he spoke he would have to confess his duplicity and Legolas would be enraged. The camp would be in an uproar. They needed their rest, not more disruption.
Yet Aragorn had to stop him. He looked in the direction the elf had gone, but too late did it seem that he choose to renege. The elf was gone from his sight. Aragorn was left only with his regrets. He cursed himself. He should have refused to let Legolas out of his sight.
He vowed then that he would set this aright. His stomach turned as he considered how. He would venture out and carry the elf back to their camp if need be. But, much to his chagrin, what he must do first was wait. He must show his own faith and see if Legolas would return on his own.
Quietly he paced the perimeter of their camp, wholly unnerved, anxious and sick. He listened to the sleepy sounds of the others, envious of the oblivion his Fellows shared. The only other noise was the sparse chirping of birds in the vale and the cool whisper of the wind blowing over the lowland hills. It was eerily quiet otherwise, and that silence was daunting.
He watched the sky. Time was passing. It ate at him, devouring anything he had earlier shown of calm.
When the time had reached a half hour's passing, he could take no more. He left the camp in search of the elf.
Guilt again pricked at him. This was not the right thing to do, he truly knew. When on watch, no one left the site unless he had informed another. They were all to be accounted for, and one missing could be a disaster. But in this case, Aragorn felt it a poor decision to wake even one other, for then he would be made to account for what he had done, and Aragorn knew he would not feel good about his deception until the elf was safe and amongst the group again. Fortunately, the stream Legolas had said he was going to be at was near. With his sharp ears, the Ranger could hear the water's soft babbling in the distance. He felt, knowing his hearing was keener than that of most men, fairly sure he would be able to sense any noise that might come to the camp in his absence.
He set off on the path, headed toward the stream. He hoped Legolas had not wandered beyond that point, for then things truly would be grave. He was relieved to find a minute later that his thoughts had been heard. Coming over a slight hillock a mere minute later, Aragorn found Legolas kneeling before the stream.
However, not all was right in what he found. Legolas' hair was damp and it was obvious he had washed it. His tunic had been removed and a dry one was sitting at his side. The freshly laundered garment was held as a soggy lump within the elf's hands and all seemed well until Aragorn realized it was as a moment frozen in time. Legolas did not move. His eyes looked dreamy and he vacantly stared. Aragorn might have rejoiced then, thinking it only sleep were it not that Legolas' breathing came so rapidly. Clouds of heated air spilled from his friend's parted lips. It was as if he had come across the elf moments after some kind of strenuous exertion.
"Legolas?" Aragorn called, but there was no response. He took a step closer, crouching beside the elf. "Legolas?" he tried again, and this time, with a touch, his friend mustered.
"I feel warm," Legolas said, looking at Aragorn with dull eyes as he spoke. The words came as if they were a continuation of an earlier thought. They came as if the elf had thought Aragorn there all along.
Aragorn knew not what to say. He was dismayed to find the situation as this. So he chose instead only to act as if he had innocently come across his companion. "You are unclothed and there is a chill wind. You should not feel heated," Aragorn countered. He stretched out reaching for the elf's cape then.
The elf seemed to come to something of awareness in that moment. He gazed about, gulping on air. "What is this place?" Legolas asked, and he began to stand. He tottered as he rose, one leg buckling beneath him, and then the other.
Aragorn rushed to aid, but the elf found his balance in the man's arms and pushed away. Even with that, Legolas' feet were uncooperative. The wet tunic fell to the ground with a heavy slap, mud marking it where it had once been clean. Aragorn watched the elven prince as he took stumbling steps. He could discern no direction, and it seemed his friend turned toward no place in particular. "Where are you going, Legolas?" he asked, frightened by the elf's disorientation.
The question came out on a vaporous breath. "Is this a dream?" Legolas asked, pivoting on his heel and looking around him with a furrowed brow.
"Dream?" Aragorn asked, truly concerned now and coming forward to stop the stumbling elf from wandering further. Legolas' expression was of one truly lost.
He decided then he must have mixed the medicine improperly. Heated water might have been needed. Or perhaps the head wound had been worse than he had imagined? Or the dosage had been too high? Too low? Or there was a missing ingredient? Whatever wrong he had done, he had not thought the drug would cause the elf to react like this. "Yes, it is a dream," he said at last, feeling it easier at this moment to simply agree with his friend than to explain what had really occurred. He shook out Legolas' discarded cloak and started to wrap it around the thin figure.
"Warm to me," the elf stated, breathing too hard and throwing off the man's hands and the cape in a wave. Legolas' voice slurred on the words, like one who had imbibed too much drink. The utterance made the elf's vulnerability all that much more obvious and that made the scene feel somewhat like that of the dream.
He grabbed the elf's shoulders then, uncertain what else he could do to keep his friend still. "You need to rest. You are very tired. Stop moving about, Legolas," Aragorn said. Legolas looked at him and nodded. Then suddenly the long legs of his friend went out, and the man found himself catching what appeared to be the elf in a swoon. "Legolas," he cried out, surprised by this sudden collapse. In a smooth motion, Aragorn wrapped an arm about the torso of the elf. With the other arm, he dropped the cloak to the ground, and it fanned out in a smooth draping flow. Carefully, he lowered Legolas upon it.
" . . . 'is a dream," the elf panted. " . . . feels like . . . a dream. What is this place?" His body laid disheveled, arms splayed at his sides, and his eyes sought out slowly, as if searching for something. And then the elf attempted to push his body up again, essentially fighting against the man though he only fought with half-strength. Despite how Aragorn might have seen it, he had not imagined Legolas to respond to the drugging in this way. A sleeping elf -- that had been Aragorn's expectation. And for this reason alone, Aragorn was glad now that the elf had not returned to camp. The man would have had a very hard time confessing his deception were the others to see Legolas like this.
Still, he shook with shame. Truly was he fearful of both his friend's condition, and also for being found out for his part in doing such harm to him. It was a terrible miscalculation, and Aragorn pondered how he might resolve it. "Relax, Legolas," Aragorn soothed hoping the elf might yet fall still thus allowing the man to simply bring him back in a state of rest. That would be so much the better. "Be still. Lie still. Do not move. I am here to guard you now. Sleep."
The elf seemed to calm then, falling back, his eyes drooping into a slumberous state at just the suggestion of rest. However, though the elf's posture spoke of reverie, his breathing was yet heavy and his face showed still that lost look. Aragorn waited and watched, hoping the elf might find calm. But after a moment, Legolas seemed to stir again, his brow furrowing and his head twisting as if fighting off the effects put upon him.
Does it wear off? Aragorn worried. Perhaps that is why he acts so oddly. And as if to foster his greater fears, the elf began to softly moan, pushing his head into the ground, as if reaching for something with only that part of his body.
"What is it, Legolas? What is it you are doing?"
"I want . . . " the elf whispered and then he lay still again.
Aragorn shuddered as he studied the elf. He felt panicked, sick for what he had done. The words stirred something in him that was reminiscent of days past. That phrase. What was there in that phrase? He felt he had lived this moment before, so familiar did it seem. Suddenly he realized what it was he knew. Aragorn's heart leapt into his throat. In the dream, Legolas had said those words! He had said them, and in much the same way as he uttered them here. "I want . . ."
Aragorn felt the sweat on his brow. His palms had gone clammy. This was not right. Was he being forced to live the dream? A sign was being shown him and he wished to flee it. He blindly grasped at anything that might free him of this horror. He leaned in closer, curious to know if -- hoping he might find that -- this too was just a dream. The saner part of him knew it was not, but he was on the verge of madness now, and he felt if the elf repeated the words to him as he had heard them in the dream, perhaps he might find this all somehow unreal. How he wished to find this just a nightmare. How he wished it!
"Say it," he said. "What is it you want?"
Legolas stirred again, licking his lips, though his eyes remained lost in reverie. He was sleeping it seemed. Was this the elf's dream? But Legolas also appeared to hear. His brow was pinched in something of mild suffering, soft whimpers caught within those panted breaths. He pushed again his brow and cheekbone into the solid earth, rubbing against it like a cat moving into the stroke of a petting hand though he otherwise remained still.
"What, Legolas?" the man prodded, growing impatient.
"Touch," the elf whispered. "Touch me . . ."
Aragorn nearly choked. "I . . . know not what you --" Aragorn began, truly embarrassed by the request. This was most definitely not as he had expected. This was indeed a nightmare.
Legolas rolled his head to the side. He looked distressed and needy. Breathy sounds whispered from his lips. "Touch. . . want . . . want . . . I need to touch. . . " the elf said, a longing sigh escaping him between those quickened breaths. To Aragorn's eyes, it appeared the elf was attempting on his own to achieve this suddenly desirable thing, only doing so without moving.
And then Aragorn remembered that he had told the elf to lay still. Was it because of that that Legolas seemed immobilized? Was Legolas commanded by his whim? He decided to test this theory. "Show me how you wish . . . to be touched, Legolas," the man said, feeling unseemly at even the request.
However, had he guessed his reaction to the elf's response, he might never have voiced even that, for the gesture to follow is what took him past himself and anything that resembled Aragorn as he had been known. He became a demon, a captive of his own dream, and everything of mores and duty were forgotten in the next minutes.
With the man's words, the elf's hands came to rise. They moved fluidly, graceful and poetic, long and strong, and Aragorn's eyes fixed on them as they had those few times before now. They lifted slowly, gently coming up to the long column of that neck. They stroked the white flesh there in a caress, grazing the surface with just the tips of those fingers. The elf's head lolled back. A moan sounded from the depth of his core. The sound of it was truly sensual and Legolas appeared to luxuriate in the touch, one hand stroking slowly down his bared chest, the other reaching up to run over that exquisite jawline, the cheekbone, about the temple. The elf's mouth parted, a soft sigh being breathed as slim fingers ran over those lips. Primal desire caused white teeth to gently bite the flesh of his own fingers. Aragorn felt his breath catch in his throat with that. And then he watched as the other hand ran downward, pressing firmer with the heel of the palm, sliding down the flat abdomen and moving on to lean thighs.
It was too much. The heat of Legolas' breath seemed to rise into the man's lungs. He found his chest constricting at the sheer beauty of the elf's actions. It was fabulous to behold. A seduction. Just those small movements were enough to drive the man to distraction, his mind refusing to think of anything beyond possessing the enticing vision.
He felt his own heat rise, his mouth salivate. He suddenly wished to be touched as well, to press small bites into flesh with his stirring arousal. His limbs longed to press into other limbs. He yearned to be coiled around that handsome body. He felt a scream of craving possession rising within his very body.
He wanted this . . .
Legolas sighed his relief, his breath shifting into pants. He could see the elf's pleasure as he watched the long body arc with the self-guided touches. A bulge was forming in leggings grown tight. And as Aragorn imagined those fingers running over his own flesh, he felt his body match that aroused state. He ached in his groin, suddenly longing to be free of constraints. His mind whispered on the edge of a dream. He wished for nothing more than to rub his body along the hardened flesh of the elf. A moan drifted from his throat at just the mere thought.
"Let me help you, Legolas," Aragorn offered the sleeping elf, and Legolas gasped in crooning pleasure as the man loosened the ties to his remaining garb. The cold was not bothersome as boots were pulled off and the leggings were shed. Aragorn sighed with contentment as he feasted on the body before him. Even in his dream, Legolas had not appeared so enthralling. The elf's body was a work of art. The man's eyes roamed the knotted tautness of muscles sculpted over sensuously long limbs. Aragorn hungered to devour ever inch of them, to possess them, to claim them his. His imagination lingered over the arching pleasures of the elf's stroking fingers, watching them as they kneaded the flesh at that muscular chest, stretching and groping for the yearning call in that heated groin. A hand coiled around the elf's passion, and Aragorn was very willing to imagine it his. A soft moan followed and then Aragorn's eyes were swept up to the passion-filled longing shown in the elf's eyes. Parted lips released a withering sigh as those yearning eyes rolled back, drifting closed in that joy as Legolas' craned and arcing body told of the unrelenting want. He wanted, it was plain to see, and in his need-filled moment, Legolas was perfection.
Bodily perfection. He would have it. He would claim it his. He would conquer the elf's need. He would claim it as he would claim his own want. The sheer beauty was irresistible. This was his.
He divested himself of his own raiment, suddenly impervious to the cold though he threw his own cloak over them. And all the while, he dared not let his eyes stray from the elf. Legolas writhed under his own touch, and the man found great pleasure in watching his elf perform thusly. His elf. "Slowly, Legolas." Legolas responded to him, obeyed him, and the man found great satisfaction in that. Something within Aragorn told him these actions were warranted. They were justified. He could be free of his worries if only he did this thing he yearned to do. In fact, it seemed pointless to even consider any other course of thought. That would be as one who felt guilt might do, and Aragorn was not feeling anything of guilt.
No, what he felt was hot, fevered. The pitch of his heart was increasing with every beat. His breath was heavy and rapid. His fingers shook in sheer ecstasy. But most intoxicating of all, the elf seemed to echo that sensation through a single word. "Warm," Legolas murmured, his eyes opening with the lazy refrain. The utterance pulled Aragorn over his limit. The word was as much in this reality as it was in the dream and it was like the key that opened the vault to his core.
He was upon the elf then. "Touch me," Aragorn ordered, and again there was compliance. The hands reached up and stroked along his torso, around to the back of his neck. Fingers slid into his hair, and over his cheekbone. The elf gazed at him, seeing him and not seeing him at the same time. It seemed Legolas was locked into his own desires, and Aragorn was but a small piece of that.
There were no regrets though. Aragorn dove in to the body beneath him. His lips hungrily crawled over the flesh. His hands greedily pressed over the elf's collarbones, nipples, while his mouth moved up to the neck and lobes. And Legolas moaned, returning the gestures, kind for kind.
Aragorn's heart surged with his passions. He wanted to consume all of the elf's body, sate his eagerness with everything he could acquire in this one sampling.
"Aragorn," Legolas gasped, and the man smiled, enjoying the sound of the elf calling out his name. "Aragorn," Legolas said again, but this time the word came out differently. It caused the man to freeze. It sounded more possessed, and Aragorn was surprised the elf had enough of himself to even realize the Ranger was with him, not as within a dream. "Aragorn, this is not right.
The man's mouth went dry. No! No!
Fleetingly he wondered if the drug was wearing off? Why else would Legolas resist? They were so near their peaks, and Aragorn was not ready for the moment to end.
Grasping to find a way to prolong the moment, he whispered into the elf's ear, "It is right, for it is but a dream, Legolas. Give in to it." As he spoke, he was surprised at how poised he sounded.
The elf eased back, gazing at the man, but not looking at him. The intensity of that elven stare seemed gone, and Aragorn felt the sense of power he had felt moments before return. Then Legolas spoke, his words sliding into smooth Sindarin as his face twisted into a frown. "Dare I believe . . . ? Is this dream . . . or truth? What wretched favors might be unleashed . . . were I to give?"
Impulse took over. The man's desires raged, piqued somehow by the elf's questioning. "Do not think it," he growled in a heavy pant, grinding his body into the elf. "Simply act." He was rewarded with a groan of pleasure from his companion. Then he leaned in closer, a wicked smile pressing his lips as he thought what he might wish. He whispered his thought into the elf's ear. "Tell me you want me," he commanded.
The elf smiled, almost laughing, and again this surprised the man. He felt unnerved by that self-possessed action. But then the smile disappeared, and the elf fell back into his needy gaze. Glazed eyes stared at him and breath came as short gasps. The aching need cried out. "I . . ." the elf began.
Aragorn's breath came faster. He knew what it would do to him to hear the words said. "Say it, Legolas," Aragorn encouraged. He felt so alive, so wanting. At the same time, the elf appeared so desirable, so wanton. The words would complete the moment. He yearned to hear them. He wanted to hear them as they had been said in the dream.
But what followed strayed from the dream's course. "I . . . want . . ." the elf said, but he was struggling. He twisted his head from side to side, and Aragorn blinked in disappointment. It was not rapture that spoke those few words. It was disavowal. Legolas was fighting off what Aragorn commanded he speak.
Such confusion struck the man.
But somehow that made the moment all the more exciting.
Amd then Aragorn came to see what was happening. He read and accepted it. It was a game. Lust and denial. Aragorn had heard of such sexual play but he had never thought to take it for himself. How deceptively wicked the elf was. He groaned in his pleasure at the idea. "Say it. Say it," he urged, feeling his excitement deepen with each pushing word.
"No," Legolas moaned, slurring the word. "'Tis wrong. It should not be as such."
Aragorn laughed then. Legolas would make a good game of this. Deny me, he thought. I will force you. Pain and pleasure. They were intertwined. "Say it!" Aragorn demanded, finding his heat growing greater as his anger welled forth.
"I . . . should not want . . ."
"Tell me that you want me!" Aragorn said huskily.
"'s wrong," the elf murmured, his words sliding together. But Legolas' body said another thing, pressing more fervently into the man's with each utterance of denial. He wondered if the drug did this -- heightened the elf's sexual yearnings. Whatever it was, the contrast between want and denial was exhilarating beyond anything Aragorn might have imagined, but too it made him want the words of the dream as well. He found himself growing more frantic for them with each refusal, but he was also enjoying the game at the same time. His peaking pleasure was tied to that one statement and he felt he would never be released of this until he heard the elf say the words in this reality. He loved how Legolas was prolonging the game by withholding them.
Aragorn sat up, pushing the elf away, his grip strong as he held those hands down. Sternly he looked down upon the elf, laughing inside but terse outwardly and he demanded it again, loudly this time. "Say it!"
Legolas whimpered a soft moan, derived, Aragorn supposed, from the play of brutal give and take. The man could not imagine how he had lived without realizing how much pleasure he could get in this game of sexual torture. Legolas appeared incredibly vulnerable before him, his eyes glazed beyond true sight, his movements languorous and becoming. He was enticing to behold in this state. Rapturous and beguiling. Such supreme power Aragorn had over that fair creature. And yet the elf had power over him as well for there was one more thing the man would have. The elf's hips came up, legs parting in invitation, and Aragorn wanted it. He wanted that. He growled as he urged his body into that most private place. "You know you want this."
"No . . . " Legolas moaned, and the man laughed darkly, enjoying the sweet pleasure of the elf's outward denial in contrast with his body's even more apparent true want.
Ecstasy loomed on the other side of the phrase. "Tell me you want me," he commanded again, but Legolas pushed at him, shaking his head.
"No, no . . . please, Aragorn . . ."
Aragorn so enjoyed his position and he forced his voice to grow angrier, experimenting with the thrill it gave him while he pressed himself into the vulnerable reaches to the elf. "Do not defy me!" It was a threat.
" . . . cannot," Legolas sobbed.
Aragorn laughed. He pierced him.
The elf cried out in pain. The hurt was Aragorn's as well, but he was too far driven by the pleasures derived in that hurt to focus long on it. He could have laughed again for the joy of this evocative torment and the pinched expression of ecstasy and pain he saw conjoined on the elf's face.
"Say it! Say it! Say it!" Aragorn screamed into Legolas' ear, but the elf only turned his head away, his face locked in a grimace.
And then Aragorn's body exploded, the horrible, tremendous, delicious rush riding over him, weakening him, sickening him, invigorating him. He cried out with the heady gasp of wicked pleasure, an incoherent sound barreling from his chest. Beneath him, vaguely he heard the elf cry out words he could not decipher, hands weakly pushing at him. But the man was too caught up in his own climactic resolution to notice much beyond the wave of sensation. Zenith lights flashed behind his closed eyes. He gulped on his caught breath. He was buoyed by a release of pure urgency unlike any he had ever experienced before. As if floating in a tumbling world of churning waves, he relinquished himself to the pinnacle of his rapture. He was spent, purged of his lust, but fevered yet still by the heat of his arousal.
After a long minute, he sat up, not realizing until he regained his senses that he had collapsed against Legolas. A sticky fluid covered his belly, and rubbing it into his flesh, Aragorn realized this was a remnant of the elf's orgasm.
It gratified him somehow to know that Legolas had found release as much a necessity as had the man. Pain and pleasure. But then he gazed upon the elf's face.
Legolas appeared to be sleeping with eyes shut, but his dreams were not calm. The elf's brow screwed up into a subtle frown, and the outline of a tear streaked his cheek. The caught sound of a moan could be heard in the elf's slowing breath accompanied by a small shiver. A sense of dread seemed to loom about him and Aragorn's perceptions of what had seemed to be pleasure suddenly shifted. His gut tightened as he looked at the pale face below him, realizing it was not sleep but serious ill that kept his friend's eyes sealed.
A wind came up then. It tugged fiercely against him, and the cape was blown away. The chill snatched him, and he felt it twine around his body. All was exposed and the sun shone down upon him.
Aragorn's heart lurched in sudden shock as he saw at the aftermath of what had happened. The scene was not pretty. There was something maimed in the elf's skewed body. Legolas lay limply before him, as if cast aside in his use. And then it occurred to Aragorn that this was his to claim. This ugliness belonged to him. A plaintive cry rasped out of his chest as he snatched at the tatters before him, trying to make Legolas back into that perfection he had been.
What have I done? he thought as he blindly reached for the bruised and ragged elf. By the Valar, what have I done?
TBC
A/N: Again, I must thank all the wonderful people who reviewed this last chapter. Can you see me smiling? I am!
For those folks who generally lurk, I understand. I tend to lurk myself. But I'm trying to mend my ways. And as is typical of me, once I try to better myself, I tend to want to get everyone in on it. Thus, I come forward with a message. Here goes:
Won't you, by sending a review, hug an author today? I'm not saying this for me, but for all fanfic writers. Just pick an author, any author whose story/stories you are following. Offer them a kind word or two, perhaps just a "thank you" if you can't find anything else to say. Trust me: even that will bring them a smile. Perhaps it might even encourage them to write more and FASTER. And you'll feel good too for having done something kind.
That's my fanfic service announcement for the day. ::smile:: You may now return to your regularly scheduled reading.
Response to Reviewers
Val - Thank you so much. I'm a fan of the darkness. Shadows can really stir the imagination, don't you think? Think of ghost stories around a campfire . . . they're just not the same told some place out in the broad daylight.
Peace - I'm keeping to a weekly schedule, so this shouldn't see you waiting long. And the story concludes at eight chapters, so it should be an easy enough commitment to make. Thank you for your encouragement.
Bookworm 303 - Gee, thank you! If I can't imagine Tolkien's characters doing or saying these things, I don't use them. I'm glad you find everyone as they were written by the master. I'm trying so hard to keep it to canon.
JastaElf -Ooh, a two-fer! Thank you! I DO understand the circumstances. Knowing what I do, I truly appreciate your attention directed this way. We've got quite a few orders for angst in the kitchen right now, but I think I can get you another serving before the story is done. Your lust and immorality are up though. Watch out, they are very hot. You'll be needing these extra napkins too. I'll have the guilt out in the next chapter. Enjoy!
Kalima -Copy editor, eh? I should have known. Well, keep giving me your edits, and if the server is being nice to me when I'm done, I'll incorporate them all at once. I do appreciate your looking out for them. I, however, am not a musical person, so I had no clue about the big breakthrough in G minor. I like that the music fits this story. No, stay away from those happy tunes. I think we need grim music until the end. Bach, maybe. Then something melodic and soft -- flutes, I think, but not sprightly like Vivaldi. That would be too chipper. Suggestions? As for the vision, it was two chapters back, when Aragorn suddenly felt that Legolas was going to be lost to them if he wandered off alone. Sorry I didn't make that clear. I'll take that up too when I go back in with your edits.
Leralonde- I'm afraid Legolas' thoughts will have to remain enigmatic for the moment, though I do intend to expose him before I'm done. I didn't think it was quite right yet, in this part of the Quest, for the members of the Fellowship to be baring their souls. There is still a bit of reserve about them, and especially in the elves. Few of them, though maybe the Hobbits, would be willing to tell of their true feelings and hearts at this point. Give it time.
Nightwing- That would be the tea. And as you see, the results are disastrous. Delicious, but disastrous. It was indeed the beginning of the true horror, and in the next chapter Aragorn gets to deal with the aftermath. I'm glad you liked Gimli's advice. It was sound, but it was very difficult to get my Aragorn muse to listen to it. In the end, he did what he wanted, but he let the Gimli muse say what he had to anyway. They both stayed in character that way.
Templa Otmena -I went and read your bio after your last review. I think you and I both cut from the same cloth. My LOTR passion has gotten me in trouble on Real Life Important Thing(tm) more than once too. I hope you continue to enjoy the characters. We'll be seeing more of Boromir in the next chapter. Don't stop reading into this story. It is laden with symbols for people just like you. Why? Because I like them.
Lisette -Somehow, I don't see you feeling the least bit sorry that Legolas is all drugged and helpless, especially when you follow that comment with a "yum". I'd smack your wrist except I would have to smack mine as well; your thoughts are my thoughts exactly. However, I hope this last chapter didn't scare you away. It was a bit, um, brutish, but hopefully, everyone stayed modestly in-character, or at least in-character for what they've been building to.
IMTrinity - Ah, there you are! I thought I had lost you. Thank you so much! ::blushes:: And thank you for coming back for more. I hope this last chapter doesn't scare you away for good though.
Elfdancer- Gosh, thank you! I am pleased you are enjoying it. I love details, too much sometimes, but I really feel like they round out a story and bring the reader into the setting. Aragorn is going to learn soon that what he thought he knew of Legolas is not the whole of the picture. He might be able to predict his friend's actions, but he doesn't really know Legolas' heart. That will come though.
Emeraldwolf - I believe in the roller coaster ride mentality in storytelling, and I try to apply it in my tales as much as I can. Zigs and zags and ups and downs make for an interesting ride. Solid plunges are fine too so long as that's not the only part to it. Solid plunge, then lurch and drag, a little pause, then another plunge . . . woohoo! Now that's a ride! (Can you tell I'm a coaster fanatic from way back?)
Zanzou Youko- You're a fan of theringmakespeopledothingsfics? Really? Me too. I don't think there are really enough of them actually. I'd love to see more. I'd love to see a fic about some of the Other Rings and what they could do to an unsuspecting fellow. Oops, I just let out a plot bunny. Tolkien was a wonder in all the marvelous devices he created, but I think the Ring was the best of them. Look at all who fell under its spell. I mean, goodness, if the Nine Rings he gave to men turned them into wraiths, why wouldn't the granddaddy of all the Rings make a person have creepy thoughts just by being in its presence?
IceAngel7 -Oh, I'm thrilled to see you here! I'm sorry there is no Faramir in this story, but then, if there were, we'd really be in AU territory. I'm glad this is inspiring, even though I'm not sure I'm a very good example to follow. But hey, it's a skewed narrative pov, so ::giggle:: follow away. Another reviewer remarked that they wanted to know Legolas' feelings, but as I said there, these are the first steps of the journey, and Legolas hasn't revealed much of himself yet. The only thing we know of him is that he is helpful and upbeat and watchful, and even later in the tale, I'm not sure anyone but Gimli really comes to know him. I'm glad the distance is coming through.
Mercredi - I've been having lots of connection problems too. Seems my ISP doesn't like FanFiction.net anymore, and so the email bots won't come through for me. What a disappointment to put out a chapter and then get no responses. The only thing that makes up for it is logging into the site and seeing there are a bunch of reviews waiting. Thank you for yours. I'm glad you liked the slippery slope metaphor -- into a cloudy world that presses in on all sides, choking the breath from him no less. I love arcing metaphors.