TORMENTED FOOL 3: LECHERY AND INTOXICATION
Queen Arwen was, at this stage, unquestionably not less than very worried. It had been almost a whole hour since Aragorn her husband first fled from the room to search for his best friend, whom he had been told was very downhearted; and ever since the King had left, the room grew ever more silent. It began with her grandmother Galadriel and the Wizard Gandalf; not even a word had been spoken by either of the two after Aragorn's departure, and their heads were bowed. They did not look at anyone – not even each other, though it was quite clear from the cloudiness in their eyes that both knew something was happening or perhaps even something about whatever was happening, something of which no one else had knowledge.
And, thereafter, it continued to worsen in awkwardness. At the silence of Galadriel and Gandalf, Elrond the father of the Evenstar eventually quieted into thought, looking at the thin air with an empty expression that seemed almost to make the swirl in his eyes transparent; Elladan and Elrohir her brothers turned voiceless with discomfort, passing uneasy glances between the quiet ones and each other. Lord Celeborn was strangely bent over in his chair like an elderly man, his elbows upon his knees and his head buried in his hands. Frodo was clearly riddled with unrest, his gaze distracted and his jittery teeth chewing restlessly at the end of one of his fingers as his eyes narrowed more and more; Sam had one worried hand on his companion's shoulder, whilst Merry and Pippin attempted to thwart such disquiet by taking no part in it and staring helplessly at the roof.
Finally, with the definite fact that it did not escape his notice that everyone had turned mute, Gimli sprang up onto his stout legs and placed his hands on his hips disapprovingly. 'And what plague is this that takes the voices of those who only one hour before were chattering in delight of the marriage of the King and Queen?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Aragorn and Legolas have not returned, 'tis true; but perhaps they are speaking to one another. And if there is anything Legolas needs now, it would be to share his burdens with another who will listen; and we all know the King of Gondor possesses such comfort.'
Arwen raised her eyes darkly. 'Your words do little to ease me, Gimli son of Glóin; for now I am and shall remain unquiet. Something in my mind stirs with wariness. Perhaps I shall search for my beloved husband now, for my soul warns me of something which I myself do not quite know—'
At this, Galadriel and Gandalf both slowly raised their bowed heads; suddenly, with this gradual movement from those who had been still for so long, the whole room began to stir and the spine-chilling silence began to dissolve as all turned their eyes to the golden-haired Elf-Queen and the Maia Wizard.
'Perhaps you should for now let them be, Undómiel,' Galadriel spoke cautiously. 'My heart forebodes that something is currently in the air that none of us here expect – and perhaps if you allow Legolas and the King to act upon it without interference, it may end in being much better on your part.'
'On my part?' Arwen asked confusedly. 'I am worried for my husband, not for myself; there is nothing currently involving me that would be of concern. And why do you say such a thing? Will you not tell me what you know, Grandmother?'
The Lady of Lothlórien bowed her head once more, and said nothing. Her granddaughter frowned, dissatisfied with such a response. And though Arwen had in her life always been patient, suddenly a fire burned within her that she was urged to answer to; she nodded to herself, stood from her seat and ran out of the room, so suddenly, at such a speed to outrun even her enduring lover, that she seemed to have vanished before anyone could stop her.
'Arwen!' Galadriel stood suddenly, roused, futilely reaching out a hand to the young one who bolted quickly past her. And though she inched forward and made ready for chase, Gandalf beside her laid a hand upon her shoulder, and shook his head; after a very long moment the golden-haired Elf, defeated, returned to her seat and placed a hand upon her brow in despair, fearing utterly the worst.
...
Neither Aragorn nor Legolas were in the hall where the great feast had been held, and now panic warred in the Gondorian Queen with even more intensity than before. When she arrived, the great room was uninhabited and quiet with an atmosphere far more uneasy compared to the silence in the fire-room of the Fellowship's fair house, for Arwen was now alone in the dark. A sudden gust of wind, assailing from a nearby open window, surged into the room and extinguished the last candle that flickered; all the more dark did the night seem to feel now that the Queen was surrounded by blackness, and it did not comfort her that she was now wedded to her beloved and that tonight she would spend her first night…
…Alone with her lover in his chambers.
For he was not even found. He had been lost in the pursuit of another, and now the dark-haired Elf could not find him. The shadows loomed even murkier than before, so dark that even Arwen's keen Elven eyes found it difficult to pierce them. Walking over slowly to the great feast table to avoid being injured in her state of sightlessness, she noticed that there were two blurred shapes protruding out of the darkness. A gentle hand ran over each object, reading them with her fingertips: almost at once she realized that the first shape she touched was a chalice, and the second a flask of wine.
He refused to speak to anyone, let alone eat – but he drank some wine, I must say; a lot of wine. A great amount of wine…
Suddenly, a knot formed in Arwen's stomach; taking the chalice suspiciously, she poured a little of the wine and took a lengthy sip. And as she feared, it was one of the more potent Elvish wines served especially in weddings and other great banquets and occasions; it rushed straight to her head, like a mortal blow from a silent ambush. If Legolas had been drinking great amounts of this, as Frodo had hesitantly spoken of, then perhaps the Elf was drunken. And if Legolas was drunken, and Aragorn her husband was looking after him in such a state when the unexpected could occur, where were they both?
Nay, they could not have returned to the fire-room of the Fellowship house – they would most likely have taken the shortest path there, and therefore would have walked past me on the way. They would not be outside in the cold night; and so whither would they go?
A thought then occurred to Arwen, a thought which she did not expect.
The bedchamber.
'The bedchamber?' Arwen said out loud to herself in the darkness, raising an eyebrow. 'Why on Middle-Earth would they go to—'
He drank some wine, I must say; a lot of wine.
'Ah, yes,' the Elf-Queen muttered under her breath. 'Of course. If Legolas was unwell, he would have been taken to bed; then that is where they must have gone. No need to worry – I should not have fussed over so simple a matter.'
And so she left the hall, climbed a flight of stairs and skimmed over herself in the now bright candle-lit passage. Her hair was fragrant, and her skin was of a pale perfection; her gown shimmered in the flickering light as she moved, radiating a brilliance of many glistening hues. Knowing this, the beautiful Elf grinned; she was definitely fit for the King. And once this King is found (and Legolas is put to slumber), perhaps he, Elessar Telcontar, would be overtaken by enough desire to spend their first night together as husband and wife…
SPECTACULARLY.
Arwen smiled even more brightly as she walked nearer to the bedchamber. Her choice had been made, and the Doom taken; she had fallen for a mortal, and following in the steps of Lúthien Tinúviel, she had chosen to remain in Middle-Earth with her lover. Her lover who loved her in return, who kissed her so tenderly that it truly felt that forever in his arms was where she belonged, her lover whom she grew more and more eager to have softly with each passing moment—
—All of a sudden, a faint noise interrupted her train of thought.
The Elf narrowed her eyes. The noise was coming from her bedchamber, Estel's bedchamber, the Royal bedchamber which none can enter save for the King and Queen themselves. At once, the thought came to her that there was a thief; but she was currently alone, unarmed, and without guard. Just as she was once again filled with panic and her hand clutched tightly at a hard steel candleholder attached to the wall beside her, the sound once again shattered the silent air.
Upon hearing the sound, Arwen released her grip of the candleholder. It was no thief; the sound was a moan of pleasure from an Elven throat that described exactly what it was like to have the stars burst to life behind your eyes. Some whore was being bedded in her chamber; the thought disgusted Arwen so much that she almost could not bear to open the door. But it was her chamber and whoever was trespassing was to be punished; thus slowly, so slowly, and quietly, she clasped her hand around the handle and opened the door just a fraction so that the light within shone only as a thin line on the stone wall without.
And the sight that met her was a sight that could have blinded her for eternity.
It was indulgence in its most lecherous form; pleading, yearning, crying, almost panting in concentrated desire; hunger, fondness, need, the death in the real world and the life in the dream. It was a tangle of bodies, together, skin to skin, flesh upon flesh… Legolas cried with desire – yes, Legolas cried his name… softly, loudly, slowly; every hint of apology in the eyes of the one above him had been replaced with hard fervor, captured together in mercilessly pleasurable torment—
Passion, adoration, longing; a ravelment of sweaty limbs and exhausted kisses.
They were both lost amongst themselves, so lost that it did not even come into their notice that the door had been opened slightly and that eyes were watching them in horror. It was intimacy to such a point that to each involved everything in the world disappeared from the face of Middle-Earth except for the other with whom they were entwined in beautiful lovemaking, which was yet a sinful, guilt-ridden, hushed expression of enamored stirrings that no one else must ever know…
'I love you, Aragorn,' the Elf breathed, caught in the passion of their SPECTACULAR encounter; the race Aragorn was running in his state of drunkenness was still quite fierce. The Human laughed, planting a line of sensual kisses up the tenderly pointed ear.
'And I need you, son of Thranduil.'
Arwen's eyes, by this stage, were thoroughly opened. What she was seeing was failure to retain composure and suppress stimulation; it was a strength in wanting, and a weakness in needing. In the pure, white sheets, Arwen's husband lay in the arms of another, his skin glistening with sweat; their bodies fit as one – yes, the bodies of the King of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood – perfectly: and rather than promising his chastity to her… Aragorn had lost all inner purity to LEGOLAS!
For long the Evenstar had dreamed she was where Legolas lay now, pleading for Estel to raise his passion in speed – and strength – and depth… allowing one needful cry after another to escape him as his hands touched Arwen's husband where only Arwen herself had had such right. But now, not perceiving that Legolas was not drunk and that Aragorn was, a sudden pain shot through her heart. The Elf-Queen bent over suddenly, her hand clutching at her chest; fighting for breath, she knew exactly what she was experiencing – the first stage of the deadly broken heart of which grieved Elves were in grave peril of dying.
This is the only Man she has loved in all of her life – and even though he had already promised himself to her long ago upon Cerin Amroth, here he was before her very eyes, dallying not only with another – but another who was male. But that was of little matter to Arwen, for she knew her grief would have been no less if the slender figure that lay in his arms was female. Most positively, the Queen knew as she wept behind the heavy door, that of all treachery her husband could have initiated – none could be more painful than this, the fact that he adoringly touched another on his the night of his wedding to Undómiel…
(Flashback)
In the feast hall, Aragorn broke the gentle kiss. Slowly, with the beautiful Elf still in his arms, he nuzzled the tender nape; the Prince seemed to lean into the touch, torn between his morals and his desire. He still did not perceive that he was not in a dream – and that what he had dreamed of through all the days since the Nine Walkers were decided was now real. Legolas released his arms, hardly believing that this was not an illusion.
The King then moved his lips up to the pointed ear, and whispered, 'Wasn't that pleasing, my delicate Prince of Mirkwood.'
'Amin mela lle, Estel…' Legolas whispered. 'I have always loved you.'
'Really?' the Man smirked interestedly. He laughed as he backed away from Legolas, took another long swig (this time straight from the flask), and wiped his mouth in a very clumsy manner; he then pulled on the Elf's hand, and said, 'Will you show me the truth of your words in my bed?'
Legolas was surprised. 'You cannot seriously be planning to seduce me,' he said, horrified. 'This is your wedding night, Aragorn. The night of your wedding with the love of your life…'
'The love of my life!' Aragorn laughed rather harshly, which made Legolas feel very discomforted, like hundreds of needles piercing into his heart at once. 'Like such a pansy you make me sound! Nay, my good Legolas; I told you already that such a thing is not to be thought of now. Did you not enjoy my kiss? Then would you not enjoy what more I have in store for you?'
The King leaned in again, but this time Legolas backed away. 'Mayhap I shall, Estel. But what of your Evenstar? She surrendered immortality and the Undying Lands for you. She would gladly risk a deadly grief and a short life with your people. You wedded her this day, and to betray her now… oh, it is treachery that could not be compensated even in a thousand years.'
Aragorn, for a moment, was silenced.
'I do love you, Aragorn; I would be accursed if I denied it. But it is too late to do anything about it now. Arwen had won you before I had a chance – ah, but I do not even know why I am telling you this. You are intoxicated. You do not even know what you are doing.'
This stirred sudden sorrow in the Man's heart. 'So you do not want me.'
'I want you. I have always longed for you. But I cannot have you.'
'I would give myself to whom I desire; and therefore I can give myself to you. I do not understand why you cannot "have" me – you are not, after all, bound to another.'
'But you are!'
At this, Aragorn sighed in annoyance; he was almost wholly convinced that Legolas would not give in. And what of Arwen anyway? She was just some lass he did not even remember marrying, yet the golden-haired Elf right in front of him kept trying to tell him that such a wedding did occur on this day. Nay: in his mind, he was free. He did not have a lover to be unfaithful to…
'Legolas.'
The Elf glumly raised his eyes. 'What now, Estel?'
'Let me try something.'
'No,' said Legolas firmly, shaking his head.
'Let me try,' answered Aragorn, softly but stubbornly. 'If you are moved, then I promise you I would do what it takes to make this night the most SPECTACULAR night you will have experienced in your endless years. And if you are not, then I shall never again touch you in such a way by sunlight or moonlight.'
And before Legolas could disagree, Aragorn had held up a finger as an indication of silence. Smiling, he slowly leaned in and sweetly kissed the Elf… Aragorn kissed him in a way that was so much more tender than the first time, in a way that was so gentle and wonderful, in a way that made heart ache with such longing and sorrow, that Legolas was moved beyond words. Aragorn gathered him into his arms and held him tightly. The security he felt was unbelievable; the Man's warmth and closeness was so loving and welcoming, and the Elf could not turn him away…
'…And from the looks of it, you do seem to enjoy this.'
'You win, Aragorn,' Legolas whispered, his heart breaking even as he heard his own words. 'I will go with you, wherever you will lead me.'
The Man looked gently upon the Elf cuddled against him, and laughed in hilarity, smooching the delicate cheek with fondness.
'Nay, Legolas,' he stuck out his tongue playfully. 'This time, we both win.'
And, glancing at each other once, suddenly they both burst into laughter and promptly dashed out of the hall, racing each other towards the Royal bedchamber upstairs.
(End Flashback)
After a while, Aragorn seemed to have finished; he rolled over and lay beside the golden-haired Elf, breathing quite hard. He smiled wearily and, wrapping an arm around the equally spent Prince next to him, drew the lithe figure closer. For a moment, their gazes met… to Arwen, who was watching in utter grief outside, the fullness of their satisfaction and devotion was unleashed in their eyes. Softly, so delicately, Legolas drew again closer to Aragorn and shared with him several warm kisses.
'Have I told you yet how much I treasure you, Aragorn?' Legolas whispered, his voice muffled, for he was hardly breaking away. Aragorn grinned and moved his kisses to the Elf's shoulder.
'Whether aye or nay, I know now,' the Man replied, then wriggled over and lay back on the bed once more. 'Come, let us sleep. I am wholly exhausted.'
Arwen covered her mouth to stifle a strangled sob as the Prince shared another single, heartbreaking smile with Estel, and lay himself back in the warmth of her husband's arms. And so quickly did they fall to slumber, as the Queen could tell by the deep, calm breathing that sounded from them both. But while they slept in blissful peace, the Evenstar could do nothing but weep outside their door, remaining there for most of the night… that was, until she could no longer find strength to endure the pain and ran away from the scene, her heart crumbling apart as the deadly grief continued to devour her.
(To be continued)
