This being part two of the story, I must say that most of you are
absolutely right. I am sick. Fear me. But the plot thickens. Yes,
there is a plot. I don't do plotless stuff. Honest.
The NC-17 is a future rating to address the concept of nonconsensual relations.
Disclaimer I forgot before: I don't own Middle Earth. I don't own Aragorn, or Legolas. Don't want too. They're probably entirely too high maintenance for me. I own my original idea and characters.
::Trapped. I'm trapped. Where am I?:: Legolas was on a bare plain. Flashes of light filled a turbulent sapphire sky above his head, and stained the sands at his feet an unnatural blue.
He turned slowly in a full circle looking for some landmark, but the plain was completely flat and empty. There was nothing as far as even elven eyes could see.
He raised his eyes again to the sky. It was more of being deep underwater, he decided. The flashes of light seemed more to be as if they were sunlight coming through the facets of jewel.
And then the pain started. Deep inside a sharp stabbing sensation started and grew. He could barely breathe. The pain came in waves, washing over him again and again. Falling to his knees, and then to his side, he gasped in agony. And then the pain centered itself onto his neck. A band of fire circled his neck and turned to ice and froze to his skin. He clawed at the band, and for a moment thought that he had pulled it away from his skin when the pain receded for a moment, but then realized that he had only momentarily delayed the inevitable. With a sudden flare of anguish the band tightened around his throat again, and this time would not move.
The world went black.
Sunlight turned the back of his eyelids red, and his eyes flew open in panic. Hands reached up to claw at the band that choked him. His nails slid harmlessly off of the metal and down into his skin, causing bleeding furrows on his pale throat. He could feel the blood dripping down the side of his neck. "No! I will NOT be bound!" he screamed, terror in his voice.
His hands were grabbed and held tight, and his eyes focused on Valda. She leaned over him and crooned quietly as if to a small child, "Shh… Shhh… Quietly now, quietly now. Don't hurt yourself."
He breathed in great gulps of air and tried to calm himself. It was hard to swallow. "What happened?" he gasped at last. His voice sounded strange to his ears.
Valda's green eyes reflected such depths of emotions that he could feel her sadness rolling over him. She looked down to the bed and then back up into his eyes. "A very evil thing, fair one." She slowly released his hands, secure that he would not harm himself. "A very evil thing. Today is a sad day for Gondor, at least to my eyes." She shifted to sit on the bed next to him, and then turned her eyes to the floor.
Legolas struggled to sit up in the bed, and looked around the room that he found himself in. A single window allowed in wan winter sunlight. The window was barred beyond its glass panes. A prison. The furnishings were finely wrought and rugs and tapestries adorned the floors and walls. A rich prison. The door was heavy oak with ornate hardware, but with the inside handle removed. A prison all the same.
His eyes returned to the Countess, who was now closely watching him. She was waiting for something.
"Why am I bound?" he asked quietly, pointing to his neck.
She could not meet his eyes. "Do you not remember?"
"No. I remember nothing."
The Countess said nothing further, but extended her hands, offering to help him from the bed. He studied her face closely, but was unable to read anything but sorrow in her eyes. He slowly placed his hands in hers, and allowed himself to be led out of the bed, and across the room to a tall standing mirror. The carpets were soft on his bare feet but still broadcast the bitter cold of the stones.
He watched the mirror as they walked up together. First Valda's slim frame, dressed in dark colors of mourning, of the finest fabrics and cut. Dark hair lightly frosted with grey was wrapped up onto the back of her neck.
And then he saw himself. The fair skin and blonde hair he had expected, and he knew that he was wearing a linen shift for some reason. But the person who gazed back at him was not he. :: If I had had a sister, this would be what she would have looked like::, he thought to himself.
His eyes still looked back at him, but they were set in a face that was not his. It was recognizable, but more refined and undoubtedly female. He watched as rose petal lips parted in a gasp of shock as the woman in the mirror reacted to something she had seen. Perhaps it was the sight of the golden collar that was now part of her skin, or the blue jewel that was centered at the base of her pale throat. His eyes traveled down her body to the swell of a breast visible at the scooped neckline of the shift, and the curve of a hip further along.
His eyes traveled up again and met eyes with the woman who stared back at him. Her eyes were sad and large as she shook her head in denial. He moved his hand up to comfort her when he looked down at his own hand. The pale winter sun limned delicate fingers and a fragile wrist.
He staggered away from the mirror, unwilling to look any longer. "No. This cannot be." Now he realized why his voice sounded so strange. It was higher, more melodious.
He looked again to Valda, shaking his head in rejection of what he had just seen. "No."
She wiped what appeared to be a tear from her cheek, and then walked to the wardrobe and began to pull out clothing. "It's time to get dressed. The King will want to see you soon."
Legolas looked again to the woman in the mirror. Her eyes suddenly glittered and her face was pulled tight with a terrible anger. "Good. I have much to say to him." The voice was still melodious, but deadly in pitch.
Valda winced imperceptibly and returned with a gown done in colors of moss green and blue. She leaned forward to place it against him, and said in a small voice, "Do not anger him overmuch. He is not the man that you were friends with. Things have changed in Gondor, and not for the better."
"Indeed?" he responded, trying to push the dress away. He wanted his own clothing, not this.
"Indeed." Valda pushed back. "Did Arwen not tell you anything before she left?" As she spoke her voice lowered to the smallest whisper.
Legolas paused in thought and Valda took the opportunity to throw the gown over his head. He shook his head in irritation as she firmly tugged the gown down around his shoulders and pulled the sleeves onto his arms. "She said that she was unhappy. That she was surrounded by cold people in a cold place." He paused for a moment. "She said that even Aragorn had grown cold to her, that she thought another had captured his affections, and that when she looked at him, she saw a stranger looking back at her from behind his eyes." He grunted the last when Valda yanked hard on the laces on the back of the gown.
The gown was tied and adjusted, Valda's movements almost birdlike as she pulled gently on the linen shift, blousing it up to show just the smallest white edge around the border of the neckline and cuffs. Legolas continued, his initial irritation at the clothing forgotten as he recalled a hurried conversation in Ithilien. "I dismissed what she was saying, thinking her irrational with disappointment. She was raised different manner than I, and had what I considered too high expectations for her life here. I told her that the weight of a crown could weigh down even the most steadfast of men, but that I knew that Aragorn loved her beyond all things in this world."
"And he did", said Valda softly. The woman gently guided Legolas to the window, and pushed him to sit down on the cushioned seat there. She produced a brush from some hidden place and began to slowly brush the long golden hair, undoing tangled braids and calming snarls. "She was his stars and moon, but something happened." The rhythm of the brush against his hair soothed him; he closed his eyes and listened closely. Valda sighed and repeated herself. "But something happened. He changed. It was subtle at first, a flash of temper here, a touch of cruelty there. But things got worse. And now those of us who had been close to him feel as though the King we love has died, and been replaced with a stranger."
"What happened to cause this?" Legolas asked softly.
The woman swallowed hard. Her answer was barely audible, even to his sharp ears. "The mage came."
The sound of footsteps outside the door, and the turning of the tumblers in the lock interrupted his next thought. The door swung open slowly and the King of Gondor walked in, attended by his mage.
Aragorn was dressed in a grey silk tunic with a crimson velvet overtunic. His leggings were of charcoal, and he wore soft black house boots. A glint of beaten gold peeked out from around his neck. He stepped slowly across the room until he stood in front of the two on the window seat.
Davyn stood slightly behind but at the king's elbow. Legolas looked at the mage for a long moment, and noted the eyes were hollowed and cheeks sunken. Fatigue played upon his features.
The king studied his friend for a long moment and then spoke quietly, "If you had been born to this form Arwen would never have been known as the Evenstar. Your beauty would have eclipsed hers. While she was the stars and the moon in the autumn sky, you are the sun and the sky in summer."
Legolas stared into the grey eyes of the king. "But I was not born to this form. Nor do I desire to be in this form. You have betrayed me, betrayed my trust and faith in you. Why have you done this?" He restrained the fury he felt but his voice still shook.
For a moment the king's eyes were saddened and shamed. Only for a moment. And then the mage brushed the silk clad elbow lightly, and the eyes narrowed, and a stranger looked upon the elf. Legolas knew his eyes widened at the sight.
"Why have I done this?" Aragorn smiled arrogantly. "For the good of Gondor, of course. I have had made a consort worthy of me." He nodded at Legolas' expression of shock. "You will be treated with all honor and decorum, and we will be wed in a sevenday."
"This is how you treat me with honor and decorum?" White hot rage filled Legolas' veins and bubbled forth in a furious hiss. "If you think that I am going to allow this plan of yours, you are beyond daft. If you lay one hand upon me in such a manner I will kill you with my bare hands. Do not doubt my ability to do so, Son of Gondor."
The eyes of the king had turned cold like winters deepest chill. "Is there anything that you require to make your stay more pleasant, My Lady?" The voice was frosty and mocking.
"Why, yes I do, My Lord." Legolas replied with venom. "I require my clothing, my bow, my knives, my things, my horse, and my own body back. I require THIS," he indicated the collar around his neck, "gone, and I demand all of this immediately."
Aragorn smirked and then turned to Valda. "Countess, I leave in your capable hands my loving bride. I expect you will teach her what is expected of her." His attention was caught by a basket of yarn on the floor next to the seat, and he leaned down and picked up the drop spindle that rested within and held it up before him. "In fact, perhaps you should start teaching her how to spin now. Soon there will be much need for swaddling bands and infants clothing."
He dropped the spindle negligently into Legolas' lap, and then ducked rapidly as it flew past his head at high velocity, landing with a meaty thunk in the wood door. He smirked again and turned to go.
"A moment, my King." Davyn's voice was soft, but Aragorn froze immediately, his back stiff. He turned back to the mage and waited. "I wish to check the state of the spell I have placed. It will take but a moment."
With these words, Davyn approached Legolas, his hand extending slowly out like a snake, sleeve falling back from his forearms. The tattoos seemed to writhe even in daylight, and both humans were caught in their spell. They were both frozen, unseeing.
Fury evaporated in the elf's breast and turned to icy fear. He looked away from the arm and up into the face of the man approaching. The kind smile that was on his lips did not touch the brown eyes at all. Legolas leaned back, away from the touch, breathing in small gasps of fear. The finger touched the stone at his throat and he blinked.
He was on the blue plain again, in that completely desolate wasteland. He looked down upon himself and saw that he was in his own body again. Suddenly wind whipped up and around him and an icy cold finger touched his heart. He could feel the warmth and life flowing out of him, away from him, and into the wind. He weakened and fell to his knees.
He blinked again, and he was again seated in the window, and the mage was withdrawing his hand. Great fatigue and weakness filled his limbs. Then his attention was drawn back to the mage's face. The hollows were gone, the dark circles filled in, and an appearance of youth was now evident. There was a new spring to his step as he turned to go and was followed by the king.
Legolas gasped slightly and touched the stone at his throat. It was becoming more evident by the moment that there was something horribly wrong in Gondor.
The NC-17 is a future rating to address the concept of nonconsensual relations.
Disclaimer I forgot before: I don't own Middle Earth. I don't own Aragorn, or Legolas. Don't want too. They're probably entirely too high maintenance for me. I own my original idea and characters.
::Trapped. I'm trapped. Where am I?:: Legolas was on a bare plain. Flashes of light filled a turbulent sapphire sky above his head, and stained the sands at his feet an unnatural blue.
He turned slowly in a full circle looking for some landmark, but the plain was completely flat and empty. There was nothing as far as even elven eyes could see.
He raised his eyes again to the sky. It was more of being deep underwater, he decided. The flashes of light seemed more to be as if they were sunlight coming through the facets of jewel.
And then the pain started. Deep inside a sharp stabbing sensation started and grew. He could barely breathe. The pain came in waves, washing over him again and again. Falling to his knees, and then to his side, he gasped in agony. And then the pain centered itself onto his neck. A band of fire circled his neck and turned to ice and froze to his skin. He clawed at the band, and for a moment thought that he had pulled it away from his skin when the pain receded for a moment, but then realized that he had only momentarily delayed the inevitable. With a sudden flare of anguish the band tightened around his throat again, and this time would not move.
The world went black.
Sunlight turned the back of his eyelids red, and his eyes flew open in panic. Hands reached up to claw at the band that choked him. His nails slid harmlessly off of the metal and down into his skin, causing bleeding furrows on his pale throat. He could feel the blood dripping down the side of his neck. "No! I will NOT be bound!" he screamed, terror in his voice.
His hands were grabbed and held tight, and his eyes focused on Valda. She leaned over him and crooned quietly as if to a small child, "Shh… Shhh… Quietly now, quietly now. Don't hurt yourself."
He breathed in great gulps of air and tried to calm himself. It was hard to swallow. "What happened?" he gasped at last. His voice sounded strange to his ears.
Valda's green eyes reflected such depths of emotions that he could feel her sadness rolling over him. She looked down to the bed and then back up into his eyes. "A very evil thing, fair one." She slowly released his hands, secure that he would not harm himself. "A very evil thing. Today is a sad day for Gondor, at least to my eyes." She shifted to sit on the bed next to him, and then turned her eyes to the floor.
Legolas struggled to sit up in the bed, and looked around the room that he found himself in. A single window allowed in wan winter sunlight. The window was barred beyond its glass panes. A prison. The furnishings were finely wrought and rugs and tapestries adorned the floors and walls. A rich prison. The door was heavy oak with ornate hardware, but with the inside handle removed. A prison all the same.
His eyes returned to the Countess, who was now closely watching him. She was waiting for something.
"Why am I bound?" he asked quietly, pointing to his neck.
She could not meet his eyes. "Do you not remember?"
"No. I remember nothing."
The Countess said nothing further, but extended her hands, offering to help him from the bed. He studied her face closely, but was unable to read anything but sorrow in her eyes. He slowly placed his hands in hers, and allowed himself to be led out of the bed, and across the room to a tall standing mirror. The carpets were soft on his bare feet but still broadcast the bitter cold of the stones.
He watched the mirror as they walked up together. First Valda's slim frame, dressed in dark colors of mourning, of the finest fabrics and cut. Dark hair lightly frosted with grey was wrapped up onto the back of her neck.
And then he saw himself. The fair skin and blonde hair he had expected, and he knew that he was wearing a linen shift for some reason. But the person who gazed back at him was not he. :: If I had had a sister, this would be what she would have looked like::, he thought to himself.
His eyes still looked back at him, but they were set in a face that was not his. It was recognizable, but more refined and undoubtedly female. He watched as rose petal lips parted in a gasp of shock as the woman in the mirror reacted to something she had seen. Perhaps it was the sight of the golden collar that was now part of her skin, or the blue jewel that was centered at the base of her pale throat. His eyes traveled down her body to the swell of a breast visible at the scooped neckline of the shift, and the curve of a hip further along.
His eyes traveled up again and met eyes with the woman who stared back at him. Her eyes were sad and large as she shook her head in denial. He moved his hand up to comfort her when he looked down at his own hand. The pale winter sun limned delicate fingers and a fragile wrist.
He staggered away from the mirror, unwilling to look any longer. "No. This cannot be." Now he realized why his voice sounded so strange. It was higher, more melodious.
He looked again to Valda, shaking his head in rejection of what he had just seen. "No."
She wiped what appeared to be a tear from her cheek, and then walked to the wardrobe and began to pull out clothing. "It's time to get dressed. The King will want to see you soon."
Legolas looked again to the woman in the mirror. Her eyes suddenly glittered and her face was pulled tight with a terrible anger. "Good. I have much to say to him." The voice was still melodious, but deadly in pitch.
Valda winced imperceptibly and returned with a gown done in colors of moss green and blue. She leaned forward to place it against him, and said in a small voice, "Do not anger him overmuch. He is not the man that you were friends with. Things have changed in Gondor, and not for the better."
"Indeed?" he responded, trying to push the dress away. He wanted his own clothing, not this.
"Indeed." Valda pushed back. "Did Arwen not tell you anything before she left?" As she spoke her voice lowered to the smallest whisper.
Legolas paused in thought and Valda took the opportunity to throw the gown over his head. He shook his head in irritation as she firmly tugged the gown down around his shoulders and pulled the sleeves onto his arms. "She said that she was unhappy. That she was surrounded by cold people in a cold place." He paused for a moment. "She said that even Aragorn had grown cold to her, that she thought another had captured his affections, and that when she looked at him, she saw a stranger looking back at her from behind his eyes." He grunted the last when Valda yanked hard on the laces on the back of the gown.
The gown was tied and adjusted, Valda's movements almost birdlike as she pulled gently on the linen shift, blousing it up to show just the smallest white edge around the border of the neckline and cuffs. Legolas continued, his initial irritation at the clothing forgotten as he recalled a hurried conversation in Ithilien. "I dismissed what she was saying, thinking her irrational with disappointment. She was raised different manner than I, and had what I considered too high expectations for her life here. I told her that the weight of a crown could weigh down even the most steadfast of men, but that I knew that Aragorn loved her beyond all things in this world."
"And he did", said Valda softly. The woman gently guided Legolas to the window, and pushed him to sit down on the cushioned seat there. She produced a brush from some hidden place and began to slowly brush the long golden hair, undoing tangled braids and calming snarls. "She was his stars and moon, but something happened." The rhythm of the brush against his hair soothed him; he closed his eyes and listened closely. Valda sighed and repeated herself. "But something happened. He changed. It was subtle at first, a flash of temper here, a touch of cruelty there. But things got worse. And now those of us who had been close to him feel as though the King we love has died, and been replaced with a stranger."
"What happened to cause this?" Legolas asked softly.
The woman swallowed hard. Her answer was barely audible, even to his sharp ears. "The mage came."
The sound of footsteps outside the door, and the turning of the tumblers in the lock interrupted his next thought. The door swung open slowly and the King of Gondor walked in, attended by his mage.
Aragorn was dressed in a grey silk tunic with a crimson velvet overtunic. His leggings were of charcoal, and he wore soft black house boots. A glint of beaten gold peeked out from around his neck. He stepped slowly across the room until he stood in front of the two on the window seat.
Davyn stood slightly behind but at the king's elbow. Legolas looked at the mage for a long moment, and noted the eyes were hollowed and cheeks sunken. Fatigue played upon his features.
The king studied his friend for a long moment and then spoke quietly, "If you had been born to this form Arwen would never have been known as the Evenstar. Your beauty would have eclipsed hers. While she was the stars and the moon in the autumn sky, you are the sun and the sky in summer."
Legolas stared into the grey eyes of the king. "But I was not born to this form. Nor do I desire to be in this form. You have betrayed me, betrayed my trust and faith in you. Why have you done this?" He restrained the fury he felt but his voice still shook.
For a moment the king's eyes were saddened and shamed. Only for a moment. And then the mage brushed the silk clad elbow lightly, and the eyes narrowed, and a stranger looked upon the elf. Legolas knew his eyes widened at the sight.
"Why have I done this?" Aragorn smiled arrogantly. "For the good of Gondor, of course. I have had made a consort worthy of me." He nodded at Legolas' expression of shock. "You will be treated with all honor and decorum, and we will be wed in a sevenday."
"This is how you treat me with honor and decorum?" White hot rage filled Legolas' veins and bubbled forth in a furious hiss. "If you think that I am going to allow this plan of yours, you are beyond daft. If you lay one hand upon me in such a manner I will kill you with my bare hands. Do not doubt my ability to do so, Son of Gondor."
The eyes of the king had turned cold like winters deepest chill. "Is there anything that you require to make your stay more pleasant, My Lady?" The voice was frosty and mocking.
"Why, yes I do, My Lord." Legolas replied with venom. "I require my clothing, my bow, my knives, my things, my horse, and my own body back. I require THIS," he indicated the collar around his neck, "gone, and I demand all of this immediately."
Aragorn smirked and then turned to Valda. "Countess, I leave in your capable hands my loving bride. I expect you will teach her what is expected of her." His attention was caught by a basket of yarn on the floor next to the seat, and he leaned down and picked up the drop spindle that rested within and held it up before him. "In fact, perhaps you should start teaching her how to spin now. Soon there will be much need for swaddling bands and infants clothing."
He dropped the spindle negligently into Legolas' lap, and then ducked rapidly as it flew past his head at high velocity, landing with a meaty thunk in the wood door. He smirked again and turned to go.
"A moment, my King." Davyn's voice was soft, but Aragorn froze immediately, his back stiff. He turned back to the mage and waited. "I wish to check the state of the spell I have placed. It will take but a moment."
With these words, Davyn approached Legolas, his hand extending slowly out like a snake, sleeve falling back from his forearms. The tattoos seemed to writhe even in daylight, and both humans were caught in their spell. They were both frozen, unseeing.
Fury evaporated in the elf's breast and turned to icy fear. He looked away from the arm and up into the face of the man approaching. The kind smile that was on his lips did not touch the brown eyes at all. Legolas leaned back, away from the touch, breathing in small gasps of fear. The finger touched the stone at his throat and he blinked.
He was on the blue plain again, in that completely desolate wasteland. He looked down upon himself and saw that he was in his own body again. Suddenly wind whipped up and around him and an icy cold finger touched his heart. He could feel the warmth and life flowing out of him, away from him, and into the wind. He weakened and fell to his knees.
He blinked again, and he was again seated in the window, and the mage was withdrawing his hand. Great fatigue and weakness filled his limbs. Then his attention was drawn back to the mage's face. The hollows were gone, the dark circles filled in, and an appearance of youth was now evident. There was a new spring to his step as he turned to go and was followed by the king.
Legolas gasped slightly and touched the stone at his throat. It was becoming more evident by the moment that there was something horribly wrong in Gondor.