Warning: This chapter is why I rated this NC 17. If you do not like to
read about nonconsensual sexual actions, this may not be for you. Mind
you, I do not write graphic sex scenes, but I do try to write for a high
emotional impact. I found it draining to write this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, or Middle Earth. I think I would probably drive the real estate values way down in ME if I did, actually. Scary thought.
Notes: It was actually an accepted custom to use the gauntlet of a king or prince as a proxy for marriages and engagements. They would have someone wear the gauntlet and that person would do all the grooms duties (except the obvious, of course) and the poor girl would be married to some geezer hundreds of miles away with nothing to show for it but a glove.
"Capture the King" is an archaic for Chess.
Oh… And Jastaelf. You are ::so:: on. Your turn.
"It is almost time", Arnlaug said as he walked into the small room. Wan light shone down from a high window slit and illuminated the elf standing motionless in front of a mirror. Legolas turned to the chancellor and the man's breath was taken away by the vision he beheld. "I would be remiss in my duties if I did not say that you make an incredibly beautiful bride", he added.
Arnlaug was richly dressed in velvet and brocade, his chain of office slung across his shoulders. He walked stiffly, perhaps from the new boots he wore. The oddest thing was that he wore gauntlets of the finest leather, dyed moss green and embroidered with the device of the Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.
Legolas winced at the compliment, but made no reply. He then took the few steps to Arnlaug's side, touched the gauntlets with one hesitant finger and asked quietly, "What is this? Why do you bear the arms of my father?"
"It is the custom of our people that a woman to be wedded be given to her husband by her father or nearest male relative. I am merely acting as a proxy and the glove symbolizes your father's approval of this union." Arnlaug shrugged sheepishly. "I would almost think it funny in any other circumstance, for you are so much older than I, and yet I am to act as your father."
Finger still tracing the design picked out on the buttery leather, Legolas met the man's eyes defiantly. "I know my father would never approve of such a thing or allow this to happen if he were still in Middle-earth. His opinion of mortals is not high. He does not see the charm in them that I do."
With a deliberate motion, Arnlaug caught the elf's hand and placed it on top of his own, and then wrapped his fingers carefully around the slender hand. "I have been bidden to tell you that it is not necessary that you be conscious at your own wedding, and that if you chose to be contentious Davyn will simply drug you into insensibility. He would have already done so if Valda and I had not assured the king of your good behavior."
Legolas tried to pull his hand away, but the man tightened his grip.
"I would caution you on this, Legolas. I would not think it out of the realm of possibility if the next time you woke from such a drugging that it would be next year and you would have a babe at your breast. If such a thing happens, you will be unable to effect any changes in the demeanor of those you hold dear."
"I know this. I also know that I am sorely afraid of what is to come." The elf's voice faltered. "I do not know if I am strong enough to do what you demand of me."
"You will have to be strong enough. There is no other option." Arnlaug awkwardly patted the hand he held as he heard noises from outside the door. "It is time. Stand straight and proud and together we will walk to the great hall. You will say nothing unless either King or I instruct you to do so. Once we are done with the ceremony, we will then go for the wedding feast. Again, you will say nothing unless you are instructed by one of us. You will be a model of decorum and grace."
"I have no choice but to be, don't I?" Legolas said softly.
"No." Arnlaug's heart broke for the sadness in the sweet voice. "You have no choice." He then took the slim, pale hand he held and maneuvered it around his arm so that he was properly escorting his king's bride. "You shall blind all the Barons and Lords with your beauty. They will fall to their knees for a smile from you."
"Lovely. Just what I've always wanted. Lamed blinded Barons."
The man let out a quiet snort as he escorted the elf through the door.
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The great hall was much as Legolas had remembered it from his arrival the week before, except that it was now completely lit and decorated. The winter had been harsh and greenery was limited, but boughs of evergreens were above the doors and the great mantel of the fireplace. Their sharp scent filled the air, almost covering the smell of the people that were occupying the room and the smell of cooking food from the kitchens. The banners and tapestries had been cleaned and rehung, and iron chandeliers hung from the rafters, holding candles that illuminated the hall.
::Truly, this is what the glory of Gondor should be:: thought Legolas to himself. ::Unfortunately, I wish the occasion that I saw it on could have been drastically different:: He could feel the pressure of eyes upon him as he walked slowly to the front of the room, arm in arm with the Chancellor of Gondor. Arnlaug felt the tightening of muscles and placed his other hand on top of the pale one he had on his arm, trying to comfort his charge.
The Lords and Barons and their ladies stood as one, each one looking into his face as he walked by. Their expressions ranged from approval to amazement to awe, for few of them had ever seen an elf except for Arwen. Legolas turned his eyes to the rushes on the floor, not wanting to see their faces. Surely they all knew that he was reluctant, unwilling of this "honor"?
After an incredibly long, yet entirely too short of a walk Legolas stood before Aragorn and the rest of his council. As one, they all bowed to Arnlaug and then to him. Davyn stood to the right of his king, a satisfied smirk on his face. His smile broadened when Legolas met his eyes, and Legolas went cold and tried to take a step backwards. Arnlaug tightened his grip and held the elf in place.
Gilby limped forward, holding a large roll of parchment in his long hands. "Who speaks for this woman?"
"I do", responded Arnlaug. "I stand proxy for her father, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, who has passed into the west."
Gilby nodded and then turned to his king. "My king, your bride has been brought forth for your approval."
Aragorn stepped forward and looked closely at the elf. Legolas met his eyes squarely, trying to see his friend, beg soundlessly for this to stop, but he could find nothing, no one in them that he knew. "I approve. Continue."
Gilby bowed slightly and then turned back to Arnlaug. "Do you warrant that this woman is pure and untouched?"
"I warrant so." Arnlaug applied more pressure on the hand in his grasp, feeling the tensing of muscles, the intake of breath in protest. Legolas gasped softly in pain and settled for trying to ignite Gilby's hair with the heat of his stare.
"The king has found this acceptable and has set terms for the taking of his wife. Are they agreeable to you?" Gilby would not meet Legolas' gaze, instead finding a spot on the far wall much more interesting and compelling.
"They are." Arnlaug transferred the grip he had on the captive hand to his left and leaned over with his right to take the quill that Gilby then offered, and then made his mark on the proffered parchment.
Gilby made a show of examining the signature and then turned again to show it to his king. Aragorn nodded and then stepped forward and extended his hand to Arnlaug.
Arnlaug bowed and then took Legolas' captive hand and placed it into the hand of his king. "She is yours, Majesty." The chancellor stepped backwards and Aragorn moved to take his place, winding the arm around his, exerting subtle force when Legolas tried to resist by pulling away.
"Softly now, little one. We're almost done." Aragorn's whispered words were gentle, but the tone was like ice and chilled the elf to the bone.
Gilby passed the parchments to the others of the council; each one of them making their marks to witness what was being done, like notaries at a horse auction. ::Is this all that I am to them? A possession? Livestock?:: thought the elf, watching with a growing sense of horror at the ease with which he became what amounted to another man's property. ::I sorely feel for any woman who lives in this place, to be treated as though she were naught but a trinket::
Finally, the parchment was brought again to Aragorn. Arnlaug stepped next to him, this time in his role as the chancellor, and handed over the great seal of Gondor and a lit taper of sealing wax. The scent of the wax was cloying, and the sound of the molten droplets hitting the parchment seemed to echo across the silent hall.
Aragorn paused and looked up to Legolas' face, seal hovering over the parchment. Legolas met his gaze and silently mouthed a single "No", putting all of his hope into the thought that perhaps some small part of Aragorn would stop and realize what he was doing. But all Aragorn did was smile sweetly, look at him with the cold eyes of a stranger, and then press the seal home into the cooling wax. The deed was done.
Legolas could feel his face fall into an expression of shock when he was then turned to face the people in the hall who then erupted into cheers and applause. "You have received the approval of the people of Gondor, Legolas", Aragorn said softly as he steered his new Queen to the high table for the feast. "Now, all you must do is receive mine."
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Seated between Aragorn and Arnlaug, Legolas had barely endured the feast. Pungent aromas from strange and exotic foods had caused his already queasy stomach to want to leave the immediate vicinity with little consideration for the rest of his body. Aragorn playing the doting husband, and offering choice tidbits on the tip of his knife did not help the situation. It appeared that refusal was also not an option; he had turned his head away several times, only to have an elbow or knee tightly squeezed in warning. Bruises notwithstanding, he simply chose to delicately accept the proffered food and try not to vomit.
Acrobats and jugglers performed amongst the tables, and the musicians played merry tunes full of discord and sour notes. It was nothing like the stately, otherworldly music of his people, and the strangeness of it all made him even more confused. Roaring laughter and loud talk filled the air above the music and rang in his ears, and he found himself completely disoriented. His attention focused itself upon his right hand, which he saw was now enfolded in Aragorn's left. The king was deep in conversation with Davyn, but the thumb moved slowly, gently upon the sensitive palm.
Legolas tried to pull his hand away, but the fingers tightened cruelly and Aragorn turned to look at his bride. With a grim smile, he gestured to Valda, seated on the other side of Arnlaug. "Countess, my Lady looks weary. Please escort her to our rooms and prepare her for bed." He then brought the captive hand up to his lips and turned it to kiss the palm. "I will follow soon after." His smile was anything but reassuring as he gently released the elf.
Valda stood smoothly, brushing the front of her skirts down. She then took Legolas' silk clad elbow and helped him to rise. The room became quiet as every eye turned to the head table to watch as the bride was taken to her rooms. Cheers, laughter and ribald advice followed the women from the great hall. Two other women joined them in the passageway, both curtseying deeply to their new queen, and then walking a few steps behind.
Head clearing as they began to climb stairs, Legolas began to take note of where he was. They were heading towards the royal apartments by way of the back staircase. He had been there before in happier times when he had privately dined with Aragorn and Arwen. Now it appeared that he was to be installed there.
They made the trip in silence to the Queen's chambers. The heavy oaken door was ornately carved, but Legolas still noted the new lock that had been placed on the door. Its newly milled brass gleamed in the rushlights.
Valda produced from a hidden fold in her skirts a matching newly made key, opened the door and then stepped to one side so that Legolas could precede her into the rooms.
They passed through a sitting room and into the bedroom. A large bed sat upon a pedestal, a canopy of black and silver above, and bedcurtains with the White Tree were tied back to the posters. The bed was piled with comforters and pillows, almost Byzantine in its splendor. To the far side of the bed stood a tall mirror.
A fire burned in the hearth, warming the immediate area in front of it. There were two chairs facing each other with a small table in between, perfect for intimate meals and discussions. A single window of leaded glass faced the innermost courtyard of the palace and overlooked the gardens. There were 2 doors in the room. One they had just stepped through from the sitting room, the other led to the King's bedchamber.
Legolas jumped as one of the maids touched his shoulder and directed him to stand in front of the fire. She was petite, with delicate, fair features and silvery blonde hair. Merry blue eyes twinkled in the firelight as she curtseyed again and then produced a small knife.
She gently cut the threads across his back that had held the dress onto his body. They popped and the dress loosened and finally fell to his shoulders. She then came and cut the seams on the sleeves, and gently pulled the fine material from his arms.
The undershift soon went the way of the dress and then the maid pulled from next to the hearth a small pot of warm, scented water and a sponge. Legolas allowed himself to be bathed by the young woman and breathed deeply of the fragrance.
The woman noticed this and said quietly, "Lavender and rosemary, my Lady. To cleanse the soul and to aid in conception." She didn't notice the flinch the elf gave, and continued. "The sponge is a sea sponge that was brought to us from traders from the east. There is nothing like it to soothe and smooth the skin."
The other maidservant was busily turning down the covers and blankets on the bed, and strewing the sheets with dried herbs. Her curly dark hair hung down across her face and draped across an ample bosom. Her eyes twinkled with an avid intelligence, and at her waist a ring of keys hung and clinked with a deceivingly happy jingle.
The blonde servant carefully dried the elf with a towel, and then began to rub scented oil into his skin. "Not that you need this, mind you", she said, "for you already are as soft and sweet as a rosebud."
The bed now completed, the dark haired maid disappeared for a moment and then returned with a filmy nightshift and a finely wrought long golden chain.
Valda took the chain from the maid and then moved forward and placed it around the elf's small waist. It hung loosely around his hips.
The two maidservants then placed the shift over his head and pulled it gently down. The fabric was so fine that it was practically transparent. A gathered neckline was held in place with a fine silk ribbon, tied loosely. The sleeves were long and gathered to the wrists and also tied.
The small blonde reached up and removed the crown from the golden head, while the other combed the hair straight and free. Then both stood side by side and bowed.
"Lady", spoke the blonde, "I am Lanelese, your head bodyservant."
"Lady", spoke the brunette, "I am Clotild, keeper of the keys to your wardrobe."
As one, they bowed and left the room, leaving Legolas alone with Valda.
The woman reached out and touched a lock of Legolas' hair. "Everything here has symbolism. The herbs in the bed are to remove foul humors from the air and to ease conception. The chain at your waist shows that you are bound to your husband. The bath was to clean impurities that could prevent conception or damage your child. The gauze of the shift shows your innocence." She paused, and then smiled ironically. "We are a very symbolic people."
Taking a deep breath, Legolas said quietly, "I am not strong enough to do what you ask. I cannot do this."
Valda simply caressed the soft hair again, and then bowed into a deep curtsey. She looked up from her place on the floor, and then smiled gently. "You are stronger than you realize, but not in the ways you would expect. I wish you a good night, my Lady."
With barely a rustle of skirts, the woman was gone, and there was the sound of a bolt being thrown on the door.
Before the sound had died, Legolas was at the window. The metal of the latch was frozen. He struggled with it, and finally broke the ice that was in the lock. The windows slowly opened to reveal the iron bars that blocked his flight to freedom. He touched them briefly, feeling the cold burn into his skin. He swung the windows shut again, and then turned to survey the room.
He could see next to him the mirror, and the woman therein. Her eyes were wide, her breath unsteady. He reached to touch the mirror briefly, but then saw something over her shoulder that made him turn and run to the fireplace.
There was nothing else in this room that he could conceivably use as a weapon except for this. A pair of small ornamental daggers were crossed and mounted on the wall above the device of the Queen of Gondor. Standing on tiptoe, feet almost in the hot ashes of the fireplace, he was able to stretch up and place his hand on one of the hilts and pull. Nothing. It was stuck.
Biting his lip in frustration he then pulled on the other. It moved slightly but would not come down. With a sound almost like a stifled sob, he tried again, feeling the heat from the fire start to burn his skin. With a soft rasp, the dagger came free suddenly and he almost fell backwards.
He examined the dagger and found that the edge was exceptionally dull, and the metal brittle and weak. Any other time he would have turned his nose up at such a poorly made weapon, but now he had no choice.
At that moment, the bolt was shot and the door opened.
Aragorn walked into the room and closed the door firmly. He turned and saw that Legolas had moved to place the chairs in between them. He also noted the dagger that was held with deadly competency in one hand. "Good", he said. "I thought that you were a bit too docile today. I was wondering when you would start being difficult."
With a casual air he slowly walked to the fireplace, pulling off his heavily embroidered over tunic as he went. "So, are we to play a game of "Capture the Queen" then?" He placed another log on the fire as he spoke. "I warn you, I am very good at such games, and you might not like it when I win." He then stripped off his under tunic, revealing a well-muscled chest.
It was then that Legolas saw that he wore around his neck a braided metal torc. It shone with a malevolent gleam in the firelight, wrapping around the king's strong neck, and terminating in finials shaped like the White Tree on either side of his throat.
As Aragorn stood and moved slowly towards him, Legolas shifted around, always keeping a piece of furniture between them. "Where did you get that thing around your neck?" he asked, trying to distract the king.
Aragorn raised a hand and touched the torc and smiled, but continued his stalking. The two of them moved around the chairs and table like a pair of hunting cats. "Davyn made this. He has wound his strength and blood into it so that he will always be bound to Gondor and to me. I have made it part of the kingdom regalia." He made a fast grab at an outstretched arm but danced back when the dagger flashed towards him.
"I do not trust your mage." Legolas could say no more, for his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth when he tried to go on.
"Of course you don't. He did this to you. I wouldn't expect you to trust him." Aragorn smiled even deeper. He had detected something in the smooth movements of the elf he was chasing.
Making a feint and a quick twist, he reached out and under the blade of the dagger and grabbed the wrist. With a hard pull, he yanked Legolas off his feet and pulled him forward to land on the floor, knee placed firmly into the small of the back. Squeezing the wrist harder, he grabbed the dagger from the loosened fingers and threw it into the fireplace. "You are unused to this body, my friend, and it shows. You're off balance and unable to move in the ways that you are used to."
"Get off of me." The voice was angry and muffled in the carpet.
The king smiled in a perverse amusement as he pulled up Legolas up by his shoulders. He found it easy enough to turn him so that the elf was restrained, his back to Aragorn's stomach, arms pinned to his sides by Aragorn's much stronger arm. Legolas still struggled, but was held tight. "You've also lost physical strength, Legolas. You're not nearly as strong as I remember." It was while he spoke these words that Aragorn used his free hand to untie the neckline of the shift and pull the fabric at the neck and chest loose.
"Please, Aragorn, I beg of you, do not do this. If there is any part of the you that I knew still left, please hear me." Legolas watched as the large hand paused for a moment, and then moved slowly to investigate the body laid bare beneath it. Calluses scratched and rubbed against skin that had never been so sensitive before. The hand wandered across breasts, and then moved down to work its way beneath the hem of the shift.
"I hear you, little one, but I know my duty, as do you." The king began to stand, taking Legolas with him, and then turned and lifted his captive over one shoulder and dumped the flailing body unceremoniously onto the bed.
The dried herbs crinkled under Legolas' back as he landed roughly on the mattress, releasing a sharp clean smell. He sank into the featherbed and scrambled gracelessly for a moment, trying to regain his balance and get away, but a rough hand already rested on his shoulder, and then the weight of a body fell upon him.
::No!:: , his mind screamed. ::This is not right. This is not natural. This is not as it should be:: He tried to struggle but was pinned onto the bed. A hot mouth was exploring first an ear, and then the neck. Teeth slid across the golden collar, making him shudder with the unpleasant sensation. A tongue then swirled around the gem at his throat and then traced lower.
::No!! This cannot be happening. This is not real:: His mind raced, trying to find a way to reconcile sensations from places he wasn't supposed to have. He managed to work a hand free and tried to push the offending body away, but he was not strong enough.
"No, please. I do not want this." He could feel his voice break with unshed tears. Aragorn could hear them too, because he lifted his head and gazed into the eyes of the elf below him. In that unguarded moment, the gray eyes cleared and looked at the elf with an expression of gentle surprise.
After a brief moment the eyes changed back to their now normal coldness, but it was enough for Legolas. ::He still lives. He is trapped inside his mind, bound like I am. I have to set him free, somehow. But how?:: His eyes moved to the torc that gleamed around the dark throat, and with his free hand reached towards it.
However, his hand was quickly captured and borne down to the mattress again, joining its mate in one of Aragorn's large hands. The eyes pinned him even further into the soft bed while the free hand roughly pulled the shift up around his waist and then moved between his legs. The hand moved to roughly pull first one, then the other of his legs higher against the hips that held him captive, and then to pull down the waistband of the woolen trousers that Aragorn still wore.
Intense pressure. Stabbing pain. ::NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. This is not happening. NO NO NO NO NO.:: Tears sprang to the elf's eyes as he tried to arch his back and get away from the thing that pinned him to the mattress, but the assault continued with another thrust. And another. A feeling of resistance, increased pressure, then a tearing. A grunt from the creature atop of him, and the feel of wetness on his cheeks. ::No. This cannot be.::
A pause, and a gentle touch to wipe away a tear, completely unexpected in its tenderness, followed by more pressure, more pain, more thrusting. If one looked at the silver and black canopy that hung over the bed the right way, and listened to the squeak of the bedframe ropes, one could almost think they were on a ship on a clear night, heading west across the sea. If one could ignore the violation.
His eyes returned to the torc that now swayed mere inches from his nose. ::There is the problem. But what is the solution?:: The metal radiated a bitter, malevolent cold that made him cringe back from contact with it every time it came near. ::I cannot touch it; I cannot tell anyone of it. I must get it away from him, but how?::
Increasing speed, but less pain now. It was almost bearable. ::How do women endure this? I am quite sure that I have never caused a woman to feel this pain. Or have I?:: A hand roughly tangled in his hair and lips pressed to his own, a moan emptying into a mouth as seed emptied into a womb. Gasping for breath and shuddering sensation, followed by stillness.
Aragorn rolled off, with surprising tenderness kissed his bride, and then pulled the shift down from around Legolas's waist. "This was the worst, I swear. You will learn to enjoy my attentions soon enough."
Legolas looked up at the man, lips parted to speak when there came a loud pounding on the door. "My King!" Davyn's voice came through the door, muffled but still recognizable. "My King! Are you done? The night is still young and your guests are waiting for you to join them in celebration."
The king wrinkled his nose in annoyance, but began to pull his trousers back up. Legolas watched him in stunned amazement as Aragorn left the bed and walked to grab his under tunic. ::They were right. I need to keep him away from that creature so that we may regain our friend::
With some pain, Legolas sat upright on the bed, and pulled the neck of the shift up and over to one side, baring a shoulder and a breast. "Aragorn", he called softly. He couldn't hide the slight note of fear that was in his voice, but perhaps that was what drew Aragorn's eyes back to him with surprise and hunger. The man stared for a moment, clearly torn, but then dropped his tunic back on the floor and walked back towards the bed.
"Davyn", he spoke to the door as he walked by, "Tell my guests that I have retired for the night with my Queen. They will be understanding."
There was a shocked silence from the door, and then the voice asked, "Shall I come for you at dawn, My king?"
"No. I will summon you when I'm ready for you. Now leave us in peace", he said as he pulled the bedcurtains closed.
Disclaimer: I do not own Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, or Middle Earth. I think I would probably drive the real estate values way down in ME if I did, actually. Scary thought.
Notes: It was actually an accepted custom to use the gauntlet of a king or prince as a proxy for marriages and engagements. They would have someone wear the gauntlet and that person would do all the grooms duties (except the obvious, of course) and the poor girl would be married to some geezer hundreds of miles away with nothing to show for it but a glove.
"Capture the King" is an archaic for Chess.
Oh… And Jastaelf. You are ::so:: on. Your turn.
"It is almost time", Arnlaug said as he walked into the small room. Wan light shone down from a high window slit and illuminated the elf standing motionless in front of a mirror. Legolas turned to the chancellor and the man's breath was taken away by the vision he beheld. "I would be remiss in my duties if I did not say that you make an incredibly beautiful bride", he added.
Arnlaug was richly dressed in velvet and brocade, his chain of office slung across his shoulders. He walked stiffly, perhaps from the new boots he wore. The oddest thing was that he wore gauntlets of the finest leather, dyed moss green and embroidered with the device of the Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.
Legolas winced at the compliment, but made no reply. He then took the few steps to Arnlaug's side, touched the gauntlets with one hesitant finger and asked quietly, "What is this? Why do you bear the arms of my father?"
"It is the custom of our people that a woman to be wedded be given to her husband by her father or nearest male relative. I am merely acting as a proxy and the glove symbolizes your father's approval of this union." Arnlaug shrugged sheepishly. "I would almost think it funny in any other circumstance, for you are so much older than I, and yet I am to act as your father."
Finger still tracing the design picked out on the buttery leather, Legolas met the man's eyes defiantly. "I know my father would never approve of such a thing or allow this to happen if he were still in Middle-earth. His opinion of mortals is not high. He does not see the charm in them that I do."
With a deliberate motion, Arnlaug caught the elf's hand and placed it on top of his own, and then wrapped his fingers carefully around the slender hand. "I have been bidden to tell you that it is not necessary that you be conscious at your own wedding, and that if you chose to be contentious Davyn will simply drug you into insensibility. He would have already done so if Valda and I had not assured the king of your good behavior."
Legolas tried to pull his hand away, but the man tightened his grip.
"I would caution you on this, Legolas. I would not think it out of the realm of possibility if the next time you woke from such a drugging that it would be next year and you would have a babe at your breast. If such a thing happens, you will be unable to effect any changes in the demeanor of those you hold dear."
"I know this. I also know that I am sorely afraid of what is to come." The elf's voice faltered. "I do not know if I am strong enough to do what you demand of me."
"You will have to be strong enough. There is no other option." Arnlaug awkwardly patted the hand he held as he heard noises from outside the door. "It is time. Stand straight and proud and together we will walk to the great hall. You will say nothing unless either King or I instruct you to do so. Once we are done with the ceremony, we will then go for the wedding feast. Again, you will say nothing unless you are instructed by one of us. You will be a model of decorum and grace."
"I have no choice but to be, don't I?" Legolas said softly.
"No." Arnlaug's heart broke for the sadness in the sweet voice. "You have no choice." He then took the slim, pale hand he held and maneuvered it around his arm so that he was properly escorting his king's bride. "You shall blind all the Barons and Lords with your beauty. They will fall to their knees for a smile from you."
"Lovely. Just what I've always wanted. Lamed blinded Barons."
The man let out a quiet snort as he escorted the elf through the door.
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The great hall was much as Legolas had remembered it from his arrival the week before, except that it was now completely lit and decorated. The winter had been harsh and greenery was limited, but boughs of evergreens were above the doors and the great mantel of the fireplace. Their sharp scent filled the air, almost covering the smell of the people that were occupying the room and the smell of cooking food from the kitchens. The banners and tapestries had been cleaned and rehung, and iron chandeliers hung from the rafters, holding candles that illuminated the hall.
::Truly, this is what the glory of Gondor should be:: thought Legolas to himself. ::Unfortunately, I wish the occasion that I saw it on could have been drastically different:: He could feel the pressure of eyes upon him as he walked slowly to the front of the room, arm in arm with the Chancellor of Gondor. Arnlaug felt the tightening of muscles and placed his other hand on top of the pale one he had on his arm, trying to comfort his charge.
The Lords and Barons and their ladies stood as one, each one looking into his face as he walked by. Their expressions ranged from approval to amazement to awe, for few of them had ever seen an elf except for Arwen. Legolas turned his eyes to the rushes on the floor, not wanting to see their faces. Surely they all knew that he was reluctant, unwilling of this "honor"?
After an incredibly long, yet entirely too short of a walk Legolas stood before Aragorn and the rest of his council. As one, they all bowed to Arnlaug and then to him. Davyn stood to the right of his king, a satisfied smirk on his face. His smile broadened when Legolas met his eyes, and Legolas went cold and tried to take a step backwards. Arnlaug tightened his grip and held the elf in place.
Gilby limped forward, holding a large roll of parchment in his long hands. "Who speaks for this woman?"
"I do", responded Arnlaug. "I stand proxy for her father, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, who has passed into the west."
Gilby nodded and then turned to his king. "My king, your bride has been brought forth for your approval."
Aragorn stepped forward and looked closely at the elf. Legolas met his eyes squarely, trying to see his friend, beg soundlessly for this to stop, but he could find nothing, no one in them that he knew. "I approve. Continue."
Gilby bowed slightly and then turned back to Arnlaug. "Do you warrant that this woman is pure and untouched?"
"I warrant so." Arnlaug applied more pressure on the hand in his grasp, feeling the tensing of muscles, the intake of breath in protest. Legolas gasped softly in pain and settled for trying to ignite Gilby's hair with the heat of his stare.
"The king has found this acceptable and has set terms for the taking of his wife. Are they agreeable to you?" Gilby would not meet Legolas' gaze, instead finding a spot on the far wall much more interesting and compelling.
"They are." Arnlaug transferred the grip he had on the captive hand to his left and leaned over with his right to take the quill that Gilby then offered, and then made his mark on the proffered parchment.
Gilby made a show of examining the signature and then turned again to show it to his king. Aragorn nodded and then stepped forward and extended his hand to Arnlaug.
Arnlaug bowed and then took Legolas' captive hand and placed it into the hand of his king. "She is yours, Majesty." The chancellor stepped backwards and Aragorn moved to take his place, winding the arm around his, exerting subtle force when Legolas tried to resist by pulling away.
"Softly now, little one. We're almost done." Aragorn's whispered words were gentle, but the tone was like ice and chilled the elf to the bone.
Gilby passed the parchments to the others of the council; each one of them making their marks to witness what was being done, like notaries at a horse auction. ::Is this all that I am to them? A possession? Livestock?:: thought the elf, watching with a growing sense of horror at the ease with which he became what amounted to another man's property. ::I sorely feel for any woman who lives in this place, to be treated as though she were naught but a trinket::
Finally, the parchment was brought again to Aragorn. Arnlaug stepped next to him, this time in his role as the chancellor, and handed over the great seal of Gondor and a lit taper of sealing wax. The scent of the wax was cloying, and the sound of the molten droplets hitting the parchment seemed to echo across the silent hall.
Aragorn paused and looked up to Legolas' face, seal hovering over the parchment. Legolas met his gaze and silently mouthed a single "No", putting all of his hope into the thought that perhaps some small part of Aragorn would stop and realize what he was doing. But all Aragorn did was smile sweetly, look at him with the cold eyes of a stranger, and then press the seal home into the cooling wax. The deed was done.
Legolas could feel his face fall into an expression of shock when he was then turned to face the people in the hall who then erupted into cheers and applause. "You have received the approval of the people of Gondor, Legolas", Aragorn said softly as he steered his new Queen to the high table for the feast. "Now, all you must do is receive mine."
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Seated between Aragorn and Arnlaug, Legolas had barely endured the feast. Pungent aromas from strange and exotic foods had caused his already queasy stomach to want to leave the immediate vicinity with little consideration for the rest of his body. Aragorn playing the doting husband, and offering choice tidbits on the tip of his knife did not help the situation. It appeared that refusal was also not an option; he had turned his head away several times, only to have an elbow or knee tightly squeezed in warning. Bruises notwithstanding, he simply chose to delicately accept the proffered food and try not to vomit.
Acrobats and jugglers performed amongst the tables, and the musicians played merry tunes full of discord and sour notes. It was nothing like the stately, otherworldly music of his people, and the strangeness of it all made him even more confused. Roaring laughter and loud talk filled the air above the music and rang in his ears, and he found himself completely disoriented. His attention focused itself upon his right hand, which he saw was now enfolded in Aragorn's left. The king was deep in conversation with Davyn, but the thumb moved slowly, gently upon the sensitive palm.
Legolas tried to pull his hand away, but the fingers tightened cruelly and Aragorn turned to look at his bride. With a grim smile, he gestured to Valda, seated on the other side of Arnlaug. "Countess, my Lady looks weary. Please escort her to our rooms and prepare her for bed." He then brought the captive hand up to his lips and turned it to kiss the palm. "I will follow soon after." His smile was anything but reassuring as he gently released the elf.
Valda stood smoothly, brushing the front of her skirts down. She then took Legolas' silk clad elbow and helped him to rise. The room became quiet as every eye turned to the head table to watch as the bride was taken to her rooms. Cheers, laughter and ribald advice followed the women from the great hall. Two other women joined them in the passageway, both curtseying deeply to their new queen, and then walking a few steps behind.
Head clearing as they began to climb stairs, Legolas began to take note of where he was. They were heading towards the royal apartments by way of the back staircase. He had been there before in happier times when he had privately dined with Aragorn and Arwen. Now it appeared that he was to be installed there.
They made the trip in silence to the Queen's chambers. The heavy oaken door was ornately carved, but Legolas still noted the new lock that had been placed on the door. Its newly milled brass gleamed in the rushlights.
Valda produced from a hidden fold in her skirts a matching newly made key, opened the door and then stepped to one side so that Legolas could precede her into the rooms.
They passed through a sitting room and into the bedroom. A large bed sat upon a pedestal, a canopy of black and silver above, and bedcurtains with the White Tree were tied back to the posters. The bed was piled with comforters and pillows, almost Byzantine in its splendor. To the far side of the bed stood a tall mirror.
A fire burned in the hearth, warming the immediate area in front of it. There were two chairs facing each other with a small table in between, perfect for intimate meals and discussions. A single window of leaded glass faced the innermost courtyard of the palace and overlooked the gardens. There were 2 doors in the room. One they had just stepped through from the sitting room, the other led to the King's bedchamber.
Legolas jumped as one of the maids touched his shoulder and directed him to stand in front of the fire. She was petite, with delicate, fair features and silvery blonde hair. Merry blue eyes twinkled in the firelight as she curtseyed again and then produced a small knife.
She gently cut the threads across his back that had held the dress onto his body. They popped and the dress loosened and finally fell to his shoulders. She then came and cut the seams on the sleeves, and gently pulled the fine material from his arms.
The undershift soon went the way of the dress and then the maid pulled from next to the hearth a small pot of warm, scented water and a sponge. Legolas allowed himself to be bathed by the young woman and breathed deeply of the fragrance.
The woman noticed this and said quietly, "Lavender and rosemary, my Lady. To cleanse the soul and to aid in conception." She didn't notice the flinch the elf gave, and continued. "The sponge is a sea sponge that was brought to us from traders from the east. There is nothing like it to soothe and smooth the skin."
The other maidservant was busily turning down the covers and blankets on the bed, and strewing the sheets with dried herbs. Her curly dark hair hung down across her face and draped across an ample bosom. Her eyes twinkled with an avid intelligence, and at her waist a ring of keys hung and clinked with a deceivingly happy jingle.
The blonde servant carefully dried the elf with a towel, and then began to rub scented oil into his skin. "Not that you need this, mind you", she said, "for you already are as soft and sweet as a rosebud."
The bed now completed, the dark haired maid disappeared for a moment and then returned with a filmy nightshift and a finely wrought long golden chain.
Valda took the chain from the maid and then moved forward and placed it around the elf's small waist. It hung loosely around his hips.
The two maidservants then placed the shift over his head and pulled it gently down. The fabric was so fine that it was practically transparent. A gathered neckline was held in place with a fine silk ribbon, tied loosely. The sleeves were long and gathered to the wrists and also tied.
The small blonde reached up and removed the crown from the golden head, while the other combed the hair straight and free. Then both stood side by side and bowed.
"Lady", spoke the blonde, "I am Lanelese, your head bodyservant."
"Lady", spoke the brunette, "I am Clotild, keeper of the keys to your wardrobe."
As one, they bowed and left the room, leaving Legolas alone with Valda.
The woman reached out and touched a lock of Legolas' hair. "Everything here has symbolism. The herbs in the bed are to remove foul humors from the air and to ease conception. The chain at your waist shows that you are bound to your husband. The bath was to clean impurities that could prevent conception or damage your child. The gauze of the shift shows your innocence." She paused, and then smiled ironically. "We are a very symbolic people."
Taking a deep breath, Legolas said quietly, "I am not strong enough to do what you ask. I cannot do this."
Valda simply caressed the soft hair again, and then bowed into a deep curtsey. She looked up from her place on the floor, and then smiled gently. "You are stronger than you realize, but not in the ways you would expect. I wish you a good night, my Lady."
With barely a rustle of skirts, the woman was gone, and there was the sound of a bolt being thrown on the door.
Before the sound had died, Legolas was at the window. The metal of the latch was frozen. He struggled with it, and finally broke the ice that was in the lock. The windows slowly opened to reveal the iron bars that blocked his flight to freedom. He touched them briefly, feeling the cold burn into his skin. He swung the windows shut again, and then turned to survey the room.
He could see next to him the mirror, and the woman therein. Her eyes were wide, her breath unsteady. He reached to touch the mirror briefly, but then saw something over her shoulder that made him turn and run to the fireplace.
There was nothing else in this room that he could conceivably use as a weapon except for this. A pair of small ornamental daggers were crossed and mounted on the wall above the device of the Queen of Gondor. Standing on tiptoe, feet almost in the hot ashes of the fireplace, he was able to stretch up and place his hand on one of the hilts and pull. Nothing. It was stuck.
Biting his lip in frustration he then pulled on the other. It moved slightly but would not come down. With a sound almost like a stifled sob, he tried again, feeling the heat from the fire start to burn his skin. With a soft rasp, the dagger came free suddenly and he almost fell backwards.
He examined the dagger and found that the edge was exceptionally dull, and the metal brittle and weak. Any other time he would have turned his nose up at such a poorly made weapon, but now he had no choice.
At that moment, the bolt was shot and the door opened.
Aragorn walked into the room and closed the door firmly. He turned and saw that Legolas had moved to place the chairs in between them. He also noted the dagger that was held with deadly competency in one hand. "Good", he said. "I thought that you were a bit too docile today. I was wondering when you would start being difficult."
With a casual air he slowly walked to the fireplace, pulling off his heavily embroidered over tunic as he went. "So, are we to play a game of "Capture the Queen" then?" He placed another log on the fire as he spoke. "I warn you, I am very good at such games, and you might not like it when I win." He then stripped off his under tunic, revealing a well-muscled chest.
It was then that Legolas saw that he wore around his neck a braided metal torc. It shone with a malevolent gleam in the firelight, wrapping around the king's strong neck, and terminating in finials shaped like the White Tree on either side of his throat.
As Aragorn stood and moved slowly towards him, Legolas shifted around, always keeping a piece of furniture between them. "Where did you get that thing around your neck?" he asked, trying to distract the king.
Aragorn raised a hand and touched the torc and smiled, but continued his stalking. The two of them moved around the chairs and table like a pair of hunting cats. "Davyn made this. He has wound his strength and blood into it so that he will always be bound to Gondor and to me. I have made it part of the kingdom regalia." He made a fast grab at an outstretched arm but danced back when the dagger flashed towards him.
"I do not trust your mage." Legolas could say no more, for his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth when he tried to go on.
"Of course you don't. He did this to you. I wouldn't expect you to trust him." Aragorn smiled even deeper. He had detected something in the smooth movements of the elf he was chasing.
Making a feint and a quick twist, he reached out and under the blade of the dagger and grabbed the wrist. With a hard pull, he yanked Legolas off his feet and pulled him forward to land on the floor, knee placed firmly into the small of the back. Squeezing the wrist harder, he grabbed the dagger from the loosened fingers and threw it into the fireplace. "You are unused to this body, my friend, and it shows. You're off balance and unable to move in the ways that you are used to."
"Get off of me." The voice was angry and muffled in the carpet.
The king smiled in a perverse amusement as he pulled up Legolas up by his shoulders. He found it easy enough to turn him so that the elf was restrained, his back to Aragorn's stomach, arms pinned to his sides by Aragorn's much stronger arm. Legolas still struggled, but was held tight. "You've also lost physical strength, Legolas. You're not nearly as strong as I remember." It was while he spoke these words that Aragorn used his free hand to untie the neckline of the shift and pull the fabric at the neck and chest loose.
"Please, Aragorn, I beg of you, do not do this. If there is any part of the you that I knew still left, please hear me." Legolas watched as the large hand paused for a moment, and then moved slowly to investigate the body laid bare beneath it. Calluses scratched and rubbed against skin that had never been so sensitive before. The hand wandered across breasts, and then moved down to work its way beneath the hem of the shift.
"I hear you, little one, but I know my duty, as do you." The king began to stand, taking Legolas with him, and then turned and lifted his captive over one shoulder and dumped the flailing body unceremoniously onto the bed.
The dried herbs crinkled under Legolas' back as he landed roughly on the mattress, releasing a sharp clean smell. He sank into the featherbed and scrambled gracelessly for a moment, trying to regain his balance and get away, but a rough hand already rested on his shoulder, and then the weight of a body fell upon him.
::No!:: , his mind screamed. ::This is not right. This is not natural. This is not as it should be:: He tried to struggle but was pinned onto the bed. A hot mouth was exploring first an ear, and then the neck. Teeth slid across the golden collar, making him shudder with the unpleasant sensation. A tongue then swirled around the gem at his throat and then traced lower.
::No!! This cannot be happening. This is not real:: His mind raced, trying to find a way to reconcile sensations from places he wasn't supposed to have. He managed to work a hand free and tried to push the offending body away, but he was not strong enough.
"No, please. I do not want this." He could feel his voice break with unshed tears. Aragorn could hear them too, because he lifted his head and gazed into the eyes of the elf below him. In that unguarded moment, the gray eyes cleared and looked at the elf with an expression of gentle surprise.
After a brief moment the eyes changed back to their now normal coldness, but it was enough for Legolas. ::He still lives. He is trapped inside his mind, bound like I am. I have to set him free, somehow. But how?:: His eyes moved to the torc that gleamed around the dark throat, and with his free hand reached towards it.
However, his hand was quickly captured and borne down to the mattress again, joining its mate in one of Aragorn's large hands. The eyes pinned him even further into the soft bed while the free hand roughly pulled the shift up around his waist and then moved between his legs. The hand moved to roughly pull first one, then the other of his legs higher against the hips that held him captive, and then to pull down the waistband of the woolen trousers that Aragorn still wore.
Intense pressure. Stabbing pain. ::NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. This is not happening. NO NO NO NO NO.:: Tears sprang to the elf's eyes as he tried to arch his back and get away from the thing that pinned him to the mattress, but the assault continued with another thrust. And another. A feeling of resistance, increased pressure, then a tearing. A grunt from the creature atop of him, and the feel of wetness on his cheeks. ::No. This cannot be.::
A pause, and a gentle touch to wipe away a tear, completely unexpected in its tenderness, followed by more pressure, more pain, more thrusting. If one looked at the silver and black canopy that hung over the bed the right way, and listened to the squeak of the bedframe ropes, one could almost think they were on a ship on a clear night, heading west across the sea. If one could ignore the violation.
His eyes returned to the torc that now swayed mere inches from his nose. ::There is the problem. But what is the solution?:: The metal radiated a bitter, malevolent cold that made him cringe back from contact with it every time it came near. ::I cannot touch it; I cannot tell anyone of it. I must get it away from him, but how?::
Increasing speed, but less pain now. It was almost bearable. ::How do women endure this? I am quite sure that I have never caused a woman to feel this pain. Or have I?:: A hand roughly tangled in his hair and lips pressed to his own, a moan emptying into a mouth as seed emptied into a womb. Gasping for breath and shuddering sensation, followed by stillness.
Aragorn rolled off, with surprising tenderness kissed his bride, and then pulled the shift down from around Legolas's waist. "This was the worst, I swear. You will learn to enjoy my attentions soon enough."
Legolas looked up at the man, lips parted to speak when there came a loud pounding on the door. "My King!" Davyn's voice came through the door, muffled but still recognizable. "My King! Are you done? The night is still young and your guests are waiting for you to join them in celebration."
The king wrinkled his nose in annoyance, but began to pull his trousers back up. Legolas watched him in stunned amazement as Aragorn left the bed and walked to grab his under tunic. ::They were right. I need to keep him away from that creature so that we may regain our friend::
With some pain, Legolas sat upright on the bed, and pulled the neck of the shift up and over to one side, baring a shoulder and a breast. "Aragorn", he called softly. He couldn't hide the slight note of fear that was in his voice, but perhaps that was what drew Aragorn's eyes back to him with surprise and hunger. The man stared for a moment, clearly torn, but then dropped his tunic back on the floor and walked back towards the bed.
"Davyn", he spoke to the door as he walked by, "Tell my guests that I have retired for the night with my Queen. They will be understanding."
There was a shocked silence from the door, and then the voice asked, "Shall I come for you at dawn, My king?"
"No. I will summon you when I'm ready for you. Now leave us in peace", he said as he pulled the bedcurtains closed.