Thank you all so much for your support! And don't worry, this fic is far from dead – it's just crawling along a few paragraphs at a time.

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By Nekomegamichan

Nekomegamichanhotmail.com

Chapter XII

Frodo and Sam spent much of the morning in the barn, even forgoing second breakfast in favour of their elvish company. After the unpleasantness of the day before, the merry voices and graceful moments of the fair folk were much appreciated. Songs were sung and tales told and Sam curried his pony while listening to it all with a rapt smile on his broad face. The magical presence of the elves had not faded by the length of his association and the gardener never passed up an opportunity for conversation with an elf.

Across the barn, Frodo was more subdued. He smiled politely and accepted the elves' thanks and congratulations for his role as the Ring Bearer. Several offered him small and precious gifts. Yet the evils that had befallen the other members of the Fellowship weighed on him and the ache in his old wound continued as it had for days, though now he knew the reason why. Evil lurked in Middle Earth again. Frodo honestly had no desire to leave his home or the quiet life he had so painstakingly recreated, as superficial as it was. Though if Gandalf or one of the members of the council requested his aid he would go; he could not abandon his friends if they had need of him.

Rosie and Blibo joined them at noon, bringing down baskets laden with fresh bread, fruit preserves and the best butter, cheese and ham Frodo's larder had to offer. Sam hugged his blushing wife and introduced her to the elves, pronouncing each name perfectly much to their delight.

Small patrols came and went, roaming the edges of the Shire on swift and silent feet. None had anything out of the ordinary to report, though Captain Valandil respectfully related each patrol's findings to Frodo. All seemed well in the Shire, yet there was an underlying tenseness in the air which could not be allayed.

The hobbits finally left the barn an hour before sundown, and from the branches of a nearby tree, a small flock of crows with gleaming, black button eyes watched and laughed throatily.

Aragorn clamped his pipe between his teeth, the wooden stem worn and scored with use. He was still in the saddle and the white smoke streamed out, a mirror plume to his mount's breath in the cold winter air. His grey-flecked hair hung in lank ringlets down his neck, tickling just inside the collar of his heavy coat. A cloak with a mud-stained edge rippled out from the clasp at his throat to lie over the horse's rump.

Sound was muted in the enchanted sylvan path. There were no birds, no rabbits - no animate life of any kind. It was an atmosphere which practically leant itself to quiet contemplation; words seemed swallowed by the oppressive quiet. There was no sense of time, the thickly interlaced branches blocking out the weak winter sun and casting the tunnel below into a perpetual twilight.

Yet Aragorn hardly spared a thought for the path they travelled or the wizard riding beside him; both seemed to brood as heavily as he. Strategies, possibilities and consequences ruminated in his mind, tumbling over each other with the futile regularity of a water wheel. Faces and alliances spiralled past as he tried to reason out the identity of the Fellowship's mysterious aggressor. Plans of action to deal with the traitor were examined from every angle, found lacking and discarded. There were too many variables, to many unknowns for his comfort. Aragorn sucked on his pipe and worried.

Gandalf's lean frame swung gently with the rhythm of Shadowfax's gait. Determined to conserve his energies, he let his eyes slide shut and temporarily shortened the reach and breadth of his senses. He took a moment to wonder how Legolas and Elrohir were getting on. When he had left Imladris the Greenwood prince had seemed past danger, but something tugged at the corner of his wizard's intuition. Gandalf was not entirely convinced that Elrond and Thranduil's sons could be trusted to behave, a feeling that was amply justified by past experience.

Beside him, Aragorn nudged his horse into a trot and the leggy creature's long stride ate up the distance like a hungry hobbit eats bacon. Shadowfax caught up easily and the wizard on his back finally broke the silence. "We will spend the night in the safety of the path, but come morning we must brave the dangers of the wider world once more. Things are moving fast Aragorn; this enemy is at once both subtle and direct. We do not know his name nor his nature, though he knows ours. He is respectful of our powers as he perceives them, that much is obvious by the way he has harried us, attacking through treachery to cause doubt and keep us off balance."

Aragorn sighed around his pipe stem. "With all due respect, Gandalf old friend, speculating is getting us nowhere and you know it as well as I."

The wizard chuckled, his thin lips curling up and his eyes twinkling with the mysterious power of the Maia.

Light flooded the protected clearing, dancing along the reclining bodies of elves and a slightly inebriated dwarf. Wine was mulled over the central campfire and poured liberally into pewter mugs. The remnants of a rich stew sweetened with herbs and potatoes sat in the warm ash, waiting to be packed away and served again the next evening. The notes of a reed pipe drifted over the weary travellers and quiet words were exchanged as evening stretched into night.

Legolas was supported by a small mound of cloaks with his saddle at their centre, a thick blanket tucked around him. Though he had not mentioned it to anyone, the day's ride and the constant exposure to the cold that so rarely affected elven kind had left him stiff and more than a little pained. Elrohir suspected but said nothing as he quietly saw to his beloved's needs. Their happiness was like a river which gently overflowed it banks to touch those around them and Legolas' discomfort was drowned beneath it.

Beside the fire, Elladan sang songs in praise of the sea he had never seen and of the fair lands beyond. After a round of applause the twin sat and gestured to Gimli, "Master Dwarf, if your tongue is not too tired, pray tell us a story of high adventure!"

"Delighted to, Master Elladan. Not since I last saw the hobbits have I been asked for so many tales. Though I do admit I enjoy it!" Gimli replied. He was in a fine humour that the wine had relatively little to do with. It was hard to believe that just weeks before he had lost dear friends in a bloody orc ambush, or that Legolas had lain perilously close to the edge of his immortal life. All the evils of the world seemed pale and insubstantial, like the glimpse of a horror through a veil of fog. And the distortions of time and good company were a soothing balm.

"Enjoy it? I'm sure that you do, friend Gimli. For there was never a dwarf born that did not like to hear himself speak!" came Legolas' good natured barb.

Gimli pushed himself to his feet, for once head and shoulders above Legolas. "And never was there born an elf who could pass a tree without embracing it like a mad man." No sooner had the last word gone past his lips than Gimli froze in place. His bright eyes darted around the campfire and a party of elven faces smiled back at him. He bowed hastily, bending nearly double, "I beg your pardon good sirs and ladies! I meant no offence!"

Elladan leaned back on his elbows, "Think nothing of it! You are elf-friend Master Gimli and I daresay no one here is offended by your banter with the Prince. Rather, we find it most amusing."

Elrohir nodded, "Aye! And it can't hurt to keep Legolas' wit sharp," he smirked playfully, "especially when the touch of old logs can dull a fine blade - if you take my meaning."

Even Erestor, ever the diplomat was forced to smile behind his wine cup. When he had himself under control once more, he called for order. "Here now! The fire burns low and we would all listen to Master Gimli's story ere we retire for the night." Erestor gestured to the dwarf, though the set of his eyes and mouth reminded Gimli of his childhood nurse, counselling him to mind he did not take too long.

Nevertheless Gimli stood, his pipe in one hand and smoke curling up towards the stars and collected his thoughts. "When I was little more than a lad," he began, "my father, Glôin went on a fabulous quest in the company of his kinfolk, a great wizard, and an unusually adventurous hobbit. During the course of their journey they encountered and more or less overcame many obstacles. One of them involved the stone palace of a woodland king of elves and a number of wine barrels…"

When the tale was finished, Legolas' bright laughter cut through the murmurs, inciting more golden peals from the others. The very thought of Bilbo's party of Dwarves escaping, floating down a night cloaked river was almost too humorous to believe. It had been quite a colourful recounting of Glôin's escape in a wine barrel from Thranduil's palace. And though he had heard many versions told of it, Legolas loved Gimli's tellings most of all, for they became more embellished with every repetition; not even old Bilbo's skill with words could match it. Yet the prince keenly remembered the expression on his sire's face when he realized his loss. To this very day barrels of all kinds were inspected by guards whenever prisoners were kept.

When the laughter had died down, Erestor stood and clapped his hands once to draw the party's attention. "It is nearing the midnight hour," he announced with the authority of an elder and an officer of Elrond's house. "Though I am sure we would all be quite happy to wile away the early hours until dawn, lost in drink and pleasant conversation, I suggest that we take some rest in the bowers yonder else we find ourselves tarrying in this gentle place too long."

The elves nodded their assent and stood, separating to claim the private, leafy shelters perched between the massive roots of the trees which protected their age-old camp. All knew how easy it would be to stay for days, enjoying the perpetual spring the ancient magic of the elves brought to such places – a magic which would fade a little more with their passing. Yet their hearts were not saddened and the knowledge only deepened their longing for the undying lands across the sea.

Elrohir gathered up their things and set them in order for their departure in the morning. He was sorely tempted to simply scoop Legolas up and carry him to the bower that would be their marriage bed, an image which made him giddy with desire. It was only in difference to both of their steadfast pride that he did not make such a public scene, and instead settled for helping Legolas to his feet.

"Sleep well, elf," Gimli yawned, waving in Legolas' direction and only belatedly remembering his friend's dark haired mate. "Good eve to you also, Master Elrohir," he added hastily.

"And to you, Master dwarf," Elrohir replied with a smile and a slight inclination of his head. Though he had known Gimli for only a short time, he would always remember the dwarf fondly. As he accompanied his newly bonded lover to their bower, he made a silent entreaty to the Valar, may Gimli's mortal life be full and prosperous for many years hence, though I shall miss my dear Legolas who must remain as long as the dwarf lives.

Saberon was sitting in his study, penning out orders for his commanders when the crows arrived. The flock representatives clustered around the window, cackling their news. They were only half alive; creatures created by the ring long ago and forced to serve Sauron's evil will for eternity. Dried blood painted grey nails and clung to the matted feathers, dull black even in the shimmering moonlight.

Saberon did not look up form his missive while the crows finished their report. "Well done. You are dismissed." Events in the outside world were progressing as planned - with one exception, the White Wizard and the King of Gondor had disappeared onto an impenetrable woodland path and there was no telling where they might emerge. Though extremely concerned with having lost the wizard, everything else was moving was as he had foreseen – the elves had sent guards to watch over Baggins and his servant, effectively trapping them in the Shire. The "council of the wise" had foolishly believed a single contingent of warrior elves would be enough to deter any attacks. Or perhaps the intention was for the elves to act as a diversion while the hobbits were spirited away. The very thought was amusing and Saberon could not suppress a smile at the eldar's arrogant ignorance.

The wounded prince of Mirkwood had been unable to remain behind at Imladris, choosing to travel with his lover towards the havens. Though the dwarf had escaped once, he would not be so lucky a second time. It would be painfully easy to dispose of the entire party in the middle of the wilderness, far from help and with only a handful of trained swordsmen among them. The twin sons of Elrond would be sweet trophies to hang in his dungeons and controlling them would place their powerful father and even more powerful grandparents at his mercy. He would take their rings of power and give their land to his followers.

The other two hobbits were walled away in Minas Tirith for the winter, but Saberon fully intended for the White City to fall to his hand before they were once again mobile enough to cause him much trouble. And when proud capital of Gondor was his, Elessar's beautiful wife would be slaughtered in front of her people.

His thoughts once again in order, Saberon bent to review the last of the orders he had written.

"Commander Janum,

"I will arrive at the end of the week to oversee the ceremonies for which I must be present, as planned. Make sure that the sacrifices are of the highest quality. The power I require must be generated entirely without fault. Spare no expense and select only your most trustworthy men. The forging of such an item of power must not be taken lightly. Please know your life and indeed your soul are forfeit should you disappoint me."

Saberon did not sign the missive but sealed it with fine black wax, stamping his insignia, the word for 'lord' in the dark tongue of Mordor, into the cooling ebony puddle.

Their love was reaffirmed with each touch of skin on skin.

Legolas and Elrohir lay in a bed of fine wool blankets, silk sheets and down filled satin pillows. The fragrant bows of an enchanted pine and feathery fern sheltered them from the winter chill which lurked outside. The ancient bower was as warm as a fox's den from the heat of their bodies and nothing could threaten to break the spell they had woven around themselves. The darkness shimmered iridescently with the combined life forces of the elves, a silvery glow which was like two stars kissing in the night sky.

The prince lay on his back, his forget-me-not coloured eyes gazing into the Noldo's soft brown ones. "Elrohir, my dearest, how radiant you are!" Legolas breathed ere his lips were otherwise engaged once again.

The dark haired elf acknowledged the sincere compliment with his heart while his fingertips played over his new mate's creamy skin. Though at first glance one might mistake it for perfection, there were tiny flaws, pale scars that crisscrossed the planes of Legolas' well muscled body – a testament to the prince's hard life as a warrior and champion of his people. Several of the scars were more fresh, still pink and healing. These Elrohir kissed, soothing away the underlying hurts which lingered there.

Legolas gasped; a sound of pleasure which bore no resemblance to that which a maiden might make. He and Elrohir were equals and while he occupied the bottom position there was no loss of power or control, for such things were not perceived between them. Love and desire had swept them both away with the force of the ocean tides towards which they travelled and neither sought to pull themselves to shore.

Long moments passed as breath and bodies mingled. Endearments were exchanged and innocent remarks about a prowess that had nothing to do with sword or bow only added to the heated flush on each fair face. Passion flowed like wine though it did nothing to quench their thirst for one another.

Elrohir's body sang with pleasure as he finally found completion and Legolas crossed that bridge shortly after to join his lover on the other side. When it was over they lay together in the dark, trembling in the aftermath and content to rest in a close embrace.

The dark haired elf stroked Legolas' soft flaxen locks, gently combing out the tangles that their love had put there. His thoughts slowly changed course and he found himself contemplating his impending separation from his beloved and from there, the reason for that separation. "How is it that you so easily keep the company of mortals? Every moment I spend with Estel I am reminded of the limits of his human body, and now I see the same mortal fire in my sister's eyes. It pains me to know that their bodies will die and I will never speak to their souls once those finite shells have fallen into dust."

Legolas was slow to reply. He honestly searched his motivations before verbalizing an answer. "Centuries ago, before my first real dealings with mortals, I gave no thought to eternity. Now even as our time here wanes, the world is quickening around us. The younger races blossom over the land. I have come to love them, perhaps in spite of their short lives – they fascinate me. They have taught me to feel the passing of time in a way that no other experience has ever done. I become aware that eternity is both finite and infinite. Alone I may have despaired of it, but now I cannot wait to spend it with you."

With a merry laugh, Elrohir kissed his Legolas' brow. "You are a silly woodland creature, given to roaming the forests and defending those you hold dear. And yet you speak with the golden tongue of the very wise and the golden heart of a devoted lover. Never shall I grow weary of your company and still I envy your mortal companions every moment of it!"

"It is you who is a silly creature and everyone knows that envy is a human emotion. It must be your father's blood which causes you to speak so. Now, let us sleep. The morn is almost upon us now and though our journey has been without incident we have many leagues left to go and perhaps we will have need of our strength. I for one will sleep most soundly in your arms."

"And I in yours. Sweet dreams sweet prince."

Hello all! So sorry for the long time between updates – I really hope at least some of you are still interested. I really was working on this little by little over the long hiatus, but real life just kept getting in the way. Also I was attempting to get several other stories started in various fandoms, though none have gotten much past the plot bunny and blurb stages.

Otherwise – how was it? I've never written a sex scene before and while this one wasn't explicit (I don't feel that something more graphic would do the characters justice and would simply be outside the set writing style for the story) I think it's still pretty hot. I'm actually a virgin myself (and a girl, and straight, and I've never seen a porno movie) so I'm really no expert on the subject. I'm going to attempt to write a more graphic scene in an upcoming Gensomaden Saiyuki fanfic to be posted on adultfanfiction.net and if anyone is interested in giving me their opinions on what you do and don't like in a sex scene for future reference please drop me a line. Thanks!