Black Eyes
by Capella
Chapter Twelve: Phantasmagoria
A/N: You know, I thought that there was going to be more stuff from Legolas and Harry and Valinor in this chapter, but then Draco and Haldir demanded sex. Damn teenage boy and er, millinia-old elf. Sorry, guys. I mean, Haldir just got hurt. I feel sort of bad for the guy. *shrug* So W00T! It's the BIG smut chapter! Damn the NC-17 restriction! I got as close as I can without fear of getting banned. If you get offended, think about Bad Santa. Much, much worse than this, and it's an R. So there. Pretty sure I'm keeping this within the bounds of an R.
Got the funniest review -- made me laugh, really -- from wanderingwolf. Apparently, he/she is very, very angry that Harry is going around and being a not-very-nice guy, because "harry potter is fascinated and disgusted by death." Also, s/he claims that I am not "allowed" to write Harry Potter in this fashion, because it's in the "implied rules" that I shouldn't. Then s/he says that he hopes s/he hasn't brought my spirits down. Wanderingwolf, if you can't figure out that something is wrong with Harry by now that makes him act this way, I seriously wonder what your malfunction is. Sorry if you feel "violated" because I wrote Harry this way. Don't read it. I personally don't care.
Well, that's it, really. Thanks for hanging in there with me, guys. It's been what, two years since I started writing this series? Amazing. Thanks for all the support. :)
Whew. Very long chapter. Longest I've ever written by a long, long shot. I really hope ya'll like it. It was fun, as always.
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Phan·tas·ma·go·ria: 1. an exhibition or display of optical effects and illusions
2. a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or
imagined; a scene that constantly changes
__________________________
"Well, what do you think?" Harry grinned, sounding proud. Legolas glanced at him from the corner of his eye, vision still slightly wavery, and then looked back at the ship. It was beautiful, but small. It looked like the sort that could be sailed by only two people.
When Legolas didn't answer, Harry turned to face him fully, the smile still on his face. Blood liberally dotted his left cheek and lips. Legolas refused to look at him for more than a moment. Valar, but the events of only a few minutes earlier kept playing through his mind -- they wouldn't stop, and all he could manage to see was Thaliephel crumpling slowly to the ground next to Cirdan's body, and all he could manage to hear was the slight, stuttering cry of Palahuan as the knife slid into his body.
He supposed -- even though Harry had said he'd killed Haldir, Legolas had never believed it. He'd never seen Harry kill anyone before, never seen anything but kindness up until only a few days previous. Now he found it hard to doubt that Harry had no compunctions about taking any life he had to -- or wanted to.
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, spinning him around. Harry peered at him from only a few inches away, his nose almost touching Legolas's own, and Legolas had to resist the urge to either lean forward or lean backward. Harry's eyes were so unnaturally bright.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed and he canted his head to one side, looking honestly perplexed. "I'm not sure I want to hurt you anymore," he said in an almost questioning tone, lifting a hand to gently stroke Legolas's dirty cheek. Legolas was too enthralled by the strange look in Harry's eyes to flinch back. "Why don't I want to hurt you?"
Legolas blinked in sudden startlement as Harry's irises -- flickered. He was so close to Harry that he could see them almost change color entirely, for a moment becoming a bit cloudy before regaining their previous brightness.
The spell was broken when Harry's thumb ran over the split in Legolas's lower lip, and a tiny spark of pain made him move his head back. Harry's hand fell to his side, the studying, curious look still in his eyes. The flickering cloudiness was gone.
"Get on the ship," Harry murmured. His voice was quiet, neutral, and Legolas found himself moving before he even thought about the command. He was halfway up the gangplank when he paused, turning around and looking at his horse.
"Arod?" he asked, and it sounded entirely too much like asking permission for his liking. Harry shrugged casually.
"I'm not sure if we can take a horse with us," he said, his tone nearly apologetic. "I'm afraid that we can only take our supplies." He moved to take the packs from Arod's back and the horse let out a low, distressed whinny, baring her teeth in anger. Harry stopped with his hand outstretched, eyes hardening. Legolas saw his lips move, heard Harry whisper an angry command in an archaic form of Elvish and take the packages from Arod's back. Legolas felt faintly as if he'd been punched in the stomach.
"I did not realize you spoke Elvish," he said carefully. Harry paused, looking at him with mingled confusion and annoyance. He didn't answer, and Legolas continued up onto the ship, each step slower and more reluctant than the last one, until he finally stood in the middle of the ship's small deck.
Legolas sucked in a surprised breath when he felt Harry's arms encircle him from behind, soft fingers gently taking his wrists and bringing them behind his back, followed by the rough touch of rope.
"Harry," Legolas whispered, trying to twist his head around to see Harry's expression as he bound Legolas's wrists. "Harry, you do not have to --"
"I do," Harry murmured, finishing the knot with a last jerk of the rope, his hands lingering a moment and stroking the skin of Legolas's palms gently. Then, suddenly, Harry placed his hands on the backs of Legolas's shoulders and pushed him ungently to the deck of the ship. At the last moment Legolas twisted and managed to land on his back. Harry stared down at him with a strange expression in his clear green eyes, and he sank down to his knees, lifting a hand and placing it on the column of Legolas's neck. Legolas flinched before he could stop himself, expecting some sort of pain or humiliation or worse, but Harry just simply sat there with his hand on Legolas's neck and stared. After a while, the exhaustion that had been gnawing at the edges of Legolas's mind made him close his eyes. He was dangerously close to falling asleep when Harry spoke again.
"You think yourself very unfairly treated, don't you, Legolas?" Harry asked quietly. Legolas opened his eyes with a jerk and glared at Harry, twisting his hands in the ropes that bound him, and did not answer.
Harry finally stood, pulling Legolas upright by the neck of his shirt. Legolas swayed as the wounds on his legs burned fiercely, and he felt the sudden urge to vomit as he caught the coppery smell of blood on Harry's clothing. Somehow he managed to stare Harry in the eyes. Harry's eyes were narrowed and furious, bright green in his anger.
"Do not pretend that your lot is any worse than mine was," Harry hissed in a low, dangerous tone, shaking Legolas for emphasis. "Until I throw you down and whip you, until I invade both your dreams and your body, until I rip off your clothing and take you so hard that you bleed like you'd been stabbed, and then do it again not an hour later --" Harry broke off for a moment, his breaths whistling through clenched teeth that were slightly bared in a snarl. "When that happens, you may cry as much as you like. Until then, do not presume to think yourself wronged."
Legolas felt his eyes grow wider with every accusation. There was a sort of tightness in his chest, feeling strangely enough of guilt. He felt familiar tears spill over his cheeks, leaving hot trails down his face, and Harry used his thumb to wipe them away with no expression at all.
"You cannot hold that against me," Legolas whispered shakily. "I was not myself. You cannot hold that against me."
"Can't I?" Harry growled, pushing Legolas back to the ground. Legolas landed with a thump and stared up at Harry through his eyelashes nervously. "Can you say that you didn't enjoy even a mere second of it? I know you enjoyed hearing me scream, even if it was in pain, and seeing me underneath you, even if it was not willing. Didn't you enjoy my submission? Didn't you --"
"Stop it!" Legolas cried, and quite suddenly realized that he was sobbing so hard that his entire body shook, his breath coming in desperate gasps. Harry had a faint look of satisfaction on his face.
"Can you?" Harry asked quietly, dangerously. Legolas flinched.
"No," he whispered, and realized it was true, though the thought of it gripped him by the throat and near stopped his breathing; he bit his bottom lip until he felt it split under the pressure, and a tiny stream of blood ran down his chin.
"I didn't think so." Harry stared down at him, considering; Legolas ignored him and pressed his back against the side of the ship, drew his knees up to his chest, leaning his forehead against his knees, panting for air as he sobbed.
"Oh, Legolas," Harry sighed, and one of Harry's hands gently stroked Legolas's hair, playing with the braid in his hair, being so gentle that it only managed to coax more tears. "Think of this as your penance for what you did to me. You could have resisted if you wanted to."
Legolas shook his head negatively, too out of breath to speak. He had again the strange feeling that he was younger than his years, much younger, that he was back in his bed after a nightmare and waiting for his father to come and comfort him. Gods, but he wanted that again. He took his head off his knees and looked up at Harry through tear-blurred vision. Harry sighed.
"You could have resisted Sauron, Legolas," he said in a chiding tone. The hand in his hair clutched painfully and suddenly, and Legolas couldn't help a tiny yelp that made Harry smile.
"No, I --" Legolas tried to protest, but his voice was weak with the tears and the memories. Harry acted as if he hadn't spoken.
"Don't you remember that you said you didn't love me?"
Legolas's eyes widened. "Harry, I did not --"
"Don't you remember when you offered me to Sauron?" The hand in Legolas's hair kept up its rhythmic stroking even as that silky smooth voice drew Legolas back into the memories he desperately didn't want to remember. "Don't you remember the first time you cut my clothes off with that knife, the one you used to carve your initials into my hip?"
"Please," Legolas begged through his sobs when Harry paused for a breath, squeezing his eyes shut, his shoulders violently shaking and not caring how pathetic he sounded. "Please, do not say any more. I apologize. I will do anything you want -- just, stop." He was breathing hard when he finished. He didn't think he could have managed to say anything else; he felt as if he would faint any moment, as it was, and he could not figure out if it was from his wounds or Harry's words.
"All right," Harry said after a long pause. "So long as you realize that you haven't got it nearly as bad as you think you do."
Legolas stared up at Harry, looking so beautiful and innocent, part of him agreeing despite himself, but another part remembering Haldir, and Thaliephel, and the first night he had refused to help Harry out of his own free will, the humiliation and the pain and the blood.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, and Harry turned without another word to the wheel, busying himself with trying to figure out how to sail the ship. Legolas let his head lean back onto the side of the ship, his eyes closing despite his unease. But just before he slipped into sleep, he thought he felt a soft kiss pressed onto his forehead.
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"Sir, you need the king's permission to go into the throne room --"
Draco growled under his breath. "Let me in, goddamn it, or I'll bring this place down on your head and don't you dare think I won't." He glared at the young guard on duty, but he was reluctant to draw his wand and make good his threat; he'd have to put down Haldir first. He held the limp body cradled in his arms closer despite the burn in his muscles.
"Yes, sir," the guard said, seeing the look on Draco's face and perhaps seeing for the first time the bloody elf in his arms. He swung the door open without any more preamble and Draco stormed in as fast as he was able. Haldir's head lolled onto his shoulder, and the elf's eyelashes fluttered slightly.
"Aragorn!" Draco yelled, searching the throne room with his eyes. Empty. Shit. He set Haldir down gently against one of the walls and ran back to the door.
"Where the hell is Aragorn?" Draco asked silkily and dangerously, raising an eyebrow, watching as the guard stuttered and hemmed around an answer. He was in the motion of drawing his wand when there were bootsteps coming down the hall. The guard's face collapsed in relief when Draco's anger was averted.
"Aragorn, Haldir is hurt," Draco said abruptly as soon as the King came around the corner. He ignored the general babble that broke out among Aragorn's advisors at Draco's appearance and outburst. Draco's eye was drawn suddenly to a member of the King's entourage who was not an old and wrinkled advisor; an elf. He was tall and blonde, beautiful, looking almost like --
"Where is he?"
"He's in the throne room," Draco said all in a rush, forgetting about the strange elf, tugging on the sleeve of Aragorn's tunic. "The rest of the search party that went out for Harry and Legolas are dead. And it was --"
"My son!" Suddenly the elf he'd noticed was right in front of his face, gripping the collar of his shirt, staring down at him with a cold and deadly look in his blue eyes that reminded Draco almost of his own father. For not the first time, Draco wished he were taller. "Where is my son?"
"Who the hell are you?" Draco snarled, prying the elf's hands off of his shirt, glaring up at him, slightly affronted. "And why should I know where your son is?"
"Thranduil --" Aragorn said, laying a hand on the elf's blue tunic, but it was shaken off and he was ignored. The elf, Thranduil, stared at him with an almost frightening intensity.
"My son, the crowned Prince Legolas," Thranduil said in a low tone. Draco noticed that the elf had a hand on one of the long knives at his waist. "What have you done with him?"
"I haven't done anything with your goddamn son," Draco growled. "Get out of my way."
"You know where he is," Thranduil persisted, the force of his presence alone keeping Draco from simply walking away. "Tell me where he is." There was an almost pleading tone in the elegant voice, a note of worry that made Draco pity the elf.
"He's gone," Draco said reluctantly. "He and Harry left Minas Tirith a few days ago, and they disappeared to the West. Haldir thinks that they were headed for Valinor. I don't know why."
Thranduil managed to look gracefully confused. "Harry?"
Draco rolled his eyes and looked at Aragorn. "You didn't even tell him about Harry?" Aragorn had the good grace to look the slightest bit chastened. Sort of. Draco sighed.
"His lover, Harry Potter." He almost had to smile at the startled look in Thranduil's eyes. "I don't suppose you two have been introduced."
"Certainly not," Thranduil said, looking faintly poleaxed. "Most certainly not." Suddenly the look in his eyes sharpened and became probing. "You stated that the men searching for my son are dead. Tell me why."
"It was --" Draco paused, biting his lip. It almost physically hurt to say. "It was Harry." At Thranduil's slight gasp, he continued quickly, almost afraid that saying it aloud would make it true. "I think Harry's gone mad, myself. I found the guards myself. Harry attacked Haldir and -- I found places where there was a lot of blood. I think -- I think it was Legolas's."
"By the Valar," Thranduil breathed, his light blue eyes wide. Draco could easily see the family resemblance; it was strange, almost, to be looking in a reflection of Legolas himself.
"I'm sorry," Draco said, and he meant it, which came as a distinct surprise. He started walking back to the throne room, looking behind him at Aragorn, who still stood with his hand comfortingly on Thranduil's arm. "Aragorn, you have to help Haldir. I think he's dying." He hurried ahead without waiting for a response. The guard let him into the throne room without even looking at him this time, a slight satisfaction.
"Draco?"
The unsteady voice made Draco's legs a little faster as he hurried to where Haldir was propped up against the wall, shoulders slumped and breathing slow. Draco crouched down and smoothed the tangled hair away from Haldir's bruised face, tracing soothingly along Haldir's jawline and cheek, trying desperately to keep his heart from pounding straight out of his chest. He became so absorbed with tracing the gentle planes of Haldir's face that it came as a great surprise when Aragorn and Thranduil bent down beside him.
"We must get him to a bed," Aragorn murmured, pressing here and there on Haldir's torso, listening to Haldir's stifled cries of pain with a grim set to his lips that Draco didn't like. "I fear that he has several broken ribs, and worse." Aragorn slid an arm underneath Haldir's legs and around his back, hoisting him up with a grunt and taking off immediately, Thranduil right behind him.
They were turning a corner when Draco suddenly found himself walking with Thranduil right beside him, the elf studying the floor passing under his feet fixedly. "You -- knew my son?"
"I did," Draco said cautiously.
"Do you believe him --" Thranduil seemed to not be able to finish the sentence; he pressed a hand to his mouth, filled with obvious emotion.
Draco grimaced, thinking of his own father for a moment. "I don't think he's dead," he said, and realized a moment after he said it that it might have been a bit tactless. It didn't seem to bother Thranduil, who looked at him for a moment with eyes that seemed a bit less saddened.
"Why is that?"
Draco had to gather his wits for a moment to answer, scattered as they were with thoughts of his father and Haldir and Harry Potter. "I've known Harry for years," he murmured, "and no matter our differences in the past, I do not think he would ever kill anyone. Ever."
Thranduil snorted and it was somehow kingly all the same. "Years," he said derisively. "You mortal children think you know someone after less than a decade. Children, all of you, no matter how old."
Draco glared at him. "Do you want my help to find your son or not?" he growled. Thranduil raised an elegant eyebrow at him.
"Were you offering it?"
"Maybe."
Thranduil shook his head ruefully. "Then I must accept, on behalf of my son." He was silent for a moment. Draco thought about Thranduil's reaction to his son's relationship and grinned.
"Are you not shocked at finding out the nature of your son's relationship?" he asked, startled when Thranduil chuckled.
"I should have known when you mentioned the boy's name. I never can keep up with my son. Last I knew, his relationship with the seneschal was his final one."
Draco blinked. "The seneschal?" Thranduil looked at him as if he were daft.
"Haldir of Lorien," the king said slowly. Draco felt faintly as if he'd been suckerpunched by Millicent Bulstrode.
"He and Haldir were --" He couldn't finish it. He could not seem to work out whether he was insanely jealous or relieved. Then one of the things Haldir had said came back to him, some phrase said in the heat of the moment that Draco had entirely ignored.
Did you think I had never done this before?
Draco nearly choked. It took just a second to decide that he was revolted, and even then he wasn't entirely sure.
Thranduil chuckled again at his reaction. "It is a shame that he will not give me a proper heir, since one of his brothers seems to be married to his spear and his other has the particular -- preferences that Legolas has." He shook his head.
Draco was too in shock to absorb this latest piece of information. He nearly ran into Thranduil's back before he realized they had stopped.
He heard Aragorn murmur, "He is hardly breathing," and he pushed past Thranduil and into the room where Aragorn was laying Haldir down onto a soft bed. Aragorn looked as if he were right; Draco could barely distinguish the rise and fall of Haldir's chest.
"Shit," Draco whispered, and he took a second to be personally appalled by his lack of self-control and pride, before walking over and kneeling beside the bed. "Is he going to -- I mean, he is going to live. Aragorn?"
Aragorn gave him a faint smile. "He will live," he said, "especially after the athelas. But I must caution you that, for his good health, he must not get out of bed for a day. Elvish healing is remarkably fast, but he is grievously wounded. I am insuring you with his continued health. Do not let him out of this bed."
Draco nodded, keeping his eyes trained on Haldir's face even as his mind worked ferociously. Keeping Haldir in bed would mean that he could not pick up the trail and find Harry and Legolas. Leaving would mean that Haldir would likely try and follow him. Which, according to Aragorn, would be detrimental to his heath. He felt a bit like he was back in Potions class, trying to solve a particularly hard potion. This time, instead of Snape breathing down the back of his neck, he had a nervous elvish King.
Draco ran a hand through his ruffled hair, heaved a great sigh and barely noticed when Aragorn administered the athelas and left, taking Thranduil with him.
Suddenly there was movement from the bed, and Haldir's eyelashes fluttered before his eyes opened, training blearily on Draco.
"Where, exactly, am I?" Haldir asked sharply, even with the lassitude of sleep still in his voice. Draco grinned, all thoughts of leaving completely gone.
"Minas Tirith, that's where. No, wait! Get back in that damn bed right now!"
Haldir wavered visibly on his feet once he'd managed to get out of the bed, and he barely managed to wrap the sheet around his waist so that he had a scrap of decency left. Draco hovered around him, not quite wanting to use force to get him back into the bed.
"I have to leave," Haldir said, his voice firm even as he swayed dangerously to the right and Draco had to catch him. "I must get to Legolas and Harry. I must go now."
"Aragorn said that you can't get out of bed for a day," Draco answered, equally firmly, but just a bit distracted by the fact that Haldir had been devested of his clothing while being examined. Draco caught hold of Haldir's shoulders when he swayed again, and the feel of muscles sliding beneath Haldir's smooth skin made Draco feel just a little lightheaded.
"Bed," he emphasized when Haldir's eyes became a little unfocused, probably from his exhaustion. "Now."
"No," Haldir snapped, attempting to push Draco away. Draco tightened his hold on Haldir's shoulders.
Which was about when Draco had a rather brilliant plan to keep Haldir in the bed.
He licked Haldir's jawbone to get his attention. Just once. Haldir looked at him incredulously when he drew back, licking his lips with a tiny smirk.
"What exactly are you doing?"
"Keeping you in bed," Draco said in a smoky tone, taking his hands from Haldir's shoulders and placing them on Haldir's waist instead. "Now, are you going to get back in the bed, or am I going to have to persuade you?"
He looked up in time to see a tiny smile curl the edges of Haldir's mouth. "I am not entirely sure," Haldir began, but he was cut off when Draco crushed his mouth to the elf's, running his hands up Haldir's smooth chest slowly, stealing the moan from Haldir's mouth. In retaliation, Haldir placed one hand on the back of Draco's neck and drew him even closer, sneaking his other hand down Draco's front until it rested directly above Draco's trousers.
Draco's head was spinning, and he was faintly aware of making an embarrassing cry when Haldir's hand lowered to right where he wanted it. He clutched onto Haldir's shoulders, unable to do anything except moan and thrash in Haldir's grip. He thought his toes would curl right into the stone floor. Haldir laughed quietly.
"Bed," he whispered into Draco's ear, and it was all Draco could do to nod and whimper in protest when Haldir took his hand away. Then Haldir hooked his arms around Draco's back and lowered him gently onto the bed, himself hovering above Draco, placing his hands to either side of Draco's head and staring down at Draco until he felt himself blush.
"Is this --" Haldir started, and Draco was so afraid that Haldir would stop that he thrust his own hips up until they met Haldir's, and Haldir hissed at the contact.
Haldir lowered himself until they lay flush up against one another. Draco's breath exploded out of him in a desperate cry of "Oh, my God --" as his entire body shook at the contact, his eyes threatening to close from the sensation of Haldir moving almost lazily against him. Haldir's lips were parted slightly and his eyebrows were furrowed, almost as if he were in pain.
"Do you --" Draco gasped out, almost not able to think. "Are you feeling -- all right?"
Haldir suddenly drew in a sharp breath as one of Draco's wandering hands ran over what was obviously a broken rib.
"You idiot," Draco muttered, and gently managed to roll them both over until he sat gently astride Haldir's hips, moaning through clenched teeth at the spark of pleasure. Haldir tugged at the bottom of his shirt, his eyes almost painfully bright.
"Take this off," he whispered, cupping Draco's hips gently. Draco hastened to comply, throwing it to one side, not entirely sure he would remember where it was after this encounter was over. Haldir raised an eyebrow and pulled at the waistband of Draco's leggings.
"Okay, okay," Draco said, trying to catch his breath and ignore Haldir's hands running over the small of his back. Between the two of them they managed to somehow get Draco's leggings off, and Draco sucked in a quick breath at the feeling of Haldir's bare skin on his own. He smirked down at Haldir, whose chest was heaving with his racing breaths. "Are you going to stay in bed now?"
Haldir paused for a moment. "I might need a bit more convincing," he said softly and brought Draco down for another kiss, his hand wandering lower down Draco's body.
"Oh, my God," Draco moaned, delicious shivers dancing up his spine, and it was the last coherent thing he managed to say for quite a while.
It was slow and almost lazy, and at one point Draco had to bite his fist to keep from screaming the walls down. Haldir had an intense look of concentration on his face nearly the entire time, his brows furrowed; at one point he'd closed his eyes, but as their movements sped up he'd opened them again, staring up at Draco with a particular sort of soft look in his eyes. Then Haldir had let out a breathy moan and done something entirely wicked with his hips, and Draco had had to close his own eyes, and the moment was lost.
Afterward, they lay in a comfortable, recovering silence, and Draco gasped for air as he tried to catch his breath. He rolled onto his stomach, wrapping his arm around Haldir's heaving chest, and placed a kiss onto Haldir's bare shoulder, already beginning to drift off.
He almost thought that he heard Haldir murmur something that sounded like "sorry" before he was pulled down into the blackness of righteously exhausted sleep.
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A/N: ...Well! I thought that Harry and Legolas were going to reach Valinor this chapter. I suppose not. Instead, I had a completely spur-of-the-moment smut scene that didn't further the plot in any way whatsoever. *sigh*
By the bye, I am of the opinion that Thranduil is a generally nice guy. I've read some fics where he is the general equivilent of the antichrist -- abusing Legolas, being a bullheaded moron, ect. I like Thranduil when he's nice. Therefore, he is nice in this story.
Hope you liked it. I am still a little bit shocked at myself for all the sex, even if it wasn't exactly explicit. ...oops?
by Capella
Chapter Twelve: Phantasmagoria
A/N: You know, I thought that there was going to be more stuff from Legolas and Harry and Valinor in this chapter, but then Draco and Haldir demanded sex. Damn teenage boy and er, millinia-old elf. Sorry, guys. I mean, Haldir just got hurt. I feel sort of bad for the guy. *shrug* So W00T! It's the BIG smut chapter! Damn the NC-17 restriction! I got as close as I can without fear of getting banned. If you get offended, think about Bad Santa. Much, much worse than this, and it's an R. So there. Pretty sure I'm keeping this within the bounds of an R.
Got the funniest review -- made me laugh, really -- from wanderingwolf. Apparently, he/she is very, very angry that Harry is going around and being a not-very-nice guy, because "harry potter is fascinated and disgusted by death." Also, s/he claims that I am not "allowed" to write Harry Potter in this fashion, because it's in the "implied rules" that I shouldn't. Then s/he says that he hopes s/he hasn't brought my spirits down. Wanderingwolf, if you can't figure out that something is wrong with Harry by now that makes him act this way, I seriously wonder what your malfunction is. Sorry if you feel "violated" because I wrote Harry this way. Don't read it. I personally don't care.
Well, that's it, really. Thanks for hanging in there with me, guys. It's been what, two years since I started writing this series? Amazing. Thanks for all the support. :)
Whew. Very long chapter. Longest I've ever written by a long, long shot. I really hope ya'll like it. It was fun, as always.
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Phan·tas·ma·go·ria: 1. an exhibition or display of optical effects and illusions
2. a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or
imagined; a scene that constantly changes
__________________________
"Well, what do you think?" Harry grinned, sounding proud. Legolas glanced at him from the corner of his eye, vision still slightly wavery, and then looked back at the ship. It was beautiful, but small. It looked like the sort that could be sailed by only two people.
When Legolas didn't answer, Harry turned to face him fully, the smile still on his face. Blood liberally dotted his left cheek and lips. Legolas refused to look at him for more than a moment. Valar, but the events of only a few minutes earlier kept playing through his mind -- they wouldn't stop, and all he could manage to see was Thaliephel crumpling slowly to the ground next to Cirdan's body, and all he could manage to hear was the slight, stuttering cry of Palahuan as the knife slid into his body.
He supposed -- even though Harry had said he'd killed Haldir, Legolas had never believed it. He'd never seen Harry kill anyone before, never seen anything but kindness up until only a few days previous. Now he found it hard to doubt that Harry had no compunctions about taking any life he had to -- or wanted to.
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, spinning him around. Harry peered at him from only a few inches away, his nose almost touching Legolas's own, and Legolas had to resist the urge to either lean forward or lean backward. Harry's eyes were so unnaturally bright.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed and he canted his head to one side, looking honestly perplexed. "I'm not sure I want to hurt you anymore," he said in an almost questioning tone, lifting a hand to gently stroke Legolas's dirty cheek. Legolas was too enthralled by the strange look in Harry's eyes to flinch back. "Why don't I want to hurt you?"
Legolas blinked in sudden startlement as Harry's irises -- flickered. He was so close to Harry that he could see them almost change color entirely, for a moment becoming a bit cloudy before regaining their previous brightness.
The spell was broken when Harry's thumb ran over the split in Legolas's lower lip, and a tiny spark of pain made him move his head back. Harry's hand fell to his side, the studying, curious look still in his eyes. The flickering cloudiness was gone.
"Get on the ship," Harry murmured. His voice was quiet, neutral, and Legolas found himself moving before he even thought about the command. He was halfway up the gangplank when he paused, turning around and looking at his horse.
"Arod?" he asked, and it sounded entirely too much like asking permission for his liking. Harry shrugged casually.
"I'm not sure if we can take a horse with us," he said, his tone nearly apologetic. "I'm afraid that we can only take our supplies." He moved to take the packs from Arod's back and the horse let out a low, distressed whinny, baring her teeth in anger. Harry stopped with his hand outstretched, eyes hardening. Legolas saw his lips move, heard Harry whisper an angry command in an archaic form of Elvish and take the packages from Arod's back. Legolas felt faintly as if he'd been punched in the stomach.
"I did not realize you spoke Elvish," he said carefully. Harry paused, looking at him with mingled confusion and annoyance. He didn't answer, and Legolas continued up onto the ship, each step slower and more reluctant than the last one, until he finally stood in the middle of the ship's small deck.
Legolas sucked in a surprised breath when he felt Harry's arms encircle him from behind, soft fingers gently taking his wrists and bringing them behind his back, followed by the rough touch of rope.
"Harry," Legolas whispered, trying to twist his head around to see Harry's expression as he bound Legolas's wrists. "Harry, you do not have to --"
"I do," Harry murmured, finishing the knot with a last jerk of the rope, his hands lingering a moment and stroking the skin of Legolas's palms gently. Then, suddenly, Harry placed his hands on the backs of Legolas's shoulders and pushed him ungently to the deck of the ship. At the last moment Legolas twisted and managed to land on his back. Harry stared down at him with a strange expression in his clear green eyes, and he sank down to his knees, lifting a hand and placing it on the column of Legolas's neck. Legolas flinched before he could stop himself, expecting some sort of pain or humiliation or worse, but Harry just simply sat there with his hand on Legolas's neck and stared. After a while, the exhaustion that had been gnawing at the edges of Legolas's mind made him close his eyes. He was dangerously close to falling asleep when Harry spoke again.
"You think yourself very unfairly treated, don't you, Legolas?" Harry asked quietly. Legolas opened his eyes with a jerk and glared at Harry, twisting his hands in the ropes that bound him, and did not answer.
Harry finally stood, pulling Legolas upright by the neck of his shirt. Legolas swayed as the wounds on his legs burned fiercely, and he felt the sudden urge to vomit as he caught the coppery smell of blood on Harry's clothing. Somehow he managed to stare Harry in the eyes. Harry's eyes were narrowed and furious, bright green in his anger.
"Do not pretend that your lot is any worse than mine was," Harry hissed in a low, dangerous tone, shaking Legolas for emphasis. "Until I throw you down and whip you, until I invade both your dreams and your body, until I rip off your clothing and take you so hard that you bleed like you'd been stabbed, and then do it again not an hour later --" Harry broke off for a moment, his breaths whistling through clenched teeth that were slightly bared in a snarl. "When that happens, you may cry as much as you like. Until then, do not presume to think yourself wronged."
Legolas felt his eyes grow wider with every accusation. There was a sort of tightness in his chest, feeling strangely enough of guilt. He felt familiar tears spill over his cheeks, leaving hot trails down his face, and Harry used his thumb to wipe them away with no expression at all.
"You cannot hold that against me," Legolas whispered shakily. "I was not myself. You cannot hold that against me."
"Can't I?" Harry growled, pushing Legolas back to the ground. Legolas landed with a thump and stared up at Harry through his eyelashes nervously. "Can you say that you didn't enjoy even a mere second of it? I know you enjoyed hearing me scream, even if it was in pain, and seeing me underneath you, even if it was not willing. Didn't you enjoy my submission? Didn't you --"
"Stop it!" Legolas cried, and quite suddenly realized that he was sobbing so hard that his entire body shook, his breath coming in desperate gasps. Harry had a faint look of satisfaction on his face.
"Can you?" Harry asked quietly, dangerously. Legolas flinched.
"No," he whispered, and realized it was true, though the thought of it gripped him by the throat and near stopped his breathing; he bit his bottom lip until he felt it split under the pressure, and a tiny stream of blood ran down his chin.
"I didn't think so." Harry stared down at him, considering; Legolas ignored him and pressed his back against the side of the ship, drew his knees up to his chest, leaning his forehead against his knees, panting for air as he sobbed.
"Oh, Legolas," Harry sighed, and one of Harry's hands gently stroked Legolas's hair, playing with the braid in his hair, being so gentle that it only managed to coax more tears. "Think of this as your penance for what you did to me. You could have resisted if you wanted to."
Legolas shook his head negatively, too out of breath to speak. He had again the strange feeling that he was younger than his years, much younger, that he was back in his bed after a nightmare and waiting for his father to come and comfort him. Gods, but he wanted that again. He took his head off his knees and looked up at Harry through tear-blurred vision. Harry sighed.
"You could have resisted Sauron, Legolas," he said in a chiding tone. The hand in his hair clutched painfully and suddenly, and Legolas couldn't help a tiny yelp that made Harry smile.
"No, I --" Legolas tried to protest, but his voice was weak with the tears and the memories. Harry acted as if he hadn't spoken.
"Don't you remember that you said you didn't love me?"
Legolas's eyes widened. "Harry, I did not --"
"Don't you remember when you offered me to Sauron?" The hand in Legolas's hair kept up its rhythmic stroking even as that silky smooth voice drew Legolas back into the memories he desperately didn't want to remember. "Don't you remember the first time you cut my clothes off with that knife, the one you used to carve your initials into my hip?"
"Please," Legolas begged through his sobs when Harry paused for a breath, squeezing his eyes shut, his shoulders violently shaking and not caring how pathetic he sounded. "Please, do not say any more. I apologize. I will do anything you want -- just, stop." He was breathing hard when he finished. He didn't think he could have managed to say anything else; he felt as if he would faint any moment, as it was, and he could not figure out if it was from his wounds or Harry's words.
"All right," Harry said after a long pause. "So long as you realize that you haven't got it nearly as bad as you think you do."
Legolas stared up at Harry, looking so beautiful and innocent, part of him agreeing despite himself, but another part remembering Haldir, and Thaliephel, and the first night he had refused to help Harry out of his own free will, the humiliation and the pain and the blood.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, and Harry turned without another word to the wheel, busying himself with trying to figure out how to sail the ship. Legolas let his head lean back onto the side of the ship, his eyes closing despite his unease. But just before he slipped into sleep, he thought he felt a soft kiss pressed onto his forehead.
_________________________
"Sir, you need the king's permission to go into the throne room --"
Draco growled under his breath. "Let me in, goddamn it, or I'll bring this place down on your head and don't you dare think I won't." He glared at the young guard on duty, but he was reluctant to draw his wand and make good his threat; he'd have to put down Haldir first. He held the limp body cradled in his arms closer despite the burn in his muscles.
"Yes, sir," the guard said, seeing the look on Draco's face and perhaps seeing for the first time the bloody elf in his arms. He swung the door open without any more preamble and Draco stormed in as fast as he was able. Haldir's head lolled onto his shoulder, and the elf's eyelashes fluttered slightly.
"Aragorn!" Draco yelled, searching the throne room with his eyes. Empty. Shit. He set Haldir down gently against one of the walls and ran back to the door.
"Where the hell is Aragorn?" Draco asked silkily and dangerously, raising an eyebrow, watching as the guard stuttered and hemmed around an answer. He was in the motion of drawing his wand when there were bootsteps coming down the hall. The guard's face collapsed in relief when Draco's anger was averted.
"Aragorn, Haldir is hurt," Draco said abruptly as soon as the King came around the corner. He ignored the general babble that broke out among Aragorn's advisors at Draco's appearance and outburst. Draco's eye was drawn suddenly to a member of the King's entourage who was not an old and wrinkled advisor; an elf. He was tall and blonde, beautiful, looking almost like --
"Where is he?"
"He's in the throne room," Draco said all in a rush, forgetting about the strange elf, tugging on the sleeve of Aragorn's tunic. "The rest of the search party that went out for Harry and Legolas are dead. And it was --"
"My son!" Suddenly the elf he'd noticed was right in front of his face, gripping the collar of his shirt, staring down at him with a cold and deadly look in his blue eyes that reminded Draco almost of his own father. For not the first time, Draco wished he were taller. "Where is my son?"
"Who the hell are you?" Draco snarled, prying the elf's hands off of his shirt, glaring up at him, slightly affronted. "And why should I know where your son is?"
"Thranduil --" Aragorn said, laying a hand on the elf's blue tunic, but it was shaken off and he was ignored. The elf, Thranduil, stared at him with an almost frightening intensity.
"My son, the crowned Prince Legolas," Thranduil said in a low tone. Draco noticed that the elf had a hand on one of the long knives at his waist. "What have you done with him?"
"I haven't done anything with your goddamn son," Draco growled. "Get out of my way."
"You know where he is," Thranduil persisted, the force of his presence alone keeping Draco from simply walking away. "Tell me where he is." There was an almost pleading tone in the elegant voice, a note of worry that made Draco pity the elf.
"He's gone," Draco said reluctantly. "He and Harry left Minas Tirith a few days ago, and they disappeared to the West. Haldir thinks that they were headed for Valinor. I don't know why."
Thranduil managed to look gracefully confused. "Harry?"
Draco rolled his eyes and looked at Aragorn. "You didn't even tell him about Harry?" Aragorn had the good grace to look the slightest bit chastened. Sort of. Draco sighed.
"His lover, Harry Potter." He almost had to smile at the startled look in Thranduil's eyes. "I don't suppose you two have been introduced."
"Certainly not," Thranduil said, looking faintly poleaxed. "Most certainly not." Suddenly the look in his eyes sharpened and became probing. "You stated that the men searching for my son are dead. Tell me why."
"It was --" Draco paused, biting his lip. It almost physically hurt to say. "It was Harry." At Thranduil's slight gasp, he continued quickly, almost afraid that saying it aloud would make it true. "I think Harry's gone mad, myself. I found the guards myself. Harry attacked Haldir and -- I found places where there was a lot of blood. I think -- I think it was Legolas's."
"By the Valar," Thranduil breathed, his light blue eyes wide. Draco could easily see the family resemblance; it was strange, almost, to be looking in a reflection of Legolas himself.
"I'm sorry," Draco said, and he meant it, which came as a distinct surprise. He started walking back to the throne room, looking behind him at Aragorn, who still stood with his hand comfortingly on Thranduil's arm. "Aragorn, you have to help Haldir. I think he's dying." He hurried ahead without waiting for a response. The guard let him into the throne room without even looking at him this time, a slight satisfaction.
"Draco?"
The unsteady voice made Draco's legs a little faster as he hurried to where Haldir was propped up against the wall, shoulders slumped and breathing slow. Draco crouched down and smoothed the tangled hair away from Haldir's bruised face, tracing soothingly along Haldir's jawline and cheek, trying desperately to keep his heart from pounding straight out of his chest. He became so absorbed with tracing the gentle planes of Haldir's face that it came as a great surprise when Aragorn and Thranduil bent down beside him.
"We must get him to a bed," Aragorn murmured, pressing here and there on Haldir's torso, listening to Haldir's stifled cries of pain with a grim set to his lips that Draco didn't like. "I fear that he has several broken ribs, and worse." Aragorn slid an arm underneath Haldir's legs and around his back, hoisting him up with a grunt and taking off immediately, Thranduil right behind him.
They were turning a corner when Draco suddenly found himself walking with Thranduil right beside him, the elf studying the floor passing under his feet fixedly. "You -- knew my son?"
"I did," Draco said cautiously.
"Do you believe him --" Thranduil seemed to not be able to finish the sentence; he pressed a hand to his mouth, filled with obvious emotion.
Draco grimaced, thinking of his own father for a moment. "I don't think he's dead," he said, and realized a moment after he said it that it might have been a bit tactless. It didn't seem to bother Thranduil, who looked at him for a moment with eyes that seemed a bit less saddened.
"Why is that?"
Draco had to gather his wits for a moment to answer, scattered as they were with thoughts of his father and Haldir and Harry Potter. "I've known Harry for years," he murmured, "and no matter our differences in the past, I do not think he would ever kill anyone. Ever."
Thranduil snorted and it was somehow kingly all the same. "Years," he said derisively. "You mortal children think you know someone after less than a decade. Children, all of you, no matter how old."
Draco glared at him. "Do you want my help to find your son or not?" he growled. Thranduil raised an elegant eyebrow at him.
"Were you offering it?"
"Maybe."
Thranduil shook his head ruefully. "Then I must accept, on behalf of my son." He was silent for a moment. Draco thought about Thranduil's reaction to his son's relationship and grinned.
"Are you not shocked at finding out the nature of your son's relationship?" he asked, startled when Thranduil chuckled.
"I should have known when you mentioned the boy's name. I never can keep up with my son. Last I knew, his relationship with the seneschal was his final one."
Draco blinked. "The seneschal?" Thranduil looked at him as if he were daft.
"Haldir of Lorien," the king said slowly. Draco felt faintly as if he'd been suckerpunched by Millicent Bulstrode.
"He and Haldir were --" He couldn't finish it. He could not seem to work out whether he was insanely jealous or relieved. Then one of the things Haldir had said came back to him, some phrase said in the heat of the moment that Draco had entirely ignored.
Did you think I had never done this before?
Draco nearly choked. It took just a second to decide that he was revolted, and even then he wasn't entirely sure.
Thranduil chuckled again at his reaction. "It is a shame that he will not give me a proper heir, since one of his brothers seems to be married to his spear and his other has the particular -- preferences that Legolas has." He shook his head.
Draco was too in shock to absorb this latest piece of information. He nearly ran into Thranduil's back before he realized they had stopped.
He heard Aragorn murmur, "He is hardly breathing," and he pushed past Thranduil and into the room where Aragorn was laying Haldir down onto a soft bed. Aragorn looked as if he were right; Draco could barely distinguish the rise and fall of Haldir's chest.
"Shit," Draco whispered, and he took a second to be personally appalled by his lack of self-control and pride, before walking over and kneeling beside the bed. "Is he going to -- I mean, he is going to live. Aragorn?"
Aragorn gave him a faint smile. "He will live," he said, "especially after the athelas. But I must caution you that, for his good health, he must not get out of bed for a day. Elvish healing is remarkably fast, but he is grievously wounded. I am insuring you with his continued health. Do not let him out of this bed."
Draco nodded, keeping his eyes trained on Haldir's face even as his mind worked ferociously. Keeping Haldir in bed would mean that he could not pick up the trail and find Harry and Legolas. Leaving would mean that Haldir would likely try and follow him. Which, according to Aragorn, would be detrimental to his heath. He felt a bit like he was back in Potions class, trying to solve a particularly hard potion. This time, instead of Snape breathing down the back of his neck, he had a nervous elvish King.
Draco ran a hand through his ruffled hair, heaved a great sigh and barely noticed when Aragorn administered the athelas and left, taking Thranduil with him.
Suddenly there was movement from the bed, and Haldir's eyelashes fluttered before his eyes opened, training blearily on Draco.
"Where, exactly, am I?" Haldir asked sharply, even with the lassitude of sleep still in his voice. Draco grinned, all thoughts of leaving completely gone.
"Minas Tirith, that's where. No, wait! Get back in that damn bed right now!"
Haldir wavered visibly on his feet once he'd managed to get out of the bed, and he barely managed to wrap the sheet around his waist so that he had a scrap of decency left. Draco hovered around him, not quite wanting to use force to get him back into the bed.
"I have to leave," Haldir said, his voice firm even as he swayed dangerously to the right and Draco had to catch him. "I must get to Legolas and Harry. I must go now."
"Aragorn said that you can't get out of bed for a day," Draco answered, equally firmly, but just a bit distracted by the fact that Haldir had been devested of his clothing while being examined. Draco caught hold of Haldir's shoulders when he swayed again, and the feel of muscles sliding beneath Haldir's smooth skin made Draco feel just a little lightheaded.
"Bed," he emphasized when Haldir's eyes became a little unfocused, probably from his exhaustion. "Now."
"No," Haldir snapped, attempting to push Draco away. Draco tightened his hold on Haldir's shoulders.
Which was about when Draco had a rather brilliant plan to keep Haldir in the bed.
He licked Haldir's jawbone to get his attention. Just once. Haldir looked at him incredulously when he drew back, licking his lips with a tiny smirk.
"What exactly are you doing?"
"Keeping you in bed," Draco said in a smoky tone, taking his hands from Haldir's shoulders and placing them on Haldir's waist instead. "Now, are you going to get back in the bed, or am I going to have to persuade you?"
He looked up in time to see a tiny smile curl the edges of Haldir's mouth. "I am not entirely sure," Haldir began, but he was cut off when Draco crushed his mouth to the elf's, running his hands up Haldir's smooth chest slowly, stealing the moan from Haldir's mouth. In retaliation, Haldir placed one hand on the back of Draco's neck and drew him even closer, sneaking his other hand down Draco's front until it rested directly above Draco's trousers.
Draco's head was spinning, and he was faintly aware of making an embarrassing cry when Haldir's hand lowered to right where he wanted it. He clutched onto Haldir's shoulders, unable to do anything except moan and thrash in Haldir's grip. He thought his toes would curl right into the stone floor. Haldir laughed quietly.
"Bed," he whispered into Draco's ear, and it was all Draco could do to nod and whimper in protest when Haldir took his hand away. Then Haldir hooked his arms around Draco's back and lowered him gently onto the bed, himself hovering above Draco, placing his hands to either side of Draco's head and staring down at Draco until he felt himself blush.
"Is this --" Haldir started, and Draco was so afraid that Haldir would stop that he thrust his own hips up until they met Haldir's, and Haldir hissed at the contact.
Haldir lowered himself until they lay flush up against one another. Draco's breath exploded out of him in a desperate cry of "Oh, my God --" as his entire body shook at the contact, his eyes threatening to close from the sensation of Haldir moving almost lazily against him. Haldir's lips were parted slightly and his eyebrows were furrowed, almost as if he were in pain.
"Do you --" Draco gasped out, almost not able to think. "Are you feeling -- all right?"
Haldir suddenly drew in a sharp breath as one of Draco's wandering hands ran over what was obviously a broken rib.
"You idiot," Draco muttered, and gently managed to roll them both over until he sat gently astride Haldir's hips, moaning through clenched teeth at the spark of pleasure. Haldir tugged at the bottom of his shirt, his eyes almost painfully bright.
"Take this off," he whispered, cupping Draco's hips gently. Draco hastened to comply, throwing it to one side, not entirely sure he would remember where it was after this encounter was over. Haldir raised an eyebrow and pulled at the waistband of Draco's leggings.
"Okay, okay," Draco said, trying to catch his breath and ignore Haldir's hands running over the small of his back. Between the two of them they managed to somehow get Draco's leggings off, and Draco sucked in a quick breath at the feeling of Haldir's bare skin on his own. He smirked down at Haldir, whose chest was heaving with his racing breaths. "Are you going to stay in bed now?"
Haldir paused for a moment. "I might need a bit more convincing," he said softly and brought Draco down for another kiss, his hand wandering lower down Draco's body.
"Oh, my God," Draco moaned, delicious shivers dancing up his spine, and it was the last coherent thing he managed to say for quite a while.
It was slow and almost lazy, and at one point Draco had to bite his fist to keep from screaming the walls down. Haldir had an intense look of concentration on his face nearly the entire time, his brows furrowed; at one point he'd closed his eyes, but as their movements sped up he'd opened them again, staring up at Draco with a particular sort of soft look in his eyes. Then Haldir had let out a breathy moan and done something entirely wicked with his hips, and Draco had had to close his own eyes, and the moment was lost.
Afterward, they lay in a comfortable, recovering silence, and Draco gasped for air as he tried to catch his breath. He rolled onto his stomach, wrapping his arm around Haldir's heaving chest, and placed a kiss onto Haldir's bare shoulder, already beginning to drift off.
He almost thought that he heard Haldir murmur something that sounded like "sorry" before he was pulled down into the blackness of righteously exhausted sleep.
_________________________
A/N: ...Well! I thought that Harry and Legolas were going to reach Valinor this chapter. I suppose not. Instead, I had a completely spur-of-the-moment smut scene that didn't further the plot in any way whatsoever. *sigh*
By the bye, I am of the opinion that Thranduil is a generally nice guy. I've read some fics where he is the general equivilent of the antichrist -- abusing Legolas, being a bullheaded moron, ect. I like Thranduil when he's nice. Therefore, he is nice in this story.
Hope you liked it. I am still a little bit shocked at myself for all the sex, even if it wasn't exactly explicit. ...oops?