Fan Fiction ❯ The Breaking ❯ Chapter 7

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

The door closed with a dull echo, or perhaps it was the thud of Aragorn's back against the oak as Legolas shoved the ranger up against it. The elf's hands had already pulled the man's undermost shirt free from his breeches and had begun roaming over Aragorn's flesh, soft fingers tracing every curve and cavity of muscle and skin. The ranger couldn't help letting slip a shuddering sigh, and Legolas leaned in to taste him, parting the man's willing lips with his tongue and delving into his mouth once again. Aragorn moaned, and Legolas pulled one hand free from beneath the man's shirt to tangle it in his dark locks, twirling the slick hair at the back of his head between his long fingers and running his thumb along the soft wisps in front of the ranger's ears.

After a moment had passed, their fervour broke softly, and in their pause Legolas buried his face into Aragorn's shoulder. Their chests rose and fell rapidly in an even, heated rhythm and the elf let his arm snake around the man's waist, pulling him close in a fierce but restrained movement. With his brow still resting in the curve between Aragorn's neck and shoulder, pale fingers tangled starkly in strands almost black with moisture, he squeezed his eyes shut. Aragorn could not see his expression, but there was a new tension in the stretch of Legolas's shoulders, a way the elf's fingertips pressed just so into the warm skin of his back that kept the man from questioning it.

Legolas felt the ranger's warm breath against his ear, and curled his fingers more tightly around Aragorn's hair. He tilted his head to the side, and Aragorn could feel his lips on his neck, softly moving as if burdened with the intent of speech. But no words came, and instead the elf's muscles suddenly tensed and his mouth fell hungrily against the man's skin. The arm around Aragorn's waist jerked him again suddenly forward, pressing their bodies together roughly. A surprised, but greedy groan escaped Aragorn, and he brought his hands between them, battle torn fingers grasping at strings and fumbling with knots. Legolas did not seem willing to allow any space to come between them, but as Aragorn leaned to run his tongue along the outer edge of the elf's ear, the shiver and accompanying gasp this earned allowed him just enough room to begin working free the ties he could reach.

The elf conceded then, leaning back just enough to capture Aragorn beneath another kiss, tempered with less ferocity than the last. He set himself to the same task of deftly dispersing the lacework of Aragorn's clothing with the hand he freed from the man's hair. Even with one hand, Legolas's movements were immeasurably more nimble than those of the ranger, and in moments he had unpinned the cloak, which arced softly to the floor in a billowing pile, and was yanking upward on the fabrics and leather of the man's shirt and tunics. Movements driven by his building fever, Aragorn abandoned his attempts at undoing the elf's fastenings and allowed his arms to lift and the shirts to be dragged over his head in swift order, ignoring them as they were discarded on the floor. With heavy breath, Legolas ran his hands down the man's chest, his eyes dark though the torchlight burned brightly. Heat pooled in his groin and he tilted his hips against the ranger.

There was a roar in Aragorn's ears as the two collided, mouths crashing into one another, teeth finding their marks on lips and skin, travelling along jawlines and down necks, and suddenly Legolas's chest was bare beneath his, though he could not recall whether he was responsible for this or not. Everything else slipped out of thought and time as skin clashed with ebullience against skin, and he felt, rather than heard, his belt and scabbard clatter to the floor behind him. The elf's scent filled his every breath, the taste of soft skin beneath the trail of his tongue flooded his senses and set him afire in some red haze beneath Legolas's touch. He grasped the elf's face between his hands, leaning in to kiss him with an intensity that threatened to consume Legolas. His own erection pulsed beneath the cloth of his breeches and as the elf ground into him he could not hold back a moan.

But the elf did not wither beneath the man's embrace, rather fought back with heightened fervour, crushing his swollen lips against Aragorn's with enough force to border on hostility, feeling the heat from his belly burning all the way through his fingertips as he grasped the back of the man's neck with one hand and somehow steered them both in the direction of the bed. In a tangle of limbs Aragorn found himself on his back atop the soft sheets, his eyes opening with a flash to capture Legolas's torrid gaze. The elf leaned back, straddling the man's legs and his arms moved behind him, swiftly removing the ranger's boots and tossing them with a distant thud to the stone below; Aragorn could do naught but stare at the way the light arced over the curve of the elf's chest and the percussive plain of ribs that swept into the plateau of his hard abdomen.

Legolas's form was wreathed now in fire, the light from the torch behind him setting his pale skin alight, casting his silhouette into a flame edged darkness, and Aragorn's breath caught. But it was only a moment before he felt hands working at his breeches, and he found himself immediately assaulted by the room's cool air, which was no match for the heat that must be coming in waves visible from his skin as his cock sprung free. His gasp was cut short as Legolas lowered himself on top of him in a brusque motion, and Aragorn wrapped his arms around the elf, pulling him into a tight embrace. He could feel Legolas removing his own boots and moaned as the elf pressed his still clothed length into his. With a soft growl he threw his shoulder forward and reversed their positions, rolling the elf onto his back as he snaked one hand down toward the fastenings of the elf's leggings.

Legolas narrowed his eyes to find himself beneath the man, but he did not protest Aragorn's advances. The ranger's other hand supported the elf's neck, and he let his fingers become lost in the long, pale hair as he pulled the leggings down until he could hook one foot over them and finish their removal. The fire's light spilled over them as Aragorn trailed devouring kisses down the elf's torso, letting his free hand trace patterns of impossible intricacy over the smooth skin of Legolas's inner thighs, allowing his knuckles to brush against soft sack that rested between them. The elf shivered beneath him and his cock jumped at the unexpected contact. He buried his hands in the ranger's hair as the man's mouth moved down past his navel, pausing there only to trace his tongue in lazy circles before he felt teeth against his skin. Legolas could not help the arch of his back and the sharpening angle of his knees, but Aragorn suddenly stopped, lifting his head and letting his eyes burn as black coals into the shining indigo of Legolas's.

The elf's brow faltered despite his rapid breath, and Aragorn swallowed thickly as he forced his gaze to hold. "May I...?" the man asked, his voice sharp along the edges with desire but soft enough the elf thought no mortal could ever have heard it.

"Must you ask?" Legolas inquired, his voice a dim tide that threatened to submerge Aragorn, the torch reflecting brightly over a darker glint in his eye.

The ranger did naught but nod once, his expression as intense as the elf had ever seen, as if it could set to real flame the ridges of light that the torch set to washing across their bodies. Of course, Legolas thought. Aragorn would never take if it were in his power to ask: and so he was. The elf nearly smiled at this, but his mouth remained set in a smooth line, his brow straightening, and he returned Aragorn's nod in kind, leaning heavily on his elbows.

"Always," Legolas whispered, feeling his heart thrum up in his chest as it never before had, believing for a moment this admission was too much, seeing a light waver in the man's eyes though the fire was at his back. But he was given no time to think, for he felt Aragorn's hand disappear from behind his neck and the man took his entire length in his mouth, letting his teeth graze along the shaft and swirling his tongue around the tip. Legolas's head fell back and a sound rumbled deep within his throat at Aragorn's touch, his breath turning ragged and uneven and his heart, already feeling as though it might leap from his breast, finding an impossibly quick rhythm beneath his ribs.

The arch of his spine became stronger and he could see flames beneath the dark of his closed lids. The edges smouldered and began to burn blue and white, and he gasped, leaning down to take hold of Aragorn's shoulders and pull him up. He met the question in the man's eyes with a kiss. tasting himself faintly on the man's mouth, and Aragorn found himself forgetting whatever words might have been ready to tumble from behind his lips. In a move reminiscent of what the man had done, Legolas forced Aragorn up and to the side, and there was nothing the ranger could do before he found himself pinned to the mattress beneath the attention's of the elf's tongue. Aragorn hadn't even time to glare at Legolas before the elf had wrapped a set of long fingers around his cock, and his eyes rolled shut, a sharp sigh forcing its way through the caverns of his gritted teeth as the elf started an even rhythm with his hand.

It was all the ranger could do not to writhe, and he wound one hand into Legolas's hair while the other gripped the sheets tightly enough to dislodge them from one corner of the mattress. Even these mild attentions threatened to send him hurtling over the edge. Light sparked along the periphery of his vision when suddenly Legolas had disappeared, and Aragorn caught a cry in his throat at the loss of the elf's searing contact. He fought to catch his breath as he pushed himself up on his elbows, casting a searching gaze into the room. But almost before he did this, the elf had reappeared and pushed him firmly downward, crawling to straddle him again. Aragorn ran his hands up the length of the elf's back, tracing the undulations of his spine with his fingertips, trailing them up and over the ridge at the base of Legolas's neck, shifting direction and tracing the elf's soft jawline. Legolas sighed and leaned forward, shifting himself against Aragorn's length and causing the man to press his back flat against the mattress. The elf took immediate advantage of this, moving his mouth to encircle a pink nipple, tracing the delicate skin with the tip of his tongue. Aragorn grunted, attempting to lift his torso, but Legolas moved a hand to his shoulder and held him easily in place.

The elf straightened, and the man looked up at him, letting his eyes flow along the bright shadow traced lines of sinew before finally falling into the shadowed depths of Legolas's face. But the elf waited, watching, letting the moments slip by quietly before he finally lowered himself again, bringing his lips close enough to brush over Aragorn's. His eyes remained open, and he made no other move than to watch the man carefully. At last, he produced something from his palm, a small vial, and placed it in the man's hand without looking away. Aragorn closed his fingers about the glass, feeling the stopper beneath his thumb.

The man reached up with his empty hand to pull Legolas down to him, and their tongues met again. The friction between them drew a moan from them both, their voices commingling in the depths of the kiss, hands losing themselves again over hard muscle and slick skin. In the midst of inseparable breath and the coarse scent of sweat, Legolas whispered in Aragorn's ear, his lips teasing the sweeping curves of the rounded flesh as between them their lengths rubbed together. "May I?" The elf rolled the man's words back at him, though his voice fluted with a low undercurrent that held no thread of sarcasm.

For a moment the only motion was the battering of their chests, the only sound the rush of their breath coming fast and hard above the faint crackle of the torch high upon the wall. Legolas slowly began to push himself up but was halted as Aragorn dug the fingers of one hand into the small of his back. Suddenly the elf felt a hand slicking oil over his erection, a thumb pausing to circle the tip and spread the clear fluid that had beaded there. His eyes unfocused before he exhaled a soft, short breath. His throat worked soundlessly as he tried to swallow, but Aragorn claimed his mouth, teeth biting into his lower lip and causing him to cry out softly. But he tasted no blood, and he let his lids slip open as they broke apart.

Aragorn's eyes flared like smoke in the dim light, and Legolas parted the ranger's legs as he knelt between them, gently lifting them and placing the man's knees on either side of him. Taking the small bottle from where Aragorn had left it on the bed, he poured a small amount of oil onto his fingers before gently tracking them down the man's cleft. Aragorn shuddered as the elf's fingers teased his opening. At the same time, the elf bent to take Aragorn's cock in his mouth, tracing the head with his tongue and feeling the ranger's hips buck in response. As he pressed one finger into Aragorn he took him fully into his mouth, and the man's head lashed backward to stifle a cry. One rough hand found the elf's shoulder and Legolas released the ranger, removing his finger as well as he moved closer. Sweat beaded on Aragorn's brow, beginning to trickle down the sides of his face; his eyes had gone black.

Legolas manoeuvered slowly, reaching deep within himself for the patience his millennia warranted as he pressed the tip of his cock against the man's entrance. Aragorn panted softly, his mouth open and his eyes closing. The elf leaned in close, hooking one arm behind the man's head and catching him in a soft, but strong kiss. Moaning softly, Legolas pushed himself into Aragorn slowly, only a little, and rocked back again before easing deeper. Aragorn half grunted, his jaw slackening as his back arched, thighs cradling Legolas's hips. Again the elf rocked forward and back, each time pushing a little deeper until at last he was fully sheathed. For a moment he could hear nothing but the rush of blood pounding a rhythm through his head as he slowly picked up his pace.

In a measured rush, time lost all meaning, the beginnings and endings of flesh and bone ceased to exist as they moved, man and elf finding themselves unable to decipher any differences in the sweat that coated their skin, the hair that fell in waves over their faces, the lips that found each other again and again between trails laid over bare neck and exposed ear. Aragorn's back curved sharply, nearly mirroring the angle of his knees and at last he buried his face in Legolas's neck and cried softly as he spilled between them, the elf's name slipping past his lips in a heated harmony. Legolas sighed roughly, his fists tangling in the bed sheets as their congruent motion ceased all at once and shadows danced in the sharp release of tensed muscles and rigid joints. His throat constricted around a gasp as he convulsed inside Aragorn, losing himself completely.

"Estel --" the elf whispered against the man's ear as they fell slack to the mattress, limbs still tangled as they pulled themselves apart, hands still searching, grasping, holding. Lips found the ridges of cheeks and the soft lines of brows and the tender curve of closed lids; sheets tangled around damp legs and slick torsos.

At last they stilled, breathing slowing, hands finding comfortable places in the crooks of angled hips. Face to face they lay, close enough to feel the sweet movements of breath that escaped each of them. The air grew cold around their shoulders, though they knew not how long they lay by the dull glow of firelight, watching the shadows rage softly over each other's faces. Legolas reached to brush an errant strand of slick hair from Aragorn's cheek when a voice drifted in from the hall.

"They should be 'round soon, as it's well past midday and it's Aragorn that said I'd this much time ta rest. He knows well enough we're leavin', I reckon." It was Gimli, and the dwarf spoke quite loudly as he stood, apparently, directly beyond the door. Legolas's hand froze on the man's cheek and his eyes widened slightly. He bolted up in the bed, leaping nimbly over Aragorn's still prone form as he reached for his clothes.

"Legolas?" Aragorn inquired slowly, finding reason enough to extricate himself from the comfort of the bed at what seemed to be an alert from their friend, but he was uncertain of the reason for such haste as was shown by the elf.

Pulling on his leggings, Legolas looked over his shoulder at Aragorn. "My weapons," he said, jerking his chin toward the door. He reached for his shirts and began pulling them over his head. The ranger thought he saw a flush creep into the elf's skin, but he shook his head, not knowing if it was a trick of the light, or perhaps a remainder of their encounter. In all his long years he had never seen an elf blush, and Aragorn told himself it was Legolas's disappointment at his own mistake rather than anything he would have need to take up with himself. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the ranger used a foot to pull his breeches closer and slipped them on. He stood to tie them, as Legolas finished dressing and moved toward the door; with one hand holding the fabric up, the ranger closed the distance between them and drew the elf back with a hand on Legolas's soft over tunic.

"Aragorn --" the elf said, but was abruptly cut off by a kiss that belied the tenderness of the last moments, and reminded them each smartly of their bruised lips. Aragorn's eyes gleamed when he released Legolas, but he nodded toward the door. "Hairy man," the elf said as one corner of his mouth quirked upward, and Aragorn watched him disappear into the hall.

Slowly, the man tied the fastenings of his trousers, ignoring the cold of the floor biting into his feet. He gathered to him his shirts, and untangled them from each other before redressing much less gracefully than had Legolas; the elf had seemed to slip back into his gear in a single, smooth motion. Aragorn stood for a long minute, looking down at his belt and the scabbard with it, eyeing his sword from a distance. With a hitch in his chest that he chased away with a closed hand, he retrieved it and fastened it around his waist before finally pulling on his boots, his eyes unaware of his own actions.

When he finally stepped out into the corridor, the voice that met him came from sufficiently lower a height than he'd expected, and was of undeniably lower timbre.

"Ah! There y'are!" the dwarf said, striding forward to elbow Aragorn in the ribs. The man couldn't hold back a choking cough, and Gimli arched a brow at him. "Gandalf was lookin' for yeh," he continued, still watching the ranger carefully. Aragorn eyed the flagstone by the door, noting the quiver and bow had disappeared, and as well the dwarf's use of the past tense.

"The elf's already gone with 'im to get the horses ready." The dwarf shook his head as he spoke, then started off down the corridor. "I should think we'll be leavin' as soon as yeh're ready."

Aragorn muttered something indistinguishable beneath his breath and stepped heavily to catch up with the dwarf. "I'm ready, Master Dwarf" he said, his voice rough around the edges, but steady. He glanced down at Gimli, who was half looking up at him with what could be described only as a grin set in his beard. The ranger barely managed not to glower as he placed a hand on his sword-hilt, slowing his pace so Gimli did not have to walk too swiftly to keep up.

"I know," came his friend's reply, laden with more comprehension than the ranger wished to admit, and Aragorn found he had no response. So instead of speaking, he set his jaw and accepted the trepid silence between them as they set their hurried path out of the Hornburg and to the courtyards beyond.

The horses were milling about quietly when Aragorn and Gimli reached the company of men that would set off along the road to Isengard. Théoden had seen to the burial of his well loved captain, Háma, casting the first earth upon his grave before it was filled in with an oath to well remember the hand behind the foul deeds thrust upon them of late. The sun was beginning to sink in the western sky, tarnishing the cloud edges and lending a dark hue to the figures of distant birds. Legolas approached his friends with two familiar horses at his heels, and he handed a set of reins to Aragorn, his fingers brushing across the ranger's palm as he released the leather. The man took Hasufel's reins in hand and dipped his head graciously to the elf, whose eyes glistened indigo when his lips twisted gently in what was nearly a smirk before he turned away.

"Gimli!" the elf called, and his short friend appeared from around the side of another horse, looking askance at the beasts surrounding him. He appeared rather relieved at Legolas's call. "You shall not be troubled with the burden of borrowing a mount, my friend," Legolas said as soon as Gimli had stopped by his side. "You will ride with me, and our old friend Arod." The remaining tension, or much of it at the very least, drained from the dwarf's face, and he nodded happily.

"Wonderful!" he growled with a chuckle. "I even thought for a moment I might have to ride with Gandalf," he added, turning cautiously in the direction of the wizard, who sat ready on the back of Shadowfax. Aragorn could not help but laugh softly at this as he approached the side of his great grey horse and swung himself into the saddle.

He watched Legolas mount his own steed and reach a hand down to Gimli. "Shadowfax might have had more to say about that than Gandalf," the ranger said, looking from the dwarf to the great stallion atop which the wizard sat. "You have a contempt for many things, my friend, which you forget might hold as much dislike for you." He flashed a grin at the scowling dwarf and spun his horse in the direction to which the men had taken.

The wisps of cloud above became amber red tendrils as the sun made good its threat to sink behind the distant hills. They set their course down the road from Helm's Deep and toward the forest that had in such a strange, yet timely manner appeared on their doorstep. The Riders of Rohan halted, remembering well the trees' role in the ending of the battle, overcome by a fear of the shadowed wood beyond. But Gandalf rode forward without concern, and at last where the road from the Hornburg had seemed to disappear into the trees, a great archway of bent bough and arched limb became apparent. The wizard disappeared into the dark beneath the canopy, strands of light dappling Shadowfax's coat, and the party at last followed. The road, they found, was not veiled by root or twig, and in fact ran clearly alongside the Deeping Stream, and the forest's ceiling had opened up above them, letting in the russet tones of sunset and casting everything beneath a red gold veil.

The forest groaned around them, distant cries of aching trunks and murmurs without words, but there were no Orcs to be seen. Nay, neither did the men catch sight nor hear sound of any other living creature outside their company. Legolas felt more than anyone the throbbing mutiny pulsing within the surrounding wood, but he thought it was not aimed at them. The trees were from too distant a land to know the likes of men and elves, or dwarves, and it was at the Orcs their anger was directed. He wished he might stop a while and listen, hear out the voices of the forest and absorb their stories, but Gimli adamantly refused, threatening to continue on foot should the elf deem it necessary to stop; he seemed prepared to beg Legolas not to fall behind the company. He thought the trees spoke otherwise, of crushing and destroying any on two legs who ventured too near.

The elf shook his head but dallied not, keeping alongside Gandalf as he and Gimli spoke of the Glittering Caves, and made a pact to return there together should they survive the days of war to come. The dwarf even agreed to travel to Fangorn along the way, and Legolas could not help but smile at this. Gandalf counted between their party and Isengard some fifteen leagues, but said they would not cover it all that night, and at last they passed through the other edge of the wood, reaching the bottom of the Coomb. Here the road branched, going in one direction to Edoras, and on a more northerly course to the Fords of Isen.

Gimli was once again caught in a frightful situation at the appearance of eyes in the trees, when Legolas thought he might ride back to the wood and see to what they might belong. To his relief, Gandalf bade him hold, and the elf acquiesced, remaining with the party as the Ents that made themselves known called to others in the distance with hollow, reverberating cries. At length they again disappeared into the forest without even a glance at the small group of riders at their feet.

The road north took them past the slain Rohirrim that had fought in the battles upon these banks, and Gandalf dropped back a short way to speak with Théoden of his encounters with the surviving men here.

As they crossed the river, Gimli nudged Legolas, the spray and chatter of water churned up by the horses' legs keeping his voice from drifting far. "You seem in better spirits, laddie," he said with a wry tone, smiling widely behind the elf's back and momentarily forgetting that his friend had been ready to charge him in that cursed forest without a second thought.

The elf's voice sounded as if it belonged to the flow of the river as it drifted back over his shoulder. "And you seem ever full of surprises, my friend. Your words this day do not cease to amaze me." Legolas did not answer the unspoken question directly, but the dwarf knew he referred to more than his earlier banter about the beauty of dwarven caves. The elf guided Arod up the bank at a trot that sent Gimli scurrying for a better grip to avoid falling off.

"Then you have settled your quarrel," he said after a short fit of incredulous coughing and not a few curses, his voice approving once he chose not to comment on the elf's control of the horse.

His light expression turned downward as the moments passed and Legolas did not respond. At length he was tempted to speak again, but finally an answer reached him. "Aye," came the subdued voice, and the steed's pace steadied. Legolas left it at that, though his gaze dropped from the landscape to find a more appealing spot in the wisps of mane above his hands. They had settled things between them, but that did not mean they would remain so, and Legolas was not foolish enough to believe their journey forward would be absent of conflict, no matter what the course.

The elf's attention was recaptured as the company picked up their pace, heading swiftly now in the dimming light from the banks of the Isen and all were glad to leave the mournful shores behind them. He and Gimli rode in silence through the fading of the sun and the arrival of the stars. Gimli, looking up at the vault above that so reminded him of the Aglarond, was brought suddenly to the realisation he had not heard the elf sing since before their arrival in Edoras. This greatly weighted his heart and brought a frown to his face, for the dwarf wished above many things for the happiness of his friends. In a war that had just seen its beginnings, their hearts seemed to drown amidst so many other burdens. He sighed roughly to himself; perhaps it was but time they required.

The company halted within the reach of the Misty Mountains, its peaks stretching as arms into the night sky, so dark only the distant snow peaks were visible beneath the gentle light of the moon that had just passed behind them. The shimmering of the stars was muted by a great rising of mist, or perhaps smoke, coming up from the Wizard's Vale and working its tendrils deep into the field overhead. It seemed as if the land was burning. Midnight had not long passed and the King was weary; the camp was set up quickly, allowing only the luxury of basic tents for some, but for the most part the men relented to sleeping in the open. Gimli unrolled his blankets near the pickets to which they left the horses tied, though not too near: he wished not to think what the foul beasts might do while he slept.

Legolas had long since disappeared by the time Gimli had turned over on his bedroll. The dwarf listened to the burble and rush of the river Isen so nearby, and clutched in one hand his long handled axe, still ill at ease though the forest was now at least five leagues behind them. As he settled in he heaved a great sigh and looked out into the night, watching the shifting shapes of the horses and the occasional passing of one of the Rohirrim soldiers. For a long while he lay, trying to clear his mind of thought, to find sleep beneath the unusually warm valley air, but it was not allowing itself to be found. Instead he caught himself chewing his lip and mulling over his thick-skulled companions. Quite the pair; he knew little of love himself, save for the breath that had been forever stolen by the fairest Lady Galadriel, but even such a glimpse as that made his heart sing. Surely -- surely they deserved as much, if not more. A frown settled on his face, and he resigned himself to witnessing the passing of the night.

From behind a single tree the elf heard the man approach. No matter how silent Aragorn might be to his own kind, Legolas could always hear him coming. But he let the man approach without turning, instead choosing to look back to the south, toward the now distant Hornburg and the nigh invisible peaks of the White Mountains until at last he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Turning, Legolas locked his eyes, reflections of the starry night above, with Aragorn's, allowing a curious lilt to his brow as he watched the ranger coolly. Aragorn let his hand linger, just out of sight of the encampment -- sight, but not sound. The low whickering sounds and soft hoof-thuds of steeds still reached their ears, and Aragorn stepped forward as he moved his hand from the elf's shoulder to gently graze a smooth cheek. Legolas's skin seemed to glow beneath the stars, and he found himself entranced. His focus was regained as a hand lightly curled around his wrist, gently pulling his arm away, but not releasing it. Still, the elf said nothing.

At last, Aragorn spoke. "You departed with such haste before ..." He brought his other hand to rest on the elf's hip and pulled Legolas closer.

With an unbidden smirk, the elf stepped back a fraction, catching the fingers clasping his hip with his other hand. "My, we are vain," he countered, cocking one brow just so. "So confident this must have something to do with you?"

Aragorn's eyes narrowed with a friendly apprehension. "Then I am mistaken," he offered with a marginal dip of his head. "It must, then, have had something to with abandoning your weapons to the evils of whatever might have lurked in the corridor." It was the ranger's turn to arch a brow, as he knew he'd hit a sore spot. Indeed, the elf's eyes flashed and the grip on his wrist tightened until he could feel each individual finger against his skin. He lost the ability to swallow.

The elf chose to ignore this remark, but the mood grew more serious without any urging on his part. After a few moments had passed, Legolas loosened his grip on the ranger's wrist and stepped close to him, brushing his lips across Aragorn's. "I know the reasons this must remain quiet," he said softly, speaking through the sharp ache that hit him just off centre within his chest.

Aragorn mustered up what will the exhausting day let remain within him and prevented himself from encircling Legolas in with his arms and crushing his mouth to the elf's. Instead his throat convulsed slightly as he forcefully swallowed, regarding the distant air in his friend's gaze. "Legolas," his voice was naught but a whisper that sounded as if it had been dragged through the battle of the Fords along with the fallen men they had earlier left behind. "My heart walks with you," he said at last, his brow darkening thoughtfully as he lifted a hand to trace a thumb along one of the elf's lips.

The sounds of the camp were all that hung between them for some time, but the elf did reply. "And mine with you." <i>But it must remain mine.</i> Legolas gave no voice to his final thought, though his eyes stirred with mixed emotions. He forced aside everything but the man standing before him and without warning Aragorn found his mouth opening beneath the elf's, his tongue chasing the curling motion of Legolas's. The ranger closed his eyes, but by then the elf was gone, having disappeared into the night. Aragorn set a flat palm against his abdomen, breathing the night deeply beneath the watch of the stars. It was a long time before he moved, and it was not to seek sleep; he knew he would never find it this night.

On the other side of the camp, Gimli heard a familiar melody reach his ears, a fluting lilt of a song sung to the stars above. He smiled, thinking for certain that one by one they seemed to sparkle more brightly above him, and at last a swift slumber overtook him.