Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Darkenss, Lies, and Betrayal ❯ Despair ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter 3 - Despair

Shadows slide into day, darkness fleeing the light. The air shimmered, the scattered remnants of fire slowly guttering into burning coals. The dark shroud of night hung on the edge of morning as if reluctant to leave and have Anor bring evidence of last nights' events into stark relief. The chill of night crept away, even as the warmth of day heralded the rising of Anor.

Wind picked up, whipping cloaks and hair wildly about the frozen tableau. An owl cried its message of doom, breaking the eerie silence. A chill of foreboding wormed its way up the elf's spine and he shivered, his eyes locked on Aragorn's. The man struggled to rise from his knees, to continue his fight in spite of his wounds and the hold the Uruk had upon his hair. Beneath the garish mask of dust and grime, Legolas could see the pallor of blood loss leaching color from the mortal's face.

"I will give you that which you have asked." Legolas spoke with quiet dignity, his musical voice cool and aloof in the early dawning.

"Legolas! No!" Aragorn's voice was cut off by a sharp cry as the evil creature gave a yank at the shank of tangled hair in his grasp, pulling Aragorn's head at a painful angle.

Ignoring Aragorn, Boromir narrowed his eyes, watching the elf's carefully wrought facade of calm. He grasped Legolas' pointed chin in a firm grip and forced the elf's face around until he could study the turmoil that roiled deep within the tortured blue eyes. "And what is it I have asked, little elf? There will be no misunderstandings here. I will accept no half measures."

Clenching his jaw spasmodically, Legolas jerked against the painful hold upon his face. He was unable to keep his gaze from darting towards Aragorn's kneeling form. Aragorn was watching them grimly, his face twisted by anger and pain. Blood oozed thickly from the wound gotten in his struggle with the Uruk-hai. Whether it be poisoned or not would take a closer examination.

Boromir followed the elf's gaze, snarling, he applied bruising force to Legolas' jaw bringing the elf's attention painfully back to the Son of Gondor.

Defeated, Legolas seemed to dim, the musical cadence of his clear voice touched by more than a hint of strain. "I will accept your caresses."

Legolas winced as Boromir gripped his pointed chin harder. The elf took a handful of deep, even breaths as if seeking to calm himself, yet his eyes played traitor to him still, giving evidence to his barely checked fury.

Boromir's breath caught in his chest. Legolas might be able to force his face into seeming placidity and exude a calm untouched etherealness, yet the elf's eyes would always betray him. There was no guile hidden in those stormy blue depths. Raging like the Bay of Belfalas during the gray winter storms, bleak fury sparkled deep within.

Unwilling words were dragged from the man. "By the Lady, you are more beautiful than Ithil and twice as rare as mithril."

Small hope sparked in the azure gaze and Legolas opened his mouth as if to speak. Boromir shook his head, a determination writ upon his countenance. "No more waiting games, Legolas. Time flees before us and Aragorn's life is hung by a thread."

Reluctant seeming words crawled in painful slowness from Legolas' throat. "I give myself to you f-freely and in return I may choose Estel's fate."

It pained Boromir to hear the hollow despair in the elf's voice. His grip upon the elf's chin eased as his heart tightened. He felt his throat close and his eyes tear. It was hard to tell if it was the carnage that tainted the air that made it so difficult to draw breath. And surely, it must be the cloud of ash that hung like a pall in the air that pricked his eyes so very sharply. Tenderness showed for a moment as he gazed upon this being who would willingly sacrifice himself for a hopeless love.

Sensing the change in the man, Legolas strove to reach Boromir. "Boromir." His soft voice carried quiet urgency, "Do not do this thing. It is not too late. You must fight the influence of the Ring. It is not you."

Hardening his heart, the Man of Gondor gave the youthful-seeming elf a lust-filled gaze. "I will not surrender what is mine by right."

Legolas raised his bound hands between them, beseeching, "The Ring cannot be wielded by any mortal man. It answers to the Dark Lord's command alone..."

A harsh laugh bruising in its mockery cut across Legolas' entreaty. "You misunderstand me, little elf. The ring goes to Sauron by way of Isengard. Let Saruman and the Dark Lord fight over it like dogs in heat. It matters not to me. I have what I desire." Boromir pulled Legolas towards him until Legolas' bound hands rested on his chest and his lips were but inches away from the elf's mouth. He could see the labored beating of Legolas' heart in the rapid pulse of his throat. Boromir twisted his lips into a nasty smile. "You belong to me."

"You cannot own me. No one can own another, though you may lay claim to my body--"

Boromir gave Legolas' head a small shake; the man's eyes glinting like a basilisk's glare. He spoke coldly, "By your will and by your words, I own you. 'Twould be best that you do not forget." Releasing Legolas' chin abruptly, he caught the elf by his hips before he could stumble back. He jerked Legolas forcibly forward until their loins met.

"Give me your earnest, now. Then choose and I shall grant it you."

"Cur! You bring dishonor upon him and yourself!"

Angrily, Boromir released Legolas, giving the elf a slight push away. With stiff steps he strode over to the kneeling Dunédan. The Uruk-hai moved the sword from Aragorn's neck ever so slightly, as if reading the Gondorian's intent. Snarling, Boromir lashed out with his foot, striking Aragorn in his groin.

Save for the Uruk captain's hold upon the Dunédan, Aragorn would have curled in around himself. A pained cry shattered through the calls and cries of the orcs that surrounded the tableau, calling out and mocking in a mix of broken Westron and the dark speech of Mordor.

Boromir felt some small satisfaction as he watched tears wind twin trails down the begrimed face of his rival.

From a distance he heard but did not recognize the sounds of the hobbits struggling with their orcish captors. So focused was he upon this man who had won without attempt--without even knowledge of the precious gift the Dunédan had all but thoughtlessly thrown away--the heart of the elf that Boromir desired above all things, that he heard not the cries of pain as the orcs lashed out at the halflings.

Pippin's voice broke through his regard, as the young hobbit cried his name in pain and fear. Jerking around, Boromir was in time to see a huge fist smash the little one to the ground. Merry was down upon the ground; one booted foot looking huge upon the hobbit's small body as the orc mercilessly lashed his arms in front of his body.

With quick deft movements, its black eyes gleaming with spite, lips drawn back in a mocking grimace, another orc raised its hand to lash out at Pippin, again, as the youngest of the hobbits tried to struggle back to his feet. Pippin's eyes were huge in his face and he was staring at Boromir pleadingly, as if he still could not believe that his friend had betrayed the Fellowship.

Helpless rage and confusion battled within Boromir and he snapped angrily at the Uruk-hai holding Aragorn. "Can you not control your creatures? I was told the halflings were to go to the Wizard of Isengard without harm!"

The Uruk's voice like ground glass scattered across the cacophony of the twisted beings leering and jostling about the clearing. The yellow glare of his beasts' eyes meeting Boromir's with challenge. "Bind the halflings. Leave them. Watch them."

At the unrelieved stare of the strange creature, Boromir felt a trickle of ill ease tickle his spine. The Uruk commanded in that strange broken voice, its evil eyes flicking between Boromir and Aragorn, "Finish this. The sun comes and the journey to Saruman is long."

Boromir met the challenge in that evil gaze levelly, his jaw jutting aggressively as his hand clenched upon the pommel of his sword. "You forget yourself. This is upon my terms. Your master has sworn it. He has commanded it."

Growling, Saruman's creation gave Aragorn's head a vicious tug, forcing the man's head back further that Boromir thought surely it would snap, sword so swiftly placed against the throat that another trickle of blood wended its way down the taut throat.

"Daro! Boromir! Saes... " Legolas' voice brought Boromir back over to the elf.

Twisting his hands through Legolas' hair, he brought the slender elf's face up forcibly. "I will have no more of your games, elf. No more delays. This you have chosen and this is your fate."

Legolas stood straighter, holding himself straight, gaze even. Boromir froze as he saw the expectation of violence written in the careful blankness of Legolas' face. This was not what he desired. He wished the elf's love, not his fear. A knot twisted in the man's stomach, as he perceived the bleak despair hidden deep within the deep blue eyes.

Gentling his hold, he let the soft strands of gold fall from his fingers. He cupped Legolas' face, running the ball of his thumb softly over the elf's full lips, imagining them smiling at him, opening freely and taking his thumb inside, suckling as was a lover's wont.

Hoarsely, Boromir spoke to Legolas quietly, as if it were only the two of them in the clearing. "I would have but a kiss from you, now, to seal our troth."

Legolas flinched, but nevertheless tilted his head, the effort it cost the elf to part his lips and accept the tender caress as Boromir lightly touched lips to his could only be guessed by the clenching of his bound hands.

Boromir tasted of those full lips, licking delicately at the opened mouth, nipping across Legolas' jaw before claiming the open mouth in a heated kiss. The Man of Gondor poured his love and lost hope into the touch of mouth upon mouth.

Cupping the face as if Legolas was made of the most precious of spun mithril, he tilted the elf's face up to deepen the kiss. Nibbling tenderly, as if they were lovers of long standing, with a loud groan, Boromir pressed his body against the unyielding elf's, his tongue thrusting into the sweet heat of Legolas' mouth, marking his territory, staking his claim and proclaiming his love.

Pulling away reluctantly, Boromir voiced the longing in his breast, his voice made husky by desire, "I would honour you above all others. I would bind you to me in the ways of Men and of Elves."

Unable to hide a panicked look, Legolas glanced away.

Boromir a pang as sharp and painful as a sword thrust twisted deep within his chest. There had been tears in Legolas' eyes before he had turned and shame colored the sharp cheekbones. Even when he gently turned the elf back to look upon him, Legolas would not meet his gaze.

Aragorn jerked violently in his captor's grip, half rising from the kneeling position and nearly slicing his own throat on the blade of the sword. Fury lit a deadly fire in the gaze of the Dunédan, his voice erupting angrily, "Elves do not bind themselves where there is no love! You cannot have him. You will never have him."

Boromir turned, one arm possessively curled about Legolas' slender waist. With a smile more reminiscent of a frozen death mask, Boromir replied coolly. "You lie. Your own betrothed's family gives lie to your words. Else Celebrían would still dwell within the Halls of Rivendell."

Aragorn pressed his lips into a thin line; tossing sweat dampened hair out of his eyes, he proclaimed derisively, "You would sully one of the firstborn with your twisted desire."

Releasing Legolas, Boromir hovered over Aragorn, eyes ablaze, "I have had just about enough of you." Hatred threaded through Boromir's voice.

Aragorn neither flinched nor wavered and Boromir realized a reluctant admiration for the Dunédan. Of a surety, Aragorn could expect no mercy and the memory must still be sharp where but a few moments before Boromir had had the Dunédan twisting in pain.

As Aragorn shifted to meet Boromir's gaze, the Evenstar's crystal winked in the garish lighting. Dawn was swiftly creeping and the flames of scattered fires were slowly guttering to nothingness, and yet the jewel sparkled bright with hope and purity.

Irrational anger flared within Boromir. It was not fair that the Ranger--an exile from his people--should have the love of two of the Fair Folk. Two who were willing to sacrifice their lives for the worthless Dunédan! Boromir snatched the necklace from the kneeling man's neck, snapping the slender chain.

"You deserve neither mercy nor sacrifice." Boromir held the chain aloft, his eyes stone chips glittering with deadly promise as he met the Dunédan's outraged gaze.

"Give that back to me."

Snorting, Boromir set it to twirling, watching the bright rays as they seemed to emanate from the heart of the jewel. Light radiated from its center, its beauty almost too painful to behold, so like the beings that the jewels represented. "Whither you go, Mandos' Halls or Dol Guldur, you will not be needing this."

"That is not yours."

"Nor yours, anymore." So saying, Boromir dropped the precious trinket and trod it beneath the heel of his boot as he returned to Legolas. He ignored the cries of dismay from both the elf and the man.

The jewel splintered, and burst a small flame of light flaring, pulsing brightly, and slowly widening to encompass the company. The orcs shouted in their fear and the light pained their eyes. The Uruk snarled his defiance until the light slowly flickered and died.

To Be Continued…