Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Penance ❯ A Question of Trust ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: wolfraven 
Legolas learns all actions have consequences. BDSM, questionable consent.
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Fantasy / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.16.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.4K | Visits: 6.8K | Status: Completed
Legolas learns all actions have consequences. BDSM, questionable consent.
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Fantasy / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.16.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.4K | Visits: 6.8K | Status: Completed
Chapter 1 - A Question of Trust
"Havo dad*, Legolas." Aragorn's quiet voice echoed loudly in the elf's ears.
And Legolas sat, his legs folding upon command, as if of their own volition. A slight flush stained his cheeks at the belated realization that his errant tongue had taken him across a boundary that he had sworn to himself would remain unbroken.
Legolas' eyes flickered quickly about the council group, a chill prickle of dread danced along his spine. Though none gave sign that they had heeded his outburst, he knew that by both word and deed he had all but proclaimed his hopeless love to all whom had eyes to see and ears to hear.
Elrond, not so much by word, but rather by a slight shifting of position, a softening of stern feature seemed to acknowledge the hopelessness of love for a mortal Man. It was rumored, among the Sindar, that Elrond had once chosen wrongly to trust his heart to a mere Man. Thus, Legolas did not fear Elrond's opinions so much, even though he knew it was Elrond's own daughter Arwen, who held the heart of the man that Legolas had become enamoured of. He sensed rather, that the older elf sympathized with his pain.
Frodo, who was even now being revealed as the Ringbearer, seemed oblivious. Though the periannath did glance quickly away when Legolas' gaze fixed upon him. Gandalf merely quirked an eyebrow at him, and Legolas knew that he would have to answer to the Maiar for his careless tongue, yet he feared not the wizard, for Gandalf was kindly and Legolas was certain that he, himself, had wrought no irreparable harm.
Frowning, Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his gaze briefly rested upon the dwarf. Why Gimli glowered at him with a strange burning anger simmering but poorly hidden beneath his stoic facade, Legolas was unsure. Yet he wagered it would not bode well. Still, elves did not have to answer to the likes of Gimli, son of Gloín. It was highly likely that just by *being* an elf, Legolas had incurred the surly dwarf's enmity. Legolas could not resist a tilt of his chin in silent challenge to the creature, humor surely sparking in his eyes by the way Gimli did stiffen.
Boromir glared at the elf, before dismissing his words with a callous disregard. As if throwing down a gauntlet in challenge of a duel, the Man of Gondor's words reverberated through the small clearing. "Gondor has no King, Gondor needs no King."
Parting his lips to speak, once more, on behalf of the Dunédan, a slight movement brought his gaze to Aragorn. He paled, then felt his cheeks heat when Aragorn's calm gaze skewered him with silent command. He closed his mouth abruptly, dropping his gaze to a study of his hands. His jaw jutted stubbornly, but he refused to look up once again. Though it had not been his place to speak, he could not regret his defense of the son of Arathorn.
His heart had belonged to Isildur's heir for many long seasons, since the first he had heard the husky voiced laugh of the Dunédan amidst the leafy bowers of Rivendell. He had been running messages between his Father's realm and Imladris that spring. Before he had entered the valley of the Bruinen, his party was set upon by fell creatures. Though he and his comrades battled bravely, they were outnumbered and it looked to go poorly with them. It was then that Aragorn had swooped into their midst, carving a swathe through the yrch as if they were dead brush before fire.
Larger than life, powerful and well muscled, the mortal Man had woven his dance of death. Legolas stood over one of his wounded comrades, protecting the fallen from those who dared to dart past the avenging fury. The elf had been moved both by the fury and the beauty of the man in his courage.
It was only later that he learned who their rescuer had been. Aragorn had made it easy to like him. The Man had brushed Legolas' thanks aside as would a long-time friend who did only that which was expected of him. Walking with him, the elf found him intelligent and conversant on many subjects.
During his stay that spring, they had hunted both food and fell beasts together. They laughed together, wrestled together and swum naked beneath the star kissed sky.
Indeed, so often did they company with each other that many an elf teased that they were brothers born and separated upon birth.
Stories were told, and embellished, laughter rang through the blooming wood and Legolas felt his heart beat rapidly whenever the Dunédan approached. Though he did realize the danger, he could see no help for it, but to fall in love with Aragorn.
The day Legolas meant to speak of it, he had come upon the Man entwined in embrace with Arwen. Soft words were exchanged and quiet vows, though Aragorn refused her spirit-gem. Yet Legolas was without hope. He knew it was but a span of moments, as Men counted time, before the gem would be accepted. For who would deign deny the beauteous Evenstar? It was then that Legolas promised himself to keep close his heart and to stand guard over Aragorn's. For he loved the Man enough to want him to be happy, even were that happiness not within Legolas' embrace.
It took several long moments for Legolas to realize that the discussion about the council had turned heated, so deep had he been within his own thoughts. Pausing long enough to replay the last remarks through his mind, he could only be dismayed by the Son of Gondor's stupidity.
"Have you heard nothing that Lord Elrond has said? The ring must be destroyed!"
Well intentioned as his words were, a melee erupted with the dwarf Gimli leading with insinuation of insult. Even Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's sons, so forgot themselves as to stand and raise their voices in angry accusation
Sensing that the ring's evil influence was wreaking its havoc upon all within the council, Legolas still could not bring himself to stand down in the face of the dwarf's antagonism. He welcomed the thought of battle, for it gave him something upon which to focus his thoughts.
It was in the fierceness of the arguments, Gimli standing toe-to-toe with Legolas and radiating fury like a drenched hedgehog, that Legolas was brought short by quietly spoken words meant for him alone.
Warm air tickled his sensitive ear and he imagined he could feel the brush of moist lips as Aragorn spoke to him. "Do not compound your transgressions, Legolas, son of Thranduil. Tonight, when Ithil waxes high in the arc of the night sky, wait upon me in my chambers."
Startled, Legolas made as if to speak, but Aragorn had all ready passed him by to kneel before the halfling, Frodo, and pledged his sword in service to the quest.
Indeed, Legolas could do no less. Not only was he son of Thranduil, and thus believed he owed some small measure of payment for Oropher's pride and for Thranduil's mistakes; his heart belonged to the Dunédan and he would not see him go unprotected into the darkness of Mordor.
Before Aragorn or aught else could gainsay him, Legolas spoke passionately, "And I my bow."
He felt naught but disdain when the dwarf, Gimli, swore the strength of his axe to the hobbit's protection and ignored the dark look cast his way. Nor, did Legolas give it much thought when Boromir made his reluctant offer.
It was enough to know that he would company Aragorn upon this quest and that he would have his back.
Much of the rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Aragorn caught his gaze meaningfully as the council began to break up and he found himself tensing, unknowingly.
Ignoring, for the moment, those who would waylay him, Legolas made his way through the milieu. There was much to do and even more to gather before the quest could begin. Decisions must be made as to which supplies would be best to take on the long journey. There would be need of healing herbs and maps, and further counsel with Elrond, Gandalf and Aragorn.
He wished to make extra arrows to fill his quiver, and some to spare. As well, he needed to sharpen his knives, though in actuality he knew them to be sharp as when they had been forged and he just sought busy work to fill the time between now and Aragorn's summons.
The thought of Aragorn caused his heart to race as he remembered the Man's quietly spoken command. For Legolas was under no misapprehension, he knew that he had been commanded to appear before the Man in as regal an expectation as if Thranduil had spoken.
Strange for Legolas to feel time pass but slowly, he who was usually untouched by the passage of days. Suddenly, though the beauty about him had not dimmed, the anticipation of what needs Aragorn bade him visit him within his rooms swelled through him, like the waters answering Ithil's call at high tide.
Finally, finally the afternoon fled into the sundering sun and shadows grew long. Legolas sat quietly upon an intricately carved bench of white stone, his mind wandering elsewhere whilst his hands saw to the sharpening of his blades.
When Ithil rode high in the bow of the night sky, Legolas found himself ghosting quietly through the halls of Imladris. He was aware of Aragorn's rooms, much as he was aware of his own heartbeat, for in the blush of his new found infatuation, he had learned all that he could of the mysterious ranger.
Stopping hesitantly outside the arch that led to the inner sanctum of Aragorn's chambers, he found his courage fleeing him. Licking suddenly dry lips, Legolas scratched lightly upon the lintel to let the Man know that he was without. The quiet in the halls seemed absolute, so stark that the sound of a small night insect nearly made him jump as it broke the silence.
Unsure, but loath to disobey the Dunédan, the elf slipped quietly into the shadowed chamber. A flicker of his gaze showed him the open and sumptuous arrangements of Elrond's foster son's rooms.
Sheer draperies woven of spider silk imported from his own Greenwood and dyed in rich shades of cream and browns, embroidered with golden flowers fluttered about the carved arches in the cool of the evening breeze which brought teasing scents of pine and oak and athelas. Some woody scent burned in a small dish upon a chest of deep burnished mallorn. Candles adorned the surface of an intricately wrought vanity, a silvered mirror reflecting the flickering light. The light of Ithil slanted through an arch that led to an open terrace.
There were no doors within the Last Homely House as none would think to intrude on the privacy of someone's personal chambers. The open architecture was as free and open as the elves themselves, and Legolas was un-surprised by the lavishness of Aragorn's room.
It was with a start, he realized that he was not alone in the rooms. In the center of the room was a bed--such as was the nature of Men to possess. Large and commanding the attention, four posts rose high upon each corner. Matching silks hung to the floor and were pulled back to reveal the deep bronze of the coverlet reflected in the dim light. And here sat Aragorn. Aragorn, quietly watching him with eyes dark and unreadable.
There was something in Aragorn's unswerving gaze that made Legolas feel like a youngling, barely out of his majority and the elf found himself blushing. He tilted his head defensively, a small pointed tongue licking nervously at his lips. "Aragorn."
The dark man raised his chin in silent acknowledgement, his steady contemplation unbroken. When Aragorn finally spoke, it was like an arrow slamming into the elf's heart. "I am unsure that you should company us upon this quest, son of Thranduil. The trust between us has been broken. I think it may be wise for you to beg Lord Elrond to seek another among the elves."
All blood drained from the normally pale elf's face leaving him as pallid as a barrow-wight. "Surely you cannot mean this? I have stood fast in your defense since first we met. We have each saved the other grievous injury more times than can be counted!"
"True enough. Yet you did betray me."
Anxiously, Legolas sought for some levity in Aragorn's bearing, some small sign that it was but a jest, though a poorly worded one. The grim demeanor of the Dunédan gave little hope that the elf had misunderstood. The calmly spoken words of his friend cut with deadly accuracy, no less lethal than when Aragorn wielded a sword, and Legolas could not help but wonder if his heart did bleed from so deep a wound.
Raising his hands up in entreaty, palms stretched toward Aragorn in appeal, "I meant no betrayal. Only just did it fever my blood to hear the Son of Gondor declaim you so, when by all rights he should have bent knee to you and swore his allegiance!"
The man shook his head, glancing at the elf out of those dark unfathomable eyes. Wherefore had Legolas ever thought mortal man easy to read? He shivered beneath the deep gaze and wished fervently that he could win back the trust he had lost so unthinking.
"Please, Estel... "
"I cannot trust you who sell my secrets for his pride."
"'Twas no great secret!"
"Still. It was not yours to tell."
Legolas flinched as if struck, shame colored his cheeks. He could feel tears prick hotly at his eyes and he gave a shaky breath, "My friend, my brother, your words cut me. All here but Boromir and the periannath did know you to be Isildur's heir. S-surely no harm will come from words spoken in haste?"
Again, Aragorn shook his head, denying Legolas' words. "You are well past the age to be passion blind, Legolas."
"Is there aught that I could do to gain back that which was so unknowingly destroyed?" He blinked rapidly wishing his voice had sounded much more firm and less fearful.
Aragorn's gaze passed over him, as if reading a hidden passage within a text. When the Man spoke, his voice was dark and calm. "Would you then make amends, Legolas Thranduillion?"
"Of a surety!" Legolas breathed shakily.
Gesturing, Aragorn spoke in the same even voice, "So if you behave in a youthful, passion blind manner, so, too, should your punishment reflect your action. Think you not?"
"I do not understand."
"It is custom among Men, though I think it is unknown among elves, that when a child has committed a breach of etiquette, that he be chastised."
"You wish to strike me?"
"No. I would spank you. Upon your bare bottom, as an undisciplined and unruly child would be taught to watch his tongue."
Unsure that he had heard aright, the young elf took a half step towards the nearest archway, shaking his head in denial. "As you have said, I am beyond the years for such treatment."
Aragorn's cool voice sliced through the rapid pounding of Legolas' heart. "I am disappointed, but it is your choice." The Man pointed, "There, the door. But, do know, that unless the scale is balanced, I would you return to Mirkwood from whence you came, rather than company us to Mordor. There in the Dark Lord's lair we need only those companions that are both stout of heart and trustworthy. Upon each other our lives rely."
Hurt mirrored in Legolas' eyes and another flush stole over his cheeks and he found himself glad of the dimness within these chambers. Though his voice trembled, he faced Aragorn square and proudly, "No need. I will submit."
A strange heat stirred within his body, and Legolas found himself curiously reluctant to meet the Dunédan's stare. He let his gaze dart about the room restlessly, touching briefly upon a half-written parchment upon the desk at the far side, the fluttering curtains, the glimmer of Ithil, each singular flame upon the carved chest and finally again upon the Man sitting stoically waiting for Legolas to move.
"How... " The elf swallowed clearing a throat thick with roiling emotions, "How do you wish to do this thing?"
"You may lay across my lap."
Legolas' eyes flew to Aragorn's impenetrable gaze, then slid away. The elf gave a short, abbreviated nod, and walked, lacking his customary grace, over to the human to stand in uncertainty. As he stood staring down, eyes riveted to Aragorn's lap, he felt as if he stood upon a precipice. Fear stumbled through him at the slow stir of arousal as he contemplated lying across the Ranger's lap. How could he hide this from his friend? The very thought of such closeness stirred his blood. His sex gave a slow throb of anticipation and Legolas shivered.
"Legolas." Aragorn's voice suddenly seemed deeper, huskier, laced with forbidden meaning. "Across."
Guiltily, Legolas knew he was delaying. One glance into the stern face of his friend and he knew that the man was aware of his tactics as well. He could feel the tips of his ears burning and he fluttered his lashes closed to hide the heated gleam that he was sure waited to betray him. He peered at the man through shuttered lashes.
Aragorn sat sternly regarding him. There was no give in that expression, no hint of possible forgiveness. The man's calm demeanor neither demanded nor yielded, simply waiting as a good hunter for his prey to come to him.
Again that slight prod, "Legolas." A statement--not a query. Aragorn was waiting, yet his posture spoke of an ending of patience.
Girding what little dignity he could about himself, Legolas caught and held Aragorn's gaze in a last flare of defiance. Yet there was that within him that was anxious to surrender to the Man. He knew he could never have the soft words of love he longed to hear, nor the feather caress of a lover's touch, yet here, would be something uniquely his.
This memory of closeness between himself and Aragorn could be held against the cold of future despair when the Man and Arwen had become a pairing. This means of patching a broken trust, his penance, would always be his.
Legolas tried to imagine Aragorn demanding the Lady Arwen to lie across his lap and failed. He could no more see Aragorn chastising Elrond's daughter, than he could see Aragorn kissing Sauron. Nor could he conceive of that Lady in so undignified a pose.
Continued in Chapter 2
"Havo dad*, Legolas." Aragorn's quiet voice echoed loudly in the elf's ears.
And Legolas sat, his legs folding upon command, as if of their own volition. A slight flush stained his cheeks at the belated realization that his errant tongue had taken him across a boundary that he had sworn to himself would remain unbroken.
Legolas' eyes flickered quickly about the council group, a chill prickle of dread danced along his spine. Though none gave sign that they had heeded his outburst, he knew that by both word and deed he had all but proclaimed his hopeless love to all whom had eyes to see and ears to hear.
Elrond, not so much by word, but rather by a slight shifting of position, a softening of stern feature seemed to acknowledge the hopelessness of love for a mortal Man. It was rumored, among the Sindar, that Elrond had once chosen wrongly to trust his heart to a mere Man. Thus, Legolas did not fear Elrond's opinions so much, even though he knew it was Elrond's own daughter Arwen, who held the heart of the man that Legolas had become enamoured of. He sensed rather, that the older elf sympathized with his pain.
Frodo, who was even now being revealed as the Ringbearer, seemed oblivious. Though the periannath did glance quickly away when Legolas' gaze fixed upon him. Gandalf merely quirked an eyebrow at him, and Legolas knew that he would have to answer to the Maiar for his careless tongue, yet he feared not the wizard, for Gandalf was kindly and Legolas was certain that he, himself, had wrought no irreparable harm.
Frowning, Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his gaze briefly rested upon the dwarf. Why Gimli glowered at him with a strange burning anger simmering but poorly hidden beneath his stoic facade, Legolas was unsure. Yet he wagered it would not bode well. Still, elves did not have to answer to the likes of Gimli, son of Gloín. It was highly likely that just by *being* an elf, Legolas had incurred the surly dwarf's enmity. Legolas could not resist a tilt of his chin in silent challenge to the creature, humor surely sparking in his eyes by the way Gimli did stiffen.
Boromir glared at the elf, before dismissing his words with a callous disregard. As if throwing down a gauntlet in challenge of a duel, the Man of Gondor's words reverberated through the small clearing. "Gondor has no King, Gondor needs no King."
Parting his lips to speak, once more, on behalf of the Dunédan, a slight movement brought his gaze to Aragorn. He paled, then felt his cheeks heat when Aragorn's calm gaze skewered him with silent command. He closed his mouth abruptly, dropping his gaze to a study of his hands. His jaw jutted stubbornly, but he refused to look up once again. Though it had not been his place to speak, he could not regret his defense of the son of Arathorn.
His heart had belonged to Isildur's heir for many long seasons, since the first he had heard the husky voiced laugh of the Dunédan amidst the leafy bowers of Rivendell. He had been running messages between his Father's realm and Imladris that spring. Before he had entered the valley of the Bruinen, his party was set upon by fell creatures. Though he and his comrades battled bravely, they were outnumbered and it looked to go poorly with them. It was then that Aragorn had swooped into their midst, carving a swathe through the yrch as if they were dead brush before fire.
Larger than life, powerful and well muscled, the mortal Man had woven his dance of death. Legolas stood over one of his wounded comrades, protecting the fallen from those who dared to dart past the avenging fury. The elf had been moved both by the fury and the beauty of the man in his courage.
It was only later that he learned who their rescuer had been. Aragorn had made it easy to like him. The Man had brushed Legolas' thanks aside as would a long-time friend who did only that which was expected of him. Walking with him, the elf found him intelligent and conversant on many subjects.
During his stay that spring, they had hunted both food and fell beasts together. They laughed together, wrestled together and swum naked beneath the star kissed sky.
Indeed, so often did they company with each other that many an elf teased that they were brothers born and separated upon birth.
Stories were told, and embellished, laughter rang through the blooming wood and Legolas felt his heart beat rapidly whenever the Dunédan approached. Though he did realize the danger, he could see no help for it, but to fall in love with Aragorn.
The day Legolas meant to speak of it, he had come upon the Man entwined in embrace with Arwen. Soft words were exchanged and quiet vows, though Aragorn refused her spirit-gem. Yet Legolas was without hope. He knew it was but a span of moments, as Men counted time, before the gem would be accepted. For who would deign deny the beauteous Evenstar? It was then that Legolas promised himself to keep close his heart and to stand guard over Aragorn's. For he loved the Man enough to want him to be happy, even were that happiness not within Legolas' embrace.
It took several long moments for Legolas to realize that the discussion about the council had turned heated, so deep had he been within his own thoughts. Pausing long enough to replay the last remarks through his mind, he could only be dismayed by the Son of Gondor's stupidity.
"Have you heard nothing that Lord Elrond has said? The ring must be destroyed!"
Well intentioned as his words were, a melee erupted with the dwarf Gimli leading with insinuation of insult. Even Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's sons, so forgot themselves as to stand and raise their voices in angry accusation
Sensing that the ring's evil influence was wreaking its havoc upon all within the council, Legolas still could not bring himself to stand down in the face of the dwarf's antagonism. He welcomed the thought of battle, for it gave him something upon which to focus his thoughts.
It was in the fierceness of the arguments, Gimli standing toe-to-toe with Legolas and radiating fury like a drenched hedgehog, that Legolas was brought short by quietly spoken words meant for him alone.
Warm air tickled his sensitive ear and he imagined he could feel the brush of moist lips as Aragorn spoke to him. "Do not compound your transgressions, Legolas, son of Thranduil. Tonight, when Ithil waxes high in the arc of the night sky, wait upon me in my chambers."
Startled, Legolas made as if to speak, but Aragorn had all ready passed him by to kneel before the halfling, Frodo, and pledged his sword in service to the quest.
Indeed, Legolas could do no less. Not only was he son of Thranduil, and thus believed he owed some small measure of payment for Oropher's pride and for Thranduil's mistakes; his heart belonged to the Dunédan and he would not see him go unprotected into the darkness of Mordor.
Before Aragorn or aught else could gainsay him, Legolas spoke passionately, "And I my bow."
He felt naught but disdain when the dwarf, Gimli, swore the strength of his axe to the hobbit's protection and ignored the dark look cast his way. Nor, did Legolas give it much thought when Boromir made his reluctant offer.
It was enough to know that he would company Aragorn upon this quest and that he would have his back.
Much of the rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Aragorn caught his gaze meaningfully as the council began to break up and he found himself tensing, unknowingly.
Ignoring, for the moment, those who would waylay him, Legolas made his way through the milieu. There was much to do and even more to gather before the quest could begin. Decisions must be made as to which supplies would be best to take on the long journey. There would be need of healing herbs and maps, and further counsel with Elrond, Gandalf and Aragorn.
He wished to make extra arrows to fill his quiver, and some to spare. As well, he needed to sharpen his knives, though in actuality he knew them to be sharp as when they had been forged and he just sought busy work to fill the time between now and Aragorn's summons.
The thought of Aragorn caused his heart to race as he remembered the Man's quietly spoken command. For Legolas was under no misapprehension, he knew that he had been commanded to appear before the Man in as regal an expectation as if Thranduil had spoken.
Strange for Legolas to feel time pass but slowly, he who was usually untouched by the passage of days. Suddenly, though the beauty about him had not dimmed, the anticipation of what needs Aragorn bade him visit him within his rooms swelled through him, like the waters answering Ithil's call at high tide.
Finally, finally the afternoon fled into the sundering sun and shadows grew long. Legolas sat quietly upon an intricately carved bench of white stone, his mind wandering elsewhere whilst his hands saw to the sharpening of his blades.
When Ithil rode high in the bow of the night sky, Legolas found himself ghosting quietly through the halls of Imladris. He was aware of Aragorn's rooms, much as he was aware of his own heartbeat, for in the blush of his new found infatuation, he had learned all that he could of the mysterious ranger.
Stopping hesitantly outside the arch that led to the inner sanctum of Aragorn's chambers, he found his courage fleeing him. Licking suddenly dry lips, Legolas scratched lightly upon the lintel to let the Man know that he was without. The quiet in the halls seemed absolute, so stark that the sound of a small night insect nearly made him jump as it broke the silence.
Unsure, but loath to disobey the Dunédan, the elf slipped quietly into the shadowed chamber. A flicker of his gaze showed him the open and sumptuous arrangements of Elrond's foster son's rooms.
Sheer draperies woven of spider silk imported from his own Greenwood and dyed in rich shades of cream and browns, embroidered with golden flowers fluttered about the carved arches in the cool of the evening breeze which brought teasing scents of pine and oak and athelas. Some woody scent burned in a small dish upon a chest of deep burnished mallorn. Candles adorned the surface of an intricately wrought vanity, a silvered mirror reflecting the flickering light. The light of Ithil slanted through an arch that led to an open terrace.
There were no doors within the Last Homely House as none would think to intrude on the privacy of someone's personal chambers. The open architecture was as free and open as the elves themselves, and Legolas was un-surprised by the lavishness of Aragorn's room.
It was with a start, he realized that he was not alone in the rooms. In the center of the room was a bed--such as was the nature of Men to possess. Large and commanding the attention, four posts rose high upon each corner. Matching silks hung to the floor and were pulled back to reveal the deep bronze of the coverlet reflected in the dim light. And here sat Aragorn. Aragorn, quietly watching him with eyes dark and unreadable.
There was something in Aragorn's unswerving gaze that made Legolas feel like a youngling, barely out of his majority and the elf found himself blushing. He tilted his head defensively, a small pointed tongue licking nervously at his lips. "Aragorn."
The dark man raised his chin in silent acknowledgement, his steady contemplation unbroken. When Aragorn finally spoke, it was like an arrow slamming into the elf's heart. "I am unsure that you should company us upon this quest, son of Thranduil. The trust between us has been broken. I think it may be wise for you to beg Lord Elrond to seek another among the elves."
All blood drained from the normally pale elf's face leaving him as pallid as a barrow-wight. "Surely you cannot mean this? I have stood fast in your defense since first we met. We have each saved the other grievous injury more times than can be counted!"
"True enough. Yet you did betray me."
Anxiously, Legolas sought for some levity in Aragorn's bearing, some small sign that it was but a jest, though a poorly worded one. The grim demeanor of the Dunédan gave little hope that the elf had misunderstood. The calmly spoken words of his friend cut with deadly accuracy, no less lethal than when Aragorn wielded a sword, and Legolas could not help but wonder if his heart did bleed from so deep a wound.
Raising his hands up in entreaty, palms stretched toward Aragorn in appeal, "I meant no betrayal. Only just did it fever my blood to hear the Son of Gondor declaim you so, when by all rights he should have bent knee to you and swore his allegiance!"
The man shook his head, glancing at the elf out of those dark unfathomable eyes. Wherefore had Legolas ever thought mortal man easy to read? He shivered beneath the deep gaze and wished fervently that he could win back the trust he had lost so unthinking.
"Please, Estel... "
"I cannot trust you who sell my secrets for his pride."
"'Twas no great secret!"
"Still. It was not yours to tell."
Legolas flinched as if struck, shame colored his cheeks. He could feel tears prick hotly at his eyes and he gave a shaky breath, "My friend, my brother, your words cut me. All here but Boromir and the periannath did know you to be Isildur's heir. S-surely no harm will come from words spoken in haste?"
Again, Aragorn shook his head, denying Legolas' words. "You are well past the age to be passion blind, Legolas."
"Is there aught that I could do to gain back that which was so unknowingly destroyed?" He blinked rapidly wishing his voice had sounded much more firm and less fearful.
Aragorn's gaze passed over him, as if reading a hidden passage within a text. When the Man spoke, his voice was dark and calm. "Would you then make amends, Legolas Thranduillion?"
"Of a surety!" Legolas breathed shakily.
Gesturing, Aragorn spoke in the same even voice, "So if you behave in a youthful, passion blind manner, so, too, should your punishment reflect your action. Think you not?"
"I do not understand."
"It is custom among Men, though I think it is unknown among elves, that when a child has committed a breach of etiquette, that he be chastised."
"You wish to strike me?"
"No. I would spank you. Upon your bare bottom, as an undisciplined and unruly child would be taught to watch his tongue."
Unsure that he had heard aright, the young elf took a half step towards the nearest archway, shaking his head in denial. "As you have said, I am beyond the years for such treatment."
Aragorn's cool voice sliced through the rapid pounding of Legolas' heart. "I am disappointed, but it is your choice." The Man pointed, "There, the door. But, do know, that unless the scale is balanced, I would you return to Mirkwood from whence you came, rather than company us to Mordor. There in the Dark Lord's lair we need only those companions that are both stout of heart and trustworthy. Upon each other our lives rely."
Hurt mirrored in Legolas' eyes and another flush stole over his cheeks and he found himself glad of the dimness within these chambers. Though his voice trembled, he faced Aragorn square and proudly, "No need. I will submit."
A strange heat stirred within his body, and Legolas found himself curiously reluctant to meet the Dunédan's stare. He let his gaze dart about the room restlessly, touching briefly upon a half-written parchment upon the desk at the far side, the fluttering curtains, the glimmer of Ithil, each singular flame upon the carved chest and finally again upon the Man sitting stoically waiting for Legolas to move.
"How... " The elf swallowed clearing a throat thick with roiling emotions, "How do you wish to do this thing?"
"You may lay across my lap."
Legolas' eyes flew to Aragorn's impenetrable gaze, then slid away. The elf gave a short, abbreviated nod, and walked, lacking his customary grace, over to the human to stand in uncertainty. As he stood staring down, eyes riveted to Aragorn's lap, he felt as if he stood upon a precipice. Fear stumbled through him at the slow stir of arousal as he contemplated lying across the Ranger's lap. How could he hide this from his friend? The very thought of such closeness stirred his blood. His sex gave a slow throb of anticipation and Legolas shivered.
"Legolas." Aragorn's voice suddenly seemed deeper, huskier, laced with forbidden meaning. "Across."
Guiltily, Legolas knew he was delaying. One glance into the stern face of his friend and he knew that the man was aware of his tactics as well. He could feel the tips of his ears burning and he fluttered his lashes closed to hide the heated gleam that he was sure waited to betray him. He peered at the man through shuttered lashes.
Aragorn sat sternly regarding him. There was no give in that expression, no hint of possible forgiveness. The man's calm demeanor neither demanded nor yielded, simply waiting as a good hunter for his prey to come to him.
Again that slight prod, "Legolas." A statement--not a query. Aragorn was waiting, yet his posture spoke of an ending of patience.
Girding what little dignity he could about himself, Legolas caught and held Aragorn's gaze in a last flare of defiance. Yet there was that within him that was anxious to surrender to the Man. He knew he could never have the soft words of love he longed to hear, nor the feather caress of a lover's touch, yet here, would be something uniquely his.
This memory of closeness between himself and Aragorn could be held against the cold of future despair when the Man and Arwen had become a pairing. This means of patching a broken trust, his penance, would always be his.
Legolas tried to imagine Aragorn demanding the Lady Arwen to lie across his lap and failed. He could no more see Aragorn chastising Elrond's daughter, than he could see Aragorn kissing Sauron. Nor could he conceive of that Lady in so undignified a pose.
Continued in Chapter 2