Title & Chapter Number: The Hand of the King 18-21/46
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Dalo's Archive
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien.
Warnings: Slash (duh), Angst. Homosexual relationships and acts. Nothing kinky, but definitely down and dirty at times (we're talkin' NC-17, folks). You gotta problem wit dat? Here's a tip: DON'T READ IT!!!
Betas: Elfscribe (Luv ya!)
Cast: Legolas/Aragorn/Boromir/A surprise
Timeline: January 17-20, 3019 Third Age
Spoilers: None
Summary: While recovering from Moria in Lothlórien, the Fellowship discovers a mysterious phenomenon that could threaten the future of all.
Notes: Dedication: "The Hand of the King" was written as an expression of love for my partner, Jon, who at times is my Legolas, and other times my Aragorn. Gerich veleth nín, Jonathan. Thank you for loving me so completely. "My heart will be yours until the end of time."
Chapter 18
Legolas watched unaffected as Boromir emptied his load over his hand.
He had watched Boromir in curiosity, but had not become aroused in any way. The Gondorian was not unattractive, but his churlish personality tainted what small measure of allure he possessed. Legolas did not care for Boromir very much. In fact, he wasn't at all convinced that the Gondorian could be trusted.
He wondered if the object of Boromir's fantasy had been Aragorn. It was a logical conclusion, considering he had just been eavesdropping on Aragorn and Sam. Unless he favored the hobbit.
No, that was highly improbable. Boromir seemed to hold the opinion that Man was the superior race, and other inhabitants of Middle Earth should acknowledge that without question. That he should desire a hobbit was simply not a reasonable possibility.
It *was* reasonable, however, to conclude that Boromir was attracted to Aragorn.
So the assumption that Boromir desired Aragorn begged another question. How far would he go to possess him? Legolas was concerned that Boromir might try to force himself on the ranger.
This wouldn't do. He pondered what to do as he watched the man below him wipe his hands on the grass and then refasten his breeches.
No, this wouldn't do at all.
Legolas watched as Boromir pulled himself to his feet and retreated in the direction of the city.
As soon as he was out of sight, Legolas dropped to the ground and began to run. He circled around Boromir and reached the white bridge before him. He proceeded into the city and nearly ran into Haldir.
"Legolas! How fare you this morning?"
"Haldir. I need your assistance."
"Tell me your need."
"I need you to recruit Boromir, the Gondorian, to patrol the northern borders."
"I hope you'll share your reasons with me at some point, but your need is obviously urgent."
"He follows but a few moments behind me."
"Consider it done. Will you be joining us, Good Prince?"
"Indeed I will. But for now, I must go to make preparations. Do not accept "no" for an answer from Boromir. This is very important."
"Go, Legolas. I will deal with the Gondorian when he arrives. We leave for Cerin Amroth within the hour."
"I look forward to the journey. I have need to speak to you about last night."
"I had hoped to hear that tale. I just encountered -"
"Yes, but not now," Legolas interrupted. "I will meet you at Cerin Amroth. My thanks again, Haldir. I will not forget your kindness."
"What I am able to give, I give freely, Good Prince. Now go."
Legolas retreated further into the city. He had one more person to talk to before he left.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 19
As he walked back to the city of the elves, if one could call a bunch of trees a 'city', Boromir's spirit felt lighter than it had in years. The seed of hope had been planted and was now taking root. Ever since that summer at Everholt 15 years ago, Boromir had been haunted by the love of a handsome young man from Rohan, which weighed on his heart like a sinkstone.
But he had discovered the magnificence of the male form five years before that fateful summer, on the occasion of his twenty-first birthday.
He had been nursing a hangover when he had gone in search of his baby brother, Faramir, at his father's behest. His search had led him to the stables.
Noises in the loft had lured him up the ladder to peer into the shadows. He had been able to discern a couple in a passionate embrace. They lay kissing on a bed of straw as the young man thrust away at his lover beneath him, whose legs were locked around his waist. Boromir had recognized the man. He was from Rohan and served as one of their grooms. The Rohir's blonde hair was matted against his sweaty shoulders. Veins strained against the skin stretched across the man's chest and biceps as he held his lover's ankles, stretching the legs wide. The hairless torso glistened with sweat, the washboard stomach muscles flexing and rolling as he pounded away, grunting with every thrust. The sight of the strong masculine body in the throes of passion had a profound and troubling effect on Boromir.
He had become aroused himself.
It was then that Boromir had caught a glimpse of the face of the Rohir's partner to discover that it was . . . .
Faramir!!!
Boromir had fled the scene, determined to prevent his brother from disgracing the honor of their family's name.
He had succeeded. The degenerate horse lover had been expelled within the hour.
But that man had never left Minas Tirith entirely. For the next five years, he had remained as a figment of Boromir's dreams and fantasies.
Boromir emerged from the trees onto the stone path to see Sam the hobbit approaching the white bridge to his right. Not wishing any company right now, Boromir walked in the opposite direction, following the path around to the northern point of the city. He encountered no one on the path and continued east although the path turned due north. He had wished to explore the city's surroundings and took this opportunity for some time away from his companions.
The air was clear and refreshing, with the perfume of flowers scenting the breeze blowing across his face. As much as he hated to admit it, the forest was very peaceful. It was those cursed elves that made him uneasy. So superior, so smug. He felt judgment in their eyes. Who were they to judge *him*? He was the eldest son of the Steward of Gondor, the commander of Gondor's army, and a member of the Fellowship of the Ring. They could take their judgment and go to Mordor for all he cared. Let them leave Middle Earth for their 'Grey Havens', and good riddance.
As he walked, he remembered his brother's reaction to the news of the Rohir's banishment. Faramir had not spoken to him for two months after that. And when they finally resumed conversation, it was as a neighbor might discuss the weather. There was a coldness between them from that day on for years, and Boromir genuinely regretted that. But it had been for Faramir's own good. Or so he had thought at the time.
He eventually came upon a stream that ran from the wall of the city on his right into the forest on his left. He decided to follow the stream southeast.
The five years following his discovery of Faramir's secret as well as his own were spent successfully avoiding any circumstance in which his composure could be compromised. He never allowed himself to look upon any male with passion. But in the privacy of his locked bedroom, he found release in the muscular arms of many a fantasy man. It was a dream he had thought never to be fulfilled.
His father had become increasingly more concerned about the lengthening shadows of Mordor, and began to obsess on making preparations for an attack from the east. Many meetings and conferences were held to strategize and coordinate the protection of their lands. One such meeting took Boromir to Firienwood, which bridged the lands of Gondor and the Eastfold at the base of Ered Nimrais. There he had met Théodred, prince of Rohan.
Théodred had stolen Boromir's heart in the moment they met.
Boromir had resisted at first, unsettled but intrigued by the handsome prince's flirtations. But a mysteriously strong wine had soothed Boromir's heart as well as his nerves, and he had ultimately surrendered to Théodred's considerable charms.
What a fool I was, thought Boromir, shaking the memory of that passionate night together from his head.
He had followed the stream to its end and now emerged on the banks of the Anduin. The afternoon sun shone over his shoulder, throwing his shadow down the bank in front of him. The stream emptied into the river on his right by passing over and around a gauntlet of boulders before pouring over the edge of the embankment in a misty waterfall.
The sound of the rushing water called to him and Boromir walked to spot where water met rock. He climbed up on a large boulder facing the river. The trees provided shade, creating a stark contrast against the bright sunlight hitting the eastern bank.
He was beginning to understand what the others had been saying about Lothlórien. He wondered if the healing that began that night at Everholt would be completed here.
For a moment, Boromir wondered what his companions were doing. He found to his surprise that he missed their company.
More to the point, he missed Aragorn.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 20
Aragorn sat on a boulder, his feet dangling in the cool water of the pool. The afternoon and his stomach were both full.
By the time he had returned to the pavilion, breakfast had been cleared and an early lunch was being served, much to the hobbits' delight.
Upon arriving, he had immediately questioned them about Haldir's claim that Legolas had already left for the northern borders. His heart sank at the confirmation of the elf's words. He needed to see Legolas. Not just desired, but *needed* to see him.
He had thought about following him to Cerin Amroth, but was uncertain as to how he would find him. He knew the lay of Lothlórien well, but Legolas could be anywhere in the Naith or west of the Celebrant.
Frodo had certainly discouraged him. The sweet, strong hobbit had a manner that made one take heed, regardless of the distraction. Aragorn had been moved by Frodo's plea, and abandoned thoughts of following Legolas. The elf had left word that he would return in two days' time. The ranger's questions could wait that long. They would have to. He had no choice.
Frodo had taken his hand and led him to join them at the incredible banquet presented for their midday repast. He ate his fill, and allowed himself to enjoy the company of his remaining companions.
The four hobbits were a joy. They had the uncanny ability to forget the tragedy and threats of impending doom that hung over Middle Earth like a shadow and enjoy the simple joys of a fine meal with friends. Perhaps their role was to keep the race of Man from becoming overly serious and self-absorbed.
Sam was one of the kindest and gentlest souls Aragorn had ever encountered, but he had also witnessed the ferocity of Sam's loyalty to Frodo. And Frodo himself possessed the strength of the heroes Aragorn had learned about in story and song. Though his own elvish name meant 'hope', it was Frodo the Ringbearer that carried the hope of all Middle Earth in his heart. Aragorn felt humbled to sit next to the great hero beside him. Merry and Pippin filled Aragorn's heart with laughter. They appeared to be two halves of one whole, sensing the other's mood and finishing each other's sentences. That is, of course, when they were not bickering about some minute point of interest.
Gimli the dwarf was as solid as a rock; a formidable ally in combat and loyal friend in need. Aragorn was quite impressed by Gimli's willingness to release the hostility of his race towards the elvenfolk he encountered. Gimli's friendship with Legolas had most definitely impacted the dwarf's preconceptions, and their encounter with the Lady Galadriel had apparently eliminated any distrust of her motives. Gimli was smitten with love for the Lady of Lórien, pure of heart with no impurities to sully the magnitude of his affection. And though it was not like the love Aragorn felt for Arwen, and now Legolas, no truer love could be found.
Nobody knew exactly where Boromir had gone. He was apparently on a scouting mission of some sort. Aragorn was somewhat concerned. Not so much that Boromir could do anything to harm Lothlórien, but rather that Lothlórien could possibly harm Boromir should he make an imprudent and impulsive decision. He momentarily considered going in search of his kinsman, but abandoned that thought as well. Boromir was the Commander of the army of Gondor. One would hope that he could take care of himself. Besides, like Legolas, Aragorn had no idea of where to begin looking for the man. So he ate his fill of the food and shared song and story with the hobbits, then took his leave, explaining he needed some time to himself. They all wished him well and bid him return for dinner. He assured them he would and left the pavilion.
Without realizing where he was walking, he had retraced his steps to the clearing where he and Legolas had shared . . ., what, exactly? He was still uncertain as to what had occurred last night. He remembered the events clearly now, but the import of those events still eluded him.
When he entered the clearing, he immediately noticed that all traces of their night together had been erased. All save his own clothes, folded by the pool. As he sat on the boulder where their clothes had dried that morning, he began to replay the night's events in his mind.
~*~*~*~
As he slowly walked into the pool, Boromir's words continued their litany.
It is long since we've had any hope.
When he reached the center of the pool, he submerged himself and then stood up, running his fingers through his hair. He stopped with his hands locked behind his neck.
It is long since we've had any hope.
His arms slowly dropped to his sides as he stared into space.
"Aragorn?" He heard his name, but did not have the energy to be alarmed. "Aragorn," the voice repeated.
He looked up to discover Legolas standing a few feet away from him in the water. He looked into the elf's eyes and found a well of compassion he was not expecting. His wall began to crumble. A gasp of panic escaped him as his defenses began to give way. He gritted his teeth and fought to maintain his resolve. He clenched his fists and struggled to keep from trembling.
The elf watched him with an expression of sadness on his face, his head tilted to one side, as if imploring Aragorn to release his grief. A choked sob managed to break through, and then the dam gave way. The tears flowed, trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard.
Legolas stepped toward him and embraced him tightly. He wrapped his arms around the elf's torso, clinging to him as a drowning man will cling to driftwood. Legolas held him as he surrendered completely to his emotions, burying his face in the elf's neck. In a dark corner of his mind, it registered that the handsome elf was naked, . . . .
. . . and that awareness grew until all other thoughts and emotions were pushed aside.
He gathered his composure and pulled away from Legolas, holding the elf at arm's length so he could look at him.
"You look terrible," the elf commented with a smile. The long, silky blonde hair tumbled loosely around the elf's shoulders, the tips of his ears barely visible. His eyes were deep and soulful, and Aragorn felt he could happily spend the rest of his life gazing into them. The elf's lips were strong and full, and Aragorn could not contain his desire any longer. He moved in, tilting his head slightly to one side and lightly kissed those lips. He didn't pull away, but remained in that position, their lips all but touching. He lightly kissed Legolas again.
This time Legolas was apparently not content with such a chaste kiss, for he placed his hand behind Aragorn's neck and pulled him into a kiss that set the ranger's soul ablaze. The passion rose as they kissed, their mouths parted, tongues exploring and caressing each other in a fervor that grew with each passing heartbeat.
Legolas broke the kiss and looked into Aragorn's eyes. The love shone from the elf like a star in the night sky above them. They each threw their arms around the other and embraced tightly, as if they both wished to merge into one being.
Aragorn felt Legolas pull away only slightly, and then felt the elf's lips on his neck. Fireworks exploded in his loins and he felt the need to remove the rest of his clothing. He reached down and began to loosen the fastenings, but Legolas stopped him.
"Allow me," he said, hands sliding down Aragorn's back and around his waist. The elf's nimble fingers had the fastenings loosened in the blink of an eye. His hands grabbed each side of Aragorn's breeches, and slowly pulled them down. He crouched down in the water in front of Aragorn to allow the ranger to remove first one foot and then the other from the wet clothing. His face was at the level of Aragorn's stomach, and he leaned in to kiss the wet skin. The elf moved up Aragorn's torso, his lips pressing against the man's body as if he wished to draw the man's soul through his skin. He tossed the man's breeches onto the boulder at the side of the pool, and placed a hand on each side of Aragorn's torso to steady the man's body while he covered the ranger's chest with a thousand sweet kisses. He would take strands of Aragorn's chest hair between his teeth, tugging gently, then licking and kissing.
As the talented tongue worked its way up his neck, Aragorn could feel the elf's erection brushing against his own, sending tremors through his body. Legolas pulled away and smiled at the ranger's reaction. "Is this your first time?" he asked.
"Yes," Aragorn answered.
"Are you nervous?" asked the elf.
"Were it anyone but you, Legolas, I would be. But you fill me with such comfort and peace that I fear nothing at this moment." Aragorn placed first one hand on the elf's chest, and then the other. He was no longer looking at the elf's face, but rather at the sculpted beauty of his torso. Skin smooth as finely polished stone, without any trace of body hair. Aragorn ran his thumbs over the firm nipples, sending tremors through the elf's body this time. His hands continued to explore the hard body.
Legolas took hold of his hand and led him out of the pool. The elf spread the ranger's cloak on the ground, and then gestured for him to sit down. He did so. Legolas knelt in between his legs and moved in to kiss Aragorn again, his hands on both sides of the man's head, fingers entwined in the wet locks. Their tongues danced as Legolas pushed Aragorn onto his back, the elf lying on top of him. Aragorn wrapped his arms around the elf and embraced him tightly.
They lay there, locked in embrace, their mouths drinking in the taste of each other for what seemed like hours. Aragorn felt he would never tire of kissing the handsome elf. After a time, however, Legolas pressed his hands on the ground on either side of Aragorn's head, then rearranged his legs so he was straddling the man's waist. He straightened up, and Aragorn uttered a small groan of astonishment at the beauty of the elf above him. Legolas was pulling his hair back away from his face, and Aragorn watched the elf's upper arms flex with a desire that was making him dizzy. He reached up and placed his hands on the elf's chest again, continuing his exploration of the exquisite body. He worked his way down the torso and along the elf's thighs. Legolas trembled as he lightly traced his fingers along the elf's erection. The elf began to move his hips as if to thrust himself into Aragorn's hand. The man felt his own erection rubbing against the elf's backside, and he began to tremble as well.
Legolas was looking down at him, his eyes smoldering with desire, his lips swollen and parted in a seductive smile. The elf placed his own hands on Aragorn's torso, exploring the man's chest and shoulders, playing with the man's chest hair.
Legolas leaned over and kissed Aragorn with a soft passion that fanned the flames already raging in the man's loins. The elf pulled away and asked him, "Are you certain you wish to continue?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "Make love to me, Legolas."
"As you wish," the elf replied, his eyes flashing with desire.
~*~*~*~
Aragorn had laid back on the rock and reached inside his breeches to stroke his erection as he fantasized about the beautiful elf. His hand moved up and down the steel hard shaft as the Legolas in his mind made love to him.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 21
Legolas arrived at Cerin Amroth shortly before sunset. As he entered the wide clearing, he heard his name being called. He followed the sound to find Rúmil waving to him from the flet high up in the mallorn at the top of the mound. Legolas waved back, and then Rúmil disappeared, only to reemerge descending the ladder to the ground. Legolas waited for the Lórien elf at the foot of the mound.
"Well met, Prince Legolas," greeted Rúmil.
Legolas flinched inwardly. The title of 'Prince' was beginning to sound haughty and supercilious to his ears.
"Greetings, Rúmil. What news of the invading orcs?"
"Haldir even now goes to the confluence of the Nimrodel and the Celebrant. He instructed me to wait for you and to ask you to bring your bow as quickly as you are able."
"Then lead on, good Rúmil. My bow is pledged to the protection of Lothlórien."
Rúmil nodded, then turned to the west. Their progress would be slower by night, but they had no other choice.
As they walked, Legolas wondered how Boromir was faring, fighting alongside a host of elves. He sincerely hoped that he had not put the Gondorian in harm's way, but something deep inside told him that it was vitally important to keep Aragorn protected from Boromir's lewd advances. Legolas was happy to know that his beloved would be safe in Caras Galadhon with the rest of the Fellowship.
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