Title & Chapter Number: Making It Right 3/17
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these settings or characters, and am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story.
Warnings: Violence, graphic imagery, incomplete non-con, explicit sex between man and elf
Betas: None
Cast: Aragorn/Legolas
Timeline: FotR AU
Spoilers: RoTK (Always assuming I have my facts in order.)
Summary: The call of the ring arouses dark desires in Aragorn's soul. How will he bridge the gap he has created once released from the ring's power?
Notes: I have read through the first two LoTR books and scanned the last, and I have reached the conclusion that my favorite boys had neither the time nor the inclination to be getting up to nastiness in the wilderness. To facilitate the writing of this tale, I have taken certain liberties in order to make the aforementioned nastiness possible. I was rather lazy about my research of RoTK, so please excuse any glaring errors I might have made. For those of you who are unabashedly reading for the sex, the NC-17 stuff is in the last chapter. There are really nasty, dirty thoughts in chapter one, and the second chapter has the non con stuff. This is my first attempt at fan fiction writing; any feedback would be helpful.
The battle at Amon Hen brought an end to one form of hell and gave him another. With the departure of the Ring Bearer, the dark thoughts and imaginings that had tormented Aragorn ceased. Now came the shameful guilt. He had been relieved to see Frodo leaving, even knowing what he and Sam were walking into. Desperately, shamefully relieved to see the Ring leaving, and never mind why or how. Even his grief for Boromir had been sullied by the Ring. He had shed tears for the man who had been his comrade in arms, but those tears had dried quickly. His elation at the clearing of his inner darkness knew nothing of grief, nothing of care or concern. The river had taken Boromir, had taken his tears, and then that part of this hideous quest had disappeared. Goodbye, Boromir. I wish I could have known you better, but I was too busy thinking about the elf.
At least there was little time to dwell upon it. Merry and Pippin were in the hands of the Uruk-Hai, and Aragorn was intent upon their rescue. There would be no distractions, and as little rest as possible until they had found them. He ran with dogged determination, eyes trained on the trail the orcs had left. Nothing would escape his attention, and he would not think of Legolas running lightly beside or ahead of him, of how the sun played in Legolas's hair or the way his long legs covered the ground in easy, elegant strides.
When nightfall came in the Plains of Rohan, they were forced to make camp. The dwarf could not bear the pace set by the man and elf any longer, and though Aragorn would not admit it he had been pressed to his limit as well. Only Legolas seemed prepared to continue their run. The elf stood to one side, arms crossed over his chest and face expressionless as he stated that he would prefer to go on. Aragorn had been sorely tempted to agree in spite of his fatigue, but one look at Gimli's exhausted face decided him. Man and dwarf slumped to the ground, and within minutes Gimli was asleep and snoring.
Aragorn lay awake, staring skywards. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Legolas sitting cross legged on a low, flat stone. He might as well have been an alabaster statue, motionless, seemingly peaceful. Aragorn sighed softly, and when he spoke his voice was low and indefinably hoarse.
"We need to talk."
"About what, Estel?" Calm, deceptively serene. A faint breeze ruffled his hair, disturbing the vision of stillness.
"This cannot go on between us. We were friends." The ranger paused, reconsidering. "Could have been friends. How can I make this up to you?" Closing his eyes he licked his lips. "I need to make this up to you."
Now he had the elf's full attention. When he opened his eyes he found Legolas's azure gaze fixed upon him, his expression distant yet oddly curious.
"'Twas not of your choice or will. I know this, and I put it behind me."
"You cannot put such a thing behind you. I do not believe it." Aragorn's jaw clenched. "Or do you mean that you have attributed this to the inherent weakness of men? After all, 'twas the men of the company who succumbed..."
"I did not say that, Estel." Soft, barely above a whisper. "Why do you need to make this up to me, as you say?"
Aragorn's mind went blank. He turned his gaze back to the stars, searching inside of himself for words. Saw the sun shining in Legolas's hair, saw the muscles of his arms tightening and releasing as he fired arrow after arrow into the orcish hordes. Saw Legolas smile, saw him grin, saw his eyes grow dark with merriment or narrow in impishness. Saw his knives dance with deadly grace, saw him standing, bow in hand, over the dead cave troll in Moria.
"Because I cannot bear it that I hurt you."
Silence spun out between them. Legolas moved restlessly, and Aragorn glanced towards him, surprised. The elf's face gave away nothing; he bowed his head slightly, veiling his face in his hair.
"Because, if I were to touch you - if you were mine to touch -I would do so with all reverence and gentleness. Not like a beast, a brute, an animal." Barely audible.
Legolas hissed in a breath, glancing up at the human sharply. No words, no thoughts came to him. Schooling himself to stillness he waited for some response to rise within him, but none surfaced. The tip of his tongue darted out to lightly touch his lips. The man shifted under his cloak, not looking at him.
"Good night, Legolas." Closing his eyes, the ranger turned away, feigning sleep.
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