Title & Chapter Number: Making It Right 5/17
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 ride to Helm's Deep was made with all speed, and the heaviness of incipient combat cloaked the riders in dark anticipation. The return of Mithrandir had lightened their spirits, as had the knowledge of the hobbit's escape from the Uruk-Hai. Saruman's spell had been lifted from Theoden, and Grima had been allowed to slink back to his master. The Rohirrim were more than ready to fight, the memory of their bespelled king still heavy upon them. The men of the Mark desired vengeance and victory; they were men of action who had been forced to idleness for far too long. Sorcery and steel held no fear for them at the moment.
Legolas rode at the front of the company beside Aragorn. The two had not spoken of personal matters since their first night on the Plains of Rohan; they hadn't had the time or inclination to. Legolas darted a glance at the man riding beside him. Oblivious, Aragorn continued his conversation with Eomer, gesticulating to make a particularly trenchant point.
The elf had been grudgingly impressed at their first encounter with Eomer. Surrounded by armed and armored horsemen, Aragorn had not so much as flinched. Even when Eomer's spear had held steady within an inch of his chest, he had held the mounted man's gaze with a nobility that denied the shadows Legolas had so frequently seen in the ranger's eyes.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dunadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!"
Legolas had felt a dazed wonder at those words, and an unexplainable joy. In that moment it seemed that Aragorn might take on all the Riders of the Mark and rise as victor if this Eomer chose wrongly, that Aragorn had become for this instant more than what he was in and of himself. It was as if he were seeing the very opposite of the Ring's seduction; here was the hand of something higher and greater than the Ring of Sauron wearing this mortal man like a glove.
Eomer felt it too, Legolas could see. The balance of power shifted though the Rohirrim outnumbered them many times over. Palaver was held, and the three of them were given horses to aide them in their quest. Eomer spoke to the ranger as if he were already King of Men, and Aragorn accepted the honor paid him as easily and self confidently as if it were only his due. There was no haughtiness in his behavior, no arrogance or egotism. It was nothing more than the grace of a man who is a leader of men.
In the hall of King Theoden Gandalf held sway, but still Aragorn bore the mien of an equal before Theoden rather than that of a supplicant. He spoke forthrightly, persuading Theoden with words of simple truthfulness. There was none of the slippery flattery of a courtier's discourse in what he had to say, and Theoden listened with grave consideration. The men of the Mark prepared for the march, and for battle.
Listening to the steady cadence of the men's conversation, Legolas struggled with his confusion. Why should the affairs of men matter to him? What difference did it make that Aragorn would be a king among them, or how he was perceived by others of his kind? The elves were eternal, immortal. The most ancient, unbroken line among men could not compare to the life time of a single elf. He himself had seen nearly three thousand years, and in that time kings of men had risen and fallen hundreds of times over. The supreme title, King of Men, spoken in reverence by the humans was but a trifling thing to the elves. How long had Galadriel been Lady of The Wood? How long had his own father borne the title of King? Elrond Half-Elven could have told the Heir of Isildur Elendil's son precisely what Isildur the Long Dead had been like.
Still, he could not deny the thrill that went through him, the strong surge of loyalty and trust that welled in him at these demonstrations of Aragorn's will. Those feelings mixed sickeningly with the knot in his stomach, the memory of harsh hands and degrading words. The memory of stillness and tender words. I will cover you with me, make you smell of me, smell of man... I would touch you with all reverence... Will you aide me, or thwart me? Legolas shuddered, knowing the only answer he could give to that last question. There was more at work here than the decisions and choices of one man could account for. The power of the Ring had taken the man, now some other power had taken him. Legolas feared that in the end he would be taken as well.
He had hoped some of the tension would subside with the presence of the woman, Eowyn. The Lady of Rohan was lovely by human standards, and she was no docile beauty swooning and fainting prettily at the mention of violence. Eowyn was a warrior like unto Aragorn, and as Aragorn fought his destiny as king, Eowyn fought the destiny that awaited all womankind. She would make an excellent partner for the ranger, a woman of spirit and power who could match him in every way. For his part, Aragorn would not stifle the fire that dwelt within her soul.
Eowyn had been fairly obvious in her interest in the man, but Aragorn had shown her nothing but polite courtesy. The Evenstar pendant he had previously worn close to his skin had materialized over his tunic at some point during the meal in the king's hall, and Eowyn's gentle flirting had subsided. Legolas had felt his stomach clench at the sight, his confusion mounting. The lovely Arwen's pendant on the man's chest, the careful distance he kept from the human woman, the words: I would touch you with all reverence. He had not touched him with reverence, however, and he had spared no thought for the Evenstar then.
He had not had thoughts like these about the ranger before Lothlorien. He did not want to be having these thoughts now. Not about a man, certainly not about a man promised to the Princess Arwen. He could see a war being waged inside of Aragorn, and guessed that the man was not feeling so differently from himself. On Aragorn's face he could read shame and regret, desire and tenderness. What expression did his own face wear on those occasions? Anger? Fright? Shame? Want? Wanting to know what it would feel like to have those rough hands touch him gently, slowly, with care and love?
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