Title & Chapter Number: Making It Right 17/17
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.
Epilogue
Legolas leaned back against the pillows, his unbound hair spilling over his shoulders in a curtain of blonde light. He did not often sleep in the king's bed; even though the arrangement they had settled upon was more open than would be commonly accepted, none of them wished to cross that particular line. Arwen, however, was visiting her father and brothers, and in her absence the left side was his side. Time had softened many of the rough edges, but some things were immutable. The bed belonged to Aragorn, and Arwen was his queen. If she slept under the palace's roof she did so in the royal bedchamber.
It had been awkward at first, could still be awkward at times. At the outset Legolas had required much of Aragorn's attention, had needed his closeness and warmth to hold his weakened spirit within his body. Only during that time had he shared Aragorn's bed in Arwen's presence, and sometimes it had seemed to him that his soul was butterfly fragile, beating its wings against the bars of a cage. He had felt Aragorn's love and concern, had felt Arwen's worry through Aragorn. He had also felt Aragorn's shame, had seen through his outward placidity to a deeper place where his human instincts told him to expect Arwen's anger, outrage, scorn.
Legolas supposed he owed his present condition as much to her as to Aragorn. Without her steadying influence and support, the man would have caved in under this onslaught of confused and often conflicting feelings. Arwen had been there, though, refusing to be shut out, refusing to allow Aragorn's misguided attempts to protect her. It seemed to Legolas that though Aragorn could sense their emotions as easily as they could sense his, he often refused to believe what he felt. Arwen had the patience that Legolas lacked, however, and she had the ability to make Aragorn talk.
And talk they had, until Legolas had been sick of talking, utterly tired of talking, ready to threaten the both of them with his knives if the talking didn't cease. They talked until finally Legolas had enough and began taking himself to the archery range more and more to get away from it, taking trips out of the city, visiting Imladris, even travelling all the way to Mirkwood on a couple of occasions. Always he circled back, always pulled back by the strength of a bond that was slowly becoming something warm and comfortable rather than fearful and constraining. With each return it seemed that the three of them talked about other things more and more, and after a while his travels became simple escapes from the city rather than escapes from the two people he loved.
His official title was Royal Advisor and he also served in an ambassadorial role. His father was not particularly happy with this, but Thranduil had understood it as only another elf could. His son had not chosen for this to happen, and now the time for choices was behind him. He could no more deny Legolas than he could cut off his own arm. Legolas had no illusions concerning any future royal visits to Gondor, but he knew he would always be welcomed in his home.
As for Aragorn's human subjects, if they knew they chose not to comment on it. Aragorn had announced Arwen's conception immediately after she had told him of it. She said the child was a boy, and once the heir was produced the human populace would not concern themselves overtly with the king's personal life so long as he was discreet. And they were discreet; there was no frolicking in the gardens, no orgiastic parties or drunken groping in corridors. At times it disappointed Legolas that he and Aragorn could never be as open in their affection as Aragorn and Arwen could be, but it was a limitation he had learned to accept.
"Are you glad you stayed, Legolas?" Aragorn whispered into his ear, and the elf shivered pleasantly, rolled onto his side and into the man's arms. The pillowcase had been laundered, and he'd slept on it for a week, but still it seemed to him that he could smell the faint scent of perfume.
"Aye, Estel." He replied, offering his lips for a kiss. "I could not live without you."
The End
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