Making It Right 2

Making It Right

Part 2

Posted: April 2003
Title: Making It Right
Author's Name: Kharessa Bloodrose

*****

Peace was not to be found in Lothlorien. Only in the presence of the Lady of the Wood had Aragorn felt any relief, and though she had looked upon him in compassion she had spoken no word to him. His heart had urged him to speak to her of his burden, but the shame within him refused to even consider it.

Now, in the peace and stillness of the elven retreat, Aragorn saw how Legolas could be his. The answer was so obvious, so stunningly clear that he did not know how he had failed to notice it before. He had been wrong to stifle his dreams, wrong to push them away from him. All he needed was the Ring, only for a time, not in any way that would interfere with their quest. Surely Frodo would allow him to… borrow it. To hold it, to show it to Legolas. How could the elf not admire a man in possession of such a treasure, a man who could hold that power in his hands? He would show it to Legolas, and the elf would then see him as a king. There would be no need for brutality then, for Legolas would willingly lay down in the dirt, kneel, hold out his wrists for the ropes or steel bracelets. He would let Aragorn do whatsoever he wished with him.

Aragorn rose to his feet, decision made. With purposeful strides he set out for the pavilion the fellowship had been given for their rest, intent upon confronting the hobbit. The sound of light, tinkling laughter distracted him, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder. A pair of elves, male and female, stood by a gushing fountain, hands linked. Though nearly hidden by the foliage surrounding their retreat, Aragorn saw their lips meet in a gentle kiss. Heat flared within the man as he watched, as the two graced each other with light, chaste touches. Suddenly he wanted, no, needed Legolas. The Ring could wait a little longer yet, and in the end it would make no difference.

After their first night's stay in Lothlorien, Legolas had not spent his nights with the fellowship. Aragorn sought out his rooms with the panther-like stride of a hunter moving in on its prey. Trees and streams and fountains passed him by in a blur, and he stalked up the stairways of the tree city like a man possessed. He knew that Legolas would be waiting for him, knew it in some primal, instinctive way that he could not name. He did not care to name it, to identify the source of his feelings. There was only himself and Legolas, the two of them enmeshed in this unspeakable game that had started in Moria. The elf knew, dammit, he knew. And now he would give what he had taunted and teased the ranger with for so long.

He found the elf in the sitting room connected to his bedchamber, back turned, perusing a shelf of books. Legolas turned his head, the beginnings of an uncertain smile curving his lips before he was spun to face the ranger fully, his wrists captured in a steel grip behind his back. Small bones ground in protest, and Legolas bit back a surprised cry.

"What do you mean by this, Aragorn?" Voice calm, steady. The blue eyes that met Aragorn's were as placid as deep water on a still day. The body in his grip did not move, but it was not the motionlessness of submission. It was a waiting stillness, a tense stillness, a stillness that spoke of incipient action.

"As if you do not know." Mouth pressing, demanding, pushing. Legolas gasped in stunned astonishment, and Aragorn thrust his tongue between the suddenly flaccid lips. Now the elf was moving, wrenching backwards, straining his body into an arc that Aragorn moved to conform with. His erection brushed against the struggling elf through layers of constricting clothing, and Aragorn moaned into his mouth. Tasting, exploring, conquering. The ranger knotted his free hand in Legolas' hair, holding the archer's head still for the forcible kiss.

"Too good for this, are you?" The ranger hissed into a pointed ear, flicking out his tongue to lap wantonly at the smooth skin. "Tease and taunt, and all the while think yourself too good for me. Too good for a king." He bit down hard on the sensitive skin of Legolas' neck, tasting blood. The body pressed to him shuddered, but made no sound. "Where's your pride now?"

"Stop this insanity, Estel. Do not make me defend myself against you." Was there a slight tremble in those words? Aragorn was not sure, but he thought there might have been. Snickering softly, he stepped to one side and swung a booted foot to the back of Legolas' knees, dropping his captive to the floor.

Aragorn twisted Legolas' wrists more tightly together and upward, drawing the elf into a pained bow. Azure eyes clamped shut and lips compressed as the ranger fumbled at the elf's leggings, groping and fondling as he worked the laces one handed.

"I'm going to cover you with me, Legolas, fill you with my essence. When I'm done with you you're going to smell like man, smell like me. Covered in sweat and filth, my seed dripping from your body. You'll never wash me off of you, you'll never imagine yourself above me again."

Panic shot through Legolas at the man's words, and he bucked backwards frantically. Agony flared through his shoulders as they were strained almost to the breaking point. For the briefest of moments the grip on his wrists loosened, and the archer twisted from the ranger's grasp. A cry of pain escaped his lips as he spun to face the man, but he ignored the feeling of pins and needles in his upper arms. Lashing out with the skill and frightening speed of an elven warrior, he caught the kneeling man in the stomach with a well aimed kick. A blow to the jaw followed, and Aragorn found himself laying supine on the floor, gasping for breath. Legolas stood over him in a fighter's crouch, hands poised before him.

Aragorn curled into a ball, guts knotting, struggling against the need to empty his stomach. There was not enough air to breathe, and what little there was seemed to be made of fire. He hitched in a breath, gagged, and battled with his gorge. Glaring upwards through slitted eyes he could see Legolas, flushed and wild eyed. The elf stepped fluidly backwards as Aragorn dragged himself back up to his knees, and as after Moria, the look on Legolas' face was what brought Aragorn back to rationality.

"Ah, gods…." The man groaned, eyes closing in pain and self loathing. "I am so sorry, Legolas… I do not know what comes over me." Not wanting to look into the archer's face, he covered his face with his hands. "I am going insane."

"'Tis not insanity, Estel, but the call of the One Ring." Calm trying to reassert itself, but failing. The elf's voice jagged over the words. "You should go."

"Aye…" The man staggered to his feet, stealing a glance at his comrade. The elf had retreated to the far side of the room, his posture non-aggressive but clearly ready to defend himself. "Legolas… I did not mean that…. You know ‘twas not me?" His words trailed off. Legolas nodded curtly.

"I know, Estel, and it is alright. I will not abandon the fellowship." A slight pause in which he appeared to be searching unsuccessfully for words. "Please go." Almost a whisper.

Aragorn nodded, eyes on the floor. He left the room without looking back.

*****

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