It was a night that held no end.
Legolas stood upon the Deeping Wall and cast tired eyes upon a living sea of Orcs. So like a sea, he thought grimly, in how the nightmare horde swept up against the Wall, fell back, defeated, but returned yet again without a lessening of their strength. Legolas looked back over his shoulder at the Men of Rohan, at their exhaustion and lack of ammunition, and frowned. On one side the sea, the other, a wasteland.
It was many hours into the seige and no respite was in sight. Orc and men fell screaming to the base of the Wall as each assault was angrily repelled. But each attack, he saw, was being turned away with greater and greater effort. The end would come soon...Their situation fared poorly.
Legolas ran to the bodies of arrow-shot Orcs who had made it to the top before their demise. Long ago had he run out of arrows. Necessity now forced him to be merciless. Bracing his foot on the flesh of the dead or dying, he yanked free the arrows he needed, drawing them swiftly upon his bow so they would plant themselves in Orc flesh once more.
Men of Rohan tumbled beside him, felled by rocks and Orc arrows. Their bodies slipped over the battlements before Legolas and the others could reach them, swallowed up by the churning, teeming horde. More bodies piled against the very stones of the Wall. So many had heaped there that Orcs were now scaling the dead to reach the top.
Legolas found himself beset by Orcs on all sides. Without arrow at hand, he rammed the sharp end of his bow into an Orc's eye. As that one wheeled away, screaming, Legolas slashed out with the only weapon left to him -- his long blade. He swung it like a scythe, mowing down Orcs in a whirlwind of black blood. He felt his face bathed in heat, changed grip with hands that were dangerously slick.
He did not see. He did not breathe. He existed only to kill. As body after body fell sightless to his slashing blade, only the roaring of his heart in his chest told him he had not, in fact, perished and been sent to a nightmarish netherworld in punishment.
He broke free of the Orcs at last, kicking the last one over the Wall to knock off two others who would have taken its place. Breathing heavily, Legolas pushed back his blood-darkened hair and tried to still the lust that heightened his every sense to near painful acuity. To his Elven senses, anguish and hatred hung thick in the air like a fog. It made his stomach churn with unending nausea. He knew that tears mingled with the sweat and gore on his cheeks. He wished, so fervently, for this to be over.
"Anduril! Anduril!" He heard the cry as though from leagues away. But when he turned, he saw the shining flame of Aragorn's sword well enough through the darkness. Unrestrained love flared up in Legolas. He brutally smothered it, attributing the reaction to stress.
The Man fought as became a king, Legolas thought, watching the shadows cast up by the brilliant sword. Aragorn knew no fatigue, no despair. He swung the Blade that was Broken with a ferocity that inspired fallen Men to stumble to their feet and raise arms again. Though Orcs spilled over breaks in the Wall like leaks that refused to be stoppered, Aragorn's fearlessness convinced Legolas that perhaps the night was not yet lost.
He jumped lightly from the Wall, carving a path to Aragorn's side where the fighting was thickest. Back to back they fought, the ground becoming a widening puddle of darkness beneath their feet. Legolas felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a feral grin as he sliced and spun. The keening wail of his Elven blade deafened him as he cut down beings who had long ago been one of his own. Unrelenting sadness shadowed every stroke.
Aragorn speared two Orcs at once, yanking his blade free with a cry. Around them, Men fought with inspired bravery. But at times Legolas caught their furtive glances and could imagine what they saw: He, the fair Elven prince, blackened now with the blood of dozens of Orcs, fey blade spinning madly. Aragorn, fighting beside him with a strength seemingly beyond mortal Man's, eyes blazing with the King-light. Legolas saw the fear on their faces and he sympathized. What war made of Man and Elf he only hoped peace could undo.
An explosion of light rocked the ground. Men cried out, pointed to the Wall where the stone had crumbled. A powerful hand siezed Legolas' arm and jerked him towards the wound in the Wall. He let himself be pulled by Aragorn, savoring the urgency in the contact. Once more they fought, this time shoulder to shoulder, so that every so often Legolas would catch Aragorn's eye and find himself brought to sizzling awareness by the savageness there.
Distracted, Legolas barely dodged a swinging fist. He managed to drive his knee into flesh in retaliation. Gnarled hands grabbed at his tunic. With deadly grace, he pivoted and brought his blade up in an arcing slice that severed cleanly. He raised his eyes above the carnage and found Aragorn watching him. Legolas' breath caught at what he saw on the Man's face. But in the darkness he could not be certain --
Men errupted into screams around them. Heavy bodies smashed into Legolas. Beneath their weight, he lost his footing and skidded across the wet ground. He raised himself to his elbows and shielded his eyes as another great blast of light tore into the Deeping Wall. Snarling Orcs poured forth, a relentless wave that smothered all they came upon.
He looked up. Aragorn was extending a hand to him. As the Elf reached for it, a swarm of Orcs rushed upon them, burying Aragorn beneath a crush of bodies. Legolas screamed in fury, pushing to his feet with blade in hand. But in an instant he, too, was overcome. Elvish words of defiance tore from his throat as his blade slashed, futile, against overpowering numbers.
A single note tore out across the fighting fields.
Choking on blood, both Orc and his own, Legolas made a last desperate rally against the forces that beseiged him. He kicked and bit, clawed and gouged in an effort to get to Aragorn.
The note sounded again. "'Tis the great horn of Helm!" a Man cried out hoarsely. "'Tis Helm! 'Tis Helm!"
Orcs fell away from Legolas like shadow from the sun. He stood, gasping in their absence. Battle lust surged through his veins. Wildly, he looked around him. The Orcs were fleeing. Already, they had disappeared from within the Wall, their fallen fellows abandoned. Legolas did not need to climb the Wall to know that the battle was over. The steadily rising swell of triumphant human voices provided him answer enough.
"Legolas!" Large hands spun him around with the speed to leave him reeling. Aragorn crushed Legolas in an embrace that allowed no room for breath. "I thought you had fallen," the Man grated, holding Legolas at arm's length and swiftly searching him for injury. "I should have known better!"
Aragorn laughed harshly, his voice raw from shouting. But Legolas' keen ears heard heartache and desperation within the sound. Acting instinctively, Legolas took hold of the Man's arm and steered him from the site of destruction. "Come, Aragorn," he urged. He pulled the Man to the citadel where all was unnaturally quiet after the chaos that had been.
He pushed Aragorn unresisting against a wall and stood back to inspect him. Though drenched in the blood of both Man and Orc, Aragorn was little harmed. Legolas found a cut along the Man's neck that still oozed blood and reached to temper its flow. His fingers were caught in a painful grip.
"I need --" Aragorn could not complete the request, perhaps did not even know what it was he asked for. With a shuddery sigh, he pulled the Elf to him.
Legolas held him, agrieved at the wracking sobs that shook Aragorn's body but to which he would not give voice. Ah, Aragorn, he thought sadly, you take on too much. He did not know what words would bring the Man comfort, so he remained silent, offering his body in support. He stood unresisting, then, when the hands that embraced him slid up to his jaw and held him for the onslaught of Aragorn's kiss.
Legolas had no time to register surprise. Aragorn's passion was enflaming. A groan lodged itself in the Elf's throat as Aragorn forced his tongue past Legolas' lips in search of a deeper intimacy. The blood surged in the Elf's veins once more, raging with the same passion it had during battle. His hands tangled within Aragorn's bloodied hair, urging more. Harder. Deeper.
Emboldened by the Elf's response, Aragorn crushed their mouths together. Tongues warred with the need for conquest. Lips smashed against teeth, bled and swelled. Aragorn tasted of the copper of blood, of the earth and an indefinable sweetness. Legolas drank of him, relished every texture of teeth and tongue. When stars blinked behind his eyelids, Legolas tore himself away reluctantly to drag air into his burning lungs.
Aragorn eyed him with a savagery that would have frightened Legolas had he not known the Man better. The light of battle glittered like a madness in the steel blue eyes. Eyes like that, Legolas mused, could strip a Man to his bones.
But he was not a mere Man and Legolas met the stare defiantly, daring Aragorn to take him if he could. The barest twist of Aragorn's lips as he acknowledged the challenge and then he was upon Legolas, tearing at the Elf's stained tunic.
Shock granted Aragorn the seconds he needed to rent the soiled garment in two. Legolas felt himself swell with need as Aragorn drank in the sight of the archer's pale chest exposed within the rags of his tunic. "After all I have seen and done," the Man whispered raggedly, touching a smooth collarbone, "it is difficult to believe that such beauty remains unblemished."
Legolas gripped Aragorn's shoulders tightly as the Man bent his head to bathe the pale skin with the wetness of lips and tongue. He sucked in his breath as Aragorn moved to a nipple and caught the tight nub between his teeth. Experimentally, the Man bit down. Legolas cried out at the exquisite pain that radiated from that tender point.
The Elf's hands swept upward to the exposed skin of Aragorn's neck. As Aragorn bit and licked first one nipple, then the other, Legolas clawed helplessly, dragging red lines of passion across the weathered skin. Aragorn hissed at the pain. Without raising his head, he gathered the shreds of Legolas' tunic and pulled them behind, effectively trapping the Elf's arms in cloth.
Legolas moaned. The sound echoed throughout the deserted courtyard. As the Elf tested his bindings, Aragorn reached beneath the archer's leggings to pull his cock free. Twisting ineffectually within his confining tunic, the Elf grew dizzy with desire as the Man stroked him.
"'Tis too much!" he gasped.
Aragorn sucked at the tip of the Elf's ear. "Nay, 'tis not enough," the Man replied.
Legolas shook his head violently. The blood rushed too swiftly through his veins. His heart threatened to burst. He could take no more restraint, he needed to be free --
He yanked his arms loose from their bindings with a strength that clearly surprised Aragorn. The Man's hand on his cock lost its rhythm. Legolas welcomed the pause. Gathering the remnants of his control, the Elf shoved Aragorn to the wall. He levered his forearm across the stunned Man's collarbones, holding Aragorn to the cold stone as he reached beneath mail and leather. "My turn," he growled huskily.
Aragorn's cock was as firm as the armor he wore. A wild thrill chased through Legolas as he pulled the thick length free and took it in his hand. Aragorn's eyes darkened to blackest midnight when the Elf's slender hand began its stroke up his shaft. Agony of a different sort twisted the Man's handsome features.
"You seek to break me, Legolas!"
But within the accusation lay entreaty. Legolas was all too willing to obey. His hand squeezed, drawing swiftly then slowly in a pace that made Aragorn's entire body tense with need. Legolas leaned forward to taste the sweat that broke upon the Man's upper lip, drew his tongue across bristled cheek. When the Elf's teeth grazed the strong column of Aragorn's throat, panting breaths moistened his forehead. It wasn't enough for Legolas. He wanted desperately to be inside of Aragorn. He wanted to feel the might of the would-be king clench around his aching flesh...
Horns blared from outside the Deeping Wall, marking the return of Theoden and his men from Helm's Gate. Legolas looked to Aragorn, bitter disappointment creasing the Elf's face. "The Men approach," he despaired. "Aragorn, we must stop --"
But a banked fire remained in the Man's eyes, unwilling to be dampened. "There is time enough," Aragorn insisted darkly.
In one large hand he grasped their swollen cocks and set to stroking them together. Legolas' eyes widened, then lowered to half-mast at the wondrous friction. He wrapped his arms around the Man's shoulders and hungrily mated their mouths once more. Faster and faster Aragorn stroked, their battle-weary bodies trembling on the cliffs of building desire.
Horns again, nearer this time. Men would be outside the Wall, perhaps some already within.
Anxiety whipped Legolas' blood into frenzy. He sucked the Man's tongue hard into his mouth, imagining it to be Aragorn's cock. He wrapped his tongue around the slick muscle, milking it as he would the Man's erection. His sharpened hearing picked out the sound of footfall outside the entrance to the citadel. Any moment now and someone could find them...
The fear of their discovery pushed Legolas over the edge. "Aragorn!" he choked out. He shuddered as his body pulsed, the strain of the night exploding from him violently. Seconds later, he felt Aragorn stiffen and jerk against him. The Man's hoarse shout rebounded against the walls as he found his relief. Together, they collapsed against the stone, struggling to regain breath.
Minutes seemed to pass, but it was not so. Legolas pressed himself cheek to cheek with Aragorn, feeling their heartbeats slow for the first time in many hours. He was aware suddenly of how very dirty they were, of the blood, sweat and dirt that lay thick upon their skin. The iron smells of war and death infused their clothing.
But he did not care. Holding Aragorn to him, listening to the Man's breathing as it lengthened with weariness, Legolas was grateful for all that they had. The Hornburg had not fallen. Aragorn was in his arms.
They had survived.
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