Notes: A short interlude in Lothlorien. I rather liked the white silk-pale shirt that Legolas was wandering around in, and trust that Aragorn would have thought likewise. :) Thanks to Megan for the quick beta, she who gave me a lovely collector's edition of the books and got me into LotR in the first place.
Feedback: This is my first foray into the LotR fandom — feedback is very much appreciated.
Make Me Forget
Lothlorien filled Legolas with a strange feeling — it was familiar yet foreign, like a forgotten memory of home that lurked at the fringes of his mind. Back in the forests he called home, he loved watching the naked night sky winking with the natural sparkle of stars; here the lights never seemed to dim, but flared with an unearthly sort of glow; and although he felt relaxed, yet he was sleepless.
And as such, he had seen, out of the corner of his eye, the shifting shadow that was Aragorn as the man rose silently and walked away from the rest of the sleeping company. The Ranger moved with a fluid grace born of his elven upbringing — Legolas marveled at the way he could tread on the leaf-strewn ground without so much as eliciting a rustle. The dark figure of Aragorn paused at a distance, before turning a right bend and disappearing from sight.
Legolas rose, and followed him; he knew that Aragorn probably wanted to be alone, but at the same time, he knew that companionship would alleviate the burden of grief and suffering that was clearly weighing so heavily on the Ranger's hunched shoulders. Beyond the immense sadness of Gandalf's fall, it pained Legolas even more to watch Aragorn punish himself so fiercely for it.
Rounding the bend, Legolas came to a darkened clearing, branches intertwining overhead in a natural canopy thatched with broad, waxen leaves that glowed with silver veins in the moonlight. The shadows quickly resolved themselves before Legolas's sharp eyes, and his gaze fell on Aragorn, who was leaning against the trunk of a great tree that towered above him — he looked slender, silhouetted among the massive trees around him; vulnerable, but yet far from eclipsed.
Legolas walked toward Aragorn, his footsteps noiseless and perfectly paced, so light and brisk that Aragorn didn't even notice him until the elf stood before him. Aragorn glanced up sharply, tensing; the grey in his eyes darkened almost to black, more piercing than the night. Legolas held his ground, meeting Aragorn's gaze evenly; eventually Aragorn relaxed, and sighed wearily.
"Legolas," he greeted. "You should rest — we have all been greatly strained."
"None more so than you," Legolas replied steadily, his bright eyes glittering in the pearly moonlight. "You are in great turmoil, Aragorn; I would not have you bear it all alone."
"Alas," Aragorn smiled sadly. "Some burdens have to be borne in solitude, and company does not diminish the grief."
"Perhaps not," Legolas answered, with a slight toss of his fair head, and his blond locks fell lightly on his shoulders. "But it will give you some measure of comfort."
Aragorn shook his head. "There lies much ahead, this I know," he said softly, his voice parched by a heavy emotion. "And our destination is still far away — beyond the horizon, beyond the reaches of light and the fringes of darkness. Comfort seems far removed in black times such as these."
"Perhaps it is nearer than you imagine," Legolas whispered; he moved closer to Aragorn, and their faces were inches apart, although their bodies did not touch. "Perhaps you must try to live for the moment; to let each day pass along with its pains and cares, and to find solace in the night."
"Many things have passed along with the day," Aragorn said, and there was a clear tone of grief as he spoke. "We have lost the wisdom and leadership of Gandalf; what are we to do without him? How will I lead this Company through the perilous Quest that still lies ahead of us? I am accustomed to living alone, Legolas, to answering for myself and no one else — I do not trust my ability to strengthen the Fellowship when they feel weak or defeated." He gave a wry smile, bereft of humour. "Perhaps Boromir spoke with more compassion than I did to the grieving hobbits, after we emerged from Moria. But I felt it imperative that we did not linger — I feared for our safety, for —"
Legolas cut Aragorn off by placing a finger to his lips; accordingly Aragorn trailed off, and fell silent. Legolas let a moment pass before he spoke; his voice was gentle, soft, and he took Aragorn's face in his hands so that he would not look away from him.
"You blame yourself," Legolas said, watching the flare of anguish cross Aragorn's face before dissolving in the shadows. "You torment yourself by asking how you could have made things different, and prevented Gandalf's downfall." He paused. "But remember this: you may be the Heir to the throne of Gondor, but you do not have power over all things. You could not have done anything to avert the disaster, and you led the rest of our Company to safety, especially the Ring-bearer; Gandalf would have wanted that."
"Perhaps," said Aragorn brokenly; his inward agony rose to the surface, and Legolas could feel his body, pressed against his, quivering with suppressed emotion. "But the next time? And after that? The road is yet long, and folly lies in wait at every turn."
"You will find a way," Legolas said; their noses touched now, and he was speaking to Aragorn's lips. "And if you let go of your anguish, and the memories — you will find the strength to carry on."
"Then give me comfort," Aragorn whispered, his voice hoarse, edged with desperation. "Make me forget."
Then Legolas leaned in and kissed him, his lips fiercely tender against Aragorn's — in response the man wrapped his arms around the elf's waist and drew him closer, and kissed him back, almost bruisingly, passion wrought with pain and the release of emotions too long held within him.
Aragorn pushed himself away from the tree, and in a lightning movement reversed their positions, such that he was nudging Legolas up against the rough bark, although his hand palmed the back of Legolas's head to prevent him from chafing against the raw wood. They kissed hard, their mouths hungering for this unspoken intimacy that miraculously gleaned away the harshness of reality; it was a catharsis and a realisation both at once, and they embraced it and clung to the fragile comfort that they could give each other.
Legolas was wearing a silk-pale shirt, the material white and smooth like satin; Aragorn's fingers fumbled with the delicate fastenings, while Legolas nimbly maneuvered Aragorn's shirt off his shoulders, and let his hands run lightly over his bare back. Their lips still did not break contact as they shrugged out of their clothing with varying degrees of finesse — Legolas removed Aragorn's garments with amazing skill and speed, whereas Aragorn's hands trembled too much to be deft; finally Legolas gently broke their feverish kiss, slid out of his half-undone shirt and swiftly dispatched the rest of his clothes.
Aragorn took a small step back, and watched in awe as Legolas gradually revealed himself fully; the elf was slender, although the planes of his body were firm and defined as Aragorn laid his hands on Legolas's bare skin, painted silver pale in the moonlight. A stab of arousal pierced through him, spurring him to action; he let his palms stroke down Legolas's sides, and he felt the elf shiver at the sensation; then he kissed Legolas again, and let loose the passion flaming within him that he never even knew he had until now, as everything else in his mind was obliterated except for the liquid feel of Legolas beneath his hands.
Aragorn lowered him onto the grass; he would not have Legolas's smooth skin abraded against the sharp splinters of the tree trunk — for tonight, they would both feel only comfort and tenderness, not pain. Legolas lay back, pulling Aragorn down upon him as their mouths met once more in the heat of passion; their bodies moved in perfect articulation, even as Aragorn spread Legolas's legs so that he could move closer, so that in the perfection of this moment they would be as one.
Legolas let out a gasp as Aragorn pushed into him with a firm, smooth stroke — he writhed under him, although he could not move because Aragorn had pinioned his arms, and his legs were pushed backwards and held down with the weight of Aragorn's body as he slid inside him. Aragorn held still for a long moment, buried to the hilt inside Legolas until he could feel the elf relax under him; he whispered fevered words that flowed naturally to his lips, words in the Elvish tongue that made Legolas smile, and laugh breathlessly. One of Aragorn's hands moved to stroke him, and he felt the elf's body jerk under him in response.
Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn's neck, engulfed by the blindingly intense sensation that set every nerve fibre in him on fire — he was aware of Aragorn's hand around him, Aragorn moving inside of him, making love to him with such liquid grace that an elf could especially appreciate.
Then Aragorn began to thrust against Legolas with slow, controlled movements, establishing a rhythm of excruciating pleasure that seared through him, drawing a groan from him, flooding him with exquisite sensation as he felt Legolas shudder beneath him. Aragorn closed his eyes, and let himself lose control; he moved faster, harder, stabbing forward with raw tenderness, and Legolas's soft moans were music to his ears. Watching Legolas, his eyes closed and his long dark lashes flecked with beads of wetness, turned silver on the tips, stray strands of blond hair damp with sweat and traced across his forehead — Aragorn had never seen such an erotic sight before, or anything more beautiful. He bent over Legolas and kissed his parted lips, tasting the faint saltiness on his tongue; and with a final thrust he poured himself out inside the elf, and he heard Legolas let himself go with a soft cry.
Aragorn collapsed on top of his lover as the ecstasy flamed through him, washing away the weariness and replacing it with a sense of unbounded joy that still remained after the sensation of pleasure ebbed and subsided. He carefully moved off Legolas, who had already calmed, and was now watching him with clear, bright eyes, filled with reflected starlight.
"I hope you have found some relief from your pain," Legolas said, his voice still slightly breathless, and his fair face still flushed with a warm colour on his cheeks.
"More than relief," Aragorn answered without hesitation. "You have helped me find more than I had imagined I could ever know."
"I gave you all I could," Legolas said softly. "For perhaps in our shared pain, there might be some healing."
"Even in the darkest hour, I will remember this night," Aragorn breathed, leaning in and kissing Legolas chastely on his lips. "Always."
Return to Archive