Rating: NC17

Category: Established Relationship, non-het AU

Spoilers: Fellowship, movie-canon only

Warnings: Canon violations aplenty and a consensual punishment

Series: To Run

Summary: A view of how the journey from Bree would have gone if Aragorn's lover were at his side. Part of the To Run series.

Note: Just for the record, I love the name 'Strider.' But Legolas loves the way Aragorn rolls of his tongue and doesn't care for any of his lover's alternate names. Go figure. :>

Legolas hated Bree. Well, to be fair he hated most towns. Dirty, crowded, they always felt like elaborate cages to the woodland Elf. Worst of all were the pubs. The smells and noise were an utter assault to the senses. So what was he doing sitting for the third night in a row in the Prancing Pony? A very good question. One to which he did not feel he had a satisfactory answer.

He shot a glare at the cloaked man sitting beside him smoking away on a long-stemmed pipe. Of course his own cloak prevented his glare from being seen let alone having the desired effect. That was another thing he hated. The race of Men could get odd around Elves, so he had long ago decided to hide his features whenever forced to visit one of their towns. That his companion also chose to keep his face unknown was of no comfort whatsoever.

Impatience danced through his veins. He wanted to move, wanted to be out in the open again where he could breathe and feel the caress of air clean of the stench of so much humanity. But he said nothing. Did nothing but sit still as stone and wait while he tried not to go mad.

His companion's free hand lifted off the table, then resettled on Legolas' knee.

His cheeks flamed in embarrassment. Apparently he was not being as unobtrusive as he thought. "I am sorry," he whispered, unable to say the Man's name when others might hear and unwilling to use the ridiculous one given to him by those who frequented the tavern.

The hand squeezed in reassurance, silently telling him no one other than his companion would notice his agitation. Sometimes it was maddening to be so well known, but it went hand-in-hand with being so well loved.

The innkeeper approached, then placed a pint of ale in front of each of them. "Here ya go, Strider," Barliman Butterbur said, then gave Legolas a nod. "Greenleaf."

He nodded back, stifling the hiss of loss as the comforting hand withdrew to pull a coin out of the pouch hanging from Aragorn's belt. It felt absurdly defiant to think his lover's true name right in front of one of the Men who had dubbed him Strider. At least, Aragorn had not allowed Legolas to suffer the same nonsense by making a point of calling him Greenleaf in front of the nosey innkeeper. Not technically his true name, but close enough.

Neither of them touched their drinks, the mugs merely a prop to keep others from wondering why they were here. Why indeed? They should have been in Rivendell by now, but they had encountered Gandalf the Gray along the trail. The Wizard had asked them to go to Bree and wait for two Hobbits who might need their aid.

The need for their help had been genuine, but it chaffed to sit and wait. If these Hobbits needed their assistance, why could they not make for the Shire to collect them?

The hand returned, this time giving him a gentle caress before settling once more on his thigh. A promise of an intimate release of his tension once the tavern had shut down for the evening. He closed his eyes against the thought. It would be hours before Aragorn could sheath himself within Legolas' body. An eternity to wait. He almost laughed. Centuries had passed in his lifetime without his notice, but every moment without Aragorn's touch dragged by with an impossible slowness.

The door opened and he dared hope their vigil might be at an end when two Hobbits entered. A moment later he sighed in disappointment. Four Hobbits, not two.

It wasn't the first time his hopes had been raised then dashed. Hobbits lived in Bree as well as Men and the Prancing Pony was a popular place for both to gather.

For want of something better to do he studied the newcomers and began to wonder if they might indeed be the ones they were waiting for despite their increased number. They had a look of wonder about them common to travelers who had never seen anything like the tavern.

Not locals, then. Popular place or not, it did not stand to reason that unwatched for Halflings would pick this time to make their visit. Nor could even his memory count all the times when unexpected companions had joined him in his travels.

He glanced toward Aragorn and noted that he, too, kept his focus on the Hobbits. Nothing for it then, but to watch and see what happened.

The door burst open and Aragorn drew his sword, then suppressed a bemused smile when the three Hobbits charged into the room intent on saving Frodo Baggins from his sinister clutches.

"Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks," the plump one in the lead declared his fists raised as if they were a match for an armed Man

"You have a stout heart, little Hobbit," he said, sheathing his sword. "But that will not save you."

"We cannot linger here," Legolas announced from the doorway and the Hobbits jumped at the sound of his voice. "They will come soon."

Another inward smile tried to escape. Legolas could slip up on anyone - including Aragorn - without a single sound of warning. It was enough to unnerve any being, let alone four Hobbits who had obviously never strayed far from home.

His impulse was to make for Rivendell immediately, but he knew it was not wise. Bad enough to face the Nazgul in broad daylight and the Hobbits would need to rest before they could hope to match the pace he intended to set. "Across the street," he said, then the Elf slipped back into the dark hallway.

"Come, little masters," he said. "My companion speaks true, we cannot stay here."

"Should we trust him, Mr. Frodo?" asked the plump Hobbit.

There was a moment of silence then Frodo asked, "What choice do we have, Sam?" He fell into step behind Aragorn and the others followed.

Legolas waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, then moved ahead to the front door. He stayed a good twenty feet in the lead as they crossed the street, then stopped in the shadow of the front door of a rival inn and kept watch until they reached the other side as well.

Aragorn had taken the precaution of purchasing a room in advance, feeling it wise to have a place to retreat to. On occasion he hated it when he was right. The Ring would have called to their enemies the moment it fell upon Frodo's finger. They had great need to be elsewhere.

They reached the safety of the room without challenge. What now? How much should he tell them? Gandalf had been typically vague about the situation.

Legolas joined them, then secured the door "I saw no sign of pursuit."

He nodded. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable."

Legolas hesitated, then lowered the hood of his cloak.

"Bless me, an Elf," said the one Frodo had called Sam.

Legolas gave him a slight bow of greeting. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil."

Sam frowned. "The innkeeper said your name was Greenleaf."

A smile graced the beautiful face. "A translation, not a false name."

This prompted Frodo's companions to introduce themselves – Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, but they were known as Sam, Merry and Pippin.

As ever his love was gracious about the curiosity of gentle souls and knelt to let them examine his ears and touch his hair. "Just what is it an Elf can do?" Pippin asked.

"Keep you safe and sound, Master Took," Aragorn said. "Other tales must wait until after you've all had some sleep."

The Hobbits offered no resistance. He doubted they'd had any rest since leaving the Shire and all but Frodo were sound asleep when the Black Riders descended on the Prancing Pony a few hours later.

Aragorn and Legolas watched their arrival from either side of the window. Safe in the Hobbit's pocket, the Ring should not be strong enough to call them from this distance, but it was best to be wary where the Ringwraiths were concerned. He could feel Frodo's eyes on his back, but the Halfling did not join their vigil.

Screams of frustration tore through the night from the room where the Hobbits were supposed to be. The sound chilled the blood and woke Frodo's companions, but it was Frodo who spoke, "What are they?"

He turned to Frodo, leaving the watch to Legolas. "They were once Men. Great Kings of Men," he answered. "Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness, and now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul. Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

He turned his attention back to the street and watched Sauron's servants depart. For now they had eluded them. "Get some sleep," he said. "We leave at first light."

"Is he kidding?" Merry asked. "Sleep after hearing that?"

He opened his mouth to give them a lecture on the need to sleep when given the chance no matter what terrors lurked in the dark, but Legolas began to sing. A gentle, sweet song to calm the soul. Even Frodo was soon fast asleep.

"You sleep as well, my love," Legolas told him. "I will keep watch in case they return."

He stole a kiss, then curled up in a chair. Legolas began to sing again. Aragorn's dreams were sweet.

Legolas led the way through the marshes and couldn't quite keep the smile from his face despite everything. He could feel Aragorn glaring at him, as he always did when the Elf's light step kept him from sinking into one disgusting thing after another. Ah, such a grim, unforgiving bastard was his love. He shuddered to think of what this crossing would have been like for the Hobbits had they been left with only Aragorn to guide him.

The Man had a tendency to dwell on the darkness of things, and Legolas was not unaware of whispers about how much worse he was when the Elf was not near. He paused to help each Hobbit across a wide puddle, then smiled when Aragorn drew up to him. "Shall I aid you in crossing, oh, heavy-footed Man?"

Aragorn scowled at him, then leaned close. "Count yourself fortunate that I love you, Elf. Otherwise I might be sorely tempted to run you through."

Mindful of letting his voice carry too far, Legolas laughed softly. "Careful, my love. Scold me too harshly and I might let you sink into this bog."

A smile twitched onto the lips he loved so well. "You'll do that anyway. I suffer greatly for your amusement."

"Poor love. What a wretched life you must leave."

"I do indeed," he answered, the mirth dancing in his beautiful eyes denying the sorrow in his voice. "Now go and show off some more for the Hobbits."

Legolas gave him an outraged look, then grinned and vaulted lightly over the puddle he knew Aragorn would have to slog through.

They made camp on a patch of ground high enough to be reasonably dry. They would see an end to this place a mere two hours after setting out in the morning, but it was too dark for unseasoned travelers to keep going. Aragorn left Legolas to guard the Hobbits and went hunting.

The Gods sent a deer across his path and he gave thanks as he released the arrow from his bow. They ate well that night, the brush around them dense enough to hide the flames of a small fire.

Once the Hobbits had eaten their fill, they bedded down for the night. Legolas took a step toward the dark outside their camp. "I will –"

"Rest for a few hours. I will keep watch."

"But-"

"No, Legolas, my eyes will do for now." He held out his hand. "Three hours. Nothing less."

Legolas scowled, but took hold of his hand and allowed Aragorn to draw him down to settle against him. The Elf had the look of one about to lodge another protest, so Aragorn began to sing softly. His voice did not have the beauty of an Elf's, but he knew Legolas liked it. Soon he felt him relax and slip into dreams.

"What is he to you?" Frodo asked.

It didn't surprise him that the Hobbit could not sleep. The Ring would ensure no rest would be an easy one. "Men would dismiss him as my lover," he answered, his lips brushing against golden hair. "But by Elvish standards, we have been married for many summers."

"But he is male."

"Is love between two males unknown in the Shire?" he asked. He knew such relationships existed among all the Peoples of Middle Earth, but some communities were more accepting than others.

"We've heard of them, yes, but never seen it."

Apparently Frodo had not looked too closely at the Hobbit who was always at his side, but that was not for Aragorn to reveal. "Love is a great gift, Frodo," he said. "It can save you when all else will fail. Only a fool questions the form it takes." He pressed a kiss to the top of his love's head. "Now, get some sleep."

"I'll try." There were a few moments of silence, then he asked, "Could you sing some more? It helps."

He smiled, then sang.

They reached the Watchtower of Amon Sul four days after leaving the marsh. High ground near the end of day, it was a good place to stop for the night, but as the darkness closed in, Legolas chaffed at the need for the others to rest.

"It does not feel right, my love," he spoke softly and in Elvish to hide his fears from the Hobbits. "They are closing in on us." What real chance did they have? The need to go to Rivendell was too obvious and there were only so many ways to approach it. Worse, they could go no faster than the Hobbits' pace.

Aragorn's hand cupped his cheek, but he did not speak to Legolas' fears. What after all was there to say beyond false assurances?

Frodo's voice broke the silence. "How much further?"

"We are six days from Rivendell," Aragorn answered as if six days might not as well have been six centuries with the Black Riders after them. They were not going to make it. Legolas knew it, and he could see the same knowledge in Aragorn's eyes.

Aragorn kissed him, then whispered in Elvish, "You could run it in one."

His eyes widened. "You cannot be serious. I will not leave you." The very idea horrified him, but even as he protested, he saw the sense of it. The only hope they had was to get help. He could lead back horses and a host of Elves. "Aragorn?"

The Man gave him a long, deep kiss. It felt like goodbye and Legolas clung to him for a few moments. Terror clutched at his heart, but he did not stop Aragorn as he pulled back.

"Go swiftly, my love."

One last look, then he obeyed, racing out into the growing darkness. He knew the Ringwraiths would not follow him. He was beneath their notice now that he no longer traveled with the Ringbearer. Over and over as he ran, he told himself they would be all right. He could bring help in time. But he did not believe it in his heart.

He knew he should not, but he turned to look back, then stopped in horror. A fire? Those fool Hobbits had lit a fire! The flames would draw the attention of anyone within miles of the watchtower.

His mind full of a thousand curses, he spun on his heel and ran back the way he'd come.

The fire vanished, but he knew it was far too late. He could hear the screeches of the Nazgul as they closed in. They would reach the Hobbits first.

Aragorn slung Frodo over his shoulder and ran. They needed to put distance between themselves and the Nazgul. He'd hurt them. That was possible. By all accounts, killing them was not. They would be after his charges again soon enough.

He ran as far as he dared without doing something to stop the poison coursing through Frodo's system, then he stopped in the shadows of three stone trolls. It grated. The Nazgul were far too near.

"Aragorn." The sound of Legolas' voice did not surprise him. It would have been beyond anyone with such a noble heart to keep going when he saw what folly the Hobbits had brought upon themselves. A fire. By all the Gods, how could anyone be so foolish?

"He is passing into the Shadow World," Aragorn told him. He blamed himself. He never should have left them alone. Might as well have plunged the Morgul blade into Frodo himself. "We need to stop the poison."

"I will find some Athelas," the Elf said and slipped back into the darkness. It might help, but more powerful medicine would be needed to save him. Unfortunately, neither he nor Legolas had the skill to work such a cure.

"Stay with him," he told the other Hobbits and went to search for the herb as well.

He found a clump of it and knelt down to cut a few stalks. The next thing he knew, he had the blade of a sword at his neck.

Legolas knelt beside Frodo and pressed the Athelas to the wound. The sound of a horse drawing near, made him whirl up and around, an arrow ready to fly from his bow. "Arwen."

She did not acknowledge him, her attention on Frodo as she dismounted. "I am Arwen," she said, her voice full of magic. "I've come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light."

If it helped, Frodo showed no sign of it.

Aragorn moved past him, and knelt with Arwen beside the stricken Hobbit. "He's fading," she said. "He's not going to last. We must get him to my father."

The horse. It was the only chance Frodo had. An Elf alone could run faster, further, but the added weight of a Hobbit would make the runner easy prey for the Nazgul.

Aragorn lifted Frodo up and moved toward the horse, Arwen at his side.

"I've been looking for you for two days," she said. "There are five Wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know."

He settled Frodo in the saddle. "Stay with the Hobbits. I'll send horses for you."

What? What was Aragorn thinking? His weight would only slow the horse down.

Arwen knew it as well. "I'm the faster rider. I'll take him."

"The road is too dangerous, sister."

Legolas knew them all too well. Siblings of the heart, they could argue for hours. There was no time for that. Besides, he was the fastest rider of the three of them.

He vaulted into the saddle without a word and a push of his knees made the beast leap into the night.

"Legolas!" he heard Aragorn call, but he did not falter. This time the danger was on his head, not his love's. The Wraiths would follow him and trouble the others no more.

Soon he had all nine closing in on him. He whispered words of encouragement to the horse and drew his bow. Nine arrows flew. Nine Black Riders fell, pierced through the heart. He could do no more than knock them from the saddle, but it gained him time and distance.

He rode for two days. Three times his foes drew close enough for him to strike them down, but each time his arrows flew across a greater distance. He crossed the river into the lands of Rivendell well ahead of them.

Sentries challenged him within minutes. "Nazgul!" he shouted and kept going, leaving the Elves of these lands to call upon the wilds to protect them all.

Aragorn said little as he led his sister and the three Hobbits toward Rivendell. Was Legolas dead? Or worse? Had the Shadow World claimed the Elf as well as Frodo? There was no escape from the fear his love might be lost to him forever.

Arwen could give him no comfort, and the Hobbits were as sick with worry for Frodo as he was for his Elf. Legolas. What would he do without him?

Early the third day, the tortuous waiting came to an end as four horses approached. Two of them bore very familiar riders. His foster brothers coming to the rescue. Legolas must have reached Rivendell, but in what condition?

"Greetings, Arwen, Estel, master Hobbits," Elladan said with a nod to each of them.

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "Do not torment him. You know how he is about the blond prince," he scolded his twin, then looked at Aragorn. "Legolas arrived unharmed. We set out only moments afterwards, but the Hobbit in his charge was still of this world."

Relief robbed his legs of all strength and he sat down hard in the middle of the path.

Elladan shook his head. "You love him too much, Estel. It is not wise."

An old argument and he had the same answer. "Perhaps, but what we have cannot be denied, brother."

He smiled. "Well I know it. On your feet, brother. The sooner we get home, the sooner you can punish him for making you fret."

Aragorn scowled at him, but Elladan simply gave him a knowing smirk.

Legolas felt utterly useless. For the briefest of times, he had stayed near Frodo giving him what comfort the Hobbit might gain from having someone he knew nearby. But Gandalf had arrived and taken over the vigil.

He thought to retrace his path and meet Aragorn and the others, but Elrond forbade him. He would not risk the last of his children, he told Legolas. One at least must remain at his side or he would go mad with worry.

More likely he feared his foster son would have harsh words for him if he let Legolas go anywhere alone with the Nazgul about. But it touched him more than he could say to hear Lord Elrond refer to him as one of his own.

"Though my heart bids me to do otherwise, I will not leave," he promised.

The Lord of Rivendell smiled, embraced him, then went once more to check on Frodo. Not knowing what else to do, Legolas followed.

For four and a half days he followed or wandered about the halls, not daring to venture further for fear Elrond would believe he had broken his word. He could not bear to have him think him capable of such a thing. As the partner of Elrond's foster son, he owned Legolas courtesy, but not the affection granted to him.

That was a gift born from long acquaintance, then the joy Legolas brought to Aragorn. Yes, a great gift and one he had quickly come to appreciate. Elrond's love for Legolas had eased some of the pain at his own father's rejection.

He sighed and settled into one of Aragorn's favored spots. A bench near a mural depicting Isildur cutting the Ring from Sauron's hand and delivering it into his keeping. Isildur's Bane. He did not think the work a great one, nor did he care for the statue holding the remains of the sword, but Aragorn came here often, so he did as well.

Legolas had hoped it would soothe him to sit where Aragorn so often read. Or failing that, let the symbols of the Man's destiny distract him with thoughts of Aragorn's fear of it, but it did not work. And soon his thoughts were drawn back to his own linage

If he could live a thousand millennia more, he would never understand his father for rejecting him for daring to love a mortal. Yes, he knew it hurt his family knowing he could not survive long after Aragorn's death, but why could they not cherish the years he had remaining?

Had the House of Elrond not given him comfort and welcome, his grief might have consumed him for far too much of the time he and Aragorn had left. But Elrond and his children and embraced him, helped him. It allowed him to see that he would not, could not taint what he had mourning for that which had been taken from him.

He sighed. For all this grand wisdom, his mother's arms around him or his father's hand on his shoulder would have been welcome as he waited. Foolish to worry. The Nazgul's quarry was here, not with Aragorn and the others. They were safe enough for now. But Legolas could not help thinking how he must have angered the Black Riders and what they might do to ease their wrath.

The sound of horses drew his attention and he hurried to the terrace overlooking the courtyard. "Aragorn." He meant to call out to his love, but relief robbed his voice of any strength.

As if he'd heard a shout, Aragorn looked up and met his gaze. Neither of them moved for a second, then the Man managed a smile.

Freed from whatever spell of his mind had held him, Legolas ran once more. The speed that had carried him away from his love days earlier sent him flashing along the hallways, then down the steps.

Aragorn met him halfway up the grand staircase, enfolding him in the embrace he had so desperately needed. "My love," the Man said, hugging him with a strength that threatened to shatter his ribs.

Legolas made no protest. "I thought I would die from waiting for you," he whispered, his own arms holding with a force strong enough to bruise.

A kiss soothed him, eased his hold enough for Aragorn to sweep him up into his arms. He laughed out of pure joy.

It earned him another kiss, then Aragorn was hurrying through the halls toward their rooms.

Legolas could have teased him for needing him so, but it would have frightened him if Aragorn had not burned as brightly as he did. He even granted the mercy of a distraction. "Frodo-"

"The herald told us," Aragorn answered with an almost curt snap to his voice. Apparently he was mildly peeved at the lack of distraction.

Legolas made amends by giving into sweet temptation and nuzzling his neck. There was a time when an Aragorn fresh from the trail would have had Legolas coaxing him to the baths before they reached their bed, but that was long ago. Now the Man's sweat, no matter how strong, was a fine perfume and he would not wait for water to wash it away.

Appeased by Legolas' attentions, Aragorn's voice softened. "The others have gone to see him. I am remiss in my duties because of my need for you."

No guilt stirred within him. "He sleeps, beloved. When he wakes, we will be summoned. Until then your duty is to me."

"So it is." He kicked open the door Legolas had left ajar hours earlier and made for the bed.

They tumbled onto it in the midst of a deep kiss. Once broken, they began searching for bare skin. Long experience had made them swift in dealing with one another's weapons and clothing, but their hands shook this time and it took twice as long.

He wanted to howl in frustration, to curse the need so great that it denied him his prize, but then flesh moved against flesh. "Now, do not wait," he gasped, pulling his legs up and out of the way.

Needing no further encouragement, Aragorn shifted his weight, then sheathed his full length into Legolas' welcoming body with one stroke.

Both cried out with each thrust, moving together with all their strength. It would bruise, but bruises healed and such a taking was all that could hope to ease days of worry.

Neither allowed release though both their bodies begged for it. Together they rode through the fires of need and want, losing track of everything but each other.

Long was the ride. And the small part of his mind that still functioned wondered if it lasted as long as the one that had stoked this fire. "Aragorn," he whispered, amazed he could find breath to speak. "I love you."

"As I do you," came the answer.

A mistake. The words pushed them too far and release came. Yet the fire still smoldered.

Aragorn spoke little beyond endearments as they bathed, then ate. A second coupling held a little, but the tension thrumming through them would not ease.

He knew what he needed and his brother's words haunted him. 'The sooner we get home, the sooner you can punish him for making you fret.' But the anger beneath the fear still lurked within him, and he would not touch Legolas in such a manner until it passed.

Instead he fed his love sweet pieces of fruit, then took him a third time. Each was more gentle than the first, each eased the fury he knew was not reasonable. Soon.

His prince rose from their bed and drew on his leggings before walking out onto the balcony to look at the stars. Aragorn frowned at the loss and quickly followed him without bothering to cover himself. There was no need. It was not the way of Elves to care about such things, and he wondered at Legolas doing so.

He wrapped his arms around the Elf and drew him back against his chest. "I missed you," he whispered, then traced the nearest ear with the tip of his tongue.

"You took so long to follow, I almost returned," Legolas assured him even a momentary separation troubled him as deeply.

His Elf in his arms, there was no great need to return to the ruin they'd made of their bed. Instead he contented himself with nuzzling and gentle kisses as they enjoyed the night.

"Frodo will wake soon," Legolas said, the first words either had spoken in hours that did not deal with the delights of the other. "Our time will no longer be our own."

"I know." A part of him wished getting the Hobbits to Gandalf had been the end of it, but he knew better. In truth it was his responsibility. If his own ancestor had resisted the Ring, none of them would be facing Sauron's return. "But we have this night." With luck perhaps another.

"Mmm," Legolas tilted his head to one side, giving Aragorn better access to the long sweep of his neck. "I frightened you."

"Yes."

"But I made you angry as well, did I not?"

Aragorn stiffened. He knew this game and understood now why Legolas had dressed. His leggings were a favored prop. "Do not play with fire, my heart."

Legolas turned in his arms and gazed into his eyes. "I took a risk you had claimed for your own without your consent in the midst of a journey I agreed was yours to command."

"Legolas. …"

His hands shifted and pushed his leggings down around his thighs, baring the softness of his ass to Aragorn's touch, but lowering the cloth no further. "Give us both what we need, my love. Give me what our hearts tell us I have earned and let them wage war with our minds no longer."

His fingers clenched, his hands eager to do what Legolas asked, but, "I cannot. Anger still lingers."

Legolas smiled. "As it always does. Shall I trick you once more into believing it has passed?"

He frowned. That Legolas could manipulate him into believing almost anything did not surprise or alarm him. It was far from an earth-shattering revelation. In truth, moments like these were payment for how tightly the Elf held him in his sway. "I will hurt you."

The smile broadened, then Legolas kissed him. "It is the point, is it not? Make me sob, my lord. Make me beg for your forgiveness. I want it. I need it as much as you." The smile faded into a turn of the mouth Aragorn loathed. "Or would you have me suffer the greater hurt of your lingering anger?"

He groaned his surrender. He could never resist doing anything asked of him to banish that look of mingled worry and alarm. It asked so loudly, 'do you no longer love me?'

The moment Aragorn signaled his agreement, Legolas tried to escape his grasp, but his earlier games hindered him and the lowered leggings prevented his usual fast escape. Aragorn's arms closed firmly around him. There would be no chase before capture this night.

He swung the Elf up and over his shoulder, then gave the lovely ass so near his face a hard swat as a preview of things to come.

"No, put me down!" Legolas demanded, squirming, but failing to escape a second blow.

"Oh, no my lovely prince. You have put me through quite enough to earn this." For daring to give him that wretched heart-wrenching look alone after all the depths of his love had made him suffer, Legolas had earned this.

He sat down on a chair, then jerked Legolas down and across his lap, hissing slightly as the Elf's cock slid against his own. Twisting Legolas' arm up and behind his back to prevent any further escape attempts, he demanded, "What is this for?"

"Let me go!" Legolas issued his own demand, his cock already hardening between Aragorn's legs.

He should have hit him again to get his answer, but decided to dispense with even more parts of their usual game. "Ah, then I guess this one shall last until your release is spent between my legs."

Legolas twisted enough to look up at him with wide blue eyes. "You would not."

"Oh, yes, I would. Pout all you like, whenever it pleases you, my darling, but you will learn never to give me that particular look again." To emphasize his point, his hand struck drown hard and fast three times.

Legolas cursed, struggling, but Aragorn tightened his grip and held him fast.

Quickly he settled into the rhythm he favored, one that let Legolas know when his hand would strike, but not where. The sweet curve of his buttock was a favored spot, but his hand also sought the join of his thigh and closer to the hip.

Bruises from his first blows formed, then vanished. Such a punishment as this was not one that lingered for an Elf. It was the only reason he had allowed Legolas to lure him into this the first time anger has come between them. Harsh words misdirected at Aragorn as Legolas worked through the loss of his family, as he recalled. For reasons he did not pretend to understand the Elf needed pain to work through some things. While he had discovered in himself a need to master him.

Even so, Aragorn doubted he could have ever endured watching his beloved wincing for hours, perhaps even days later, but such was the fate of a Human, not an Elf. Even the act itself had to be modified. He had learned to spank with force beyond what seemed wise and for long periods of time. When it was over the flesh would heal almost as quickly as Legolas' tears dried.

And the tears did fall now. "I am sorry," he called out more than once, but never did he say the words that would end it. 'Forgive me.'

His arm began to tire, his hand to ache and his anger slipped away as if it had never been, but he did not stop. Legolas always wanted this to continue longer than he did.

At last the Elf stiffened, cried out, "Forgive me!' and wet heat, oozed between Aragorn's thighs.

He checked the blow he'd been about to strike and eased his sobbing Elf over, then lifted him up. Pressing gentle kisses to the damp face, he carried Legolas to their bed.

The Elf cried out as his blazing red flesh touched the mattress, but he drew Aragorn down on top of him. Aragorn caressed him, kissed him and murmured words of love, as gentle now as he'd been harsh.

The sobs quieted, the tears stopped flowing, bright blue eyes gazed at him with love.

This calm afterwards, when any anger had been spent and Legolas reached for him was what stirred Aragorn's passion. He continued to kiss and lick until long after he knew the pain had faded, then he sheathed himself in Legolas once more and loved him into sweet dreams.

The morning sun through the balcony doors woke Legolas, but he did not leave Aragorn's arms. Neither slept well without the other, and they had learned to stay if there was no need for both to wake. Since he needed far less sleep, this often meant Legolas lounged in their bed until what another Elf would have considered an unconscionable hour of the day. But he loved this time.

So many cares rested on his beloved's shoulders, but sleep and Legolas' touch shielded him from them all. No matter how great the nightmare that attacked his sleeping love, a single whisper from Legolas banished it.

Laughter in the courtyard below caught his attention. Merry and Pippen undoubtedly returning from second breakfast. They had slept late indeed.

He smiled, content to remain where he was, then laughter turned to cries of joy and he stiffened with first remorse, then guilt for feeling it.

As always his distress woke Aragorn. "What is it?"

"Frodo is awake." The sound of the Hobbits' joyous reunion made him cringe and bury his face against Aragorn's neck. He wanted to beg his lover to make them stop, to let him pretend nothing mattered outside of this room. But he did not. He was the son of a king and was consort to a man who would be an even greater king. It all mattered a great deal.

Aragorn held him close and he knew his thoughts were echoed within the Man's mind. Even worse for his lord, the hated destiny seemed to snap at the heels of the Ring.

He wanted to assure him that he would be a king such as the world of Men had never seen, but in this one thing, not even Legolas could hold sway. So he gave the one comfort he could. "No matter what happens, I will always be at your side."

Aragorn closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them again and smiled. "We should rise before our Halfling friends eat through all the stores of Rivendell."

Legolas laughed, kissed him, then reluctantly they left each other's arms and the bed.

As he pulled on his leggings, Legolas remembered the night before. There had been the usual displaced anger within his love, but there had been a directed one as well. "Aragorn?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Why does it anger you? That particular look?" He'd learned it from watching other couples and it was but one in a rather extensive arsenal he used against his Human lover.

Aragorn considered the question as he drew on his tunic, then said, "Because my mind translates it as 'do you not love me anymore?'"

Legolas stared at him, his own tunic clutched his hands. "Not with word or look would I ever ask you such a question." It meant 'if you loved me, you would do this ridiculous thing for me.' He knew he should laugh at Aragorn's foolishness and tell him for once he had misread his loving Elf. But the words would not come loose from his tongue.

Arms closed around him. "You hide it well. Even from yourself. But I know, deep in your heart you still fear I do not truly love you and one day the spell will end and I will leave you." He kissed Legolas on the forehead, then on his lips. He sighed. "The spell ended within a month of its casting. I have spent the last forty summers loving you more with each day that passed." He gave him a sad smile. "That stupid look reminds me I have failed to make you believe it."

He wanted to deny it, but he could not. Sometimes the doubt preyed upon him and not all the soft touches and gentle words could soothe him. "We are quite the pair, are we not, my Aragorn? I with my doubts of your love; you with the certainty you will be a poor excuse of a king, and both of us deaf to assurances to the contrary."

Another quick, faint smile. "At least you are not so needful as I."

A sadness swept through him. "My lover is better able to calm my fears than yours."

"No." Sadness vanished from Aragorn and his arms held him more tightly. "I will not have you think you could ever fail me. Not when what hope I have that I might one day serve Gondor well comes from the depths of your eyes."

And sometimes Legolas believed. "I love you, son of Gondor."

"As I love you with all my heart and soul," then kissed him with a touch that said the words all over again.

He smiled brightly and eased from Aragorn's arms. "Come, we have Hobbits to greet and Elves to assure we have not vanished from Middle Earth."

Aragorn grinned. "So we have."

Legolas finished with his own tunic, then looked up to see Aragorn offering his arm.

"At my side, my Elven prince?"

He smiled and slipped his arm through Aragorn's. "Always."

End

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