Ringspell

Chapter 18.
Temptation...

They made their way, slowly, down to the Prince's chamber, the numerous stairs along the way almost proving too much for Aragorn, on several occasions. He had, at one point had to grab hold of Legolas, to keep from falling and though the Elf appeared un-phased by Aragorn's intoxicated state, it nonetheless bothered the Ranger immensely, that his noble friend should be watching him stumble around like the town drunk.

It seemed the whole business of walking, particularly in a straight line, had become an unbearable ordeal and Aragorn almost fell over with relief, at the sight of the guard that kept watch outside his friend's bedroom door.

As the guard pulled out his key and unlocked the door, Aragorn took a moment to gather his thoughts, or what was left of them and regain his composure, as best he could. This, would be his first chance to be truly alone with Legolas, since the incident at Dol Guldur.

It was an opportunity he would not let go to waste, no matter how drunk he was.

The door was pushed open, and Aragorn followed the beautiful Prince into the chamber.

Aragorn watched, from just inside the entrance as Legolas walked away from him, towards his bed, his hands busy in front of him. The Elf turned and looked back at the Ranger, his pretty face unreadable. His long, elegant fingers were working down his front, swiftly undoing the little, gold clasps that kept his robe wrapped tightly around his slender body.

"Close the door, will you?"

Aragorn pushed the doors closed behind him.

Before his eyes, the Elf slipped out of his robe, shrugging it casually off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor, now in only his sinfully tight pants.

Aragorn's heart began to race.

The Prince turned back to his bed, and reached over it, to pick something up. It took Aragorn a moment to notice what it was, his eyes locked on the flawless profile of the creature and the way his pants hugged his glorious rear end, when he bent over. Legolas straightened and turned again, in his direction and Aragorn noticed what he had picked up off the floor. It was the looser, pale blue robe he had earlier worn.

Aragorn's drunken heart sank as the Elf slipped the robe over his delicate frame, leaving it untied but wrapping it around himself and holding it more or less closed, with his arms crossed in front of him. Aragorn thought he looked quite cosy, wrapped up in the heavy fabric.

Legolas then floated across the floor, moving to a lounge that Aragorn had not previously noticed, in the far left corner of the room. Before it, stood a low table; a clear glass bottle resting on its surface. To Aragorn's eyes, the Prince appeared to crawl onto, rather than sit down on the long couch, curled up at one end, with his legs tucked up beneath him. He reached over and picked up the clear bottle from the table. He looked incredibly comfortable and fixed his friendly gaze upon the Ranger.

"Are you going to join me, Aragorn?" The Elfs' voice floated softly to him. "Or shall I drink alone?"

Smiling, Aragorn went to join his friend.

He sat beside the Elf, his body turned towards him and as he did so, could not help but notice that there was no tension. His heart did not hammer in his chest, there were no flutters of uncertainty or hesitation. The distance between them seemed perfect, not so close as to be uncomfortable, but close enough that he could smell the subtle perfumes of forest trees and sun-drenched flowers that seemed to follow the Elf wherever he went.

Legolas pulled the stopper from the mouth of the clear bottle and held it out towards Aragorn, a wicked smile touching his lips.

"Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

Aragorn hesitated, eyeing the bottle and its contents with suspicion.

"Go on." Legolas prodded him. "You only live once."

There was no arguing with that, Aragorn decided and he reached out and took the bottle, holding it to his lips and saying a little inward prayer for his constitution, before he tipped his head back and swallowed what seemed to him, to be an awful lot of Sina.

He managed to hold back the cough that threatened to tear his throat into shreds, but could not stop the pained expression that crossed his face, as the alcohol burned a path down to his belly. He looked at Legolas, who was watching him with mild amusement.

"Well?" The Prince asked.

"It is not so bad, once you get used to it." The Ranger admitted. "Does it have to taste so terrible though?"

Legolas grinned.

"It is not supposed to taste good, Aragorn. It is supposed to get you drunk." He explained. "Not an easy task, for an Elf." He added wryly, leaning over and taking the bottle from Aragorn's hand.

The Ranger watched, thoroughly stunned, as Legolas tipped the bottle up and took three huge gulps of the wicked drink, apparently unaffected by the taste or the burning. When he lowered the bottle from his moistened lips, he offered it straight back to Aragorn.

The Ranger was still recovering from his last taste of Sína but he took the bottle anyway, not wanting to appear rude and also, though he would never have admitted it, secretly pleased to be sharing the drink in this manner. It may have been just his imagination, but Aragorn could have sworn the taste of the Elfs' soft lips had lingered on the mouth of the bottle.

He took a drink and handed the Sína back to Legolas who accepted it eagerly. It seemed the Elf had little to say, in way of casual conversation and so Aragorn took the opportunity to broach a subject that had been bothering him for some time.

"May I ask you something, Legolas?" He began, trying to indicate with his tone that the question would not be about the Elfs' favourite colour.

Legolas looked at him for a moment.

"Of course."

Aragorn hesitated, trying to find words that would not make his question sound like an accusation. He gave up, deciding that there was really only one way to ask.

"Did you truly kill your mother?"

The Prince looked down at the bottle in his hands, his smile fading. Though Legolas did not move, the air of relaxed ease around him evaporated and he closed in on himself visibly, as though wishing Aragorn was no longer in the room. When he looked back up at the Ranger, his mask had been replaced, his face was unreadable.

In Aragorn's mind, the distance between them grew.

Despairing, he silently wished he had never asked.

"What difference does it make?" The Elf responded, his voice flat and somehow resigned, as though he had voiced that question a hundred times before.

Aragorn wanted to tell him that it made all the difference in the world, that he could not bring himself to believe that his friend was capable of such an act, that it would shatter his perfect vision, if Legolas had murdered the one who had given him life. But he said none of these things, the distance he saw in the Elfs' eyes hurting his heart.

Though Legolas had not answered him, Aragorn knew.

"You did." He said, too shocked to mind his words. "You murdered your own mother."

Legolas looked away, his brow furrowing slightly as he fought to maintain the barriers that protected him, from his own truths.

Then, another question occurred to Aragorn.

"Why?"

The Elfs' mask fell and his barriers were utterly shattered. Silently, without warning, Legolas began to weep. The tears rolled down the Elfs' flawless cheeks like rain in Spring, and Aragorn's heart screamed for them to stop.

"Please tell me why, Legolas." Aragorn pleaded. "There must be a reason."

The Prince looked at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears, lips softly trembling.

"Ada told me to." Came his soft reply. "He said he had to go and that when he did, she would kill me, if I did not -- " Legolas stopped, taking several deep breaths as he struggled to control his weeping. "**I did not want to.**" He swore, his eyes pleading with Aragorn for belief, before he lowered his head and succumbed to the flood of tears.

Aragorn watched helplessly as the Elf he knew was swept away by sorrow, crying violently and without reserve, like a beaten child. The young Prince buried his face in his hands, curling up into a ball, trying to hide from his audience.

Aragorn did not know what to do. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, watching his friend weep, yet he hesitated to offer consolation; he could think of no words that would ease the Elfs' heartache. Finally unable to bear it any longer, he shifted closer to the mournful Prince and reached out to try to pull Legolas from the sea of his despair.

"**I am so sorry, Legolas.**" He offered, gently taking hold of the Elfs' upper arm, attempting to rouse him into coherence. "**I should not have asked.**" He pulled the Elf gently towards him, and his heart fluttered a little, when Legolas crawled into his arms, burying his face against the Ranger's shoulder.

Aragorn wrapped the Elf, as tightly as he could into his embrace, stroking his hair and whispering to him in his native tongue.

"**You were right, mellon-nin. It matters not. It is far behind you, now.**" The Prince looked up at him, with child-like adoration in his eyes.

Aragorn leaned his head down and kissed Legolas on the forehead; the sweet scent of the Elfs' hair, reminding him of that day when, deep beneath fortress of Dol Guldur, he had done the same. But, there was no Ring here, no orb that glowed, no spell or enchantment. It was only the two of them now, alone and together at last; the distance between them had been crossed.

Through grief and sorrow, Aragorn had found the way to the Elfs' fragile, beating heart.

"**Forgive me, for making you weep.**" Aragorn asked and through tears that were slowly subsiding, Legolas smiled. He pushed away, slightly, from the Ranger's tight embrace, and Aragorn let him go, relieved to see his friend return from the dark place that he had been.

"**It is not your fault, Aragorn.**" Legolas said softly, in a trembling voice. The pretty Elf sniffed, and wiped at his face with the cuff of his robe. "I cry too often, or so Ada tells me."

Thranduil. His friends' other father. Though he had not done much to warrant it, Aragorn sincerely disliked the King of Mirkwood. Something in the air changed, when he entered a room and it disturbed the Ranger greatly. Nevertheless, he was not about to tell Legolas that his foster father's opinion meant very little; the young Prince appeared to be quite the loyal son.

"Perhaps your Ada does not understand your pain." He offered. Legolas shook his head, wiping away the last of his tears with his fingertips.

"I think he is right. My tears are but a childish habit I have yet to break." Looking down, the Prince noticed the bottle of Sina, resting in his lap - it had apparently survived his outburst unscathed. He lifted the bottle to his lips and tilted it back.

Aragorn was astonished at the speed with which the Elfs' mood changed; barely minutes after what had seemed like a total breakdown, Legolas now appeared quite calm. The Prince lowered the bottle and passed it to the Ranger, gazing at him with an expression close to serenity, as the Man drank from the bottle himself and handed it back.

For a while, no one said anything. What the pretty Elf was thinking as he gazed across at him, Aragorn could not say, but the quiet contemplation in Legolas' eyes was beginning to make him uncomfortable. The silence grew louder as moments passed like minutes and unable to bear it any longer, Aragorn opened the only topic of conversation he could think of.

"May I ask you something else, Legolas?" He began. "You need not answer, if you do not wish. I have no desire to upset you, I just cannot help but wonder - "

"Ask, Aragorn." The Prince interjected. "I will answer."

"Will you tell me about your father? Your real father, I mean."

Legolas did not respond and fearing the Elf had misunderstood his intention, Aragorn rushed to defend his inquiry.

"Not about the Ring, or anything - " Aragorn explained. "Nothing like that. I just "“ I want to know what he is like. Or what he looks like. Or what you remember of him. I know you were quite young. Do you remember much?"

Slowly, imperceptibly, Legolas smiled.

"Of course." He said, quietly. "I remember everything."

Aragorn waited.

"I remember, he spent all his time in the caverns, or in his room, sitting at his desk, writing."

Aragorn remembered the desk, in the Dark Lords' chamber, the parchments scattered across its surface. He tried to picture Sauron sitting there, quill in hand. Somehow, it seemed too simple a task, for the Enemy of Middle-Earth.

"I used to go in there, so I could be with him. He would sit me in his lap and tell me stories about the Valar and of things that happened when the world was not yet made. I would curl up, in his arms and listen for hours, to the sound of his voice. And when I fell asleep, he would lay me down in his bed and tuck the sheets up around me. I remember waking, to the sound of lullabies..."

Aragorn listened, entranced, as Legolas spoke. Surely, this could not be Sauron? The great and terrible Lord of Hate did not tell stories or sing songs. There was no good, in the Death of the World. Yet, the Prince's eyes were sad and distant, as he told of cold nights in Winter spent curled up before the fireplace, wrapped in his father's heavy cloak and of days when Sauron indulged him in games of hide-and-seek in the tunnels and caves beneath Dol Guldur. He smiled wryly, as he admitted that he had not understood then, why his father always found him, no matter how well he hid.

"I remember that he was never angry. He never raised his voice, or told me to go away. He never hit me, or said anything to hurt me." The Elf looked closely at Aragorn. "You see Sauron as a monster; a cruel and evil beast that must be stopped. To me he was but a father. I was loved by him, and cared for. I never felt alone. I did not know fear."

Legolas paused, seemingly caught up in his memories. Thinking back over his friends' words, Aragorn could not help but guess at the full meaning of what he had said.

"Does Thranduil do those things?" He asked gently. "Does he hurt you?"

Legolas sighed, a resigned and almost frustrated sound.

"I do not mean to presume." Aragorn said quickly. "Just... I have heard things."

The Elf looked back up at him, his face an impassioned plea for understanding.

"Thranduil is not a bad person." He said. "He is only bitter. The thing he loved most in this world was taken from him and I am a constant reminder of that; the bride that was stolen from him, the child that will never be his." Legolas smiled sadly then, in his eyes shone a profound sorrow. "My every breath is an offence to him. I do not understand why he ever let me live at all."

Suddenly, Aragorn recognised another emotion in his friends' dark eyes "“ guilt. Legolas felt guilty, for the simple fact of his existence.

"You must not say such things, Legolas." Aragorn reached out and rested his hand on the Elfs' warm shoulder. "You have as much right to live as anyone. You can no more change the circumstance of your birth than you could stop the sun from rising."

Legolas looked uncomfortably around the room, shrugging off the Ranger's assurances. Frustrated, Aragorn shifted closer to the young Elf, determined to convince the Prince of his worth. He lifted his hand from Legolas' shoulder, moving it to cup the Elfs' jaw.

"Look at me, Legolas." The Elf met his eyes. "You deserve your life, more than most. Anyone who would tell you otherwise is lying." He paused, as he searched for words to offer the beautiful creature.

"This world would be a darker place, without you." He finally said. "For me, at least. I walk a path that is hidden in shadows and I do not know where it will lead. It frightens me. All my life I have wished to be someone other than I am, that I could run and hide from whatever doom my forefathers had passed to me.

"But you, my friend "“ I see you, with aching eyes. And you are like sunlight through the trees, dawn over snow-capped mountains." Swept up in his desire to appease Legolas, Aragorn struggled with the words, hypnotised by the deep pools of the Elfs' eyes, gazing back at him, unblinking.

"I need you, by my side, Legolas. I see, in your eyes, the things that are good and pure in this world. Beautiful things, worth fighting for. You are a light in the darkness, mellon-nin. Were you not by my side, I should have turned back, long ago." Finally, the Ranger ran out of words, he could think of nothing more. He waited for the Prince to respond.

For a long time Legolas said nothing and his face gave no clue as to what he might have been thinking. Then, slowly, the slightest hint of a smile graced the Elfs' fair features and almost without Aragorn's awareness, Legolas leaned in towards him.

"You are very kind, Aragorn, to say such things." Legolas whispered.

The Ranger was about to protest, to tell the beautiful Elf that it was not kindness that had fuelled his speech, but rather friendship and that the words he had spoken had been utter truth. The Prince gave him no chance though, as the last few inches between them disappeared and Legolas caught the Man's lips in a long, gentle kiss.

For a moment, Aragorn was too shocked to respond. He had longed, ever since Dol Guldur, to taste the Elfs' sweet mouth again, but had never allowed himself to hope for it. Now that he felt the soft, pink lips pressed once again against his own, he fell helplessly into a sea of sensation. His heart hammered recklessly in his chest and as the blood rushed through his body like a flooded river he began to tremble. Fire ignited in his belly and burned a sinful path, straight to his loins.

Slowly, Legolas began to pull away, but this time Aragorn would not let him go.

Willing his euphoric body into motion, he slid his arms around Legolas' waist, beneath the loose robe that hid so much of the Elfs' exquisite flesh from his eyes. He pulled Legolas to him, and the young Prince slid into his lap, on his knees, his thighs spread wide around the Ranger's waist.

The Sina fell, forgotten, to the floor.

The kiss deepened as Legolas entwined his hands in Aragorn's dark hair and parted his soft lips, to moan pleasurably against the Man's mouth. The moist pink tip of the Elfs' tongue flicked out to lick teasingly at the Ranger's lips and Aragorn responded, pushing his tongue deep into the warm wetness of Legolas' mouth, eagerly tasting and exploring every inch, relishing the sweetness of the Elf.

His hands roamed unchecked over the supple, golden flesh beneath the robe, sliding down the Elfs' back to the tight, round buttocks, reaching around the slim waist and pulling Legolas down onto his lap, hard, striving to create contact between the Elf and the straining erection that pulsed dangerously between his legs. He let one of his hands slide around to Legolas' front, slipping the heavy material off the Elfs' shoulders, exposing the flawless skin, beneath.

He broke himself from the kiss, looking down between them, pushing the Elf away from him, desperate to look at the creature he was touching. But Legolas would have none of it, he held the Ranger's face in his hands and forced him to meet his mouth again, pulling the Man's arms out from between them, to press his body back against him. Aragorn relented, too drunk on lust and Sina to care if he got his way or not. What did control matter, when Legolas was moaning so beautifully, for him?

The Elf finally released his mouth, driven by the need for breath but his lips were not idle, tracing a path of delicately delivered kisses along the Man's jaw, nibbling gently on the lobe of his ear. The kisses stopped and for a moment only the Elfs' warm breath caressed his ear. The sensation was maddening.

"I like the taste of you." Legolas whispered. Aragorn's erection throbbed painfully. He grabbed Legolas' hips and pulled the Elf down into him, unable to control his urge to thrust into the creature sitting in his lap. Legolas leaned back a little and watched, as the Ranger strove to rub his straining sex against the Elfs' buttocks.

Frustrated, Aragorn tore one of his hands away from the Elfs' tight arse, reaching around to tug at the knot in the lace of Legolas' soft leather pants, determined to strip the Elf of his protective raiment. But again, Legolas thwarted the Ranger's ambitions.

"**Stop, Aragorn.**" An elegant hand took hold of the Man's, and pulled it away from the Elfs' crotch. For a moment, the Ranger panicked, fearing he had gone too far. Legolas smiled, wickedly at him then and laying both palms on Aragorn's chest, the Elf pushed him gently back, laying him down and crawling over the top of the Man, leaning down to occupy his mouth, once again.

Aragorn's head was spinning, dangerously, testament to the all alcohol he had drunk, and through the lust and drink that clouded his mind he realized, despairing, that he would probably not remember this night very well, come morning.

Legolas released his mouth and began biting and sucking on the Man's throat, while his agile hands worked quickly at the ties and clasps that held Aragorn's tunic together.

The Ranger closed his eyes, willing the room to stop spinning around him and as he felt cool air brush against his exposed stomach, he wondered vaguely, if Legolas had halted his advances because the Elf wanted to top. The thought sent a slight shiver of trepidation through the drunken Ranger. He had been with men before, but only when there were no women to be had, and he had always played a dominant role in such affairs. He had to admit, however, that right now, Legolas could have cut off his arm if he had wanted to. Aragorn would gladly have let him. He would have offered to sharpen the knife.

Without warning, a warm hand slid like silk down his stomach, over the waist of his pants, to rub against his yearning member. Aragorn groaned at the hard contact, the friction burning the weeping head of his cock. Unbidden, his hips thrust upward, begging for more. The hand continued to rub, slowly, deliberately up and down the length of his straining shaft and Legolas began to slide himself down the Ranger's body, his tongue tracing a slick path to one of his nipples. The Elf paused there, taking a moment to lick and suck delicately on the hard nub, before continuing down to the Ranger's belly, leaving a tingling trail of gentle nips along Aragorn's flesh. The hand on his sex faltered, as Legolas pulled the knot from the lace in Aragorn's pants with one easy motion, and then slid into the heat beneath the loosened fabric. Aragorn's desperate erection jumped violently as the Elf curled his long fingers around the shaft and slowly, with painful care, Legolas let his mouth wander around the Man's stomach, inching ever closer to the Ranger's throbbing cock.

Willing his eyes to open, Aragorn looked down his body, at the source of his delicious sensations. Reaching down, he combed the pale, silken hair from around the Elfs' face, with his fingers, and groaned with depraved lust as he saw his cock in the creature's hand, the Elfs' soft, moist lips parted, the tongue licking at the sensitive flesh above his groin.

"Ah, Legolas." Aragorn moaned, barely capable of speech. "Take me in your mouth."

In mid-lick, the beautiful Elf stopped and lifted his head, fixing Aragorn with dark, half-lidded eyes. Below him, he continued to stroke the Man's cock, slowly, languidly, spreading the pre-cum that dripped out over the head, with his thumb. Aragorn felt he must have been dreaming.

"Please." Aragorn begged, driven beyond the capacity for thought. "Please, suck me."

Legolas smiled, a wicked little smile, as the Man pleaded for release. The frustration was too much, and Aragorn twisted his hands through the Elfs' hair and pushed him, forcefully down to his waiting cock. Legolas did not resist. The beautiful Elf parted his lips for the Man, as Aragorn pushed himself deep into the hot wetness of Legolas' mouth. The Elf took him to the hilt without protest, and wrapped his lips tightly around Aragorn's thick shaft, sucking hard and rhythmically on the length of his cock. The sudden flood of sensation almost tipped Aragorn over the edge, and he loosened his grip on his lover's head, allowing the Elf to come up for air. Legolas lifted his head, letting the Man's erection slide fully out of his mouth, and he held the shaft steady with one hand, gently stroking, as his mouth licked and sucked eagerly at the cum that seeped steadily from the throbbing tip.

Aragorn watched, enthralled, struggling to keep his eyes open, as Legolas lapped at his seed.

"Do you like the taste of that?" He asked of the Prince, his lust-laden voice barely recognisable.

"Yes, Ada." The Elf said, before sucking the length of the Man's cock back into his pretty mouth, his tongue sliding luxuriously up and down the shaft.

Aragorn moaned, a feral, inhuman sound and he closed his eyes against the dirty pleasure the Elfs' voice had stirred in his loin. What had he said? Aragorn was too drunk to care. He grabbed Legolas again by his hair and held the Prince's head steady as he thrust his hips wantonly into the air, fucking the hot mouth with vicious abandon, too lost in his own rapture to consider the welfare of his lover.

He struggled to control himself, but the Elf had driven him to ecstasy, and he came swiftly and violently, flooding his lover's mouth with seed as his body wracked and convulsed with the force of his climax. He loosened his hold on the pretty Elf, as his orgasm subsided and Legolas sucked and licked lovingly at the tip of his cock, until the last drop of bitter seed had been spent.

Aragorn lay unmoving for what seemed like hours, swimming in the blackness behind his eyes, languishing in sweet satisfaction. He felt Legolas slinking back up his body, the Elfs' smooth skin gliding along the Man's stomach like silk. He felt warm breath against his ear.

"Was that good for you?" Legolas whispered.

Dragging himself out of semi-consciousness, Aragorn raised his leaden eyelids and looked up at the Prince. Legolas hovered over him like a vision of sin. His pale, golden hair, always so tidy and controlled, now fell around his flushed face in dishevelled locks. His mouth was red and swollen, from the force of Aragorn's assault and the young Elf licked at his wet lips with the tip of his tongue, gazing at the Ranger with dark, half-lidded eyes.

Slowly, as though in a dream, Aragorn lifted his hand to touch the Elfs' face, brushing the long, unruly locks aside and touching his lover's moist, pink lips with the tip of his fingers.

"This cannot be real." The Ranger muttered, mostly to himself.

Legolas smiled fondly and leaned down to kiss Aragorn sweetly on the mouth. With the Elfs' warm lips pressed back against his own, the taste of his sex lingering in Legolas' mouth, Aragorn sank back into the drunken euphoria that waited behind his closed eyes. Sleep called gently to him from the darkness and unable to resist, he drifted blissfully into unconsciousness.

To be continued...