In Darkness and In Doubt

The mortal smiled to himself, but remained silent now and for that she was immensely grateful. The trees availed little light as they made their way from the cave towards the Old Forest Road ahead. It was by now nearing 1 o’clock in the morning. The forest would become clear by daybreak. It would not be soon enough for her liking, nor would their arrival at Rivendell. Ever since Legolas had lifted the burden of his heart and shared with her a terrible feeling had descended into her heart. She knew she was worrying overmuch, but there was little rest from worry these days. Carting this human to Rivendell was a burden she thought Legolas could have done without, but Thranduil was insistent that his eldest son remain close to him at all times, while the brunt of the hard work came to the younger.

She looked ahead, watching Legolas speak with an Elf to his right. He looked tired, but content enough. There was a face that could banish all her fears while leaving other ones behind for her to take up while he was gone. Her irritation of him fled her, replaced by thoughts of night sounds and a night embrace. They would have to spend a few days alone in Rivendell at least. She would make sure of that.

The hours passed quietly, all voices dimmed to a whisper though there would not be a threat for miles away. Beside her Boromir’s head fell forward as though he were asleep. Legolas took this opportunity to drop back and ride beside her. “Gerich ruth an nin si?”

Saralonde shook her head with a small smile. “Law, al-ruth.”

He took on a mischievous grin, reaching for her hand. “Man sennui? Meleth? Mael?”

She gave his palm a squeeze. “I-ôl in le a im gochell.”

Legolas laughed softly, looking down at their hands together. Lowering his voice he whispered, “Here? Now?”

“If you wish it,” she humored him, taking in his playfulness with fond eyes. “I think our companions might object.”

Nodding, the Prince let her hand go and looked up around the dark woods. “Aye, that is so. Saralonde, I promise you we will have our time together. I could not refuse my father. At Imlad…”

“Caun!” One the guards ahead halted the procession, holding his hand up. Boromir stirred and looked up as Legolas rode on.

He gasped when he reached the front of the line. “What is it?” Saralonde asked, feeling her muscles tense.

“One of our own. Dead.” Immediately the Elves became acutely aware of their surroundings. “Scour the trees, listen well. We may be in grave danger.”

“Indeed!” It was not one of their companions that spoke, neither was it Boromir nor Saralonde. All eyes sought the voice, but before the source could be identified the hiss of a flying arrow sounded. Legolas turned, but it caught him in the shoulder and the impact knocked him off his horse. Panicked, Saralonde forsook Boromir and jumped from her horse, running for him as the brush moved.

She ignored the figures swarming the small group, intent only on her lover. Kneeling at his side, she took his hand that he may know he was not alone. His face had gone pale from the sudden pain. He fumbled for his sword and jerked her to his chest, thrusting it into a shadow that had come above her. Looking over her, he got a good look at the face. “Men!”

Saralonde drew her own sword and got to her feet, aiding Legolas as best she could. They could see them now everywhere, forms cloaked in dark gray that surrounded them. Another of their own lay dead, but the rest had stopped. A hand came down on Saralonde’s shoulder that was not her Prince’s. “I suggest you drop your weapons. We have you outnumbered.”

One of the others came into the open, pushing back his hood. Silvery-gold hair and sparkling eyes revealed his nature. “A Shadow Elf!” Legolas hissed, struggling against one that had taken a hold of him.

The Shadow Elf smirked, walking to where Boromir was still bound on a horse. He shook his head, drawing a dagger and cutting him loose. “The things you get yourself into, Boromir. I marvel.”

Hands free, Boromir rubbed his wrists and pointed to one of the Mirkwood steeds. “My sword, if you would, Haldir.”

Behind her Saralonde’s captor began tying her wrists. “It is good to see you well, Brother. The king is a little annoyed with you, you know.”

Taking his sword from Haldir, Boromir took the reigns of his horse and shrugged. “He’ll be happy enough when we get back. Take great care with that one,” he pointed at Legolas, “for he is the son of Thranduil. The girl rides with me. Insurance, you understand.”

“Gweriach lin noss, thaurnod!” Legolas growled as Haldir approached. The Shadow Elf nodded the human behind Saralonde to bear her to Boromir. “Touch her and you die, you filthy mortal!” Haldir placed a dagger at his throat to subdue him.

Boromir grinned down at Saralonde, reaching his hand out. “You came to look for me, Faramir. I’m touched.” He jerked her onto the seat before him, wrapping his arms around hers as she struggled against him.

“Girlfriend?” the younger mortal asked, his eyes alight in humor. He had the same auburn hair as his brother, the same stormy blue eyes.

The Captain of Lothlórien pet her hip softly, which caused her to jerk away from him. He laughed at that. “In a manner of speaking.” His brother leered at that and left his side, reclaiming one of the horses the Shadow Elves brought from the woods. Boromir leaned forward, resting his chin against her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Are you not going to ask what I have for you?”

Gritting her teeth, tensing beneath his invasive hold, Saralonde hissed, “What do you have for me, animal?”

Boromir ran his tongue along her ear, pressing his hand on the other side of her head to steady her into the assault. “I-achasôl in le a im gochell,” he said darkly, laughing when she stiffened.

“You listened,” she whispered, looking up as Legolas was knocked unconscious, the arrow left in his flesh. Haldir dragged him to a horse and threw him over the saddle, tying him to it. “You speak our language and never let on.”

He grunted as the company began towards the Road. “You never asked.”

*

The Prince of Mirkwood coughed, unable to drink fast enough. Water trailed down his chin, wetting his hunting tunic and the tips of the golden hair thrown over his shoulder. Haldir pulled the water skin away and smirked, shoving Legolas back down to the dirt as he gasped for air. “My Sindar kinsman is having trouble this evening.”

Saralonde glared at the Shadow Elf as he returned to the stream where the Men were watering their horses. He was a Marchwarden of Lórien, darkened by the taint of Sauron, and enjoyed antagonizing Legolas immensely. “Are you all right?” she whispered, looking down at the prince. They had been taken off their horses for rest after riding the rest of the night and most of the day after. It was now closing in on dusk and the Men and Shadow Elves where hungry. They did not feed the Mirkwood Elves.

Clearing his throat, Legolas nodded up at her, his eyes hard with frustration. “I will live. What of you? Has Boromir touched you?”

She shook her head, though the mortal had whispered hands across her form during their ride. “Do not worry for me, Legolas. How is your shoulder?” The Marchwarden had jerked the arrow out, ripping the Prince’s flesh and leaving the blood to soak his shoulder. He looked pale from the blood loss.

Legolas swallowed and shifted, uncomfortable with his hands bound beneath him. “Again, I will live. Saralonde…” Hew sew silent, running his eyes across her.

“What is it?” she said low, wishing she could touch him with her hand. She settled for a visual exploration.

“Guren no pathrant ah nírnaeth. Avannen tangado lîn iaun.” His dark eyes seemed to shine clear in the fading light. “Diheno nin.”

Saralonde shook her head, smiling a little sorrowfully. “Don’t be foolish, Legolas. I would never have remained. You know that.”

He laughed lightly, knowing the truth of that statement. Still his eyes remained somber. “I should have tied you down and locked you away.”

“Now there is an idea,” another voice interrupted. Both turned to see Boromir’s younger brother watching their interaction. “Tying her down seems like a very good idea.” His gaze was lustful.

Legolas jerked himself up and sat protectively in front of her. “Don’t you touch her,” he growled dangerously.

Faramir bit his lip and wandered closer, spreading his hands. “I have never had an Elf, I confess. I promise to be gentle.” His smirk suggested that was a blatant lie.

“Human filth!” the Prince of Mirkwood spat. His fists were clenched tightly and his voice was filled with rage.

Being honest with herself, she did not know how she could avoid this. Her heart pounded as the human came closer, his dagger drawn. They were at the mercy of their captors right now and if it came to it, she knew they would suffer abuse if it were so willed. “Faramir?” Saralonde looked up to see Boromir glaring at his brother. “What are you doing?”

The younger turned with a smile. “What is she to you but an Elfin animal?”

Boromir crossed his arms. “I could ask the same question. Leave her alone.”

“But…”

“Leave her alone.” The finality in his tone compelled the younger to shrug and abandon his conquest. Boromir glared until he was on the far side of the gathering, readying his horse. Then he approached.

“Follow your own advice,” Legolas hissed, remaining between them.

Boromir frowned down at him, the kicked his sore shoulder, causing him to fall back in the dirt and gasp. “We will reach the Golden Wood by midnight if we start now.” He bent down, gripping Saralonde’s arms to pull her up. His hand came to her cheek softly. “I hope you will enjoy Caras Galadhon, my friends.”

Forcing himself up, Legolas breathed, “Please, Boromir. Please do not hurt her. I will give you anything.”

The Captain of Lórien looked down on him impatiently. “The pain you Elves endure will be determined by the amount of cooperation you give.”

The Elf shook his head, searching for the right words, the ones he did not want to say. “Do not violate her. If you have any compassion then please consider my request.” He pleaded with his eyes, though the hopelessness behind them pierced her heart.

“When you meet Aragorn you may wish violation was the greatest of her sufferings,” Boromir replied low, then turned away, forcing her along towards his horse.

As they walked she heard Legolas whisper, “Melethon le, Saralonde.” Suddenly her eyes were wet with unshed tears. She could not answer him for fear they would fall.

She did not care, but needed pull her thoughts away from Legolas, so she asked, “What did you mean, when we meet Aragorn?” In reality it mattered little. She knew the Men would make them suffer in any and every way.

Boromir aided her onto his horse, the mounted behind her. “Let us be off,” he ordered the others. He nodded Haldir towards Legolas, then directed the steed towards the Golden Wood. Just when she thought he had ignored her, he drew a breath and replied, “My intentions for you are simple. You have caught my interest and I will satisfy myself with you.” She closed her eyes, blushing at how forward he spoke of her. “Aragorn’s satisfactions are a trifle more complicated than simply holding you down and taking you. He will want to cause you shame. He has a grudge against Elven females for the sake of your Lord Elrond’s daughter refusing his advances. You know what was done to her?”

Saralonde licked her lips, vaguely familiar with this story. “I know she went missing.”

The Captain of Gondor nodded. “Indeed. Haldir himself saw to her kidnapping. Elrond could not fathom Galadriel’s darkness ran so deep as to allow harm to her own grandchild, but the Lady of Shadow is nothing but evil. It started with a simple rape, but escalated into darkness we do not speak of.”

Feeling sick, she closed her eyes. She had met Arwen Undomiel a long time ago and thought her a fair and decent lady. Boromir’s cold words chilled her to the bone. “Then she is dead.”

“Dead,” he repeated, exhaling tiredly. “You may call it that, though her body endures. Elrond would be better off believing her dead.” Absently he rested his hand on her hip. Saralonde forced herself to relax, knowing he would only do more if she fought it.

“Does she suffer?” she asked low, feeling melancholy as she thought of it.

Boromir did not answer.

*

She had never been to the Golden Wood; no one beyond the darkest souls had in over two thousand years. But she had heard stories of awe and wonder. Rivendell was the intelligence of Elves, Mirkwood the muscle. Lothlórien had once been their spirit. It was a place of solace and peace, untouched by evil and dirt. Now the golden trees had all but faded. The air was silent and the spirit of the wood blackened. When the leaves fell from the trees they did not decorate the ground with glints of gold, they spoiled the grass with crumbling, dead shadows of what had once been something worthy of marvel.

Saralonde inhaled and looked at the twisted trees. She could feel such brokenness from the woods, as if Lothlórien were in mourning. Instead of offering solace to the weary travelers the night they had spent in the treetops had been nervous and sleepless. She had felt a mind in the dark night, a dark one keeping vigil over her like some perverted semblance of the Valar. It was a powerful mind, filled with grief and anger.

Boromir had kept her close to him, which had been too far from Legolas for talking. In fact Haldir kept the prince away from any of his people, bound and gagged, left to lie against the hard bark at the foot of a tree. While her captor slept Saralonde had watched over her lover from afar, grieving his pain. He should not have been too tired to sit up, but for the beating Haldir and another of the Elves had inflicted upon him. Legolas had not moved all night. Not until he was forced up when dawn came.

They were nearing Caras Galadhon, the Broken City as her kin called it. She knew not what they would face there, but counted very little on hope. As they passed into the silvery city she began to see both Men and Elves wandering the premises, content with each other’s presense. It was a mockery of the peace she and her people longed for.

They halted before a light-haired Elf that looked not unlike Haldir. “Rumil,” the Marchwarden greeted with a smile. “Brother. We have some interesting guests. I trust the King is decent?”

The Shadow Elf nodded, taking the reigns of Boromir’s horse. Others came to handle the remaining steeds. “He is in the study with Lady Galadriel. He is in a fair mood.”

Haldir nodded, dragging Legolas off his horse. The Prince of Mirkwood fell to his knees almost immediately, but the Marchwarden had no mercy. “Get up, whelp,” he hissed, dragging him to his feet.

His eyes flashed as Boromir dismounted and gripped Saralonde around the waist, easing her off his horse. She shook her head when he tried to get near her. Haldir gripped his tunic, jerking him along. A cloth tied around his mouth kept him from speaking out, but by his eyes she knew what he was saying. He was sorry. He was afraid. He loved her. She liked her lips and gazed down at the ground as Boromir took hold of her shoulder and directed her to follow. “Do not look so down, Saralonde. All is not lost.”

From behind Faramir grunted a laugh. “That’s right, meleth. You’ll always have us.”

Her brown knit and her fists tightened as Boromir chuckled with his brother. “Of course she does not want you, Faramir.”

“And she wants you?” the younger returned playfully.

She felt her skin flush as the elder put his hand on her behind, rubbing gently. “She will grow to. Won’t you, girl?”

“Never!” she hissed, glaring ahead. Legolas turned his head, trying to reassure her, which won him a hard shove from the Marchwarden. He fell on a set of stairs they had been led to. Tears blurred her vision at his groan. “Leave him alone!”

Gripping his blonde hair, Haldir aided the prince to his feet and urged him on up. “Now you have your female fighting your battles for you. Weak, Sindar. Weak.”

The stairs seemed to go on forever. Saralonde shut Boromir’s voice out as they traversed, trying to concentrate on every step so she could forget what dangers lay ahead. But all too soon they reached the top. They were led onto a high platform to another stairway, this one much shorter than the last. Haldir shoved the prince upwards and the others followed.

They came to a small sitting area back dropped by trees and there upon two throsat sat a king and a shadow. Legolas was pushed to his knees before the male. “Bow to the great king,” Haldir ordered, crossing his arms and standing above.

King Aragorn’s eyes were curious and shaded as he sat forward. “What have you brought me aside from a careless Captain of Lórien?”

Boromir grunted at the rebuke and came forward. “The Prince of Mirkwood, the younger one.”

The king looked down in interest. “Prince Legolas, is it?” A smile graced his features. “Welcome to my realm. And these others?”

“A small host of his companions,” the captain supplied, then nodded towards Saralonde. “This one I claim as my bounty for bringing you such a gift.”

Coming to his feet, Aragorn approached and reached out towards her, taking her chin in his hand. On the floor Legolas struggled. “I take it she is something of importance to you?” he asked with a gentle smile. Legolas’s eyes widened a little. The king turned away and looked into Saralonde’s face. She did not hide her hatred for him. “You claim a bounty before asking my permission, Boromir?”

Behind her the Captain of Lothlórien hissed in a breath. “You have your Elf, Aragorn. When do I ever ask a reward?”

“Bain Edhel,” Aragorn muttered, then stepped away. “You may have your reward, Captain. But I will retain rights to her should I please.”

Boromir grunted, displeased, but said nothing against his king. Saralonde felt her stomach tighten in knots when he put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her away. Disgusted, she tore her eyes away from Aragorn as he crouched, looking to the other, silent figure in the room. She had her eyes on Legolas, pale blue eyes hidden beneath her gray cloak and barely visible. But she could see hunger there. Suddenly she became more afraid for Legolas.

“Take the otheo hoo holding cells,” Aragorn ordered, dragging her thoughts from the shadow of Galadriel. Saralonde tensed when Boromir took her bound wrists. “I will speak with Prince Legolas for now. Haldir remain. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Legolas looked up into her face, whispering, “Be strong,” now that his mouth was free from having spoken to the king. She nodded as she was taken away.

“Finally alone,” Boromir remarked, drawing her towards another platform that trailed off into the depths of the woods. Saralonde pulled her arms away from his grip and he hauled her around to face him, his expression annoyed. “Be grateful he gave you to me, Elf. I will show you Arwen and you will see what fate could have been yours.”

She kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself to speak anything but angry words that would see her punished for them. Instead she looked out across the trees, trying to calm herself. What would happen in Boromir’s rooms she did not know.

The rooms were arranged within the trees, supported by branches and architecture that was both secure and made to allow nature in. He pulled her along a small bath leading back into a darkened clearing that housed three separate doorways. The nearest door was his. He opened it and took a lamp from a hook outside, then shoved her within the dim.

Saralonde blinked as her eyes adjusted. as nas nicely decorated, if not grand in size. There was a doorway leading to what she guessed was a refresher, a sitting area and an opening that led into his bedroom. Boromir shut the door behind him, then set about lighting assorted candles and torches around the room. When he turned back he caught her studying the room for weaknesses and possible weaponry. Boromir smirked, setting his lamp down. “This can go smoothly, if you like. I am a reasonable man, after all.”

She bled her contempt through her dark eyes. “If you had any reason I would be home right now!”

Removing one of his wrist bracers, he cocked his head and smiled, approaching. “I did not say I was perfect. Do not cry to me when you are in pain, for I did offer to show you kindness.”

He backed her into a wall, running his hand down her cheek. She tried to pull away from his invasive touch. “Why? Why must you be so cruel?”

“Balch?” he returned in mild amusement. “Le u-isto man balch no. Im bregol, si al-uanui sui genedich.”

“Don’t talk in my language,” she growled, standing still as he cupped her breast and squeezed. “You make it filthy.”

Boromir leaned in, pressing his mouth close to hers. Her bound arms ached against the hard stone behind her. “Your language won’t be the last thing I make filthy.” His hands came to her shoulders, holding her steady as he forced his lips over hers. His taste invaded her senses, the bite of alcohol faint upon her lips as his tongue brushed against them. He demanded entry and won, gripping her flesh and squeezing until she whimpered. She closed her eyes, trying to place herself somewhere else.

He pulled away, remaining close and invasive as he started on the buttons of her leather shirt. Saralonde looked up into his face, watching his mild concentration. “Boromir?” she asked, desperate to try anything, even talk. He looked up into her face with knit brows. “I see good in you.” A smile graced his lips, but she pressed on as he drew her shirt open, mingling his fingers with her flesh. “I see you are a reasonable man, so I ask you not to do this. Don’t wed yourself to this evil.”

Parting her shirt further, exposing her to his vision, Boromir slid his fingers down one side until they rested on her sensitive center. He watched her face as he caressed a circle around, then pinched delicately. His other hand pressed into the wall of her side, caging her. “All I want is a little pleasure, Elf. It is my right to have you and make no mistake, I shall. I am a reasonable man and this is why I offer again. This need not be a chore for you.”

Saralonde closed her eyes, swallowing her nervousness as he bent down, capturing her breast with his warm mouth. His mustache scratched her smooth skin as his tongue lapped at her flesh again and again. She looked over him, searching the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. He had left a dagger on the table across the way, but bound she could think of no way to use it to her advantage without great risk. As she fought herself for some sort of answer his husky voice filled her ears and thoughts as he said, “Yes, Elf. It can be pleasurable for us both.” His gray eyes gazed up at her in hazy desire. “Tell me you want me to be gentle and I will.” He fondled her against, looking for her reply, seeing her struggle with fear and pride.

Disgusted and infuriated, Saralonde threw herself against him, knocking him off balance. “An Elf of Mirkwood does not beg any mere mortal!” He glared when she kicked him, then ran past towards the dagger. It was a slim chance, but she had to take it. When she got to the desk, she knew he had not run after her. Pulling desperately at her bonds, she turned and saw him watching with crossed arms and annoyed eyes.

“Very well,” he said simply, coming towards her with firm intent.

She took the dagger into her hand, but behind her back it would do no good. Panic welled up in her as she darted her eyes around the room, seeking escape. There was no way out of this. Boromir came to her, taking hold with rough hands. He squeezed her arms hard as he whirled her around and ripped the dagger away. Saralonde struggled to run from him, but he had her tightly by the wrists. “Don’t you touch me!” she hissed, trying to keep her balance as he dragged her towards his bedroom.

Boromir tossed her in and approached, backing her towards the bed. When his hand raised, she tried to duck. Angered by this, he jerked her up and raised it again, holding her steady. He let her fall when his hand impacted with her cheek. Saralonde hit the bed, dizzied by the strength of the blow. Tears formed in her eyes as she realized this was going to happen, no talk or fight would save her. Legolas had been her only lover and now that was being taken away.

He was not impressed by her tears. Leaning his knee on the bed, Boromir untied the strings of her pants and started jerking them down her hips. She kicked her legs, trying to throw him off his actions and won herself another merciless slap that sent her face to the sheets. He was silent as he finished his task, throwing the pants down to the floor. When he gripped her panties, Saralonde held her legs together, looking into his face defiantly. His laugh made her flush as he gripped on side on her hip, ripping the fabric. He did the same to the other side, then pulled the cloth from her.

Positioning her higher on the bed, Boromir jerked the fabric of her shirt down her arms, effectively leaving her completely bare for his eyes. She tried pulling away, but he would not let her go. Throwing his leg over her, he straddled her, sitting back heavily against her thighs as he started undoing his belt. His eyes dared her to try and fight him more as he tossed it aside and opened his pants.

Boromir lay on top of her then, bracing his arms against the bed and curving his hands up around her shoulders. He forced his thigh between hers, victorious over her attempts to fend him off. When he inserted his presense between her thighs and readied to complete their union, he stopped and looked down into her face. “I admire your courage, pretty one, but it makes me want you all the more. I will have you. Any time you want the pain to go away just whisper ‘gentle’ and I will have mercy. Until then learn your place.”

Saralonde arched her head back, biting her lip hard and moaning when he forced his hardness inside of her. He pushed firm and fast, searing her senses with the violation. Her unshed tears won past her lids as she registered him pulling back, then shoving forward again. He was punishing her for her resistance, she could see it in his darkened eyes as he moved too quickly and too roughly for her to become accustomed to the feelings rushing over her.

Somehow she had not thought it would come to this. She had thought something would save her, be it his mercy or something else. Reality was all too present for her to pretend it wasn’t happening. Each jerk sent her into the mattress hard and soon she felt her hands growing cold beneath her. He kissed her lips again, tasting her tears and whimpers as he smoothed a palm down her arm, then curved it up to her breast. He squeezed hard, then abandoned her lips to devour the aching flesh in his hold.

He was losing himself. She could feel him forgetting this was a punishment, driving for his own release. The idea of it made her feel sick inside, knowing he would find gratification in her pain. “Please,” she whispered, needing something to hold onto. Something that still belonged to just she and Legolas.

“Man?” he asked, slowing and bringing his face to hers. His golden-red hair was moist, falling down across his eyes.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she tensed beneath his soft movements. “Avo leitho nedh nin. Anno nin sen.” The words were soft and he responded to her fear.

Leaning close, touching her throat softly, he whispered, “No ha said, lín mîr? Ha no anim si.” He kissed down her jaw, nipping lightly.

He rubbed her hip rhythmically, squeezing as he surged forward gently. “Law,” she whimpered, closing her eyes. “Anno enni nîn iest.”

He thrust hard, winning a cry, then resumed teasing her with possessive eyes. There was no mercy there and it pained her when he said low, “Le no anim. Ha annatha enni daer gell leitho nedh le.” Boromir reached for her, wiping tears from her cheek as he moved relentlessly. His groan filled her with dread.

“Avo echedi nin anhin.” She whimpered as he jerked into her hips, shaking uncontrollably. It hurt, causing her to tighten her legs against his hips. “Baw! Deri sen.”

Boromir slowed again, bringing his mouth to her ear. Darkly, he said, “What do I care if you conceive? You are for my pleasure, pretty one, and that is all.” He ran his hand down her moist side. “Nallach a ritho sui i-rodwen, meleth.”

She wasted no more words on him, closing her eyes and trying to minimize her movements. Anything to lessen his pleasure, but he was too far lost in his desire for it to matter. He was tensing against her, jerking into her without care as he groaned his pleasure.

And then it was done. A rough movement forward into her hips and Boromir fell against her, panting for air. She kept her eyes shut tightly, hoping and praying he would leave her alone with her pain. He did not. Boromir came off her slowly, removing himself and looking down in quiet triumph as he began to disrobe. Saralonde gazed up with wet eyes, trying to divine what he was going to do next.

Once he was unclothed, Boromir pushed her to her side and lay down next to her, molding into her back and draping his arm around her. “I suggest you get some rest, meleth. I may desire you again later.”

Shaking trying to ignore his hand rubbing her stomach, Saralonde begged her senses for sleep. As it came her last thoughts were of Legolas.

*

His blood was warm. Galadriel traced it from the cut on his forehead, wetting her fingers with the substance and bringing it down his cheek to his lips. Legolas gazed through half-lidded eyes into hers, trying to find something of the woman he had heard tales of. “Are you tired, Son of Thranduil?” Her voice was like a mournful song. He pulled his jaw away from her hand, looking away.

He was bound between two trees, on his knees in the grass. Galadriel looked over the young prince to the shadow standing behind. “What have you seen?” Aragorn asked low, clasping his hands before him. He seemed not to like the attention the Lady of Shadow gave this youthful Elf.

Galadriel gripped the Prince of Mirkwood’s chin again jerking him to face her. Legolas glared through shining eyes as she brought her silver dagger to his face, caressing his bruised cheek with the blade. “This one is dangerous,” she said softly, then whipped her head up to fix the King of Men with a grave look. “He must be killed or turned. No mercy for him. I counsel no less.”

“Then you shall have to kill me,” Legolas growled, jerking in his bonds. His fury subdued as he felt her mind probing him again, delving into all his secrets.

“What of the others? That is what your heart speaks, though you try to drown it out,” she crooned, again touching the blood on him. “The others will die, Prince Legolas, if you choose death.” She brushed his blond hair back soothingly. “Except her.”

Again Legolas tensed, pulling at the ties to no avail. “Leave her be!”

“What have you seen?” Aragorn persisted for the details, eyeing Legolas darkly as he wandered around to face the beaten prince. His eyes were shaded in uncertainty.

Galadriel kept her eyes upon her prey. The depths of her watch yielded no light. They were hungry and he feared them. “I saw him escape Lothlórien by way of a traitor. I know not who will betray you, but it is written upon the face of time. Dare I speak the details before him, Master-King?”

The King shook his head hastily, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “No, of course not. Do you know when?”

The Lady of Shadow shook her head, running her hand along Legolas’s neck. “Give him to me, Aragorn. I will…teach him.”

“But you will not kill him, Galadriel.” His voice was hard. He crouched beside her. “Will you, Lady?”

Hissing in a breath, the Lady of Shadow pulled herself up and stalked away. Aragorn shook his head, then looked into the prince’s weary eyes. “She likes you. Feel blessed.”

Legolas gave him a cynical look, shifting on his knees. “Blessed?” he repeated, not hiding his distaste. “Should I feel blessed when my people suffer? There is no justification for this evil, King Aragorn. You claim to oppose Sauron?” He closed his mouth and looked away when Aragorn lifted his dagger. “Do as you will.”

“Oh, I will,” Aragorn replied honestly. “Make no mistake about that. Opposing Sauron does not mean I serve Elves.”

The Prince of Mirkwood tightened his fists. “Nor have we asked it! We ask peace and you give us terror. You are no better than Sauron, if indeed you hold to your claim that you are not among his servants. If he would die this world would still be a black place.”

Nodding, Aragorn fiddled with the blade in his hand. His blue eyes watched the steel keenly as if he were considering what he could do with it. “Tell me, Legolas, do you think Haldir is unhappy, bound in oppressive slavery? Galadriel?”

Legolas also watched the dagger, knowing any moment it may be found buried in his flesh or cutting away at it. He steeled himself for the pain, for no matter what they did to him he would not give himself to darkness. “They are fell and black. Do I believe any decent Elf could live so freely under your rule? No, I do not.”

“And what has your so-called goodness bought for you, Legolas of Mirkwood?” the King asked him mildly.

“What has your darkness bought for you?”

Aragorn smiled, gazing around him. “It bought me this realm.” His voice was quiet. “It bought me power.”

The Elf grunted in contempt, flexing his fingers in pain. A soft breeze cooled his stinging cuts. He watched the grass move with it, whispering, “But it did not buy you a soul. It did not buy you love.”

His crystal eyes were fixed upon the ground, gazing as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Something occurred to the King of Men as he fingered the blade. “That girl that Boromir took. Was she yours?”

A well of worry opened up within Legolas as he raised his eyes to Aragorn’s. “She, as the others, are of my concern.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, a soft expression writing itself across his features. He looked almost kind, but the Elf saw nothing to hope for. “Is she not more? Is that not what Galadriel inferred?” Legolas looked away. There would be no hiding it now, no protecting Saralonde from Aragorn if he so chose to exploit her for the sake of gain. He closed his eyes, begging the Valar for guidance. Aragorn continued his thoughts. “You love her. She undoubtedly feels the same. You are right. My power never bought me love.”

“It is not too late.” It was the only thing Legolas could think to respond with.

The King laughed at him. “Of course it is too late. For both of us.” He stood up, sheathing his blade and dusting his hands off. “Namarie. I Dae Bereth damdelitha an le. Lín tinnu anglenna, Caun o Mirkwood.”

*

Gerich ruth an nin si? – You have anger for me yet?
Law, al-ruth. – No, not anger.
Man sennui? Meleth? Mael? – What then (instead)? Love? Lust?
I-ôl in le a im gochell. – A (The) dream of you and I naked together (together-naked).
Gweriach lín noss, thaurnod! – You betray your kindred, abomination (abominable-thing)!
I-achasôl in le a im gochell. – A nightmare (fear-dream) of you and I naked together.
Guren no pathrant ah nírnaeth. Avannen tangado lîn iaun. Diheno nin. – My heart is filled with lamentation. I didn’t ensure (make firm) your safety (sanctuary). Forgive me.
Melethon le, Saralonde. – I love you, Saralonde.
Bain Edhel – Beautiful Elf.
Balch? Le u-isto man balch no. Im bregol, si al-uanui sui genedich. – Cruel? You know not what cruel is. I’m violent, yet not (as) monstrous as you reckon.
Man? – What?
Avo leitho nedh nin. Anno nin sen. – Don’t spill (release) inside me. Give me this.
No ha said, lín mîr? Ha no anim si. – Is it private, your treasure? It is mine (for me) now.
Law. Anno enni nîn iest. – No. Give to me my wish.
Le no anim. Ha annatha enni daer gell leitho nedh le. – You are mine. It will give me great pleasure (joy) to spill inside you.
Avo echedi nin anhin. Baw! Deri sen. – Don’t make me pregnant (with-child). No, don’t! Stop this.
Nallach a ritho sui i-rodwen, meleth. – You cry and jerk as a virgin, love.
Namarie. I Dae Bereth damdelitha an le. Lín tinnu anglenna, Caun o Mirkwood. – Farewell. The Shadow Queen will return (dan+teli “back come”) to you. Your dusk approaches, Prince of Mirkwood.