How Dark the Night (Complete Now)

Title: How Dark the Night II: A Lament for Gandalf
Author; Elf Maiden
Rating: R
Summary: the comfort of elves
Disclaimer: Alas, Hobbits, Elves and the other inhabitants of Middle Earth are not mine. I just borrow for them
for a while. No infringement is intended and no money is made on any of these stories.

A Lament for Gandalf

Frodo was lying at the base of the pedestal holding Galadriel’s mirror when he heard footsteps behind him.
Curled up in a little ball, his body was wracked with sobs. The voices of the Elves still singing a lament for
Gandalf were almost in counterpoint to his tears. He had failed. He had let Gandlaf die. He would never be
healed of this grief. Never. How could such a small body contain such sorrow? He would never feel himself
again. Never.

Frodo did not even need to turn to know who it was who crept up behind him, leaves barely rustling as the
Elf made his way to where Frodo lay. Ever since that night in Moria when Legolas had comforted him, Frodo
had sensed the Elf’s presence whenever he was near.

The Elf did not speak, but Frodo could hear his even breathing as Legolas crept nearer to him. Frodo was
lifted from the ground, cradled against the Elf’s chest like a babe. He turned his head, muffling his sobs
against the silky material of Legolas’ tunic, feeling his tears dampen it. Frodo had never felt so small
and insignificant.

Legolas moved with Frodo still clinging to him and sat down, holding Frodo against his body and rocking
him, murmuring soothing sounds against his head. Frodo’s hands reached out almost of their own accorand and gripped the tunic fiercely.

It seemed natural when Legolas’s soothing voice against his head became a kiss in his hair. It seemed
natural when Legolas bent his head and kissed Frodo on the forehead, lips cool on Frodo’s heated skin.
It seemed natural that Legolas should continue those kisagaiagainst Frodo’s damp eyelids, on his tear
streaked cheeks, on the tip of his nose. It seemed natural when Frodo tilted his head up to receive the
benediction of the Elf’s kiss on his lips.

There was no passion in the kiss, no fire, just the offering of comfort, but Frodo’s body had other ideas
and he felt himself harden at the Elf’s kisses. Frodo was beyond wanting, or needing comfort. He tried to
pull away, out of the Elf’s embrace, but Legolas held him firm.

"Legolas, please," begged Frodo, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was requesting from the Elf.

"Frodo? What would you have me do? What do you wish?" asked Legolas softly.

What did he wish? Oh, there was a question that he could find no answer for. What did he wish? He
wished he had never gone to live at Bag End. He wished Bilbo had never found the Ring. He wished
he was still safe at home in the S. He. He wished Gandalf had never fallen. He maywellwell wish for the
stars and the moon too, for none of them would ever be true.

"I want to feel alive, Legolas," whispered Frodo against the Elf’s chest. He could feel Legolas’ heart
thrumming beneath his ear. For as he said it, Frodo realised that he felt dead. Almost as if he had
fallen into the Abyss with Gandalf, was still tumbling towards some unforeseen but inescapable doom.
Fate had chosen him for good or ill and he still railed against it.

"Frodo?" asked Legolas again, stroking his hair softly. Frodo angled his head into the caress, feeling
the urge to purr like a kitten. Frodo glanced up, meeting the Elf’s eyes, pools of blue ice that chilled
and warmed Frodo at once.

"Touch me, Legolas. Please." Frodo shifted in the Elf’s lap, reaching up and cupping Legolas’ cheeks
in his hand, before pulling Legolas down for a hungry kiss. Legolas made a startled sound in his throat
before he pulled away and frowned at Frodo.

"Frodo, stop this. You do not know what you are doing."

"I do. I need. I want…I want this. I want you." Not sure when he had suddenly become so bold, Frodo
reached out for the Elf’s left hand and guided it between his legs, evidence indeed that Frodo’s body
knew exactly what it wanted.

To F’s s’s surprise, Legolas did not immediately remove his hand, but let it linger there, caressing
Frodo through the velvet of his breeches. Frodo gasped at the touch, delicious, unknown sensations
darting throughout his body and pooling as liquid fire between his thighs. He had long been knowledgeable
about what his own hands could do, but who knew another’s touch could feel this good?

"Frodo, I am flattered, truly I am," said Legolas, still stroking Frodo’s length absently. "But I do not
desire you like that. You are dear to me, as are all of our Fellowship, but my heart has long belonged
to another."

Frodo tried to concentrate on what the Elf was saying, but rational thought had long since fled when
he had first felt Legolas’ fingers on him. Something about desire.

"Frodo?" the fingers on him stilled and Frodo let out a whimper.

"Please don’t stop," he pleaded and looked up at Legolas, seeing himself reflected in the Elf’s
eyes, mouth slightly parted, eyes hooded and almost black with arousal.

"Just listen for a moment, Frodo. Then I promise I will… ease you."

Frodo could not prevent the soft moan escaping his lips at the words the Elf spoke. He nodded, an
indication that he was listening, despite his body’s obvious attempts to distract him.

"Frodo, I like you, but I do not desire you as one would a lover. You are a friend to me, and what I can
offer you is as one friend to another. Nothing more. Can you take what I can give, Frodo? Or do you wish
to forget about this and… and take care of yourself?"

"I would like to take whatever you are willing to give, Legolas," whispered Frodo, unwilling to let the Elf’s
touch leave him just yet. Yes, he could take care of matters himself with his own hands, but it wasn’t just
release he wanted. He wanted to be held, to feel a connection to someone else.

Legolas smoothed Frodo’s curls away from his forehead and traced Frodo’s skin with his fingers, all the
while staring at Frodo. Frodo swallowed and returned the gaze.

"You are beautiful, has anyone ever told you that, Frodo?" The Elf leaned forward and kissed Frodo
softly on the lips. Frodo’s mouth opened, eager to accept any touch from him, however small. Frodo
shifted in Legolas’ lap, his breeches were getting uncomfortable and he almost willed the buttons to
open on their own accord.

But Legolas seemed to sense Frodo’s distress and without breaking the kiss, his hand moved between
Frodo‘s legs. As deftly as any ladies’ maid Legolas made short work of the buttons and slipped his hand
inside, caressing Frodo through the cotton of his underlinens. Frodo gasped and bucked up into his hand,
not wanting this to ever stop.

Legolas broke the kiss and looked at Frodo once again, smiling down at his young companion. Frodo
could not take the intensity of that gaze and he had to close his eyes, aware of nothing but the sounds
of his ragged breathing and the steady pressure Legolas was applying to his length. And with his eyes
closed he could pretend that it was not the Elf’s whose hands were touching him.

Frodo felt a sharp tightness in his belly and knew that he was going to fall over the edge far too soon,
but he did not want the Elf’s caresses to stop. This was too good to stop. His back arched like a bow and
suddenly he was coming, starlight bloomed behind his eyes. He opened them as he felt the first spasms
take him, watching as drops of pearl bathed Legolas’ hand.

“Gandalf!” wailed Frodo, grief and pleasure intermingled so that it was hard to know where one ended and
the other began. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he wondered if he was indeed going to die now.
His hands clutched at the Elf’s tunic, his grip so fierce that his knuckles turned white. Breathing was little more
than a gasp.

"I’m sorry," mumbled Frodo against the tunic.

"What are you sorry for?" askegolagolas, tilting Frodo’s head up to look at him.

"It all happened so fast. I did not get to tend you." Frodo tried to kiss Legolas again, but the Elf moved
his head away. Legolas shook his head.

"No, Frodo. This was a gift to you. You do not need to tend me."

"But I thought that when two people…" he trailed of, unsure what to say next.

"So you have never been with another before, Frodo?" asked Legolas gently. “I have to say I am
surprised. I had the sense that although your body welcomed my touch, that you were thinking of another."

"Is it that obvious?" asked Frodo.

“Only to me, Frodo. Elves can sense things that other races can’t. But tell me, why haven’t you told him how
you feel?"

Frodo shifted, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to Legolas to wipe his hand. He
buttoned his breeches and refused to answer. What could he answer?

“It’s difficult. In the Shire, liking another lad, well, it just isn’t done,” said Frodo finally. And how he had
wanted it to be done, to feel that he wasn’t alone in his yearnings for someone of his own sex.

"You’re not in the Shire anymore, Frodo."

"I know."

***

For the next three nights, Frodo found excuses to leave the camp and hoped that Legolas wofollfollow.
He returned to camp disappointed and more than a little frustrated. There were no more nights of comfort
in Legolas’ arms.

On the fourth night, he promised himself that if Legolas did not come to him, he would give up and
settle down to sleep at the camp like a good Hobbit, even though it pained him more than he cared
to admit.

When he heard leaves rustling and twigs cracking behind him, Frodo turned and gasped in surprise.

It wasn’t the Elf who had followed him that night.

TBC