Ringspell

Chapter 21.
(Untitled)
or: One of those 'between events' chapter's that are hard to name...

Making it to the bottom of the steep stairs, Aragorn found Frodo, Sam and Gimli lounging casually, in the first of the many rooms located on the fourth floor of Mirkwood's subterranean city. His companions eyed him closely when he appeared in the doorway and the Ranger suddenly realised what he must have looked like, his dark hair a tangled mess around his face, his clothes crumpled and dishevelled, hanging open at the front. Shifting, uncomfortably beneath his friend's critical gaze, Aragorn made a half-hearted attempt to straighten himself up but the lingering remains of his hangover prevented him from caring too much about his untidy appearance.

"Good morning." Sam greeted him, pleasantly. The hobbit's cheery disposition contradicted fiercely with how Aragorn was feeling and he threw his companion a withering look.

"You and Legolas left, in quite a hurry, last night." Gimli observed.

Aragorn glared at the dwarf.

"I had to pee." He declared. He had remembered that, on his journey from the prince's chamber. That, among other things.

Gimli nodded theatrically, feigning agreement.

"Sure, you did."

Sighing heavily, Aragorn struggled to maintain his composure, tempted to tell the dwarf to mind his own business. Instead, he inquired as to the whereabouts of the rest of the Fellowship.

"Merry and Pippin have gone exploring, with Boromir." Frodo told him. "And Gandalf went to see the elven-king."

Aragorn grunted.

"Well, I doubt he found him. Thranduil was with Legolas, when I left." He said. Long silence followed his statement and it dawned on the Ranger's clouded brain that he had all but admitted to spending the night with the young prince. Frustrated, he tried to change the subject, asking if his friends had had breakfast.

"Hours ago." Sam informed him. "It's almost lunchtime."

Aragorn sighed again. This day was promising to be full of aggravation. Vaguely, he considered going back to bed. He decided against it; he wanted to see Legolas again, before the day was out and logic told him he would probably find the elf at the midday meal.

"I have to go bathe." He mumbled to his companions, wandering down the passage to the room where he had left his weapons and grabbing the thick, freshly cleaned and folded towel that rested on the end of his bed, before making his way to the huge bath chamber at the end of the hall.

Aragorn almost died with relief, when he eased his tired body into the hot water, sinking slowly down until only his head remained above the surface. He set about washing himself quickly, before settling down to soak his aching bones. As he languished in the warm water, his mind drifted inevitably back to Legolas, and the perilous state of his relationship with the young elven prince.

He knew what had happened between them. By now, he had remembered everything; the drinking, the weeping – and that Legolas had pleasured him. Though his loin stirred wonderfully at the memory, the Ranger now found himself struggling violently with his conscience and for more than one reason.

Yes, his lady was gone from his life and had sailed away, never to return, but he still loved her. More than that, he knew that her love for him had not died with their separation. What would she say, if she knew? A part of him wondered if he should really care; she had left him, after all. Nevertheless, deep inside him, guilt began to eat at the edges of his soul. He reminded himself endlessly that it was the prince, who had been the aggressor, that he had only been too drunk and tired to resist but these excuses did little to ease his remorse. He could not lie to himself; he had wanted the elf, had dreamed of such an encounter between them – and when it had come, he had enjoyed it immensely. There was however, another, perhaps more urgent matter for his tired, confused brain to wrestle with.

Legolas, was but little more than five hundred years old. Aragorn was no stranger to the ways of elves and though he tried desperately to avoid it, the fact remained that in the eyes of the Sindar, their prince was a child.

This, to Aragorn, seemed a far greater crime than that which he had committed against his love; that he desired one considered too young for carnal pleasures. Logic came to his defence, though it offered little comfort. He had not actually taken the elf, therefore, in theory, the prince's chastity remained in tact. Also, their encounter the night before had obviously not been his friend's first experience; Legolas had approached their lovemaking with almost alarming composure and he had known well, the methods with which to drive his lover to ecstasy. No, it had definitely not been his first time and Aragorn found this realisation, coupled with the prince's youth, to be profoundly disturbing. While Aragorn might, himself, have at least some small claim to ignorance, in defence of his morally questionable behaviour, no citizen of Mirkwood could possibly justify touching the king's under-age son.

Nevertheless, Legolas appeared perfectly capable of making his own decisions and despite his relative youth, Aragorn thought the elf adult enough to do whatever he pleased. Though this helped him come to terms with his own part in the transgressions of the night before, it did little to ease his concern for his friend, who he knew would now be dealing with the consequences of their actions.

"Aragorn!" Sam called to him from the entrance to the bath-chamber, stirring him from his reverie. "This elf came by, to say lunch is ready, in the dining hall."

Aragorn told the hobbit to go ahead with the others, he would follow shortly. Sam shrugged and disappeared back through the portal and Aragorn dragged himself reluctantly from the warm bath and began to dress.

As he followed the hobbit's path out of the chamber, the Ranger came to a decision. He would stop, at Legolas' door, on the way to upstairs. If Thranduil was still there, he had a legitimate excuse, to be picking up his friend on the way to lunch. If however, the king had left, he and the prince could talk.

***********

"I fell."

Legolas practised his response to the inevitable interrogation. As he did so, he gazed, forlornly at his marred reflection. Across his face ran a dull, red welt, where the tip of Thranduil's whip had touched his skin. Below the thin line, a significant bruise had blossomed along his jaw, spreading across his cheek, close to his ear; testament to the force of his father's strike.

The prince sighed, gently. Though his face would heal quickly, Legolas knew the marks would be visible at least until the next day and while his excuse would serve to silence those of his people with the audacity to ask what had happened to him, Aragorn and the Fellowship would not be so easily satisfied. The thought of being pushed into confession, by the Ranger's seemingly passionate concern for him, sent shudders of trepidation through his body. Aragorn had already managed to drag from him several of his darkest, most closely guarded secrets but Legolas could not suffer the thought of his noble friend finding out how utterly he was enslaved to his king. The Ranger would pity him and Legolas found pity to be humiliating and quite intolerable. He resolved to avoid his friends until his wounds had faded.

The prince bathed and dressed, slowly, treating his body with painstaking care. He considered sending for a healer, to see to the wounds on his back but decided against it; he had suffered worse, in the past. Despite his brave front, the young elf flinched at the sting, when the material of his silk shirt contacted his red, raw flesh. He took time to comb his hair, deciding to leave it hanging loosely around his face, the better to conceal his injuries.

Feeling as decent and dignified as was possible, the prince lingered for a little while, wondering what to do next. It was, of course, not the first time he had been restrained to his room, either by choice or by the order of his often disgruntled father. Nevertheless, the time he had spent roaming freely under the sky with the Fellowship had given him a taste for the world above Thranduil's halls and he now fought a sudden urge to run outside and breathe fresh air.

Then, as though on cue, voices were heard outside the chamber and the door opened, the guard stepping half-way through the portal and politely informing him that his 'mortal friend' was requesting a word.

Legolas sighed, a part of him had known the Ranger would return.

"**Very well.**" He relented, unable to turn the man away. "**Let him in.**"