Gifts of the Valar.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
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Legolas awoke feeling uncharacteristically sluggish. His mouth was somewhat dry and he felt a dull ache in his head. He sat up, noting the soreness in his muscles as if he had been fighting a violent battle that had lasted several days.

He looked over to see if Alexandra was awake, an unlikely circumstance but one he knew he needed to explore, and saw she was not on the pallet next to him. He frowned. It appeared as if her side had not been slept in at all.

Throwing the covers aside his breath caught as he saw the dark, rust colored stains on the sheets and on his body. He stood and looked down at himself. His nude body was streaked with what appeared to be dried blood as well as … other fluids. As soon as he recognized the dark stains, the metallic scent of blood came to him and he felt ill. He sought his wife in his heart and felt a chill as he realized there was only a faint thread there.

Pulling on a pair of leggings and boots he ran through the keep. It was ominously quiet and he tried to remember what had happened the previous evening.

There had been much laughter and wine and he recalled Alexandra in his arms for most of the time. At some point he had pulled her gown down so he could more easily enjoy her firm, rounded breasts. The memory of her sitting in his lap, her arms around him as his mouth teased her sensitive flesh caused warmth to rush through him and his arousal to stir.

He tried to remember what else had happened, but it became blurry. He thought Pomea and Durisia had taken Charika upstairs, but could not be certain. The memory of his wife’s body atop his as he was engulfed in her warmth was so strong he could almost feel her as he ran down the stairs to the lower floors. She had not seemed to care that the others were watching as he pulled off her gown and tossed it aside and she had freed him from his restrictive leggings. It must have been the Rhunian wine, for Alexandra was normally terribly shy.

The dining hall was empty as was the library. He ran down the hall to the great room and stopped in the doorway, staring at the scene before him.

The smell of blood and sex overwhelmed him and he had to grab hold of the door for support. He saw his friends, his Elven kin, lying about the room in various stages of undress. Some were completely naked, others still wore boots and leggings. All, however, had bloodstains on their clothing or flesh.

They seemed to be unconscious, as if having passed out from too much wine and sport. His eyes scanned the room and then fixed on a mass of golden-brown waves touched with copper, highlighted by the sunlight just beginning to stream through the window.

With a gasp of fear, the young prince ran across the room to where his wife lay pale and still, eyes closed, her breathing barely audible even to his Elven hearing. Her head lay across Helcarin’s lap and there was evidence of their activity visible. Sarendir lay behind her, blood staining his upper thighs and Rumil was resting in front of her, his legs entwined with hers and his spending partially dried between her thighs. There were streaks of blood mingled with the Elven essence that was visible on her body and he could not help but let out a low groan of anguish.

None of the others stirred and he knelt, pulling Alexandra into his arms. Her shallow breathing boded ill and she was limp. He could see dark bruises on her body; not from blows, but some were from hands gripping her tightly; others were marks of possession where she had been bitten hard enough to discolor her fair flesh. Her ankles and wrists were encircled by dark marks where ropes---or hands---had held her as if she had struggled against what was happening to her.

“Alexandra,” he called softly. “Alexandra, my love. Please. Open your eyes.” She did not respond and he felt fear catch hold of his heart.

“Alexandra,” he said louder, shaking her slightly. “Please, my love, please, oh please.” He crushed her to his body, trying to will her to awaken.

The others remained silent as well and he could not tell if they lived or not. He did not care---he was concerned only with his wife. Kissing her softly, he could feel how cold she was and the saltiness of her lips could not be attributed to blood alone. Looking around the room at the still bodies of his kin he could not imagine what had happened. Certainly, it could not have been what it appeared to be.

Lifting Alexandra into his arms he carried her into the library and laid her on one of the couches. Legolas rubbed her hands and cheeks, kissing her, wiping away the stains of what she had endured as best he could. His tears fell on her cheeks and he continued to call to her, murmuring her name while praying to the Valar and Eru that they bring her back to him and heal her.

The cold, still, silent keep surrounded him and he felt the urge to cover her body with his own, warming her, protecting her from whatever danger seemed to fill the fortress. What had happened? He could not remember leaving her alone; but then, he could not remember much other than images and sensations that came to him in haphazard fashion: Alexandra, sitting in his lap, her gown about her waist as he lowered his mouth to her breast, taking one of the hardened nubs between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue; him throwing her gown to the side as he settled her down on his lap, burying himself in her; her moans of pleasure, absorbed by his mouth; the smell of fresh Elven seed, strong and pungent.

He shook his head. No, that could not be right. But the flashes of memory said otherwise. Still, what had happened to his wife? Why was she not in his bed? How had the great room wound up looking like an Orc breeding pit?

A soft cry from his wife brought his thoughts back to the present. She frowned and groaned.

“Alexandra,” he said softly. “My love, what happened?”

She opened her eyes and focused on him and the sheer terror he saw in them squeezed his heart with an icy hand.

“No …” she moaned and tried to struggle, but was too weak.

“Alexandra, no, my precious, no. Stop.” He held her to him, but she did not seem to take comfort in his embrace. “What happened? Tell me, Alexandra.”

He knew what it looked like, but his mind refused to accept that his friends would have taken his wife by force. There had to be another explanation.

“No … no … no …” she continued to whisper, over and over, her voice strained and tears falling against his chest, stinging his flesh.

Legolas was at a loss. He did not know how to comfort his wife and in his heart he could feel her terror. It had grown when she had seen him and had not diminished in his arms.

“Please, Alexandra, my love. Stop. Tell me what happened.” He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him.

She winced as his fingers closed on her flesh and he wondered if she had been injured. Judging from the amount of dried essence in her hair and on her shoulders, and given the position he found her in, he could well imagine what may be causing her seeming pain.

“You … know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if her throat was swollen or damaged. She coughed and fresh blood flecked her lips.

“No, I swear, my heart, I do not know what happened. I thought you were in bed with me.”

She looked as though she was trying to smile, but her muscles would not cooperate.

“They … used me,” she murmured.

“Who? Who used you?” He had seen the room, but he did not believe it---could not believe it.

Alexandra’s body shuddered with silent sobs and she closed her eyes.

“Them. Our friends … your friends.”

“No,” Legolas whispered. Rage began to build inside of him, blacking out his surroundings. He would kill them all if they were not dead already. He would be a kinslayer though the Valar could not blame him---Elves did not rape.

“Don’t act surprised,” she gasped after another coughing fit.

“What?” He looked down and saw condemnation and anger and … sorrow in her eyes.

“You … gave me to them.”

Legolas felt as though all of the air had been taken from his body and he felt numb.

“No …”

“You offered me to them.” Her voice was raspy and weak, but sounded like the voice of doom.

He shook his head.

“No, Alexandra. No. I would never … I could not …”

She tried to laugh, but tears fell instead. “You used me then gave me … to them and told them … told them to … to …” She was unable to continue as she coughed again, more blood beginning to trickle from her mouth.

The young prince inhaled sharply as memories rushed back, bombarding him with everything that had happened the night before.

Alexandra was sitting in his lap and they were kissing deeply, completely unaware of the others in the room. Much wine had flowed that night and the Elves were enjoying themselves immensely. Legolas felt his body responding to his wife and she was definitely responding to him. He could smell her desire and it only drove his higher.

He pushed the wide neckline of her gown down, slipping her arms out of the sleeves, never breaking their kiss. Alexandra wrapped her arms around his neck and his hands slid over her shoulders to grasp her firm breasts, his thumbs moving over the nipples. She moaned into his mouth and he pinched the firm nubs. Legolas trailed his mouth down over her throat to her breast as her head dropped back in pleasure.

Legolas’ passion continued to grow and he grasped his wife’s gown and pulled it up and over her head, tossing it away. In the meantime, she had reached down and begun unlacing his leggings as their mouths made love to one another. He gripped her hips and guided her down onto his length, sighing as her warmth enveloped him. Her hips began undulating against him, and after pulling open his tunic, her hands moved over his chest, her nails lightly scraping over his muscles as she gripped his shoulders.

She gave a soft cry as she reached her peak and Legolas answered with his own. His fingers pressed her body down against his and she dug her nails into his flesh, slowly relaxing as they recovered. He nuzzled her neck, lightly biting her earlobe as she laid her head on his shoulder. Looking over her shoulder he noticed the other Elves watching them, and knew they could smell his wife’s passion, the scent as intoxicating as the wine. He vaguely noticed Pomea, Durisia and Charika were not present, but he did not really care. He had sated his need with Alexandra.

“My wife is a passionate woman,” he said, smiling at his brethren. “And quite strong. Would you like to sample her charms?”

In answer, Haldir walked over and slid his hands over her smooth flesh, then reached around caressing her breasts before grasping her hips and pulling her back against him, sliding into her body. His mouth nipped at her neck and shoulder, leaving a mark of possession on her shoulder.

Alexandra opened her eyes and looked at her husband questioningly. He smiled and a part of him felt some satisfaction at the confusion in her gaze. It was blocked when Vanurion grasped her hair and pressed her mouth against his length.

The prince sat back and watched as the Elves took her, using her with abandon. While atop Erestor, the dark-haired counselor thrusting up into her, Cunion explored her other path. Her cries of pain were muffled as Glorfindel filled her mouth and Legolas found himself becoming aroused once again at the sight of his wife helpless under the care of his kin.

The night became a blur of one encounter after the other. They were not gentle with her and eventually the exhilarating scent of Elven seed and Alexandra’s blood filled the room, driving the Elves to use her without restraint.

Legolas could see the terror in her eyes as she realized she was alone with ten Elven males who had none of the inhibitions that normally restrained their behavior. Her struggles were exciting and the more she tried to get away, the rougher their joinings became. He vaguely remembered going back to their chamber and falling asleep, leaving his wife to the other Elves who showed no sign of tiring or of running out of ideas for creative ways to enjoy the woman’s body.

As the memories hit him, Legolas felt as though the void yawned before him and he was helpless to do naught but fall into it. The sound of her cries as she was taken repeatedly and often brutally by his kin---and him---echoed in his mind and he felt sick as he remembered how he had enjoyed the smell of her fear, the sounds of her pain and anger and the sight of her body as her fair flesh was marked.

He looked down at his wife.

“I am so … Forgive me.” He did not deserve forgiveness and could not believe he was even asking it of her.

She did not answer and he noticed her eyes were not focused on anything; neither could he hear or feel her shallow breathing.

“Alexandra! ALEXANDRA!” He shook her limp body, calling to her to no avail. Overwhelming anger, sorrow, pain---he crashed into the blackness that reached up to surround him.

“Legolas.” Someone was calling his name.

“Legolas.”

He looked up from where he lay on the floor next to the couch where Alexandra’s cold body still rested. He could feel himself drifting further and further away and knew he was fading from horror, despair and sorrow.

An Elf stood at the foot of the couch. Orophin. He was dressed in boots and leggings and wore an unfastened tunic. There were a few streaks of dried blood on his tunic and hands and his eyes were sorrowful.

“Give her to me.”

Legolas shook his head.

“She is dead.”

“I know.” Orophin gazed at his friend with confusion and a hint of reproach.

Legolas looked over at the body of the woman he loved with all of his heart and soul. Her eyes still gazed sightlessly and her flesh was as white as marble and just as cold. The bruises and marks and blood stood out in sharp relief against the pale flesh and he let out a moan of anguish from the depths of his very being.

“Why did you do it, Legolas?” Orophin’s voice was calm, but tinged with anger.

“I …” He had no answer.

“You knew what would happen when you offered her to us,” his friend said. “You enjoyed hearing her cry and beg for help. Her tears aroused you. You knew how the wine and the scent of her passion would affect us. Why did you do it?”

Legolas shook his head. “No. We are Elves. There was no reason to believe you would rape her---“

“You knew.” Orophin’s voice was firm with conviction. “You did it deliberately. You wanted to watch her used by us.”

“No,” he whispered. It was not true. He did not find his wife’s abuse exciting. He did not.

“The abuse of her body was only part of it,” Orophin continued and Legolas thought he spoke as though with the voice of Mandos himself. “What you truly found arousing was her pain as she realized you had betrayed her trust.”

Legolas shook his head. He could not find his voice.

“She was your wife, your bondmate. You were the one person in all of Arda she should have been able to trust to take care of her, to protect her. You got perverse pleasure from betraying her. Now she is gone. You discarded a most perfect treasure.”

Tears streamed down Legolas’ face. He had no response to Orophin’s damning words. He tried to deny it, but could recall feeling the excitement of his wife’s pain and fear and knew he was lost.

Orophin reached over and lifted Alexandra into his arms. His eyes were full of grief as he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly. Her husband could only watch in anguish as his friend gave him one last look of condemnation and sadness, then turned and carried her out of the room.

He did not know how long he remained frozen by the agony of losing the one true love of his very long life. His tears continued to fall unheeded and he begged Mandos to take him. Eternity in the void was a kindness compared to the pain he felt now.

“Alexandra …” He murmured her name as he let go of his consciousness. He could not ask for forgiveness as there was no forgiveness to be had for such a crime as his. He expected no mercy for he deserved none.

“Alexandra …”

“Legolas. Legolas!”

He opened his eyes and sat up with a gasp. The room was icy cold and he was surprised to find he was shaking.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Alexandra’s voice held a note of concern and she reached over, brushing a finger across his cheek and he could see the wetness on the tip when she pulled back.

“I …” He could not remember now. All he knew was something awful had happened to Alexandra and he was responsible.

“You were crying in your sleep, calling my name.” She had never seen her husband tormented by a nightmare. She had thought Elves immune from night terrors. Obviously, she was wrong.

Legolas pulled her into his arms, wrapping his body around hers.

“I love you, Alexandra,” he whispered, his face buried in her hair.

“And I love you, Legolas.” She did not know what had brought her husband such pain, but she tried to do all she could to comfort him.

“What was it, my love? A dream?”

He nodded. “I … believe it was a terrible dream, but I cannot remember it now. I only know you had suffered.”

She stroked his cheek.

“It was only a dream,” she said with a smile. “I’m fine. Think on it no more.”

He kissed her and held her even tighter. He slept no more and when the sun finally rose, he was grateful.

Throughout the days that followed, he would occasionally have moments when the memory of the dream would tantalize him, just on the verge of consciousness, but he could never quite grasp it to pull it into focus. He did notice, however, that whenever he saw Alexandra with any of their friends he felt a vague uneasiness. Only when she was in the company of Orophin did he relax. Somehow, he felt his wife was safe with the Lorien Warden, almost as safe as---or safer than---with him.