Warrior Elf Series (COMPLETED)

Part 3 - A Cry in the Dark

Pairing: Legolas/Boromir
Beta-Reader: Jen
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Note: Single quotation mark depicts thoughts wherever applicable.

Caras Galadhon. A city of the Galadh whe where dwelled the Lady of the Woods. A place unequal to any other places of dwelling with the beauty of its silver light and the soothing sounds of its running waters; the combination, a balm to the most troubled of minds. The Company had already lain down to rest, exhausted after their toil and the Council they had with the Lady Galadriel. But one Man was not contented in his heart as he kept pacing back and forth like a caged beast, waiting to break out of its confinement.

Yet, it was not a physical prison that Boromir, Son of Gondor sought to flee from, but a shackle that existed in his very mind, taking hold of his sanity. Everyday, his heart grew heavier and dark were the thoughts that crossed his head as he struggled daily to rid himself of the shadow that clouded his senses. His brows creased into a frown and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to reign in his growing frustrations.

‘By the honor of Gondor,’ whispered the thoughtbiddbidden and unwelcome in the deep and secret recess of his heart, ‘the Ring belongs to my people.’ A grimace passed swiftly over his face before he quickly smoothed it away irritably. An anger that he could not control seemed to grip him, depriving him of air and he clenched his teeth together to stem that surge of fury in his blood. Gondor was weak, he thought, and it needs the strength that only the Ring of power could provide. The weapon of the enemy should be used agaiit, it, not destroyed! Why could people not see the folly in throwing away something so precious? Why did people think that the Men of Gondor are not strong enough to resist its supposed evil? After all, true-hearted men, such as he, can never he corrupted by such a little thing. “Gondor needs the ring and to it the ring shall go,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a strange fire.

“Boromir,” a voice called out, breaking into his troubled thoughts. Boromir turned swiftly around towards the direction of the voice. He immediately tried to school his features into a semblance of a smile. It could have been successful had he tried to deceive any other person. But Aragorn was no ordinary man for he was quick to notice what many others could not, and in the larger Man’s eyes, he saw something that chilled his bones.

“Aragorn,” Boromir replied, the strained attempt at a smile still evident upon his face, as a flush crept up his neck. His eyes were blazing with such a wild light that was unsettling to the Ranger.

“You should rest, Boromir,” said Aragorn, his eyes locked upon the other Man’s. “These borders are well protected. It would be wise to take advantage of such rare and precious moment as these.”

A frown once again marred those proud features. “I will find no rest in this accursed place,” he muttered, his lips compressed in an expression of disgust. So deep was he in thrknerkness of his thoughts that he became startled when a firm hand rested upon his shoulder and squeezed in what Boromir thought was a warning. Green eyes snapped in annoyance towards Aragorn’s as his lips curled in a sneer at the touch that was so unwelcomed.

“It is best that you do not speak ill of the sanctuary that we seek refuge in,” Aragorn cautioned, eyes holding his gaze steadily, not understanding why Boromir was so angered by the simple touch of comfort.

“Sanctuary? I think not. What do we know of the Lady and her Lord and who can say what designs she has with regards to the Ring Bearer?” he hissed and shrugged out of Aragorn’s grip. The Ranger narrowed his eyes.

“Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel. You know not of what you say if you think that she has evil intentions. There is in her and in this fair land no evil unless a man bring it hither himself!” said Aragorn, his voice soft. But the rebuke behind it was unmistakable. Boromir closed the distance between them at an alarming speed, gripping Aragorn’s tunic; his face pressed close, lips curled ans tes teeth bared in aggression.

“Evil? What evil have I brought with me? Do not accuse me of something you know nothing about!” he snarled and would have proceeded to shove Aragorn backwards had someone not restrained him, strong arms physically holding him back.

“No, Boromir!” said a voice in a hushed tone. There was no mistaking the owner of that voice and immediately the Man’s eyes widened at the prospect of what he was about to do. He became in turn ashamed and shocked at the manner in which he was behaving.

“Legolas,” he murmured as he turned to face the Elf. Legolas stood before him, solemn and still, but in his eyes a fear registered in their depth. Suddenly, Boromir was inexplicably afraid for himself. With a last nervous dart of his eyes in the direction of Aragorn, who stood rooted to the ground, his face inscrutable, Boromir fled from the two as if the very Devil was after him. Legolas started to follow but Aragorn held him back.

“Leave him be. Let him go. He needs to be alone,” he said, eyes following the retreating back of Boromir’s. But the Elf stepped back from the Man’s touch, his eyes cold.

“We have lost one of our numbers in the Mines of Moria. I do not wish to lose another, Aragorn,” Legolas said, his blue eyes holding Aragorn’s captive while Aragorn’s widened in his confusion.

“You misunderstand me, Legolas. I merely wish to give Boromir time alone to collect his thoughts. His mind troubles him greatly,” he said soothingly, palms held upwards in a silent appeal for understanding. But the Elf just stared back and when he did speak, his voice held barely concealed anger.

“Alone? It is in loneliness that a mind succumbs to corruption, Aragorn. The mind has no place to turn to except within itself and into its heart. And what then if that heart is weak? What then if it is also so easily seduced by evil?” Legolas said, his voice rising slowly in volume as he grew more passionate in his outburst. Aragorn said nothing but continued to look into the stormy blueness of Legolas’ eyes.

“Corruption? Weakness? What is it you are trying to tell me, Legolas?” he asked in a measured tone, his thoughts racing as he came to realize what Legolas was saying. But the Elf clamped his jaw shut and said not another word, his eyes raised defiantly against Aragorn’s. Aragorn gave a sharp intake of breath as he slowly understood the importance of the Elf’s words.

“Boromir. He wants to take the Ring for himself all this while,” he whispered to himself, disbelievingly. Legolas remained quiet and still as a statue. With an oath, Aragorn made as if to follow Boromir but Legolas grabbed the Ranger’s aorceorcefully.

“Do not think to speak to him of it!” he hissed, his eyes snapping in cold fury. “Do not think to rebuke him for his desires for the ring! It will drive him to madness if you but mention the Ring in his presence!” Aragorn turned slowly towards his friend, and sorrow was etched in his face.

“So you think that you could make him forget his hunger for the ring then, Legolas,” he said quietly, his eyes, never taking his eyes off the beautiful face before him; eyes that reflected an expression of regret and a trace of pain. It hurts him to realize that the object of his affections has feelings for Boromir. Legolas was silent for a long while. But it was in his silence that Aragorn felt the strength and love that radiated from that slender frame that stood proudly before him; love that belonged to Boromir. Legolas lifted his chin as an answer to the challenge that was put forward before him by the Ranger.

“I will keep on trying Aragorn, for I have to believe that I can bring him back to us, and lead him away from that dark path of which he is irresistibly drawn to,” he said quietly, his voice belying the tempest in his heart. Aragorn continued his perusal of his beloved, memorizing his every feature, wondering at the same time when he had lost his chance of claiming this wonder that stood before him.

“You think highly of your ability then, if you believe that you can achieve what Boromir himself could not,” Aragorn said finally. He waited for the passionate outburst once more and he was not disappointed. There was no mistaking the awakened rage in the Elf’s expressive eyes.

“You think I do not know him,” he gritted out. “Well I do know him, Aragorn. I know him in every sense of the word. When he looks at me I understand him. When we kiss I love him and when we touch I worship him.”

Legolas then stood toe to toe with Aragorn, eyes flashing still. Aragorn thought that he had never seen the Elf look so beautiful in his regal posture and his eyes blazing with the fires of anger.

“And,” he said, almost tauntingly, “When we make love, I can feel every emotion in him, all his fears and desires. I know him in every way, Aragorn, and I will be his salvation or ‘Legolas’ no longer shall my name be!” And witht, ht, he walked away, head held high and he never looked back to see Aragorn staring at him, all the hurt and sorrow he held in his heart clearly shown for all to see.

“So be it, Legolas. You do what you think is best…my love,” he whispered achingly, but only the wind caught his words and it kept them a secret, never to revealing it to anyone evermore.

**********

Boromir ran till his lungs burn. Elves turned to stare at him as he blundered past them, eyes clenched in the misery and the conflicts that resided in his breast. When he chanced to open his eyes again he found himself at the river bank and he skidded to a stop, his chest heaving after his sprint. He sank to the ground, exhausted both physically and mentally, the words of Aragorn coming back to haunt him.

‘There is in her and in this fair land no evil *unless a man bring it hither himself*.’ Aragorn had said and Boromir wondered despairingly if the Ranger had known of the war that he had within himself. He brought his knees to his forehead and rocked to and fro. ‘I am not evil,’ he kept chanting in his mind. ‘I do not wish evil to befall anyone!’ And yet his heart still burns with the desire for the ring. He still could not understand it. And then he remembered the words of the Lady that had so stirred the intense and painful longings for the Ring of Power.

‘What if you could persuade the Ring Bearer to lend you the ring? What will you do then?’ Her voice echoed like thunder in his brain and he clutched his head at the agony of its memory. But the voice was relentless. ‘You would just have to extent your hand to the Halfling and he would not have the strength to resist you. Not if no one knows of your true intentions’ A cry escaped Boromir’s lips. ‘No! No! Do not tempt me further! Have mercy!’ screamed his feverish brain and he looked up wildly for some reprieve for the growing madness. It was as if that screaming in his mind was nothing, but a cry in the dark; for no one knows of his sufferings, no one could find him in the deepening abyss nor rescue him from his own agony or the darkness of his thoughts. It was hopeless.

Swearing vehemently, Boromir started to tear off his tunic and boots. Without bothering to undo his breeches, he dived into the river and started swimming, the bif frf freezing water upon his skin was almost enough to drive away the monsters in his mind. And he swam for a long time until finally, after his muscles screamed in protest, he waded wearily back to the shore. With a moan he sat upon the edge of the river, his tired feet trailing in the running waters of the river and he once again brought his knees to his chest and remained still, eyes closed as the shadowy thoughts faded for the moment into the dark alcove of his mind.

For how long he sat there, he knew not but it was only when two warm arms encircled him from behind that he realized that goose bumps had formed on his skin. He was freezing cold and he gratefully leaned into the warmth that the embrace provided. A hand cupped his chin and a blond head descended upon his, lips touching Boromir’s in a tender kiss. The heat from his lover’s lips brought about an involuntary moan from the Man and he shuddered violently both with the cold and with awakened desire. He threaded his fingers through the long mane of silky hair, pressing himself more firmly against the sensuous assault and groaned once more as a firm te sle slipped into his mouth, tasting his manly essence.

Legolas broke off the kiss and cradled Boromir’s body to his, repeatedly stroking the trembling body as if to dispel the Man both from the cold and from the troubles of his mind. He passed his hands all over the Man’s frame so tenderly and lovingly that it nearly brought tears to Boromir’s eyes.

‘I do not deserve him,’ he thought miserably as he pressed his cold cheek against Legolas’ warm ones. His teeth that were chattering uncontrollably were the only sound that filled the air. He huddled close to the protective cocoon of Legolas’ arms and it was there that he found his peace. Legolas stroked his hair as if he would do to a child.

“You should not be here alone, Boromir,” he whispered. It did not matter what the Elf said for Boromir was glad to hear Legolas’ voice that was so soothing to his tangled senses. He said nothing but just rubbed his nose and lips against the Elf’s slender neck, not in a sexual manner but to seek comfort. Legolas shivered at the contact of the cold flesh against his own warmth. He stood up, and helped Boromir to his feet, arms still locked around one another.

“Come with me. I will take care of you,” he said soothingly as if talking to a frightened child. Without a word, Boromir allowed himself to be let away from the river. They walked for a while, seemingly aimless in its direction, but Legolas knew exactly where he was going. They walked amongst the shadows, quietly and sneakily so that no one could fix their inquisitive gaze upon them; seeing two males, a Man, half-naked and an Elf walking hand in hand looking like they belonged together – to each other.

They then entered a small tent near a fountain, and judging from the bow and arrows that were left carefully in the corner, Boromir knew that he was in Legolas’ sleeping place (which was adorned only with a chest, a small lantern and a plush couch). The tent was situated rather a distance away from the rest of the Company and for that Boromir was thankful for, for he do not wish to see anyone at that point of time; especially not Aragorn or the Ring Bearer. His face contorted as if he was in pain.

The Man stood in the middle of the tent, wet and miserable. Swiftly, Legolas took a blanket out from the chest and then proceeded to undress Boromir. With quick, expert fingers, he undid the buttons on Boromir’s breeches slo slowly took it off. Boromir’s manhood sprang free from its constraints and he bit back a groan that was brought about by the delicious contact of his wet breeches sliding down against his hot shaft. He found himself grow harder by the moment and avoided Legolas’ gaze in embarrassment as he stood before the Elf, naked as the day he was born. But Legolas ignored Boromir’s responding member and proceeded to carefully dry Boromir’s hair with the blanket.

The Man gave a sigh of contentment as Legolas rubbed and patted the wetness out of his skin, working his way meticulously from the top of his head downwards. Boromir clenched his teeth as Legolas’ clothed hands brushed against his turgid nipples, causing them to tighten in response to the teasing friction of cloth against flesh. He held his breath as the Elf worked his way downwards, towards his source of desire and bit his lips when Legolas carefully used the cloth to stroke his shaft. Blue eyes flickered upwards towards green and they understood the passion that smoldered in those green eyes. But Legolas had barely begun his attempt at seducing his lover to the peak of his desires.

Discarding the now thoroughly wet cloth, he took another one from the chest and proceeded to repeat the process again. Boromir’s length was hard – very hard but Legolas was not to be distracted. Not even when the Man pressed himself against the Elf, his arms wrapping around the slight figure before him when the Elf started to dry his hair again. Legolas merely dislodged himself from the Man’s crushing embrace.

Legolas saw the naked longing reflected upon Boromir’s flushed face and the confusion at the Elf’s avoidance of his caresses. But Legolas merely smiled and said softly. “You will not touch me Boromir, for tonight you are my King and I wish to do you service.”

Blood rushed into Boromir’s already hard member, its long shaft almost pushing into his navel. But he said nothing as Legolas brushed the soft cloth against his face, as if trying to rid the lines of worry and strain from its surface. Legolas gently brushed the cloth against Boromir’s parted lips, and Boromir nearly moaned aloud when his lover leaned towards him, using his tongue to trace the firm outline of the Man’s lips. And when Legolas passed the cloth over his nipples once more, Boromir’s knees nearly buckled under him when Legolas’ enticing tongue lashed out to lap at their pointed peak.

Boromir tossed his head back, his throat working as he tried to hold back his moans of pleasure. Legolas’ tongue had begun tracing the outline of the nipples, and when the Elf finally sucked at them, a hissed escaped from his lips as he arched his back as if to lose himself into the sweet cavern of Legolas’ mouth. But the Elf was not done with his seductions.

Legolas went onto his knees and Boromir felt his mouth going dry as the Elf positioned himself directly in front of his erect member. Their eyes met once more and Legolas understood the look that Boromir sent. It was a look of pure yearning and anticipation for what he knew would occur. And Legolas did not disappoint him. The Elf bent his head towards the organ that was weeping for his caresses and his warm breath caused Boromir to give a choked cry that sounded something similar to pain. With his hands holding Boromir’s hips to prevent him from thrusting into his mouth, Legolas carefully traced the triangle of hair that surrounded the engorged member with his tongue, working it around its edges.

Boromir was delirious with unfulfilled need and his flexed his hips restlessly as his eyes were drawn helplessly to the sight of Legolas’ tongue wetting the curls at the junction of his thighs. He tried to take hold of the Elf’s head, desperately wanting to control his movements but Legolas leisurely removed himself from Boromir’s grip and continued with maddening thoroughness in his quest to service his lover.

“Oh God, Legolas, please,” he gasped, his hands, deprived of any hold or anchor to reality clenched and unclenched helplessly at his sides. Legolas looked up, his expression innocently inquisitive but his eyes sparkled with gentle mischief.

“Please? Please what?” he teased as his hand grasped firmly the hard evidence of Boromir’s need. The Man gasped aloud at the contact and began to rock his hips back and forth, pushing himself into Legolas’ strong hands. However, Legolas would not allow it and Boromir cried out in dismay as the Elf removed his hands from Boromir’s shaft. The Man’s hands flew to his organ with the intention of stroking himself to the peak of his fulfillment but Legolas slapped his hands away and gripped Boromir’s firm hips, controlling his agitated movements.

“Nay, Beloved. Be patient and let me love you,” the Elf murmured but his calm voice only served to inflame the heightened passions that surged through Boromir’s veins like wild fire. He moaned then, his voice rough and his tone pleading, begging Legolas to have mercy and to give him what he needs.

And mercy was shown, for the Elf finally took Boromir into his wet, hot mouth and sucked hard and deep. Boromir cried out in sheer ecstasy, his head thrown back as he voiced his appreciation of the Elf’s expert administrations to his quivering member. His hands fluttered to Legolas’ head that was moving rhythmically up and down his length, frantically searching for an anchor to prevent him from losing himself in the mind-blowing sensations that his Elf evoked upon his senses. tooktooktook him so deep into his mouth that the wet hair that lined his flesh at that particular spot tickled Legolas’ lips as he lapped and squeezed Boromir’s appendage with firm strokes of his tongue.

And then Legolas stopped and Boromir made his protests known. But once again, he Elf paid no heed as he led the Man’s trembling body towards the couch, pressing him down into the softness. Boromir sat up, his limbs trembling with yearnings as Legolas rummaged in his bag for something. When he returned, the Man’s eyes darted curiously to the bottle that the Elf held in his hands. Softly, Legolas entreated Boromir to turn around and proceeded to positioned him in such a way that his firm buttocks were raised towards Legolas as if in offering. A hiss escaped Boromir’s lips when he felt a finger coated with oil probing at his opening, his eyes shut against the wonderful sensations of Legolas caressing him.

Two fingers joined the first, and then another. By then Boromir was lost, his chest heaving as he fought to draw in huge gulps of air into his lungs. His forehead was pressed into the plush cushions and his mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure whenever Legolas’ fingers brushed against that secret part of his body. And then he snapped… Straining to look back at his sensuous assailant he choked out…

“Legolas, please! I cannot bear it any longer! God, just take me! Do not torture me so!” he moaned, his voice sounding as if he was on the very brink of tears. And Legolas complied.

“Turn around, Beloved. I want to see you when I make love to you,” the Elf said, his own voice trembling with an effort to reign in his desires. Boromir turned to face Legolas, his beautiful Elf, his breathing ragged. His eyes feasted on the sight that was set before him as the Elf slowly took off his clothing. It was both maddening and exciting at the same time as piece by piece, the confinements were removed to reveal strong, smooth flesh beneath. With the final whisper of his leggings being stripped off, he settled between Boromir’s legs.

The Man’s heart constricted as the Elf gazed upon him with such loving eyes. ‘No,’ he thought to himself, ‘Do not love me Legolas. I am not good enough for you.’ And tears formed unbidden in his eyes. Legolas leaned forward and licked away the drops that escaped from his eyelids.

“Why do you weep? I love you. I am here. Your Beloved is here. Do you not love your Beloved?” he said quietly, in his eyes shining with emotions and on his lovely face a sad expression. Boromir said nothing for he was too choked with his own conflicting emotions but merely reached out to Legolas.

It was a union that both accepted eagerly. Legolas was gentle and oh, so thorough, moving in ways that gave his Beloved the utmost pleasure. Boromir barely heard Legolas’ murmured praise of Boromir’s perfection against his sweaty skin, shivering every time the Elf pressed soft kisses against it. Their breathings became more rapid as their straining bodies move perfectly in tandem with one another, Legolas’ hands wedged between them, stroking their organs at the same time. Then with a harsh bark of pure rapture from Boromir and a long, soft sigh from the Elf, they soared upon waves after waves of tremors that passed through their bodies and hearts as they reached the summit of their pleasures. With a lingering kiss, both slumped against one another, contented, bodies still joined intimately.

It was a long time before either of them said a word. Boromir broke the comfortable silence between them, his voice harsh with emotions. “I do not deserve this, Legolas. I am weak and so tempted by what I could nnd snd should not have. They know that now, both the Lady and Aragorn. It is hopeless and I am lost,” he said, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, lips trembling. Legolas lifted his head from Boromir’s strong chest and his eyes that were looking down at him were sad as he brushed those lips with a cool finger.

“Then no one knows you like I do,” he began, his eyes brimming with all the love in the world that he held for his one Man. “They? Who are they Boromir? They do not know you and they do not understand. They do not know that when you are in my arms, you give so much of yourself to me that I hunger for more. That when we touch, your eyes take on so many colors it steals my breath away.” Boromir felt wetness drip onto his face and realized that Legolas was weeping softly, his mouth compressed together in a thin line and Boromir felt the tears that he held at bay began to fall freely.

“That when we make love, you make me lose all sense of time. And when I look in your eyes I then know one thing that is true,” he said as he cupped Boromir’s chin and stared deep into his very soul, “And that is – a Man who is so honest about what he feels is no weakling. You admit your flaws freely to me and it is there that strength lies, Boromir. Even if you cannot say what is in your heart I can see it by looking upon your face, by the way you move and by the expression in your eyes. And I know that you are more than you what you believe yourself to be”

He paused for a moment, gently wiping the moisture that collected upon Boromir’s eyes. “And,” he continued in an even softer voice, “If you chance to lose your way, I will find you no matter where you go and no matter how deep you fall… I know this much is true, Beloved, and this much I can promise you.”

Boromir’s eyes were locked upon Legolas’ and without another word they kissed long and hard, Legolas’ lips and hands chasing away the bleakness in Boromir’s breast. They lay down for a long time, safe in the knowledge of their devotion and love to one another, neither realizing that throughout the time they had been lovers, Boromir had said not one word nor declaration of love aloud for Legolas to hear. Neither realizing that this was the last time that Boromir would be as himself… and the Gods looked upon them, granting them bliss at least for this short amount of time that they have together.

To be continun “Tn “The Passing”…