Nightstar

Nightstar - Part III


Type: FPS
Author: Vairë (vaire@donnesys.com)
Rating: NC17
Pairing:
Haldir/OMC/Legolas
Disclaimer: I worship at the JRR altar. I make no claim to
any of the characters except Syshae. I make no money from this, so don’t bother
to sue – you’ll only get hairballs the cat hacked up.
Posting: Please ask first.
Feedback:
Much appreciated. I enjoy discussing the finer points of my stories with
others. All flames will be gleefully passed along to the dragons for their
fiery consumption.

 

 

Nightstar - Part III

Third Age 3019

“Why doesn’t that
lead elf like you?”

Gimli’s question startled Legolas. He turned to see who
Gimli was speaking about. Haldir. Of course. For a moment, he almost smiled.
Haldir would love a dwarf referring to him as a ‘lead elf’. He could imagine
the marchwarden’s pained expression. Then Haldir met his gaze, and the impulse
to smdieddied. The same silver gray eyes that had regarded him with such
passion and friendship in years past were as cold and merciless as the ice on
Caradhras.

“We were once friends…and more than friends,” he answered
softly, never moving his gaze, knowing Haldir would hear his words.

Gimli snorted. “Well, looks to me like that’s long done.
I’d have a care not to turn my back on that one. Looks like he’d as soon stick
a knife in you as not.”

“’Tis very likely his greatest re, re, and no more than I
have earned.” Legolas could hear the sadness in his voice, but lacked the
energy to try and disguise it. He was exhausted, grieving over Gandalf’s loss,
and now he was back in Lorien—Lorien that held his greatest joy and his
greatest pain. He felt anew the anguish of that long ago day of his exile from the
Golden Wood, the horror of learning the truth from Thranduil, and the pain he
had borne ever since.

Haldir broke eye contact and turned away, his silver
blonde hair glistening like a waterfall in the sunlight. Legolas felt a hand
close around his heart.

“Legolas?” Aragorn’s concerned voice was pitched low and
his hand on the elf’s shoulder was meant to offer both comfort and support.

Quickly, Legolas gathered his scattered thoughts. Nothing
could change the past. The quest overshadowed all personal pain. Unbidden, the
Lady’s last words to him surfaced. There shall come a day when you pass
these borders again, young prince. Great need shall drive you and you shall
find succor, and perhaps healing, here once more. Great need drove him, and
the guardians suffered him to pass the borders. Could it be that he would truly
find succor or healing in Lorien? He doubted it. A safe place to rest and
prepare for the next part of the journey was all he expected. There would be no
welcome for him among the Galadhrim, much less forgiveness. He knew that as bad
as the trials the fellowship had already faced, he would face his own personal
Balrog in Lorien—and there was no one to heim. im. He wondered if his heart
would survive.

#

Throughout the meeting with the Lord and Lady of Lorien,
Legolas was acutely aware of Syshae on the other side of the chamber. Neither
the chamber where his world shattered nor Syshae had changed. The Sindon prince
was as breathtakingly handsome as he had been seven centuries earlier, and he
still possessed the same compelling allure. Without consciously trying to,
Legolas remembered the texture of smo smooth skin, the way it always smelled
of the woods at night—niphredil and mallorn leaves and an earthy spiciness.

Syshae wore a silver robe touched with darkest midnight
blue trim. His hair was pulled back as Legolas remembered he usually wore it
when attending the Lord and Lady, or at fetes: two slender braids crisscrossing
the remainder that had been gathered into a tail, framing it with diamonds into
a shining column that reached below his knees. His eyes passed lightly over the
company, neither resting on nor ignoring Legolas. Somehow, Legolas found that
indifference more difficult to bear than Haldir’s hostility.

<Your feet again tread the paths of Lorien.>
Galadriel’s voice spoke to him in his mind. <Welcome, Legolas of Mirkwood,
may you find peace in your stay.>

Legolas bowed his head but remained silent. How could
there be peace for him in Lorien?

Later, when the elves led them to a pavilion prepared for
them, Legolas listened to the excited chatter of the younger Hobbits. They
marveled at the city of Caras Galadhon, the way the elves dwelt high in the
treetops, the overwhelming beauty of so many elves in one place, of the stern
majesty of Celeborn, and, mostly, of the Lady and Syshae.

“A prince indeed that one! ’Tis easy to mark him as such.”

“Ach! Sam. You think all elves beyond compare.” Merry
jested.

“Not so!” Sam protested, his cheeks flushing. “It’st tst that
there’s elves and then there’s s, as, and some of ’em are more, well, elvish,
than others.”

The other three Hobbits laughed, the two men joining in.

“Nay, Sam,” Aragorn cautioned when Sam showed signs of
real upset. “Your words are true, and with the gift of your kind, you cut
straight to the core of the matter. Some elves are more powerful and mysterious
than others. Some are touched by the Valar and their spirits do not wholly
dwell in Middle Earth.”

“Powerful? What kind of power?” Pippin demanded. “Like
Gandalf and everything?”

Aragorn spread his hands helplessly.

“Well,” Pippin rounded on Legolas. “You’re an elf prince.
What kind of power?”

“There are many kinds of power,” Legolas replied slowly.
“And the sweetest is often the most brutal.” He stood and made as if to leave
the pavilion.

Frodo laid a gentle hand on his arm. “That song. What are
they singing?”

“’Tis a lament to Gandalf.” With that, he strode into the
dimness of the woods, seeking solitude.

 

Barely an hour later, as Legolas stepped into the small
glade where he had first lain with Syshae and Haldir, a heavy weight—a
shoulder—hit him low in the back, knocking him down. He rolled and quickly came
back to his feet, balanced low on the balls of his feet, keen-sighted eyes
searching for his assailant who had disappeared into the surrounding woods. He
felt a sharp pain in his lower back and knew the blow had been mainly to his
kidneys. It was painful, but not unbearable, a blow designed to slow him down,
not render him helpless. He reached for his knives and cursed when his hands
met only the night air. He had taken them off before entering the Lord and
Lady’s presence and, sunk in his personal grief, neglected to put them back on.

Low, mocking laughter taunted him.

“The woods of Lorien are no place for an unarmed Mirkwood
elf, though he be a prince”

Syshae.

Legolas spun in the direction of the voice. “I would not
fight you, Syshae. Rather I would speak with you—”

Syshae stepped into the clearing. Legolas saw with dismay
that he wore his guardian’s clothing rather than the gray robes from earlier,
and his hair was pulled back in the single heavy braid he habitually wore on
patrol. A warrior, a guardian of the Galadhrim—not a prince.

“And what would you say, prince of Mirkwood?” Syshae
sneered. “Or perhaps there are things you would unsay?” He moved toward Legolas
like a hunting cat, a knife glittering in each hand.

Alarmed, unsure of how far Syshae would go to punish him,
Legolas backed away. “There is much I would say, lirimaer—”

Hearing the endearment, Syshae dove at him, driving
Legolas onto his back. Legolas managed one blow to Syshae’s temple that
unseated him enough for Legoto rto roll out from under and regain his feet.
Quick as a cat, Syshae followed, kn fla flashing as he struck at Legolas.

“Saes! Syshae, do not—” Legolas leaped back, barely
dodging a blade.

Suddenly, Syshae threw one of the knives, embedding it in
the ground beside Legolas’s right foot. “I would not have you face me unarmed.”

“I would not face you at all. Not in anger, lirimaer.”

A snarl was the only reply as Syshae launched himself at
Legolas again. Legolas dove to the ground, grabbing the knife and rolling away,
but he felt a sharp burn on his left forearm as Syshae’s blade ripped the
length of it. Then Syshae was on him again, and both wrestled for control,
rolling and tumbling across the glade, knives gleaming as Syshae attacked and
Legolas defended.

Forever it seemed to Legolas, a hideous moment of
eternity, where he grappled with one of the two he loved in a dance of death.
Finally, Syshae managed to pin Legolas, sitting astride his hips, knees pinning
Legolas’s hands and arms to his side. The point of a knife touched Legolas’s
throat and he froze.

“Why?” Syshae’s cry was anguished, his beautiful features
contorted with pain as they had been on that dreadful night so long ago. “Did
it amuse you to use me as your father once did? To have me lie with you
willingly? What did you imagine when you took me? Did you laugh at my ignorance
that I knew not what you are? Were all the caresses I had from you nothing?
What did you truly desire, Prince of Mirkwood? Would you rather I have lain
beneath you, screaming in fear and agony as I did for your father? Would you
have used me until I bled and begged you to stop, begged for death? Whipped me
until I was unconscious time and again? How—”

“I knew not!” Legolas’s shout cut Syshae’s tirade off in
mid-sentence. He stared down at Legolas, a blank look on his face. “I knew
not,” Legolas repeated defiantly, and then again and again and again, each time
in a quieter voice. “I knew not.” The last was almost a whisper.

Looking up, Legolas saw Syshae’s shocked expression.

“I knew not,” Legolas repeated. The knife eased away from
his throat and he drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I was not born until after
Haldir brought you here. I knew nothing of the Sindon or Aytalie. Aye, I heard
dark rumors that laid the name of Kinslayer on Thranduil, but they were few and
I paid them no mind, for I had my own blesbles of him. I had my own share of
beatings from his hand, and I too have begged for surcease of the pain, and I
too have felt my own blood flowing down my back from the lash. Never good
enough, never strong enough, never the warrior that he demanded. Somehow, my
mother arranged for Elrond to foster me in Imladris when I had yet to see
thirty coronar. I know not why Thranduil agreed, but he did and we set out. It
was on the journey there that we were attacked by orcs and she was slain.

“Elrond was kind to me, showing me another way of life than
the brutality of Thranduil’s world. For the first time, I laughed, I felt safe,
I understood about love. I learned of honor and compassion. And so, the years
passed and I grew to maturity in his house, treated as a brother to Elladan and
Elrohir. When I came here, I wanted nothing more than to be any other than who
I am. I knew of the long-held rancor between Mirkwood and Lorien, but not its
origins, and I desired to see the Golden Wood, not as an enemy prince, not as
Thranduil’s blood, but as welcome kin. There was no other intent on my part.
That ’twas the reason I hid my name and convinced Elladan and Elrohir to aid
me. So, I came to Lorien as Erenor and was welcomed, and all was as I could
ever desire. I found many wondrous things here, but none so precious as the
love for you and Haldir, and what we shared. I knew naught of your history, as
you knew naught of mine, and I cared not. I have never known a happier time in
my life than those two short coronar—and then Erestor came.”

Syshae sat still as a statue, his dark eyes still wide and
staring at Legolas in something close to fear. His breathing was shallow and
Legolas saw the slow slide of tears down his cheeks. “I knew not, melethron
nin,” Legolas continued, “and I understood not all that happened. Not until
Orophin told me I must seek my answers with my father and I took that
advice—not until I had those answers—did I realize the enormity of my actions.
Only then did I learn of your imprisonment. Only then did I understand what you
must have truly thought of me and what agony the discovery of my true identity
must have been for you.”

With an anguished cry, Syshae leaped up and vanished into
the woods, running as if all the demons of Middle Earth were after him. Legolas
climbed to his knees, but slumped back on his heels, too drained—physically and
emotionally—to move further. He felt eyes on him and, when he looked, saw
Haldir watching him from the edge of the glade, his expression unreadable. Then
he vanished in the same direction Syshae had fled.

#

It was morning when Legolas was next aware. He woke, still
in the glade, and lay for long minutes, staring unseeingly up at the sky. He
saw not the clear azure above him, but the events of the prior night. Syshae.
He fought with Syshae. He remembered the look of hatred on Syshae’s face when
he first charged Legolas—and the shock and dismay when he fled.

Groaning, he flung an arm across his face. What had
happened? What was the truth? He ached anew for himself, for Syshae, and for
Haldir. Underlying that pain, like a thin trickle of fresh blood from
underneath an old scab, was the grief of Gandalf’s loss. He staggered to his
feet and made his way slowly back to the pavilion, oblivious of the strange
looks from the Galadhrim he passed.

“Legolas!” Pippin ran forward as Legolas entered the
pavilion, then skidded to a stop when he took in the ripped and dirty clothing,
the dried blood, and the disheveled braids on the normally immaculate elf.
“Legolas?” he inquired quietly. “Are you alright?”

The eyes of all the company turned to him and Legolas
tried to smile reassuringly, although it felt more like a grimace. “’Twas a
necessary conversation between old friends.” None of his companions looked
convinced.

Openly skeptical, Gimli snorted. “That big lead elf have
anything to do with this so-called conversation?”

“Saes, Gimli, ’tis a private matter.”

Giving in with ill grace, Gimli stomped off, muttering
about private matters getting certain mule-headed, secretive, tree-hugging
elves killed.

“He asks because he cares about you.” Aragorn’s spoke
quietly. “You are his companion and he would not see you suffer needlessly, as
I would not. Will you not unburden yourself to me? The ways of the First Born
are not unfamiliar to me.”

“’Tis a private matter,” Legolas insisted before throwing
himself down on the bed assigned him, heedless of the dirt and blood. He turned
his back on the seven pairs of staring eyes, effectively shutting them out, and
willed himself to sleep.

 

“…shall not disturb him!”

“Yeah! you leave Legolas alone.”

“—done enough!”

“By what right—”

“We are his friends and that it seems is good, as he
obviously has naught but those who wish him ill in Lorien!”

The voices, rising in anger, finally woke Legolas. He
forced his eyes fully open and blinked several times. Gimli, Merry, and Pippin
faced Haldir. All three were angry, their vehement denials of Haldir disturbing
Legolas ringing in the afternoon warmth. Haldir himself looked every bit a
marchwarden—calm, arrogant, and perfectly groomed. He stared co at at the enraged
trio facing him, not deigning to reply to their heated objections.

Legolas sat up.

Haldiw thw the movement and spoke over the heads of the
Hobbits and the dwarf. “Come, lirimaer.” A request, not a command, although
Legolas would have bet his best bow that the others did not recognize the
subtle difference in tone. Haldir beckoned Legolas. Without hesitation, Legolas
rose and moved toward him.

“Legolas, no!” Pippin cried, catching hold of his sleeve.
“Gimli’s right, this one means harm to you, I don’t care what he says! You
can’t trust him! Look at you, you’re dirty and bloody and exhausted, and it’s
obvious he had something to do with it and—”

Legolas tangled his fingers in the Hobbit’s curls
affectionately. “Peace, Pippin. You have my word that Haldir had naught to do
with my less than pristine state, and I do trust him. We have known each other
for centuries.”

“This is folly,” Gimli growled. “You have neither bathed
nor eaten, ahe ghe grief of Gandalf lies on us all, yet this elf would drag you
off somewhere to who knows what end.”

“Gimli has a point,” Merry agreed.

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, my friends. Rest assured no
further harm shall befall me—and that the other did not escape unscathed.” He
smiled wryly, knowing that Syshae would be as stiff and sore as he was. “’Tis
something private that I must set aright.” He gestured, and Haldir led the way
from the pavilion.

 

Haldir offered no imatimation and Legolas asked no
questions as he followed the guardian through Caras Galadhon and thence outside
the great wall. Haldir led and Legolas followed until they reached a glade at
some distance from the city that bordered Celebrant. Stepping aside, Haldir
motioned Legolas to precede him. Legolas hesitated, knowing who waited for him
there, on the green grass by the crystal river.

Syshae. The Sindon prince turned and waited for Legolas to
approach. His hair was unbound and
cloaked him, allowing only a small glimpse of the simple grey and green robe he
wore.

“Welcome, Legolas. Long years have passed in bitterness
between us. I would ask that you put aside the wrong I have done you and
forgive me.”

Syshae started to kneel, but Legolas stopped him. “Nay, we
have each wronged the other. Forgiveness I freely give and ask of you in
return.” Legolas looked to Haldir. “And of you, Haldir, I also ask forgiveness,
for my selfish action hurt you also.”

Haldir offered his arm and Legolas clasped it. “It is
already given,” the guardian replied.

Syshae grasped Legolas’s chin and turned it; he looked
searchingly at the weary elf. “As is mine already given, melethron nin. You are
grieved from more than this though. You suffer Gandalf’s loss and the weight of
a nigh hopeless quest, without any companionship of your own kind. ’Tis a sore
burden. I would offer you the comfort of my gift,” Syshae hesitated slightly
and the tiniest trace of a smile twitched his lips. “Or, should you desire, the
comfort of our bodies.”

At Syshae’s simple offer, it seemed to Legolas as if half
the weight of Middle Earth was lifted from his shoulders. He was of the First
Born, and the healing of his fea was possible. Although his grief did not
threaten to carry him to the Halls of Mandos, it was nonetheless surpassingly
deep and wearying.

“I would accept your gift, lirimaer.”

For the first time in over seven hundred years, Legolas
saw Syshae smile freely, with pleasure. He felt tears sting his eyes and
swallowed hard, trying to hold them back.

“Nay, melethron nin. Be not ashamed of your tears, for
they honor one who was worthy of them.”
Syshae counseled, thinking that Legolas cried for Gandalf. Legolas knew
that his tears, although not for Gandalf, were indeed for one worthy of them.

Syshae slid easily out of his robe, leaving himself clad
only in his cloak of hair. Efficiently and gently, Haldir and Syshae removed
Legolas’s torn and stained clothing, casting it aside. As gently as he would
handle a small elfling, Syshae drew Legolas down until they knelt facing each
other, their bodies mere inches apart, bent knees between the other’s. Vaguely,
Legolas was aware that Haldir had also disrobed and knelt behind Syshae, his
strong hands resting on Syshae’s hips underneath the veil of hair.

Syshae drew Legolas to him, guiding his head to rest
against the fea-healer’s shoulder. Syshae bent his own head forward and his
hair fell around them like a living curtain, warm and strangely alive, shutting
out the rest of Middle Earth. Vividly, Legolas remembered the time, centuries
before, when Syshae held Rumil in just such a way. Legolas could hear Syshae
murmuring, but couldn’t make out the words. It felt as if he were floating down
a wide smooth river. Gradually the voice of the river blended with Syshae’s and
he knew Syshae was singing—singing softly so that only he could hear, the
ripple of the water providing the melody. Wider and slower the river bore him,
until at last he emerged onto the sea and sleep claimed him.

 

Legolas’s eyes opened to early twilight. He looked for his
companions, fearing for an instant that it had all been a dream. But no, he was
at peace. The grief of Gandalf’s passing had been assuaged and his fea was
whole again. He felt refreshed as he had not in many long years. Syshae and
Haldir, both still nude, sat close beside him on a blanket. Also on the blanket
were fruit and nuts and wine. In particular, Legolas noticed the honey spiced
apples, a specialty of the Galadhrim that were a favorite of his. He rolled
over and sat up.

Haldir leaned toward him, pulling Legolas forward gently
by his hair so that he could kiss him lightly. Legolas realized that someone
had unbraided his hair and combed the tangles from it. Haldir handed Legolas a
cup of wine. “’Tis time you awoke. I began to fear our revered fea-healer had
done his job too well and you would sleep all night.”

The gentle teasing made Legolas smile as seven hundred
years of hurt and separation slid away. It felt as if their last meeting had
been only the day before.

“Come,” Haldir drew Legolas down until his head lay in the
guardian’s lap. “Your body is still weary, pen-neth, and you have taken no
nourishment.” Haldir’s tone was scolding but playful, a tone Legolas knew well.
It had presaged many a fun-filled adventure.

Legolas laughed, the sound abruptly cut off when Syshae
popped a large slice of peach in his mouth. Laughter changed to a moan of
delight. Legolas suddenly realized he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. A
bite of the rich, dark bread the Galadhrim loved followed the peach, and then a
wedge of tangy cheese. Haldir poured him more of the spicy red wine that
Legolas had discovered on his first night with the two.

“You spoil me, my loves.”

“It has been long since we had the opportunity, nin bain,”
Haldir chided gently.

When Legolas opened his mouth to protest, Syshae filled it
with another bite of cheese, followed by dried apricots and pears. And so it
continued, the gentle bantering, Haldir and Syshae taking turns feeding Legolas
and each other, refilling the wine cups, until all three were sated.

Intertwined, they half dozednds nds caressing bare skin
occasionally, until Ithil rose in silver glory.

 

Syshae stirred first, reaching out for a slice of
honey-spiced apple and trailing it along Legolas’s lips. “And now, lirimaer,
what would you have of us?”

Legolas’s tongue darted out and wrapped around the sweet,
sticky fruit, with its tangy aftertaste. A wicked smile curled his lips. “And
now, my healer, I believe you mentioned something about the comforts of the
flesh.”

“’Tis often said princes are greedy.” Syshae stated
dispassionately, although his eyes glittered with anticipation.

“A fact I am all too familiar with,” Haldir observed
wryly.

Syshae glared at him and Legolas laughed. It was as it had
always been between the three of them. The bond between Haldir and Syshae was
stronger than the foundations of Aman, yet they welcomed him into their love
and he was part of them. Laughing, teasing, playful, and joyful segued
naturally into eroticism as Syshae began licking all over Legolas’s body with
lips and tongue made sticky from the apples.

Haldir’s hands roamed over Legolas’s skin, smearing the
residue from Syshae’s lips, then both began licking the sweet stickiness.
Legolas inhaled sharply and moaned. Hundreds of years had passed since their
last encounter and, though the time was not long by elven standards, he felt as
if it had been an Age. Yet, it might have been mere minutes. The so familiar
rhythms drowned him in memories. He writhed, wanting their touch everywhere at
once.

Two hands left him and then he smelled the scent of sandalwood.
He moaned, knowing what it presaged. “Ai! Saes.”

Haldir urged him to roll onto his side and stretched out
behind him. Oiled fingers circled and teased between his buttocks, causing him to
shift his hips back toward Haldir. Syshae knelt in front of him and Legolas
dropped his head to the blanket, looking up at the exotic beauty of the Sindon.
Syshae ran his hands hungrily across Legolas’s chest and sides, strong fingers
tracing the outline of flat muscles in bicep and forearm, while heated black
eyes met sapphire ones. Legolas felt as if he was being devoured. His senses
reeled; memory had not kept alive the degree of eroticism Syshae and Haldir
exuded. He was overwhelmed, just as he had been their first time together. Then
Syshae bent and kissed him, taking possession of his lips, tongue seeking and
gaining entrance, as Haldir slid a finger inside him.

Caught between thrusting back against Haldir and leaning
forward to return Syshae’s kiss, Legolas writhed helplessly. Endlessly they
aroused him, Syshae alternating between deep, drugging kisses, and licks and
nibbles along his ear and throat, while Haldir entered him with a second, and
then a third, finger. Legolas heard himself begging.

“What do you beg for so prettily, melethron?” Syshae
asked, his voice rich dark velvet.

“Saes Anything. I beg you!”

“Nay, what would you have? You must tell us so we please
you as you desire.” Syshae licked along the top of Legolas’s shoulder and bit
firmly at the juncture of his neck.

Legolas moaned in contentment. “I would have Haldir take
me. I would feel him deep inside me. I would have him claim me again.” He
moaned again as Syshae released him and laved the spot he had just bitten. “I
would have you and I pleasure each other, lirimaer. I would be yours again and
have you for mine.”

Syshae’s lips and tongue trailed down Legolas’s body, and
he shifted his weight until he too lay on his side, facing Legolas, hungry lips
level with needy cocks. Tongues reached out and licked eagerly up hard flesh.
Haldir removed his fingers, drawing a whimper of protest from Legolas—a sound
that was quickly replaced by a whimper of anticipation as the guardian placed
the oiled head of his cock against Legolas and slowly pushed into him. At the
same time, Syshae engulfed Legolas’s cock with his mouth.

Once again, Legolas was caught between moving backward or
forward. Haldir’s hand on his hip held him nearly immobile though and he
relaxed, letting them set the direction and pace. He ducked his head forward
and drew Syshae into his mouth, taking the hard length deeply, until he felt
the head against the back of his throat.

A sharp intake of breath from Haldir as he sheathed
himself fully. He raised himself on one elbow and gazed the other two, his eyes
burning like molten mithril. “My princes. Have you any idea what a lovely sight
you present as you pleasure each other?” He ran a hand over both bodies where
he could reach. Both shivered under his touch. “The dark velvet beauty of the
night, and the golden radiance of Anor. My loves.”

Legolas wiggled his hips, urging Haldir to movement.
Haldir chuckled. “Impatient one. Would you find your pleasure so soon?” Legolas
wiggled his hips again and Haldir gave him what he asked for, beginning steady
even thrusts. The princes accommodated his rhythm as they suckled on each
other.

Haldir drew Legolas’s top leg further back across his
thigh and deepened his strokes. Again, they matched his rhythm. Mingled sounds
of contentment and greed from all three, barely heard above the sound of the
river, surrounded them.

Feeling Legolas tighten and swell in his mouth, Syshae
sucked deeper and harder as he managed to move one hand to cup Legolas’s
swollen sac. He squeezed gently and the stimulation was all it took to trigger
orgasm. In a flood, hips bucking, Legolas came, filling Syshae’s mouth with
musky cream. Eagerly, the Sindon swallowed it, milking the last drops. The
contraction of Legolas’s muscles in turn triggered Haldir’s release. He slammed
hard into the willing body he possessed and spilled himself. Although ny
my
mindless from the dual pleasures of his own release and the feeling of Haldir
coming in him, Legolas expertly brought Syshae to completion. The three
collapsed, boneless and breathing hard.

#

“What if he’s hurt? It’s been two days since he went off
with that Haldir elf and not one word!”

“Peace, Pippin.” Aragorn’s voice was calming. “No harm
will come to any within these woods.”

“But Strider, you didn’t see him! He was bloody and his clothes
were all a mess, like he’d been fighting, and then that Haldir showed up and
told him to go with him and, just like that, he went! Anything—”

Aragorn held up a hand to stop the spate of Pippin’s
words. “The ways of the First Born are difficult for others to understand.”

“But Legolas isn’t—”

“He is our companion and we feel that we know him, but he
has lived centuries. Though he appears young, he is wise and experienced beyond
our understanding. Make not the mistake of underestimating him. Legolas is well
able to take care of himself.”

“Usually, yes.” Gimli spoke up. “But I like not how that
lead elf carries himself and trust not his intentions to our companion.”

“Then trust Legolas. You said he went willingly.”

Their discussion was interrupted when Rumil walked into
the pavilion. With only a curt nod of greeting, he went to Legolas’s bed and
began gathering his belongings.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Gimli’s voice was
unfriendly and he fingered his axe.

Rumil regarded the angry dwarf with barely concealed
amusement. “I gather my mellon’s belongings as he requested.”

“Ungather them and leave, for you’ll not take our friend’s
things without his permission.”

Rumil laughed. “’Twas Legolas who sent me here, as I
clearly said.”

“And where is our elf?”

“Your elf?” Rumil’s eyebrows rose. “Since when is an elf
the property of a dwarf?”

Gimli flushed. “He is our companion and we care for him,
elf! What have you done to him and where is he?”

Seeing Gimli’s genuine concern mirrored on the faces of the
four Halflings, Rumil decided not to tease further. “He is well. He is
reconciled with his lovers after many years and they desire not to part, even
for so long as to fetch his belongings. They requested that I come in his
stead, for Legolas wishes certain of his things.”

“His lovers? Reconciled? What is this story?” Gimli
demanded.

Rumil looked at Aragorn who nodded. “I will explain your
ways, but I know not the story, Rumil. You must tell us something.”

“’Tis not my place, Estel. It happened long before your
birth and concerns you not.”

“Nevertheless, I would know of it. Legolas is one of the
fellowship. If he does not go forward, we are all endangered.”

“He shall go with you when you depart.” Rumil’s face
darkened. “Though it shall grieve him deeply—and others. He has sworn his bow
to your service. The First Born do not forsake their vows as men do.”

Boromir stepped forward, his countenance dark and
threatening. “Your words are insulting, elf.”

“I speak merely the truth, human.” Rumil observed coolly.

Boromir’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Aragorn laid
a hand on his arm to restrain him.

“Your word, Rumil, that Legolas is safe and that if he
desires to return to us none will hinder him.”

“My word.”

Aragorn nodded. “Then take his belongings as he asked, and
take also my happiness at his reconciliation and our good wishes for him.”

With a single curt nod, Rumil gathered Legolas’s things
and left the pavilion.

 

“They are concerned for your safety. They fear you are
kept against your will and harmed.”

Legolas regarded Rumil for a moment, then he flushed. “I
should go to them, reassure them, explain.”

Haldir entered the sitting area of the talan. “And what
would you explain, nin bain? Would yxplaxplain a relationship between those of
the same sex to races who do not believe in such? Would you explain the bond
between myself and Syshae, and your place in that? Would you explain all that
has happened between us over a time that is incomprehensible to them?”

“Nay, melethron. I would only have them see me well and
happy, and explain that I am where I wish to be with all my fea. ’Tis not their
place to know who has filled my heart with joy.”

“The son of Gondor is shadowed by the darkness.”

Legolas sighed. “Ai, you are right, Rumil. I too have felt
it.”

“I fear it shill bring you harm. His eyes betray his
desire when you are named.”

“’Tis naught. He fears the Lady and trusts the elves not.
Denethor’s words have poisoned his heart.”

“Perhaps, but if you return to reassure them, have a care
Legolas.”

#

Stepping silently into the clearing where the Galadhrim
had erected a pavilion for the fellowship, Legolas paused, a smile twitching
his lips. Boromir was sparring with Merry and Pippin, continuing their lessons,
while Frodo and Sam cheered them on. Aragorn looked on with indulgent amusement
and Gimli watched, his sharp eyes missing nothing while smoke from his pipe
wreathed his head.

“Legolas!” Sam noticed him first and ran over to greet
him. “You’re back then, and safe, just like that Rumil promised.”

Sam hugged him and Legolas laughed. “Yes, Sam. I am safe,
and better than I have been in centuries.”

The others, save Boromir, came over and greeted him.

“But look here! you must tell us where you’ve been.”
Pippin grabbed Legolas’s hand and tugged him toward the table. “It’s just about
time for elevenses, so you’re in luck.”

Legolas allowed Pippin to lead him to the table and sat
down. He accepted the cup of cider that Merry pressed into his hand and smiled.
It was good to be with his friends again—odd and unlikely assortment though
they might be. The others took seats around the table, except for Boromir who
stood to one side, his gaze resting heavily on Legolas as it often had during
their journey. Briefly, Rumil’s warning flickered across Legolas’s mind, but he
dismissed it.

“’Tis good to see you, and see you well Legolas.”

The elf nodded to acknowledge Aragorn’s comment, but
before he could respond, Pippin broke in.

“Where have you been and what have you been doing and—”

Merry’s hand clapped across the younger hobbit’s mouth,
stifling any further questions, although his own stout frame was aquiver with
curiosity.

Aragorn smiled gently. “’Tis good to see you so at peace,
mellon. Do you return to us?”

Legolas felt himself blushing. “No, I return to assure you
I am well. Rumil said you feared for my well-being.”

“And your lovers? Rumil said—”

Again, Merry slapped his hand over Pippin’s mouth.

Legolas laughed softly. “’Tis true I am reunited with two
who I once shared my soul with, and ’tis true it brings me joy and lightens my
heart as it has not been in centuries.”

“Who are they?” Merry asked, earning a glare from Pippin.

Legolas sighed. “The ways of the First Born are not oft
understood by others. Is it not enough that I am complete once again and
happy?”

The usually reticent Frodo leaned across the table and
laid his hand on Legolas’s forearm. “It is much more than enough, mellon. It
eases my burden somewhat to see you so at peace. Your lovers…” Frodo blushed and
looked away.

“It is said elves take unnatural lovers.” Boromir’s stern
voice broke into the amiable reunion.

Cold rushed through Legolas. Rumil was right. The son of
Gondor was evil, or else the evil of the ring was overriding him. Such a
blatantly derogatory statement was beneath all civilized beings. Syshae and
Haldir unnatural? Their mutual love and passion unnatural? No, he would not
dignify the human’s narrow-minded comment. Legolas covered Frodo’s hand with
his own. “They are well. ’Twas an old misunderstanding that caused us all great
pain, but now all is well. I thank you for your concern.”

Boromir snorted. “You dodge the answer. Then ’tis
true—elves are unnatural and your lovers are anathema.”

“Boromir—”

“Nay Aragorn, I shall hold my place in the fellowship, but
shall not willingly remain with one who couples so when I have other recourse.”
The Gondorian turned and stalked from the clearing, but Legolas saw the hunger
in his eyes.

“Whatever is Boromir so upset for?”

“He likes not the fact that my lovers are male.” Legolas
stated the obvious for Pippin.

“But here now! That’s no business of his surely, and who
is he to judge? He can’t hate you just because of that! There’s no call to
speak like that.” Pippin cried indignantly.

Remembering Boromir’s burning gaze, Legolas replied
seriously. “I think not that it is hatred he holds for me—or my loves.”

Frodo smiled wanly. “They give you joy, Legolas. Return to
them. We have precious little joy—or time to enjoy it in—and shall too soon
depart this paradise. Seize your joy, mellon. You will join us when we depart?”

Legolas nodded. “I shall join you. My bow is pledged, but
even were it not, I would go with you.” Burning sapphire eyes searched soft
brown ones. “Gandalf was correct. There is great strength in you, Frodo of the
Shire. You shall not fail.”

 

The Golden Wood was quiet and welcoming as Legolas made
his way back to the talan Haldir and Syshae shared—the talan that had also been
his home for the happiest years of his life. He smiled, thinking of Syshae.
Haldir had gone to the north border to make sure all was well and there were no
more orc incursions. It would be just the two of them that night and he thought
to lure Syshae into indulging him in a massage. Syshae’s fingers—like much else
about the Sindon—were magic. In return, Legolas had acquired a bottle of their
favorite red wine and a bowl of honey spiced apples. Lost in thought, he
reached the base of the tree that held the talan. He reached for the ladder,
but a strong arm wrapped around his waist and jerked him backward. Before he
could protest or struggle, a cloth was clamped over his nose and mouth.
Blackness overtook him.

Quickly, Boromir dragged Legolas into a patch of heavy
undergrowth. “Fear not, companion, for you are not the prince I shall break of
his unnatural ways. You are not the cause of this dark desire that has
corrupted you, but I know the cause. I shall remove it and return you to the
fellowship.”

 

An unfamiliar tremble ran through the talan. None but an
elf would have noticed the tiny shiver caused by someone climbing the rope
ladder. None but an elf would have detected by the nature of the shiver that
the climber was unfamiliar with rope ladders such as the Galadhrim used and ill
at ease on the ascent. Syshae stepped through the curtained doorway that formed
the entry to the talan, curious to the stranger’s identity.

“Son of Gondor.”

Boromir kept his gaze directed down at the floor of the
platform, afraid the elf would read his intent in his eyes. It was common knowledge
that elves were near sorcerers, and the one before him was nigh as bad as the
Golden Witch herself. “Your pardon, but Legolas is below and asks that you
attend him.”

Syshae sensed the lie in the other’s words, but couldn’t
stop himself from stepping to the edge of the talan and glancing down quickly.
Legolas. His golden lover. So long mourned; so recently found again. Movement
out of the corner of his eye. His warrior’s instincts enabled him to half-turn,
nearly avoiding the man. Nearly, but not quite. Boromir’s heavy body bore him
to the floor and, before he could react, an acrid smelling cloth was pressed
over his nose and mouth. Blackness overtook him.

#

Awareness danced across Syshae’s brain. He struggled to
clear the cobwebs from his mind, feeling as if he were deep underwater and
clawing for the surface. Gradually, he began to register his predicament. He
was nude, lying face down on the ground. His wrists were bound together and
stretched over his head, in some way affixed so that he couldn’t move them. His
legs were spread apart and his ankles similarly bound, so that he was immobile.
Waves of nausea wracked him. What had happened? He fought to remember, to clear
his dazed thoughts.

A ripping pain shot through him as fingers twisted in his
hair and jerked his head back violently. Blackness fought with stars in his
vision and he moaned. Bile rose in his throat and he was barely able to force
it down. Taunting laughter filled the night—black and evil.

“No longer so proud are you elf? No longer strutting
about, thinking yourself greater than men.”

Syshae tried to concentrate on the voice. It was familiar,
but only vaguely so. A foot connected viciously with his side and he cried
aloud in pain as he felt several ribs snap. Desperately, he tried to move, to
escape the pain, but his captor had tied him securely.

Dark laughter again. “Unnatural one. Elf. Has long been
said in my realm that you practice perverse relations.”

Another brutal kick—aimed that time at Syshae’s kidneys.
He arched his body away from the pain as much as his bonds allowed. He could
feel the ache of other bruises all over his body. He had been severely beaten
while he was unconscious. Fingers tangled in his hair and jerked back viciously
again.

“The mighty First Born are no better than orcs, to mate so
unnaturally. I shall not allow your corruption to soil the fellowship.”

At last, Syshae recognized the voice. It was the man—the
son of Gondor. Why would he act thusly? “Why—” A brutal slap cut his question
off.

“Do not speak! Neither honeyed words nor pleas will avail
you, elf. I will break you of this unnatural desire you possess and remove your
hold on Legolas, for though he too is an elf, the fellowship must remain
unbroken.

Syshae tried to tell the man that Legolas would not abandon
the fellowship, but again, a brutal slap cut his words off. Blood trickled down
his cheek from where the man’s heavy ring cut him. Again and again, the blows
fell, until he was only half conscious. Abruptly they stopped. Syshae sensed
the man’s movement and then felt the man kneel between his own outstretched
legs. Rough hands grasped his buttocks, pulling them apart.

Valar! No! The man could not mean to take him! Frantically
he struggled against his bonds.

Boromir laughed cruelly. “I will break you, elf. When I am
done, you will never take another male. That I will insure.”

No! If the man took him and spilled himself inside, Syshae
knew his gift would be broken. The First Born could not accept other races as
lovers. It would destroy them. It would destroy him. Even if he lived—and there
was no guarantee he would not lose his desire to live and pass to Mandos, or
that the man would not kill him—his gift would be gone. No longer would he be
able to heal other’s fea.

“Saes! Nay! You understand—”
—”

A blow to the back of his head forced his face into the
dirt and cut off his words. Blackness threatened. He struggled to remain
conscious. He had to make the man understand. An anguished scream tore from his
throat as the man thrust brutally into him with no preparation. Searing pain
shot through him. It felt as if his body was being torn apart.

#

Syshae! Suddenly the sense of his bondmate was gone.
Syshae had withdrawn from him. Blind panic filled Haldir. He sat up,
frantically reaching for his bow and quiver, scrabbling in the dark with
unaccustomed clumsiness to gather his gear.

“Haldir?” Rumil awoke and, alarmed by his brother’s haste,
reached for his own weapons. “What threatens?”

“Nay,” Haldir managed through gritted teeth. “’Tis Syshae,
he is gone.”

“Gone?” Rumil blinked in confusion. Syshae was not on
patrol with them, he was back in Caras Galadhon, undoubtedly happily asleep
with Legolas. “What—”

“He is gone!”

Haldir sounded frantic, something Rumil had never heard
from his brother. Dread crawled along Rumil’s spine. Whatever had happened was
very, very bad.

“I can no longer sense him. He has closed himself off from
our bond.”

Rumil began praying very hard to the Valar as Haldir
disappeared through the opening in the talan. Quickly gathering his own gear,
Rumil crossed to the next talan and awakened the guardian, Raphon, sleeping
there. He explained what had happened, and that Haldir had already left for
Caras Galadhon. Rumil would follow him, for it was dangerous to travel alone so
close to the borders, and when he reached the city would send two other
guardians out to replace them.

Raphon gripped his shoulder tightly. “Take care and guard
our Haldir well. I shall pray for Syshae. He would not turn aside from their
bond lightly.”

“No,” Rumil responded, feeling an icy hand close around
his heart, “and that is what I fear. What dire turn would cause him to do so? I
fear to discover the cause.”

 

Orophin was waiting at the entrance to Caras Galadhon when
Haldir and Rumil approached, his expression unreadable.

“Where is he?’ Haldir wasted no time on social amenities.

“He is in the healer’s talan—” Haldir made to push past
Orophin, but the younger brother stopped him. “Wait!” he commanded sharply.
“You must know what happened first—”

Haldir growled. “I need know nothing but the sight of
Syshae and that he is well.”

“Saes, Haldir, ’tis the Lady herself who bade me wait here
and tell you of what passed. You must know before you see him.”

Rumil could see his oldest brother struggling to contain
the fear for his bondmate and the rising anger at being kept from him.

“He is well?” Haldir demanded.

“He is safe,” Orophin answered obliquely, meeting Haldir’s
furious glare steadily. “Come,” he said when he saw the slightest hint of the
anger directed at him fading. “We shall find a quiet spot and I shall tell you,
and then you shall go to him.”

Grudgingly, Haldir followed Orophin to a nearby clearing
under two mallorn trees. Several benches sat in it, for it was a favorite spot
for the Galadhrim to sit and visit, but the three brothers remained standing.

“This shall not be easy for you to hear, brother mine, nor
it is easy for me to tell,” Orophin began, obviously not relishing his task. He
drew a deep breath, as if steeling himself for an ordeal. “Syshae was
attacked.”

Haldir’s hand strayed to the hilt of his sword and wrapped
around it. His expression faded to nothingness—a clean slate with no emotions.
Seeing that expression, Rumil shivered. Whoever attacked Syshae was very likely
dead as soon as Haldir got to them.

“The Steward of Gondor’s son that travels with the
fellowship used some foul liquid to send him to sleep. He bound Syshae and took
him from the city and beat him severely.” Orophin never looked away from
Haldir’s steely gaze. “When Syshae awoke, he raped him.”

Haldir’s roar of rage echoed through Caras Galadhon and
all who heard it trembled. Even the guardians, who had fought many battles with
Haldir, had never heard its like and they knew doom drew near the son of
Gondor.

Barely were Orophin and Rumil able to restrain Haldir.

“Nay Haldir!” Orophin commanded. “The man did not spill
himself in Syshae. Listen to me brother! The deed was not consummated. His gift
is intact.”

Haldir stopped struggling with them, but remained strung
tight as a bow, his breathing deep and rapid. Fury seemed a weak description
for the expression on his face, but it was as close as Rumil could come.

“Garan heard his screams and reached them before the man
could finish the act.”

“Syshae.” Haldir forced the word between gritted teeth.

“He was beaten and torn, for the man was brutal in his
rutting. The healers have tended to him and his body shall recover soon, but
the greater injury is to his fea. He fell into a waking sleep as they bore him
to the healers and he has not awoken from it. He stares, but sees nothing. He
is spoken to, but hears nothing. Not a sound of any sort has he uttered. He
allows the healers to tend him passively, but responds not in any way to their
touch. His body is whole, but his spirit lies dead within it.”

Rumil couldn’t suppress a cry of horror.

“Then I must heal him.” Haldir’s voice was determined. He
loosed his grip on his sword and strode toward the healer’s talan. Orophin and
Rumil followed.

 

The healers made no attempt to stop Haldir, which Rumil
thought showed very good sense on their part.

Syshae had been placed partially on his stomach to ease
the strain on his abused buttocks and torn internal tissue. Legolas knelt
before him, holding his hand and murmuring softly. He broke off and looked up,
his eyes agonized. Heriel, chief of the Lorien healers, rose when they entered
and bowed in greeting.

“He rests comfortably as far as we can determine,
marchwarden, but he still does not respond to us. His body, however, is
healing.”

Haldir, who had not taken his eyes from Syshae since
entering the room, merely nodded. “Leave us.” His tone brooked no discussion,
and Heriel complied, bowing again before exiting and drawing the curtain that
screened the doorway behind him.

“Ah, lirimaer,” Haldir quickly divested himself of his
weapons and knelt beside Syshae, as Legolas rose and stepped back. Due to the
prince’s position, Haldir was able to kneel there and look directly into his
face. The black eyes were open but blank—not unfocused and hazy in the manner
of elven sleep, but empty and lusterless.

Gently, Haldir ran a hand down the side of Syshae’s face.
“I know why you hide, lirimaer. I remember your fear when we first spoke of our
feelings for one another. I remember you thought yourself unworthy of desire or
love because of Thranduil’s abuse. I remember I named you a fool and showed you
that you were wrong—that I desired you above all others, in all ways.” Haldir
began to unbraid his hair. “You fear that this man who has defiled you has made
you unclean. Your old fears return and you deem yourself unworthy. I tell you
again that you are a fool, lirimaer, and again I shall show you that you are
wrong and that I desire you above all others. I shall show you the depth of my
desire—the white hot heat of it, and the icy bleakness that I am left with when
you abandon me.”

Haldir stood and removed his clothing, letting boots and
garments fall to the floor in a heap. Without taking his gaze from Syshae, he
ordered his brothers and Legolas to guard the room. “Let none in, save the Lord
and Lady, even the healers. Make certain we are not woken; we shall return when
I have found my beloved and healed his fea.” He slid beneath the thin sheet and
pulled Syshae back against him gently, holding him in a protective embrace, one
arm pillowing the dark head, the other draped over his hip. Haldir rested his
head against Syshae’s and sighed contentedly. “Return, melethron nin,” he
murmured as his eyes clouded over. “Hide from me no more.” Centering his
awareness on the connection between them, he fell into it, seeking Syshae.

#

“What was that?” Merry cried as Haldir’s roar rang through
the city. Turning to Aragorn, he repeated his question. Sam, Frodo, and Pippin
also looked to the ranger, their eyes wide and frightened.

Aragorn’s expression was serious. “I know not.”

Before they could wonder further, three guardians stepped
into the clearing. All three faces were set. One raised his hand to his chest
and bowed slightly to Aragorn.

“Estel. I am called Hathor. The Lady asks that you attend
her. The others are to remain here. Galdin and Loromil shall stay with them.”

“What has happened?”

Hathor replied impassively. “No doubt the Lady shall
enlighten you.”

“What was that cry?” Pippin interrupted.

Hathor ignored him.

“Something terrible has happened,” Frodo spoke with wide,
fearful eyes. His voice sounded haunted. “Are we in trouble, that we are
confined here and guarded?”

Hathor looked to Aragorn, his expression stern, but gave
the worried hobbits and glowering dwarf no answer.

“I shall go with you Hathor, but I charge Galdin and
Loromil to see to the safety of the hobbits and Gimli.”

“That is indeed our charge from the Lord and Lady,” the
taller of the two guardians responded. The other nodded stiffly, as if
begrudging the affirmation. “We are not your jailors,” the tall guardian spoke
to the hobbits. “I am called Loromil. Let us pass this time together as easily
as may be while Estel speaks with the Lord and Lady. I have had not the time
before, but I should enjoy hearing of your land if you would speak of it.”

Aragorn felt a flash of gratitude toward Loromil. The
guardian was trying to ease the tension of the situation and distract the
hobbits. That something was sorely amiss was obvious, but Aragorn hoped it did
not involve the fellowship directly.

“Go Strider. We will tell Loromil of the Shire and await
your return.” Frodo smiled courageously, although his trepidation still showed.

With a final reassuring smile to the hobbits, Aragorn
followed Hathor from the pavilion.

 

Entering the audience chamber of the great talan, Aragorn
felt the barely controlled fury and anguish of the Lord and Lady. Only the
years spent with the elves allowed him to discern it, for with neither action,
expression, nor tone of voice did they betray their emotions. Never had Aragorn
felt such intense emotion from elves. He raised his fist to his heart and bowed
slightly, but remained silent. Waiting. Dreading.

“Great harm have the elves suffered this day, Estel. The
Wood sorrows. Can you not feel it?”

At Celeborn’s words, Aragorn became aware that the rage
and anguish he felt emanated not only from the two elves standing before him,
but from the very Wood itself and every elf within. His breath caught. The Wood
itself was angered. What could have so affronted that it roused the Wood
itself?

“You have brought great evil with you, Estel, beloved of
my granddaughter.”

“Forgive me Lord, but the ring—“

Celeborn gestured sharply. “’Tis not the thrice damned
ring of which I speak. I speak of the man who traveled here with you and
entered under your surety. I speak of the son of Gondor. Men have indeed grown
weak if the bloodline of the Stewards is sunk so low.”

“My Lord, I understand not your words. Will you not reveal
to me what has passed?”

”Your companion attacked and raped my grandson, the
Nightstar of our people.” The Lady’s voice was cool and smooth as melted ice,
and her gaze was piercing.

No! was Aragorn’s first thought, but he voiced it not.
Elves would not lightly lie. They would shade the truth and hide things, but
they would rarely lie. Boromir. Aragorn knew of the man’s struggle and how hard
he fought the call of the darkness. Syshae. He thought of the fey-healer, the
Sindon prince, the gift of the Valar, Nightstar is ris race.

The elves held rape equivalent to kinslaying. There was no
punishment harsh enough, no forgiveness. If Galadriel’s words were true—and he
didn’t doubt that they were, in spite of his desired denial—then only the manner
of Boromir’s death was left to decide. And that, the elves would leave to the
victim—if Syshae survived and was able to pronounce judgment.

“Syshae?” his heart cringed to ask, but he had to know. He
respected and liked the prince, had fought alongside him on the borders in
years past and admired his courage and skill.

“He lives. His body shall heal, but he has retreated into
the waking sleep. Haldir has returned. We pray to the Valar that he shall be able
to seek Syshae’s fea and convince him to return to this reality.”

A cold hand closed around Aragorn’s heart. The waking
sleep. Only a step from the halls of Mandos. Who could heal a fea-healer? Who
could heal the damage from a rape, especially by one of a different race? The
elves did not couple with other races. Invariably, the shame killed them.

Syshae. The hope of his race in the looming darkness.
Destroyed. No. It could not be. It must not be.

“Lord, Lady, let your wisdom guide me. What must I do?”

“Though he passed our borders through your surety, you are
not held responsible, Estel. ’Tis the evil of the cursed ring that has
possessed him, but that was not done without a weakness to attack.”

Celeborn’s words were questioning and Aragorn felt compelled
to respond. He sighed heavily. “’Tis as you say, my Lord. I have feared since
the quest began, for the eyes of the son of Gondor have oft strayed to Legolas
and I liked not the desires that lurked there. Knowing that Legolas could well
defend himself, and seeing that Boromir made no move, I pushed my fears aside.”
He paused. “In that I erred grievously and I bear partial blame.”

“Nay, Estel. The fellowship is your charge, not an
individual. Gladly would I lash out and blame you, but ’tis not truth. Well do
I know the Enemy’s ways.” Celeborn’s words were forgiving but his tone was
cold.

“And well do I know the elves’. I know the anathema that
this act is to you and the punishment that is demanded.”

“Rest assured, Estel, that if Syshae returns not to us and
’tis left to me, his fate shall be castration and death.” Celeborn’s voice was
sleet cold and Aragorn couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. Rape was a vile
act, one no civilized being could countenance. Even considering the evil of the
ring… If only Boromir had confided in him, had allowed someone to help him
resist the dark power.

“I would see him, my Lord.”

Celeborn nodded his assent. Hathor touched Aragorn’s arm
and guided him from the chamber.

 

Climbing the last rope ladder to a talan high in a mallorn
on the outskirts of Caras Galadhon, Aragorn observed that the site was bleak
and lonely as if, in all the Golden Wood, the sun shone not there nor was the
spot kissed by Ithil’s light. It was the truth, Aragorn realized. The Wood
raged at Boromir’s action; it would not comfort him where he was held.

Boromir knelt on the bare talan floor, arms lashed behind
him and secured to a bolt in the floor. A leather collar about his neck was
affixed to three other bolts set in the floor in front of and to each side of
him, while his ankles were secured the same bolt as his wrists. He was bloody
and bruised, evidence of the fury of the elves who subdued him. His tunic was
ripped, the right sleeve missing, his breeched unlaced, his flaccid cock
dangling outside the material. The elves had not granted him even that small
bit of dignity. Aragorn knew that when Boromir was brought before the Lord and
Lady for judgment, he would still look the same.

Flinching in mingled disgust and pity, Aragorn knelt
before him.

Boromir started as if struck and close his eyes. He licked
his lips. “Leave me.”

“Nay, son of Gondor. I would hear your words.’

“Why?”

“For you are not to blame. The evil power of the ring has
subverted you.”

Boromir laughed harshly, causing the four guardians in the
room to shift restlessly. “Only because of mine own weakness and unnatural
lust.’

“What say you?”

The warrior’s eyes closed in more than physical pain.
Shame etched lf olf on his strong features. “My unnatural lust—“

“Not unnatural to all.”

“Unnatural to my people—and to yours would you claim your
true heritage and not the darkling First Born.”

“Not all men so believe, Boromir. There are many who take
lovers of the same sex. As for the First Born, name them not such, son of
Gondor. You speak of that you know not.”

“I know sufficient to see unnatural lust made common, to
see it affect even the line of the Steward of Gondor. Evil. It will break the
fellowship to the doom of us all. Legolas has fallen prey to it. I sought to
remove the source of his blackness; I sought to break the one responsible and
save the fellowship.”

“You mouth words, not truth. In truth you desired Legolas
yourself. When that was not returned, you sought to blame another, yet lust
kindled anew when you beheld Syshae. The reasons you spout are mere
justification for your personal desire.”

Boromir roared in rage and denial, straining against his
bonds to no avail. “Foul elf lover! You are no better than they and you would
presume to rule the White City! I shall die ere I see you take up the winged
crown.”

Aragorn regarded him sadly. “Yes, you shall,” Seeing that
nothing could breach Boromir’s obsession, he turned and left the talan, nodding
to the guardians who nodded in return.

 

For hours he wandered in the Wood. The fellowship was broken.
The quest had failed. What was the correct course? What would Gandalf had
counseled? And what would he tell the hobbits and Gimli of Boromir? The man’s
death was foregone. He had raped an elf, and Valar! not just any elf, but
Syshae—the Valar’s gift to the First Born, their hope against the looming
darkness, their Nightstar, the Lord and Lady’s grandson. No, there was no hope
of Boromir’s life. Even had Syshae been the simplest of elves, he was bonded; a
bondmate would stop at nothing for revenge. No bondmate could let such a vile
act go unpunished—and Syshae was bound to Haldir, arguably the most skilled and
dangerous of the Galadhrim.

He rested a hand against a mallorn, relishing the texture
of the bark. The great tree cried out to him and he cried aloud at the pain in
his soul. Syshae, the hope of his race, wandering lost and bereft in his pain.
Aragorn thought, not for the first time, that his ties were closer to the First
Born than to men, and offered prayers to the Valar that Haldir would prove enough
to pull Syshae back.

At last, he returned to the pavilion, unsure what he would
say, but knowing he must say something.

 

“He never!” Merry’s denial was vehement.

“No! Never!” Pippin echoed his friend’s disbelief.

Gimli snorted, whether in rage or disbelief it was
impossible to tell. The dwarf’s expression gave away nothing of his thoughts.
Sam remained silent, regarding Aragorn. Frodo rested a hand on Aragorn’s arm.
“It is as I feared.”

Merry and Pippin regarded Frodo with horror.

“Nay!”

“No!”

“Elves don’t lie,” Sam stated.

The younger hobbits rounded on him.

‘You would say that! You love the elves. Maybe Boromir was
aright and you are entranced!”

“What say you Pippin?” Aragorn interrupted.

The young hobbit blushed furiously, rubbing his toes in
the dirt and staring at them. He swallowed hard. “Well, it’s just that Boromir
was always so kind to us and he was so worried for his city and the people and,
well, he said the elves had already as good as left Middle Earth, that they
didn’t care for the fate of men nor other races, and they’d betray us all.”

Frodo blanched. “No, Pippin. The elves care for Middle
Earth more than we can comprehend. No, it’s the evil of the ring that drove him
to this madness. The fault is mine.”

“No!” The cry came from several lips, including Gimli the
dwarf who had been silent since the revelation of Boromir’s crime.

Aragorn knelt before the anguished hobbit. “No, Frodo of
the Shire.” He folded his hands over the small trembling ones. “You bear a
terrible burden. ’Tis to all of us to understand and resist its evil call.
Alas, the son of Gondor could not. I feared his weakness in Imladris and would
have chosen him not, so say the fault is mine. I marked well how he regarded
Legolas.” Aragorn sighed. “Let this be a lesson to us all. We are a fellowship
and such makes demands on us all. Let us speak openly of such matters in the
future.”

“Aye,” Gimli was the first to agree, but was closely
followed by the hobbits.

#

Syshae stirred. Rumil, Orophin, and Legolas held their
breath. Had Haldir succeeded? Syshae moaned and thrashed feebly, trying to
throw off Haldir’s embrace.

“Nay melethron-nin. I have not sought you at the doorway
of Mandos to lose you now. You are mine and I am yours, and naught shall ever
change that.” Haldir leaned close to Syshae, so that his lips brushed the
prince’s ears. “Had your gift been broken, still I would be this close with
you. You would be my lirimaer, my beloved, my bondmate for eternity. In any
way, I would be with you, my beautiful, enigmatic elf.”

Syshae moaned softly and arched his body back into
Haldir’s.

“Come to me, my love, my heart, my fea. I shall heal you.”

Syshae melted into Haldir’s embrace. “Meleth-nin,” he
murmured.

“Forever, nin bain.”

Haldir’s hand stroked over Syshae’s body and the Sindon arched
into the healing touch, soft sounds of pleasure falling from his lips.

Legolas nearlllapllapsed with relief. Three times Anor had
risen and set since Haldir climbed into the bed with Syshae and fallen into a trance
as he searched for his lover’s fea to coax him back. Over that interminable
time, he, Rumil, and Orophin took turns guarding the doorway, turning away all
who would enter, and answering all inquiries on how Syshae was doing the same:
We know not. They were worn out—emotionally frazzled. All three looked at each
other and each could read the other’s thoughts: Haldir had succeeded. They
would not lose either of them.

 

The same three days had been long for the fellowship too.
The strain had worn on them although they tried to occupy themselves. Legolas’s
continued absence added to their unease. Nwerewere truly sure how to take it;
none quite understood whether their friend had chosen the elves over their
friendship or whether that was even an issue. Aragorn patiently answered what
questions he could, but he couldn’t prevent their angry reactions when he
confessed Boromir’s fate. Only Frodo remained silent, but he turned away.

“Please Aragorn, make them understand. Boromir, for
whatever they say he’s done, is part of the fellowship. We can’t go on without
him.”

“We must, Merry. Gandalf fell and we went on. We will go
on without Boromir. Until not one of us remains, we will go on. The quest
cannot fail; we must hold to that.”

“And the murder of our companion, we simply accept.”

Aragorn sighed. “Yes, Gimli. We accept it. We can do
naught tevenevent it. Boromir’s crime is heinous to the elves; they are within
their rights to claim recompense. In truth, I have spoken with Boromir. He is
not as he was. The dark power of the ring has overtaken his mind. I have spoken
with the Lord and Lady, who have in turn consulted Elrond and there is no way
to undo this evil possession. Even were the ring destroyed this minute, the
damage to his mind is too great, it would not free him. Those who fall to the
darkness, rise not. W you you see him as the Nazgul? A dark wraith slaying his
own kind, knowing the horror of his deeds but unable to resist his dark
master’s command? Would you have him suffer the endless horror of that existence?”

“I would have our friend back!” Pippin cried. “He is a
great man—brave and courageous and gentle.”

“He was all of those things, yet what he has become you
would not wish to see. Honor his memory, yet not his fall and his crime.”

#

“Nay, ’tis time. I have healed. This matter must be
concluded.”

“Syshae,” Legolas protested. “It has been but two days
since you returned to us! You are not ready to face this.” He looked to Haldir,
silently pleading for the guardian to help him convince Syshae, but the marchwarden
stared back impassively.

“I shall never be ready. Now is as good as tomorrow—or a
century from now. It must be done before the fellowship departs. For their
sake, it must be resolved. They shall deal with their anger and sorrow, but
doubt would tear them apart.”

“They will not understand. Our ways are a mystery to
them.”

“That is why you shall return to them and explain,
lirimaer.”

“What?” Legolas and Haldir questioned in unison.

A small smile played at the corners of Syshae’s mouth. “At
last I have succeeded in surprising you both.”

“’Tis no laughing matter, prince of the Sindon.” Haldir
used Syshae’s title to remind him of his responsibility to all the elves.

Syshae met his gaze levelly. His countenance was more
serious than either Haldir or Legolas had ever seen it. “Well do I know my
duty, marchwarden. I shall extract my retribution, though my first concern
is—as it ever shall be—for our race. Yet I do not dismiss the fate of the other
races. The fellowship must go forward, and it must go in unity if not in peace.
They must not have this unfinished distraction looming over them. Therefore,
Legolas shall go to them and explain of fea-healers and the consequences if the
son of Gondor had spilled himself inside me. He shall explain as much of our ways
and history and beliefs as needed for their acceptance of their companion’s
death. The hearing will not be easy for them, therefore Legolas be be the one
to speak to them.”

 

Still hidden by the shadows, Legolas stopped and studied
his companions. All were in the pavilion: Aragorn and Frodo conversing quietly
as Sam sat protectively nearby, Gimli attempting to teach Merry a game the
dwarves called korak, and Pippin rummaging through the remains of the evening
meal. He smiled. It looked so peaceful and normal. Then he remembered his
reason for returning there and his brief smile faded. How would they react to
him? He had not seen or spoken with any of them since that fateful night. Would
they be angry with him? Would they still account him friend? Steeling himself,
he stepped into the clearing.

Merry was the first to notice him. “Legolas!” He started
to rise and then hesitated. “You, uh, you’ve returned,” he finished
unnecessarily.

“Yes, Merry. I have returned.”

“Why?” Gimli asked bluntly.

“Syshae asked me to.” The words fell like a heavy weight
on the clearing, silencing all and freezing them for a moment.

Pippin recovered first. “You mean you’re not lovers
anymore? He just told you to leave?”

The young hobbit’s indignation was so apparent Legolas
almost chuckled. “Nay. He sent me here to explain and answer your questions.”

Silence—that time caused by surprise—hung until Aragorn
broke it. “Come, Legolas. Sit. We would hear your words. Even did you not come
for such reason, your return would be welcome. Syshae is well?”

Crossing the clearing, Legolas seated himself on the grass
near Aragorn. “His body is healed, but he bears much pain for what happened and
what is to come.”

Sam’s eyes flashed. “You mean killin’ poor Boromir an
such!”

Leg cho chose not to respond, refusing to be drawn into an
argument. He paused, organizing his thoughts. The others took seats near him,
forming a semicircle with Aragorn in the middle, Frodo then Sam to his right,
Merry, then Pippin and last Gimli to his left, next to Legolas.

“The elves do not willingly tell of our history, or ways,
or beliefs to other races. Syshae asked me to break this silence, to tell you
much that is not known, so that you may understand the reason and implication
of recent and future actions. He asks this so that we go forth not in doubt and
lingering uncertainty, but in understanding. Perhaps not in peace, but in
unity. He asks me to do this for the sake of our fellowship.

“All elves have two parts—the hroa, our physical body, and
the fea, our soul or spirit if you will. The fea is our essence. It is sickness
and despair of the fea that slays us from grief and sends us to the Halls of
Mandos. There are those among us, such as Elrond, who are skilled in healing
the hroa, but not since the first age has a fea-healer walked among us.”

“Syshae.” Frodo’s voice was quiet, but certain.

Legolas nodded. “Yes. ’Tis said among us that fea-healers
are the gift of the Valar, sent to us when darkness insurmountable threatens.
Ever have they been hope for our race—hope when all else fails. Healing and
succor that allows us to go on, to resist the despair, to remain in Middle
Earth and fight the darkness. ’Tis a great and precious gift that the Valar
bestow, but it can be broken. You know that the elves do coupcouple with other
races—”

“Because you hold yourselves above other races!”

“Not so, Gimli. Pride keeps us to ourselves, but it is not
the pride of superiority, such as the race of men evince. ’Tis pride like that
of the dwarves or hobbits: pride in our own race, contentment with our own
kind, respect for our ways. We desire no more and so need no other.”

Thoughtfully, Gimli nodded.

“Any rape of an elf could cause them to fade, their fea
fleeing in anguish and mortification. But Boromir’s foul act had far greater
danger than that to Syshae alone. Had the son of Gondor spilled his seed in
Syshae, it would have broken the Valar’s gift. Syshae may have lived, but his
gift would be destroyed. The hope of our race would be extinguished and we
would face the darkness with no recourse.”

Frodo simply nodded sadly. He had guessed something of the
sort, although not the details. Sam and Merry gasped as understanding sank in.
Gimli’s eyes glittered in anger. Pippin’s mouth dropped open and he stared at
Legolas. Only Aragorn didn’t react in any visible way.

“He…Syshae would have died even if…even if…”

“Ai Merry, he might have passed to the Halls of Mandos
because of the rape. ’Tis not something elves bear lightly.”

“This gift to heal the spirit, that would have been
broken. That is an evil thing, but Boromir knew naught of it.”

“Whether he did or no, Gimli, the result is the same. His
action not only harmed Syshae grievously, it threatened all the elves.”

“He raped an elven prince and for that he must die.” Gimli’s
tone was unreadable.

Legolas cocked his head to one side, his long braid
swinging. “For many reasons, friend dwarf, but not for that reason. Were Syshae
the most common of elves, without any gift, without any kinship to the Lord and
Lady, his attacker would be killed. Only kinslaying is more heinous than rape
to the First Born. And there is the evil that drove him. ’Tis too deeply
ingrained to eradicate. Never could he be trusted. Even were his life spared,
he could not continue as part of the fellowship. He would be a danger to us
all, but especially to Frodo.”

“Nothing? There is nothing to cleanse him?”

“Nay, Sam.” Aragorn spoke quietly. “His cure is beyond us.
Let us pray that the grace of Iluvatar shall return him to himself and the gift
of men shall save his soul.”

#

He was going naked and humiliated to his death. Part of
Boromir, the tiny part that was still Boromir, welcomed the thought. The other,
far larger pthatthat was in control, railed against the injustice. He was so
much more than a mere elf, so much more than any other. He wanted…his master
wanted…but he had no master. He was a prince. Though his family claimed not the
kingship, it was rightfully theirs. Isildur’s heirs had played them all false,
abandoning them. No upstart ranger would rule them. No perverted elf would
destroy his quest. His quest. What was his quest? Did it matter? Was his master pleased? Helpless, he stumbled
through the dark of the night after the elves who led him.

They had cut out his tongue; their vile healers insuring
he was awake through every agonizing second. Now, he lacked even the ability to
curse them aloud, to denounce the loathsome unnatural creature that led him to
his death, the foul elf who had spread his corruption through the fellowship.

 

Syshae led five elves and their prisoner past the southern
border of Lorien. The man’s tainted blood would not soil the Golden Wood. Some
distance from the border, he stopped, surveyed the surrounding forest, and
nodded. Without a sound, two of the escorting guardians pressed the man back
against a tree and forced him to his knees. His wrists were drawn behind him
and bound tightly, as were his ankles. A rope was passed around his neck,
negating any movement on his part. A knife sliced his ankle tendons, crippling
him.

Kneeling before the man, Syshae’s black eyes revealed
nothing in the moonlight. He gripped the man’s genitals in one hand and, with
the other, sliced them from his body and dropped the vile organs to the ground.
The man’s mouth opened in a gutteral scream and his body contorted in agony,
but the drugs the healers had given him denied him the oblivion of
unconsciousness.

Syshae stood and regarded the man dispassionately. Great he might once have been, but Sauron’s
evil possessed him. There was no redemption. With surprise, Syshae saw that the
man looked at him for an instant, something akin to gratitude in his eyes.

Still without speaking, the elves turned and left the
mutilated man. Orcs would find him soon and finish him. If not, it would be
some animal. Fresh blood would draw both. Even if the man managed to free
himself, he could only crawl. His death was assured. He was no longer their
problem.

#

Four nights passed and then Legolas returned to the
fellowship’s pavilion. They would leave the following morning. He’d said his
private good-byes to Haldir and Legolas, and left them that night to say their
own good-byes. Good-byes necessitated by the Lady’s pronouncement that Haldir
would journey with them, adding a warrior to replace the loss of Boromir. That
development surprised the hobbits and dwarf, but Aragorn’s eager acquiescence
kept them quiet. Since then, they appeared to have come to terms with the idea
of Haldir going with them. For his own part, Legolas was glad to have another
seasoned warrior along, and he quietly rejoiced that it was Haldir. Although
they would have to be circumspect out of deference to the hobbits, they would
be together. At the same time, the parting of Haldir and Syshae grieved him.
The two were so closely bonded, and he had never known them to part for more
than a week or two at the most. But the Lady’s command was not to be gainsaid
and, indeed, Haldir himself had offered no protest, nor had Syshae.

His companions welcomed him warmly and they spent the evening
talking quietly, retiring to sleep early. As the snores of the others drifted
through the pavilion, Legolas let his thoughts wander in the way of the elves,
dreams refreshing him as sleep did for the mortals. The first light of dawn
found the eight—Haldir had appeared when they rose—at the riverside watching as
a graceful swan boat bore the Lady Galadriel toward them.

She stepped ashore, several of her attendants following,
and greeted them. The hobbits and dwarf started when Syshae materialized from
the forest. Haldir, Legolas, and Aragorn, having noted his approach, managed
not to smile at their surprise. Syshae was dressed as a guardian, the colors
making him nearly invisible. Only the fact that his cloak was thrown back and
his heavy braid trailed forward over one shoulder added color. He stood tall
and proud, his expression unreadable.

Looking at him, Frodo had a sudden insight. Syshae would
one day be accounted among the most legendary of elves, standing as high in
their esteem as the Lady herself or Elrond, or even the mightiest of the First
Age. He gasped, his eyes widening as he realized viscerally the full impact of
Boromir’s act.

<Ai, ringbearer.> The Lady’s voice was in his mind
as it had been the night of their arrival in Lorien. <Great indeed shall he
be accounted. There is much yet to be revealed about him.>

At the same time, she greeted the company aloud and bade
them travel in peace and hope. Her attendants handed her brooches, shaped like
mallorn leaves, and she fastened one on each of their cloaks, save for Haldir
who already wore one. For him, she laid her hand briefly against his chest and
looked intently into his eyes. She spoke to his mind, but it was long before
any knew of her words, for Haldir kept them secret.

They stepped into the boats the elves provided: Aragorn
with Frodo and Sam, Legolas with Gimli, Haldir with Merry and Pippin. Elves
pushed them from the bank and the boats drifted gently back toward the current.


Throughout, Syshae neither moved nor spoke, but gazed at
Haldir and Legolas. The Lady and her attendants retired, the current caught the
three boats of the fellowship, and still Syshae stood immobile, his gaze fixed
on the figures of his bondmate and their lover.

Legolas and Ha loo looked back simultaneously, feeling the
weight of Syshae’s regard. Legolas offered a quick prayer to the Valar that he
would return to Syshae and Lorien, and that Haldir would also. Haldir measured
the distant figure of his bondmate. He would return and Syshae would await him,
of that he was certain.

The boats disappeared around a bend in the river, and
still Syshae stood, looking after them.

<Fear not, my grandson. You are fated to meet
again.>

<Ai, my Lady, ’tis not that I fear. I fear what shall
happen before that time—and after.>

 

 

*coronar - literally 'sun-round', a name given by the Elves
to a single year

*gwador – cousin

*Iarmen – name means ‘old way’, one who follows the old
ways

*lirimaer - lovely one

*mae govannon – well met

*pen-neth - young one

*nin bain - my beautiful one

*meleth-nin - my love

*Mithaelin – name means ‘grey lake’, reflecting beauty
muted by sadness

*saes - please