Ringspell

Chapter 4.


Alone, at last...


Aragorn strode recklessly into the darkness, paying no heed to his direction or surroundings. Twigs and low-lying branches whipped his face and clung to his clothes as he stumbled, unseeing through the thick vegetation. Unable to understand his own irrational desire to have Legolas all to himself, he stormed on blindly, adrenaline prohibiting coherent thought. He had in fact, all but forgotten why he was walking when, by pure luck, he stumbled upon a small clearing and in the pale-wash of moonlight, he saw the Elf standing there.


Aragorn stopped at the edge of the clearing, for some reason hoping to go unnoticed. Legolas stood in the center of the small space, facing away from the Ranger, in front of what seemed to be some sort of crude altar, carved from gray stone. The Elf appeared to be unaware of his audience, reaching out and laying his hands carefully on the cold surface of the altar, as though contact would somehow change the thing.


Slowly, Aragorn began to approach Legolas, desire to see the Elf’s face overcoming his natural tendency towards caution.


"Suilaid, Aragorn. Estelnon l dur hira le mai."*


The gentle voice drifted in musical tones through the clearing, settling on Aragorns ears like a well-written melody.


"It does, my friend."


He drew closer to Legolas, close enough to smell the Elf’s sweet scent. He looked down at the stone before them. It was small and low-set, reaching barely to his hip and obviously ancient, it’s sharp edges long worn-down, by the wind and rain. In the moonlight, Aragorn could see that much of the top of the altar was discolored, darker than the stone of which it was made and where the darkness reached the edge, it spilled over and traced a path down the side. It looked a lot like blood. Despite himself, Aragorn wondered if his young companion's people had put the stone there – and what strange ritual might have taken place, in this deep, dark part of the forest.


"What is this?"


He asked his friend. Legolas sighed. His seeming reverence of the thing disappearing, he kicked at the base of the altar with the sole of his soft leather boot.


"A memory, of a time almost forgotten." Came his soft-spoken reply. "We were lost, in shadows that hid us from the world. The forest was darker then, and so too, those that dwelt within."


Legolas fell quiet then, as though caught-up in some distant memory. On impulse, Aragorn reached out and rested his hand on the elfs' warm shoulder, his senses stirred by the rare touch. Legolas made no move to break the contact, even leaning back a little, against the Man’s hand. Encouraged by the response, Aragorn chanced a gentle squeeze and was rewarded when the Elf slowly turned to face him.


Letting his hand drop back to his side, Aragorn almost gasped aloud at the sorrow that clouded his friend's beautiful face. The blue eyes were filled with tears, threatening to spill down pale cheeks, towards soft, trembling lips.


"Legolas, my friend. Why are you so sad?" He asked, his heart full of concern.


Legolas did not answer, but only gazed back at Aragorn, his face awash with some desperate, unspoken pain.


His heart caught in his throat, Aragorn tried to think. Failing that, he shifted closer to Legolas, till mere inches stood between them - no longer touching, but wanting to be nearer the sorrowful creature.


Suddenly, as if the closeness had shattered some invisible shield, Legolas flung his arms around Aragorns neck, throwing his light body against the Man and burying his face into his shoulder, overcome by deep, racking sobs. Stunned by the elfs' sudden emotional display, Aragorn slowly slid his hands around the slim waist, until he held the creature firmly in his arms, delighting in the feel of the slight form pressed against his own.


"Nien vá, Edhelneth.** You must not despair."


He tried to reassure Legolas, speaking softly to him, in mixed tongues, but his words had little effect on the violently trembling Elf. Fearing he might be moved to tears himself, Aragorn gently pushed his friend back, to better see his face.


"I cannot bear to see these tears."


The Elf turned his head away, avoiding Aragorns gaze, but the Ranger was insistent, taking his face in his hands and forcing him to meet his eyes.


"You must tell me what is wrong. Perhaps I can help you."


The Elf looked at him, heartache shining out through his eyes.


"Maquen vá, Aragorn.*** I cannot say."


Legolas struggled to hold back his tears, his bottom lip trembling, dangerously. He gave in and salt-water again ran, in rivers, down his cheeks. He hesitated for a moment, before collapsing back into Aragorns embrace, clinging to the front of the Man’s tunic. Rendered speechless, by his friend’s emotional breakdown, Aragorn wrapped the crying Elf tightly in his arms, whispering reassurances in his ear.


Try as he might, Aragorn could not ignore the nature of the situation. His friend’s body was radiating warmth and the scent of elvish soap filled his nostrils. Those things were enticing, but the sounds of despair, issuing from the elfs' sweet mouth; hushed whimpers and heartfelt sighs, were what most roused the Man’s desire. He shifted, uncomfortably, trying to keep Legolas from pressing into his raging erection, but the friction only excited him more and it was all he could do to stop from rubbing himself on the Elf, like a savage.


Though he struggled, valiantly to hide his arousal, there was soon no doubt that Legolas must have felt his hard shaft, pressing into his belly. Amazingly, the Elf made no move to retreat from Aragorns manhood, continuing to push against him, snuggling deeper into the folds of his tunic. Aragorns heart leapt into his throat, hammering recklessly, threatening to choke him.


Was the Elf encouraging him? He let one of his hands drift down to the small of his friend’s back, gently feeling the beautiful curve of the elfs waist.


Aragorn could not breathe. Fearing he would lose control, he closed his eyes and tried to think of his love, no doubt on her way to the Grey Havens now. The thought only served to make him lonely and he pushed his lady out of his mind again.


They stood there, for some time, locked in their embrace - Elf and Man made as one, by their solitude and their sorrow and, for that moment, there was nothing and no-one else in their world.


Slowly, Legolas’ weeping subsided and he pushed away from Aragorn, wiping his face with his hands in a very un-Elf-like gesture. He avoided the Ranger’s eyes, seeming ashamed of his outburst.


"Forgive me." He said, his voice unsteady. "You should not have seen such a display. I am sorry."


Aragorn tried not to pity the Elf, sure that it would offend him to do so. Instead, he tried only to understand that even the strongest of spirits can sometimes falter.


"Do not beg forgiveness, my friend." He said softly. "You have done no wrong."


Legolas seemed unconvinced, but threw the Ranger a grateful little smile as he continued to compose himself, straightening his clothes and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. Out of nowhere, the Elf stifled a giggle, brushing the shoulder of Aragorn’s tunic.


"You are all wet."


He said, apologetically, wiping at the dampness without effect. The move brought a smile to Aragorn’s own lips and the embarrassed tension between them lifted, leaving only the comfortable feeling of friendship.


"Are you alright?" He asked the Elf, softly.


Legolas nodded, still sniffing.


"Shall we go back to the others?"


This time the Elf shook his head prettily.


"Could we wait a little while longer?" He asked.


Aragorn assented, secretly glad to prolong this private moment. Legolas sat back on the edge of the stone altar, reminding Aragorn of the existence of the strange object.


"Will you tell me what that is?" He asked.


Legolas thought for a moment, before speaking.


"When the Dark Lord made our forest his home," He said, "Many of my kind were at once frightened and seduced by his power. They wanted to learn the magic, forbidden by my father – to call on the darker forces of the world. So, they came south and worshiped Sauron as a god, thinking that he would favor them. He ignored them, of course, and inevitably, the tainted wilderness turned against them.


"Many were lost to rabid wolves or went mad, or simply disappeared in the night. Driven by fear, and corrupted by the shadow of Dol Guldur, they built these altars on which to sacrifice their young, hoping to win the Dark One’s approval."


The Elf shrugged, a casual gesture, seemingly inconsistent with the gravity of his story.


"It made no difference. None are left now and we do not know what happened to them. Some say He took them with him when he left, but I doubt there is any truth in such stories. Few even know where to find these relics and fewer still know their purpose."


Aragorn looked closely at his friend.


"You seem quite familiar with them." He suggested.


Legolas looked back at the Ranger, unflinching.


"One learns these things, in the company of one’s King." He explained.


Aragorn doubted that discourse with his father had led the Elf to this tiny clearing, deep in the forest but he held his tongue. If Legolas wanted to be truthful, he would do so, in his own time. His friend stood, then and ended the conversation succinctly.


"We should return to the others now." He said. "They will be missing us."


-------------------------


* "Greetings Aragorn. I hope the night finds you well."


** "Weep not, Elfling .


*** "Ask not, Estel.


To be continued...