Feud

Title: Feud
Author: erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Characters, events and locations recognizable from the works of JRR Tolkien are the property of his estate. This story is intended for enjoyment, not profit.

Thanks: First to all the loyal readers who enjoy this story, most especially reviewers!
To Sarah, who helps in so many ways and has been supportive and caring through all. Any mistakes found now are only mine!

Chapter 40: Bronwe Talt [Falling Faith]

The fen in the heat of the afternoon sun was a close, sticky zone of fetid odors and stagnant, foul airs. No breeze stirred the long beards and misty veils of moss adorning the arms and bark of nearly every tree. What light found a wayward path through the over hanging foliage was frail, an unnourished, depleted radiance more reminiscent of the straggling illumination from a pitch-dipped torch than any bright caress of Anor's torrid splendor.

No jingling jabber of flowing water caught the ear; absolute stillness lay upon the obsidian glint of the sterile pond. Not even the feet of a water dancer frolicking across the membranous tension disturbed the unwavering fluid. Upon the sodden, sloppy shore, a solitary toad reposed, awaiting the infrequent buzz of an insect's wings, thus to snatch a bit of dinner from the draftless space. Birds seldom broke the overwhelming solitude, and when they did the calls spoke more of complaints against the season than of praises to Tawar.

High in the canopy upon the talan Legolas had built large enough for just himself to inhabit, the three travelers were hard pressed to find any comfort either. While they were friends, the closeness one allowed one's fellows was a clearly delineated region and except in specific circumstances did not promote bodily contact. The jumbled collection of packs and weapons heaped nearby did not improve the amenities, detracting from the meagre confines by almost the same degree as would another body. Thus, with the Wood Elf occupying the majority of the square footage, the Man and the wizard were huddled in unpleasant proximity up against the hemlock's mighty trunk.

Aragorn shifted, running his hand under the hair sticking to the back of his neck and across the sweaty skin beneath it. He was truly glad he had elected not to don his leather jerkin and boots, for that would only necessitate removing them again, effort too vital to expend in the unendurable humidity. He stole a glance at Gandalf, who long ago had thrown off the light blanket and was now futilely fanning his face, eyes shut, with the wispy end of his long whiskers. Just the sight of that wooly growth made the Ranger's cheeks feel scratchy under his much less lengthy beard. He sighed; a breath filled with the irritation of over-exhaustion, unable to find comfort under the burden of late summer's final stand against the relentless onslaught of autumn's equinox.

{Perhaps the elf's advice was prudent; I will never sleep in this mire without some strong herb to assist me!}

Yet sometime during the hazy hours he did stumble into fatigue-induced slumber, as though the weight of the water-laden air exceeded his strength and sapped his awareness. But while his body remained in lethargic stupour, his mind was anything but quiescent. Aragorn was plagued by disturbing images of Legolas and Elrond, locked in passionate encounters in a variety of settings throughout Imladris. His father, pinning the younger elf against the wall in the corridor outside the library, pumping and grinning. Elrond, spreading the wild warrior wide on the floor of the Hall of Fire, while the rest of the household merely smiled and sang a ballad of Turgon and the glory that was Gondolin. The Lord of Imladris holding council, seated before his ministers and a host of emissaries from other lands, with his hand resting upon Legolas' blond head rising and falling between his legs.

Aragorn woke with a start and realized Gandalf had shaken him alert. The Maia was staring at him with concern.

"You were dreaming," he said quietly, "and it did not seem pleasant."

The mortal cocked a wry eyebrow at this understatement and dared a look at Legolas. He could not suppress a shudder of revulsion, left over from the seamy scenes his troubled heart had produced.

"I know not how to make this knowledge bearable!" he hissed with a shake of his head. "There are some things of which it is best to remain unaware!"

"Indeed," Gandalf snorted. "I am certain Legolas shares sen sentiment just about now!"

Duly chastised, Aragorn revised his perspective and rediscovered his compassion for the fallen warrior. He rose and stretched as he gazed out into the trees. Anor was done for the day and, in the cavern-like claustrophobia of the mere, dusk was rapidly falling back before the dispiriting advance of Gwain Ithil's night.

"At least that tonic has spared him any untoward memories while he sleeps!" he said and resumed his seat with a kinder gaze upon the prostrate elf.

And while his words defined a true statement, the elixir did not prevent the creation of new and even more abhorrent events from being added to the outcast's surfeit of woe.

The first indication that the situation was deteriorating was no more than a whispered sigh breathed into the darkening air and a dreamy half-smile that briefly traversed the archer's fair features. These were hardly the indicators of stress Aragorn was trained to notice. The Man was initially so gratified to see signs of tranquil reverie that he failed to realize such physical manifestations should be impossible. Given the state of oblivion into which the elixir had supposedly submerged his friend, not so much as a twitch or a tic ought to materialize until midday on therow.row.

When the wild elf grew restless the human became apprehensive. As Legolas writhed free from the Istar's enveloping robes, Aragorn's temperature climbed several degrees and ushered in acute embarrassment. The talan was much too small to share with this suddenly and amazingly aroused Sylvan warrior.

"Oh no," the wizard sighed in dismay. He remembered, too late, Fearfaron describing this sort of nightmare to the healer years ago. "Legolas, awaken!" Mithrandir leaned closer and grasped the archer's shoulder and shook him, but instantly jerked away when the wild elf moaned and turned his head, plastering a slithering tongue-stroke upon the Istar's fingers. "Legolas should not have been drugged!"

"The instructions I used gave no warning of a reaction like this!" the human defended his concoction.

Aragorn's eyes grew impossibly large and round at the sight of his friend's faintly glowing erection stretched so full, vertical, and straining for contact as the elf snuggled against the unyielding floor. Accompanied by the unparalleled urgency of Legolas' pleadingly complaining growls and mutters, the spectacle was nearly enough to send the mortal down to the inhospitable but equally unstimulating dampness of the peat bog below.

The fact that he did not retreat Aragorn later attributed to his gut reaction as a physician rather than his lewd, voyeuristic curiosity. Yet, all his instincts for healing failed him. Instead of feeling moved to interfere, the Man tried to put more distance between himself and his friend. He watched in stunned enthrallment as the fallen prince engaged in heated foreplay with his phantom lover.

The elf's hands patted and stroked every inch of his sex-charged body, smoothing across his chest where they came to rest on small pink buds. The long graceful fingers quickly twirled and tweaked the sensitive flesh into plump and ruddy tits, which Legolas offered with an unbearably erotic groan as he arched up off the floor. His right hand continued to tease and tempt, alternately rubbing his firmly muscled torso and next pinching and pulling his inflamed nipples, decadently inviting a lover's lick.

The other hand traveled in a sultry serpentine slide down the firm abdomen, shied away from the prominent arousal, briefly stopped to squeeze the twin glands, then diverted across the hip and lingered in a sensuous caress over his behind. When Legolas sighed a prurient plaint and slipped two of those elegant digits inside his anus, Aragorn's mouth dropped in shocked disbelief.

It soon became obvious to both the witnesses that while Legolas' ejaculation was imminent, his apparent reluctance to touch his own cock prevented the culmination of his painfully excited state. The illusion of ecstatic license was shattered as Legolas' vocalizations became intelligible and he called out Malthen's name in tones of frantic despair. A few gasping pants later; the exiled prince sent Aragor sen senses reeling as he begged in mortified salacity for his father to penetrate him. Even in the cloying blackness of the new moon, Legolas' tears gleamed brightly against his face.

Not knowing of the archer's love for his former guardian, the mortal assumed this impassioned exhortation was directed to the Lord of Imladris and that Malthen mbe abe a lover's pet name. Elrond's foster son felt his stomach turn over and fought back the bitter bile.

"Legolas!" Gandalf shouted, trying to get the elf's attention, but could not bring himself to handle the gyrating form again, fearing to become the catalyst for the impending release.

If the Tawarwaith heard his voice, it was absorbed and perverted within his vivid hallucination and he could not respond.

He twisted himself over onto his stomach, assuming a submissive position Aragorn had never personally seen a male display. The wild elf raised up onto his knees, bowing his golden head against one arm and lifting his buttocks high. He slid his legs apart and flexed his pelvis, exposing his most vulnerable parts and offering himself for acquisition to his lover. With a brutishly hungry growl Legolas finally reached under his belly and grabbed his dripping cock, squeezing and pulling vehemently until he poured out his passionate well-spring of illicit desire upon the wooden floor.

And then the screaming began.

Within the span of two heartbeats, Gandalf at last reached out and gathered up the twitching elf, wrapping him tightly in the soft covers and commanding him forcefully to return to them and awaken.

Aragorn could only watch and wonder as the outcast regained his senses and folded himself up, hunkering onto the Istar's lap like an elfling. Had the situation not been so horribly grotesque, the sight of the long-legged full grown warrior clutching the wizard's beard for security would have been bizarrely amusing. But the Man found nothing worthy of laughter, for though his friend's shrieks had ceased the weeping continued, silent and unabated, and Legolas did not speak.

He assumed that the elf and wizard were communicating on the purely mental level developed between them. What the two shared he could not imagine. The carnal nature of the vivid mirage was all too obvious; the physical evidence pooled on the mat tainted the small flet's air with the dregs of Legolas' passion. Before he quite realized it, Aragorn found that he had inelegantly kicked the offensive padding over the side of the talan. He cast a glance over at the blond head cradled against the Istar's neck and could detect the violent trembling racking the archer's frame in silent testament to the trauma endured. The cause of the terrified and agonized cries was beyond any guess Aragorn could make.

{Given the players in this tragedy, I do not want to know!}

Legolas did not acknowledge the Man either by look or speech and the mortal thought it best not to initiate any discourse. He shuddered reflexively as the memory of the wild warrior's wanton exposition replayed in his mind. Aragorn understood the many varieties of sexual experiences a person might enjoy, but had never observed anything like the archer's demonstration. All the elves he knew were scrupulously discrete; public display of affection was not commonly accepted in Imladris. Mentally he remonstrated himself, for he knew Legolas had not willingly put on such a show.

The Man attempted to rationalize his distaste for what he had seen and allay the accompanying twinge of guilt accosting his heart. He had never been attracted to another male. He had not really thought much about such intimacy; having been far more curious about females and how to persuade them to accept that for which Legolas seemed compelled to beg. It was understandable that Aragorn would be disturbed and uncomfortable.

{How else might I feel, being forced to watch such vulgar actions! It is but a reaction, nothing more; I hold Legolas in the same regard as before}, but he knew these were half-truths at best.

He was trying, but it was going to be difficult to get past this latest revelation of his friend's personal life. It was not that the archer desired a male to bed him that was burdensome but that Legolas yielded himself to be used by someone who clearly had little concern for his heart. It did not help that the lover in question was Elrond.

{How could Legolas imagine that someone he had known but a handful of days could care for his well-being?} The Man felt disgusted and angry at the elf for allowing himself to be debased. {Nay, for finding his pleasure in such depravation!}

It went so totally against everything Elrond had taught him about sexual intimacy, and the Man could not suppress his irrational acrimony toward Legolas for forcing him to acquire this knowledge.

The dark hours were impossible to track under the leafy ceiling, lacking Ithil's shifting light as a determinant. Aragorn thought it endless and found the absence of nocturnal wild life more upsetting than would be the shuffling and snuffling of night creatures. The whole bog seemed to be cringing under the Tawarwaith's pain.

Morning brought its fuzzy gleam into the little swamp and Aragorn reawakened, surprised he had fallen into dreamless sleep after the troubling demonstration he had attended. Immediately he looked to his friends and Gandalf greeted him with a weary and pinched smile. Legolas was not there. Aragorn lifted inquiring eyebrows to the wizard, who gave a sideways nod as he dropped his gaze towards the ground. The Man leaned over and spotted the elf near the pond, redressed in the tattered leggings, busily at work fletching arrows.

It occurred to Aragorn that the forest champion might find the source for his incubus lay within the potion given him to swallow and bear the Man a grudge.

{And would I not? Indeed, I would harbour resentment toward one that caused me to display my private soul thusly!} He had no idea how to make amends for such a grievous reaction to the sleeping tonic. With grim determination Aragorn rose and moved out into the branches, descending to the mushy moss below.

"Aur Maer, Legolas!" the mortal called as he jumped the last meter or so and landed with a squelching squish into the peat. The wild elf looked at him guardedly but said nothing. The human cleared his throat. "I wish to beg your forgiveness! The medicine was supposed to prevent dreams, not …"

"I would rather not speak of this, Aragorn, ever!" Legolas interrupted in choked and bitter tones. "There is nothing for you to apologize for; this has… this is… it is nothing to do with you!" So saying he returned to his task and refused to look at his friend again, for his shame was acute.

In the minutes that followed, neither of them spoke and the humidity was not the only component to weight the bog's atmosphere. Legolas was unable to conquer the overwhelming fear of having lost Aragorn's respect, reducing their relationship to one of polite discourse and alienating courtesy. For his part, the mortal desperately wanted to find a topic of discussion that would not lead to unpleasant reminders of Imladris and the night's activity, for his own sake as much as his friend's.

"We must move on from here soon," Aragorn said, feeling this was as safe a subject as any. "Is the ankle improved enough for you to continue?"

"It will do. We cannot afford more time; you are right to speak of leaving. We must decide now on our course," Legolas replied vehemently, gratified to have something else to think about. He raised fierce eyes to his human comrade and found the healer's piercing appraisal sweeping over him.

"I would like to have another look," Aragorn began, and was nonplussed when the elf suddenly grew bright red and tore his gaze away. "Nay! I mean only…"

"I know what you mean and it is not necessary to check the injury again!" the archer hastily interjected. "It is time to accept that the current strategy is not working." Legolas drew a deep breath and glanced back at Aragorn, who fought the urge to look away. "Even if it had done before, the bonfire you needed to deter the spiders will have drawn anyone seeking our trail."

"I am willing to concede to your greater expertise in these matters, Legolas. What may we expect?" the Man rejoined, carefully choosing his words.

"We may expect to be relentlessly driven toward the Mountains! However, the Orcs have been instructed to capture, not to kill; that gives us the advantage."

Loud huffing and a muttered curse interrupted the discussion and both participants turned to watch the wizard complete his noisy retreat from the flet. The Man and elf elf shared knowing smirks; their friend was not so frail and fragile as his complaints and grumbles suggested.

"That is an advantage for what reason? It would seem only to suggest they will work together and be more difficult to fight off!" Mithrandir joined the debate.

"The smaller groups will try to gain the esteem such a feat would garner them! They will not work together, each one wanting the sole acclaim and promotion a success would bring. But even more, they will try to be clever, and this is something that generally just makes them completely predictable!" Legolas answered with a very unpleasant smile.

"This area is on the edges of the regions in which I have numerous traps. However, these work because I am able to flee from danger through the trees. What we must figure out is a way to utilize the pits without the two of you being killed in the process!"

"Pits?" asked the Man, worry tainting his voice.

"Aye. I am the one who made the pitfalls, but will need to scout those nearby to make sure they are still being maintained. I gave this information both to the woodsmen and, via Gandalf, to the King's guard, but have no way to know if either group has eredered to keep them set and ready."

"You are leaving again?" demanded Gandalf sternly.

"For a few hours only. I will be back before nightfall!"

"Nay; this time we all go," said Aragorn and braced for the wild prince's furious reply. To his surprise, Legolas remained calm but did not speak, waiting to hear the Man's argument. "It is wasted effort; why should we sit idle here and force you to make a return trip? Your ankle is healing, but too much strain will make the mending slower. And, should we encounter Orcs along the way, the three of us can do more damage than one alone. If we must battle our way to the stronghold, then the quicker we proceed the faster we will get through it. As before, you can guide us from the trees and prevent us from bungling into these traps."

"Very well," Legolas conceded but did not comment that the mortal's remarks were so similar to the points he had made previous to the battle with the spiders. {At least he learns quic} \} "Mithrandir, we need to keep the link between us open while I am up in the canopy. I can thus direct the two of you around the traps," he said quietly and started to load the new arrows into the quiver. Curious, Aragorn took one up and examined it carefully.

"These are poor arrows!" he blurted out in his suse; se; he was accustomed to elves taking great care when making weapons of any kind, and the archers of Imladris were known to be the most demanding of perfection. "The wood is too green, and the shafts are not straight enough! Legolas, these will hit a distant target only by happenstance!"

Legolas stood and coolly held out his hand for the missile, slipping it into his quiver as he met the human's concerned gaze.

"The targets will not be distant, Aragorn."

They left the k wak water fen after this brief council. Several hours of travel had not convinced the Man and the Maia that the way was more than a blind blundering through the endless sameness of jungle overgrowth. The only indication that they were not still going round in circles was the steadily rising slope of the land and an increasingly devastating black dread engulfing their hearts. The forest seemed with every step to be more and more the Mirkwood of Mens' fables and less the Greenwood tended by vigilant Sylvans.

The stallion and the gelding moved through the twisting track at a steady trot, maintaining an uneasy acquiescence to the Wood Elf's demand for progress. Upon their backs, the man and the wizard felt uncomfortably powerless, guided by Legolas' unspoken instruction to their mounts more than to the Istar. It was not a circumstance either one had previously experienced and demanded a level of trust in their feral friend that was generally granted only to those who had fought side by side for years.

The two travelers knew next to nothing of the archer's battle skills and had no understanding of combat in heavily forested terrain. Unfamiliarity with the claustrophobic lands, undetectable elven roads, and the lack of greater numbers spawned an instinctive fear of imminent attack from the untamed surroundings. The Darkness crept into them with the very air they breathed; poisoning their hopes and deadening their perception. It seemed an insurmountable host of Orcs calmly steered them, playing with them until such time as they chose to strike. How could three overcome such forces? The worry grew in their minds that the elf was leading them to their deaths.

With no warning, mental or vocal, Legolas swung down onto the back of Mithrandir's palomino and the wizard jumped in spite of himself. He did not need to look back over his shoulder to know his friend was displeased. Legolas had abruptly retreated from the Istar's awareness as the first doubt had entered in.

"Mithrandir, we have reached the area I spoke of. This is where we will take on the first assailants," he said and gave the Istar the mental image of the precise location of each pitfall. The extent of the delving was vast and in the trees above were several flets at various heights in the canopy, overlooking the altered ground.

"You are not going up to the flets, then?" asked Mithrandir.

"No," came the curt reply. "Traps require bait."

Mithrandir needed no internal link to comprehend this strategy and scrunched his brows together in response to the vivid image Legolas sent of a previous skirmish conducted in this way.

"That is foolishly dangerous!"

"Nay, not foolish for it has always worked. They cannot resist the urge to get their filthy hands on an elf, and I do make it seem as though they might succeed! Believe me, it is a method I have employed more times than I care to recount!"

"Right. And what are we supposed to do?" demanded Aragorn, also grasping the gist of the plan. "We cannot get high enough into the trees to avoid them when they pour upon us, nor do we have arrows to shoot at them even if we man the flets!"

"You must do whatever you can do with that great sword of yours! You are a warrior, Man, and surely know how to kill!" Legolas replied caustically; their lack of confidence in him was upsetting.

"The horses must be set loose; for we will need them and I would not have them destroyed even if we did not. You two can find cover ample to conceal your location, can you not? Mithrandir knows where the pits are; you need to get within the field of holes and cut down any Orcs that do not tumble to their deaths.

"This first group is small; we should be able to kill them with no difficulty. Do not worry; I will reduce the troop to a manageable size for you! I have no sense of greater numbers awaiting to aid them, but then again not all the trees here are inclined to share information! If I am wrong, we will have to fight our way to the river.

"Should this be the case, Thranduil's patrols will likely be near enough to discover our difficulty and assist you. They are not permitted to aid me; however, those orders do not include you two. I can come up with no other ideas. Had we not met, how would you deal with this threat?"

"Peace, Legolas, we did not mean…" began Mithrandir.

"Nay! The Shadow has used you as a lure, and now I will turn the concept against itself! I have said I will not allow you to be taken by the doom that plagues me, and so it shall be. If you cannot trust to that at least rely upon your own abilities to fend for yourselves. Willingly you entered these lands, though I wish it were not so, and you must have been prepared for such troubles before crossing the borders!" He did not wait for any more talk and jumped down from the gelding's back; a quick sprint took him beyond the sight of his companions.

It stung, their failure to believe him capable to guard them. Legolelt elt his throat tighten up as he tried to turn the sorrow into hard rage. Two voices warred within his mind, one stating that his depraved sexual desires had earned their disgust and consequently their mistrust, while the other reasoned that it was the subtle influence of the Shadow infecting their attitudes. He decided neither reason was inaccurate, but this did nothing to diminish the sense of isolation or its concurrent pain.

He vaulted into the arms of a large oak, rapidly scaled to the pinnacle, and pierced through the verdant crown to gaze upon the vastness of the for Th The Tawarwaith inhaled deeply and allowed the pain to flow back out of him as he blew the breath back upon the sky. He watched the newly unfurled leaves quiver under the passing of his grief weighted lung-full.

Up this high, Darkness did not exist. He was never disappointed in the effect of this sudden exposure to the open light and freely flowing wind on his spirit. Whether he encountered the glare of a searing sun, the bluster of a stormy, cloud-scudded sky, or the crisp clarity of frost filled atmosphere, he always reveled in the unchanging nature of his woods. From the roof of the Greenwood, he could see his green world stretching to meet the boundaries of the horizon, obliterating that tenuous delineation between empty space and solid ground.

He turned his vision north and saw the peaks of the Central Mountains riding upon the billowing foliage like islands adrift in the Great Sea. It took a second for him to receive the shock this introspection generated; Legolas had never been on the sea, had no means to visualize the concept of an island much less create such a comparison.

It was a frightening thing at first to recognize thoughts spawned by knowledge not of his own gathering. {Surely, this image came from Mithrandir's experience in his crossing from Aman,} he reasoned. Legolas shook his head, wondering what else might be in it now that had not been there before, but put the curious concept aside and focused on the task at hand.

Not much effort was required to seek the counsel of Tawar, and he was able to dissolve deeper into the massive mind freely. He had come to understand that he was never really separated from this connection, and merely allowed more or less of his awareness to be absorbed into the great entity, depending on what was required. His desperation during the search for the spiders' lair had taught him well how to see the design of the Greenwood's natural strength. A terrible pattern of light and dark had flashed within his soul then and all the locations of the darkest pockets of gloom were revealed.

Legolas searched carefully now for the shifting smears of black emptiness stealing over the ground for at such points were found Orcs. From these the Great Wood barricaded itself, closing off the bright perfection of Eru's Making from such mobile infestations of evil, and soon Legolas' comprehension received news of the closest group.

They were moving with slow deliberateness, not yet on his scent, but drawing ever closer in a loosely defined arcuate formation. He smiled at their crude tactics; the semi-circular advance was supposed to make it easy for them to flank and surround a lesser force. It worked perhaps with humans, but never had this configuration succeeded when elven warriors were involved. Legolas wondered about that; had not the Masters of Dol Guldur taken note of this fact?

{Unless the creatures are incapable of learning any other way.}

He thought, perhaps, it had more to do with the Wraith's utter contempt for the loathsome miscreants. There were no poorer fighters; not even close to the discipline of goblins, and the Nazgul could afford to spend them recklessly. {In this I thoroughly agree with the shadow-slaves!} Legolas smirked at this idea and descended lower to intercept the battalion. It took little time moving through the branches to get close enough to alter their course.

Fewer than ten meters separated him from his quarry now, and the forest warrior listened to the raucous quarreling and heavy trampling of the beasts as they converged upon his position. He pulled his dagger from his quiver and made a quick shallow slice across his forearm. With vigour he rubbed the muscle to encourage the flow and soon spilled a thin line of precious drops down upon the leafy debris. Not bothering to bind up the wound, he darted through the lower hanging branches with much more clatter and motion than an elf, even a dying one, would ever make. As he moved, the knife cut bled, spreading a vivid smear across his arm, and dripped onto the branches and leaves as he passed.

Behind him, an excited shout arose from within the Orc host as his blood was discovered. In seconds the foul things were in eager pursuit and the Tawarwaith stilled to let them draw nearer. He shot three of the hastily made arrows into three of the monsters that passed beneath his perch and had already darted away before the bodies hit the ground. An answering hail of missiles and vulgar shouts of rage followed him.

Tbc.