Where The Shadows Lie

A/N: Thanks for the review!! Yes, I love a dark Legolas. ;) Mmm. Sorry to hear about your bad luck at ff.net...people are so up tight sometimes. ;) Sheesh. But ah, thank goodness for adult-fanfiction.org, eh? I appreciate that you'd take time to review! :)

*

Boromir glared at the window. He glared hard and imagined what it would be like if he could use his fury like a weapon to smash it to pieces. The window offended him because it let in the dark. The window was the Gates of Mordor and Gondor was the helpless babe that had been smothered by the dark.

He hated this place. He hated Aragorn for returning, hated Éomer for asking it of him. He hated Elrond for his foolishness.

He hated himself for allowing all these things to happen. The Steward drew in a breath, clutching the wooden arms of the chair he had been sitting in for twenty minutes. What would his father think of him now? “Boromir?”

Éowyn’s gentle voice penetrated his thoughts, made him frown in discontent at the meddling girl. “No,” he said firmly, crossing his arms.

The blonde’s blue eyes were like ice. He had steeled himself well against that look, though. His brother would have melted by it. Boromir hardened his heart against it. Her words were a different matter. “You fool only yourself, Boromir of Gondor.” She said his name as if he were an object of ridicule and that nettled the proud lord. Éowyn did not notice or did not care. “Get up and go find her. Your brother would want you to.”

“Of my brother I will thank you to keep your mouth shut,” he snapped, glaring at the window again. Even still he knew the inevitable was just that. Inevitable. The hour grew very late. Too much time had passed for her to simply be out walking. “Your cousin was fool enough to go off alone I say let her get what she deserves.” He wanted to sound as though that were the end of the discussion.

“You prove your affection with each disparaging word, you realize.” The Princess of Rohan regarded him softly, a scrutiny he did not welcome.

Boromir stood up, straightened his tunic and pointed at Éowyn, mustering as threatening an expression as he dared. “Keep your empty-headed female fantasies to yourself. You owe me for this, double if I come across one of those miserable Elves.”

She smirked as he stormed towards the door, snorting, “Valar forbid the mighty Boromir come to annoyance.”

Looking through the opening before he shut it, he muttered, “Quiet, woman,” then pulled it closed none-too-gently. If the dread Elf Prince came while he was gone it would be on her shoulders for sending him on this fool’s errand. Boromir walked hard against the delicate tiles beneath his feet, but could not cause a single crack to mar the flawless flooring.

Aragorn had yet to be seen and for all they could glean out of those mysterious, arrogant pointy-ears, could be rotting in some shallow grave right now. And just about this moment Boromir found he did not care, could even muster the energy to offer Elrond his approval. Oh, he knew such thinking was wrong of him, beneath him even, and deep down the King’s death would anger him greatly, but fantasies such as these kept him grounded while dwelling among all these fools.

Frustrated with himself and his company, Boromir made his way outside—for they had searched what rooms within Rivendell they could access. The company was confined to one wing near the gardens and neither Alisceon nor Aragorn could be found there. The truth was he was worried. That they were told nothing of the whereabouts of their King did no bode well. Boromir knew the virtues of patience, but unfortunately failed them time and time again. Faramir would chide him for it each time, but he was not here to do that anymore.

The Lord of Gondor entered the gardens, brushing back a rose in his way, then glared when it came back to hit him in the face. Annoyed he gripped the offending blossom, crushed it and jerked it off the vines. “Do you punish all those that cross you thus? Mae govannen, mellon nîn, (Well met, my friend.)” came a very amused voice. An Elf voice.

Boromir looked up to see a familiar face. He relaxed, but not completely. “Legolas,” he breathed, eyeing the other warily. He had never completely trusted this Elf—any Elf, but through getting to know this one he had deemed the Prince a worthy enough companion. He had been told of the encounter the ladies had with him. “Éowyn said she saw you. Tell me, have you seen Aragorn or Alisceon?”

With a soft smile Legolas nodded once, then glanced up at the windows. Satisfied, he motioned with his fingers and began away, whispering, “Come.”

Cursing beneath his breath, Boromir began after him, annoyed and a bit unnerved. He did not like that this Elf drew him away rather than speaking bluntly. It made him wonder what there was to hide. Absently his hand went for his sword, but met with nothing and he made a mental note to see Elrond’s son punished for taking it.

The brush thickened until he felt his hair catching leaves and twigs. It did not amuse him one bit and he was tempted to call a halt to this ignorance until the Elf himself came to a stop. Legolas turned, placed a finger to his lips for silence, then stepped aside.

It was obscenely dark here in this closed space, but the night did not obscure what lay ahead. The first thing he noticed was the statue. It stood as tall as the one whom it was made in the likeness of. The detailing was fine enough that he could tell it was carved to honor the face of Arwen, daughter of Elrond. It was a grave marker, splendid and hidden away like a sacred relic.

But that was not all that was here. Legolas nodded towards a shadow and as moonlight bled through the trees he saw flesh. Aragorn. He was tied between two trees, his head bowed and no motion coming from him. Instantly the Steward’s eyes came to Legolas in anger. “What is this? Who did this?”

The Elf seemed unafraid of his furious stance. He looked back down the pathway, then sadly at his friend. “Who do you think? Lord Elrond saw to this.”

Boromir advanced a step, ready to grab the Elf and have his vengeance. “Did you let this happen?” he breathed dangerously, gripping the silver fabric of his shirt.

Legolas shook his head, then looked down. “In truth I knew only today that Aragorn had been brought to here. There was no time to save him.”

Trying to make sense of this, the Steward looked back without releasing the Elf. His King was limp, not even looking up if he had heard them at all. “Then he is dead,” he assumed low, regretting his angry thoughts of earlier. His hand tightened against the Elf’s shirt.

“Nay,” Legolas replied, but there was no hope in his tone. “But he will be soon.”

Boromir let go and took a step towards his King. “Then we can still save him?”

The Elf stopped him, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Let him be, Boromir. He is a dying man. Let him be with his wife.” As Boromir stared at Aragorn, weighing those words, Legolas walked behind him and came to his other side. “Become King in his place.”

One thing he had learned when dealing with Elves was that they did not trust him specifically with power. The Lord of Gondor cocked an eyebrow, tearing his eyes off the dying King to look at the Elf suspiciously. “You would let your friend die? In favor of allowing me to become King of Gondor?”

Legolas nodded softly, gazing to Aragorn. “He is weary. The weight has become too much for him to bear and it pains me to see him this way. He has been beaten, Boromir, enough to run his life dry. His spark fades as each drop of blood leaves his flesh to soak his clothes. Look at him. He cannot even cry out to us to save him. Cannot or will not. The world of Men will come to ruin if he remains King. You know this as well as I.” He put his hand on Boromir’s arm, looking in earnest.

Something in those blue eyes seemed to suggest to him to follow this course. He felt lost again, like he had a year ago during the Fellowship. It was there for him to take, the rule he had been born and prepared for. The rule Denethor had groomed him for. His gray eyes slid to the King’s form. Here was the last of the line of Elendil, it would end here and the line of Kings would pass to Boromir. “What must I do?” he asked softly.

The Elf reached down to his own side, pulling a dagger from his belt. He held it up, offering it to the Steward. “End his pain.”

Boromir took the blade, fingering the fine hilt. “Tell me, if Aragorn suffers so, how is it that you could not end his pain?”

He looked up, seeing the Elf’s eyes flash in impatience—a fleeting look that was quickly replaced with calm. Legolas bowed his head as if in shame. “I did not have the heart to do it. Elves cannot always bear the necessary.”

“Ah, of course,” Boromir said curtly, nodding. He looked down at the hand on his arm, then up into the Elf’s midnight blue eyes. Taking his hand, he shoved it away. “Grieve as you will, Elf. But I would not put such blood on my hands. Find someone else to be your pawn.”

The Steward began for Aragorn, intent on freeing his King, beaten or not, but the sounds of bows being pulled tight stopped him. He looked up into the trees, but could not see any hint of his foes. When he turned he saw an condescending expression written on the Elf’s face. “Free him and you join him in the grave, Boromir.”

He could do nothing now that would not endanger him and his people needed him alive. They needed to know the treachery of the Elves went further than they had imagined, so he knew he could do nothing to save Aragorn this time. Instead he settled for verbal satisfaction. “I find it strange. You Elves feared some time ago I would be blackened by the Ring and yet here I stand, bound by honor and dignity. And here you are, lower than the dirt beneath my feet.” The Prince of Mirkwood stared hard, unblinking with steel in his gaze. The Steward brushed past him to resume his search for Alisceon.

“My dagger,” Legolas called after him.

Boromir stopped, but did not look back. “I think I will keep it. Thank you, old friend.” He heard the Elf hiss in a breath and the sound of it was not comforting, but he would not dignify it by turning in fear. He would not cower before Elves.

*

Her body was dirty, her clothes bearing the stains of earth and grass. Her dark hair was mussed, white petals clinging to the strands that she had not troubled herself to remove yet. She knew she looked a mess, clutching her ripped shirt to her chest. Shoving her way through the brush, cursing every single tree that stood between her and her people, Alisceon made her way back towards the darkness of the house of Elrond.

It had occurred to her to try and slip through the forest, escape this place and run back to Rohan, but she knew this would only see her dead. She was thinking instinctively and though tempting, the realization that she had no food or water, no idea of where to attain help in these parts of Middle-earth, haunted her and ultimately guided her footsteps back to the loathed mansion of Elves.

She didn’t want to face them—her people. It pained her to imagine it, to think of their faces when they saw her like this. They would ask what happened to her, take in her appearance and then understanding would dawn in their eyes. Maybe Éowyn would be alone, asleep perhaps. Maybe Alisceon could curl up in bed and forget this ever happened.

She was just fooling herself. It was late by now and they would be worried for her. The most she could hope for was to make it through the gardens without running into any of the Elves. Especially him.

Her thoughts took away from her concentration and when a hand reached for her arm, she jumped and gasped, unprepared for it. She had heard nothing, felt nothing. The hand jerked her around as if he did not care that he had startled her and she feared the worst. Her anxiety strayed not far from the truth. “Where the hell have you been?” Boromir snapped, crossing his arms. “We have been worried about you and I do not appreciate being dragged out here in the late hours of night to find you wandering around like a sightseer.”

He didn’t seem notice the state she was in and part of her was thankful for that. The other part was stung by his coldness. Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Alisceon breathed, “I hate you,” and stormed away from him.

Apparently, leaving her be did not occur to him. She could hear him stomping towards her, knew he would use his harsh tone to intimidate her. Boromir never disappointed in that. “Don’t you walk away from me,” he warned, gaining on her. “You had best stop, you fool woman, and explain yourself to me.”

His fingers curled into her shirt, jerking her back towards him and the force pulled her arms apart. He whirled her to face him and stopped short as she regained her balance, seeing now that the fabric was loose. Looking at the ground, Alisceon covered herself, flinching back when he reached out for her and hissing, “Don’t touch me.”

Boromir’s hand hovered in between reaching again and staying back. She could almost feel his eyes traveling her in pity or in disgust, whatever his emotion of the moment was. She did not know, would not look to see and did not care right now. His tone was gentle, however, more so than he had ever given her before. “Are you all right?”

She almost hated that he would ask, hated that he did not give her fuel for her anger towards him. Unable to control the tears that formed in her eyes, Alisceon glared up at him for causing her to cry again. “What do you care?”

That ended his kindness. His stormy eyes darkened. “I don’t. I wouldn’t,” he spat, shoving her towards the house. “But Lady Éowyn does for some ungodly reason and she is a decent lady, so I will respect her want to see you safe. Whether you like it or not, you are coming with me.”

“Leave me alone,” she demanded, pulling away when he pushed her again, this time leaving his hand on her shoulder to keep her moving. “Take your hand off of me!”

“If you are going to behave as a child, I will treat you as one,” he retorted hotly, shoving her again. “Return peaceably or I will be forced to take steps to put you in your place.”

Alisceon grunted, moving ahead of him a few paces to escape his irritating presence. “You would hit a woman, wouldn’t you?”

Boromir gained on her again and shoved her back against the entrance to the home. She found his finger pointing her in her face and his eyes dark and furious. “I do not beat on women, Elf, but that will not stop me from tying you down and lashing your bare body with my belt a few times if it will teach you sensibility. What foolish notion brought you out here, anyway? Was not the threat of darkened Elves enough to quell your curiosity?”

“Get away from me,” she whispered darkly, her eyes wide and shining.

He was not impressed. Wrapping his strong hands around her arms, he yanked her from the door. Holding her with one hand and opening it with the other, he shoved her inside. She stumbled back, but advanced on the temptation to slap him for his treatment of her. His eyes warned her against it, however, cool and challenging.

Boromir closed this distance between them, grabbing for her. Alisceon groaned when his shoulder hit her stomach, but the discomfort was quickly replaced by a loss of balance. The Lord of Gondor picked her up and began towards their rooms. Enraged, she slammed her fist into the back of his shoulder, triumphing in his sharp intake of air. “If you do not wish to feel my belt you had best not do that again, you little bitch. Do not tempt me, for I will strip you down right here and do it, if I feel it is deserved.”

Helpless against him, hating him more now than ever, Alisceon found her strength waning. It was too much, to fight the darkness and fight him as well. He said nothing when she covered her face against her crossed arms, accepting his actions. His silence was welcome.

A door opened and he brought her through, careful at least to keep her from hitting her head on the threshold. “What’s this?” her cousin said in an unnerved voice.

Boromir tossed her down onto the bed, looking immediately away from her. Alisceon saw the Princess looking into his face with patient irritation. “Care for her, for she will say nothing to me accept to tell me of her hate. She was attacked for her foolishness. Do as you must, then come to the other room in an hour. I have things I must explain.”

Éowyn gasped, covering her lips, but the Steward offered no comfort. He stormed from the room without another word, slamming the door shut behind him. When her cousin looked at her, Alisceon hid her face away and tried to pretend she was alone, but the bed shifted with the blonde’s weight being added to her right side. “What happened?” she asked softly, drawing her shirt closed.

“What do you think?” the half-Elf hissed, turning away.

Éowyn smoothed her dark hair back gently, moving closer. “How can I help you? Will you not let me, Alisceon?”

What could anyone do for this? It was done and Boromir had not helped matters. Alisceon shoved her arm beneath the pillow and stared at the wall across from her, whispering, “I hate him.”

Her cousin quieted a moment, stopped her soft comfort. Her next question made Alisceon look up at her with knit brows. “It was not Boromir that did this to you, was it? If it was…”

“Of course not!” she replied quickly. She frowned at the Elvish decorum all around her, missing Rohan deeply. It felt somehow as though she would never see it again.

Éowyn’s eyes softeneShe She gripped Alisceon’s hand and gave it a squeeze, her eyes pained for her. She knew not to press for details right now, but did not refrain from one question. “Then who?”

Thinking back on the blue eyes of Legolas, so intense and dangerous, Alisceon again turned away to look at the walls, whispering, “Legolas and Haldir.”

*

Morning faded into the window unobtrusively, gray and dim. When Alisceon awakened, she was alone. Her body felt sore, ached as she brought herself up into a sitting position. Another thing she noticed was her lack of clothing. Draping the sheet across her bare chest, Alisceon looked around the room for any sign of her tattered clothes. Had Éowyn done this? They were as close as sisters, but the half-Elf could not see why her cousin would do such a thing unless she supposed the garments would be a painful reminder.

But what would she wear? If Éowyn had some silly notion of her spending the day resting, she had another thing coming. Wrapping the sheet around her, Alisceon got up from the bed and scouted around for any stitch of clothing. On the other side of the room she found something more than suitable. Her eyes traveled to a chair where a beautiful sheer dress had been lain, white with silver trim. It was pretty and on it was a note.

She took the paper in hand and unfolded it, her delight vanishing with every letter.

Niriel, meleth,

I regret the damage done to your clothing, so when Lady Éowyn left to conspire with the Lord of Gondor, I entered your rooms and left you this. Deny the gift if you like, for it would please me to know you waited for my return bare and eager for my touch. There is nothing else in that room for you to wear save the sheets.

Legolas

Alisceon crumbled the note and dropped it, staring at the dress now in disgust rather than appreciation. He had entered while she slept and stripped her naked, leaving this behind for her, no doubt to gloat over it later. Her body tingled thinking on it, as if his fingers had left imprints on her. Everything in her said to take the pretty fabric and shred it, deny the gift and find some other means of dressing. Yet what could she do? Go into the presense of the men in a sheet?

The door opened slowly behind her. Whipping around, Alisceon darted her eyes around the room for a weapon, but it was only Éowyn. The blond stopped and gazed at her. “Alisceon, are you all right?”

Holding the sheet to her, the half-Elf stepped back to show her the dress. “He was here.”

Immediately her cousin’s eyes widened. She rushed to Alisceon, touching her hair. “My goodness, are you all right?”

Alisceon nodded, staring at the dress. “I was asleep. He left me that. Nothing else.” She swallowed and looked into Éowyn’s troubled expression. “What should I do?”

The Princess smoothed her own skirts down, then reached for the delicate fabric, holding it up. “Wear it. We have things we need to discuss and I am certain wearing this dress will be less shameful than that sheet.” Unamused, Alisceon took the dress with a scowl. Éowyn frowned at her stubbornness, then headed for the door, saying gently, “Don’t worry at it. If he can succeed in frightening you so badly so as you would not wear any clothing, then he has truly won. Do not give him that power.”

The half-Elf watched her leave, fingering the cloth between her fingers. Her cousin was right. She could not give the Elf that power over her. Still, she was loathe to wear it, but regardless she dropped the sheet and stepped into the soft fabric. It left her bare underneath, chilled by the cold air coming off the floor. He would probably be amused at this.

Frustrated with herself, Alisceon pushed that from her mind and headed for the mirror to comb her hair at least. She would go about her business as if nothing had happened. When she looked at herself she decided that might be a little hard. Her throat was marred by a red mark that the low-cut dress flattered very blatantly. She brushed her fingers over it, remembering his soft lips.

She remembered too that Haldir had bitten her lips, leaving them a little red today. Gripping the brush she raked through her hair quickly, determined to avoid mirrors. This would not conquer her.

Straightening her dress, Alisceon forsook her reflection and left the room. At first she had been nervous about opening the door, but once in the hall she discovered neither of the Elves anywhere in sight. She held no illusions that Legolas would leave her alone. The dress proved his intention to dominate her, but every moment he waited helped her build that much more of a defense against him.

Alisceon came to the door where the men had been staying, entering without knocking. The Gondorian guards looked up in appreciation. Boromir glanced at her, but his gaze did not linger. He stood and motioned her to his chair, saying, “Please. Sit.”

She didn’t want to fight him right now. Walking to take his chair, conscious of the silence in the room, Alisceon sat down and folded her hands in her lap. Éowyn smiled softly, then returned her attention to the guards speaking with her, leaving her cousin alone with Boromir’s presense. She tensed when he touched her shoulder, looked up to see him gazing uncomfortably. “I trust you rested well,” he offered in a low tone.

She wrapped her arms together and looked away. “Fine.”

Boromir let out a breath and jerked a chair beside her, muttering, “You could ask how I slept for once.”

Laughing in surprise, Alisceon met his churlish expression head on. “I could, but I do not honestly care.”

His eyes flashed at that and he nodded as if he had just been proven correct on some assumption. “Yes, you would not care, would you?” he snapped, getting up and moving to the door. He stopped and addressed her cousin. “I am off to do as planned. Fill her in on the rest.” He nodded towards the guards. “Gentlemen?”

The men left them in short order, surprising Alisceon, who had expected this meeting to go differently. She swallowed, watching after them until Éowyn cleared her throat. “Really, Cousin, you mustn’t be so cruel with him,” she said sharply, her gaze every bit as cutting to match.

Alisceon glared at the floor. “What does it matter? We do not like each other, so I see no reason why we should act like it.”

Narrowing her brow, Éowyn got up and hastened to her side, and Alisceon recognized that steel look. “I was not supposed to say anything, but do you know what he is off to do right now?”

The half-Elf looked up quickly. “What?”

Her cousin fidgeted with her hands, a nervous habit she had when something was wrong. “Legolas took Boromir to Aragorn. He is likely dead by now,” she said quietly, grieved by this news. Alisceon forgot her own pain for a moment as she continued. “The men think we have little hope. You and I must make for the front, whether by sneaking through the home or gardens. Boromir is sending the guards there now if they can manage to get by the Elves.” Her blue eyes flitted to a window, reflecting the gray outside. “There is a fog on the grounds that may cover us enough to get away. But Boromir wishes to do something first. He is looking for Haldir or Legolas, or both if he can. He is going to kill them.”

Alisceon widened her eyes, feeling suddenly cold. “What?” she said, coming to her feet. “Why would he do that? They’ll end up killing him.”

Éowyn held her back from leaving the bedroom. “Do you not understand Men after living so long among them? He defends your honor. He said the Elves went too far and will pay.”

Covering her lips, shaking her head, Alisceon pulled away from her cousin and headed for the door. “I can’t let him do that.”

The blond followed after her quickly, a stern look on her face. “You will join me out front and pray we see him again, Alisceon. He did not think you would care to stop him, but when I suggested you may he forbid me to allow it.”

Alisceon frowned at her cousin, then sighed, touching her hair. “I am centuries older than you, Éowyn. You allow me to do nothing except make my own choices. I’m not going to let that fool even attempt this. Go with the guards. We’ll meet you there. I promise.”

“Alisceon, you are going to get yourself killed!” Éowyn hissed, her eyes afraid.

“Better hurry, or Boromir and I will beat you to the front,” she replied, opening the door. The look on her cousin’s face pained her as she abandoned the rooms and headed towards the back of the manor. She passed an Elf on the way and dared to ask, “Have you seen my company?”

The Elf looked at her dress carefully, then pointed towards the gardens. “That way.”

Without thanking him she passed, heading out as quickly as she could to catch them. Outside the fog was settling and she cursed, feeling helpless inside. She could see barely the outlines of trees within the milky distance. Turning to her ears, she knew she would have to take her chances. Halfway down the first path she saw one of the guards standing in silence against a tree.

He frowned upon seeing her, pointing at the house. “Lord Boromir left me to make certain neither of you womenfolk came for him. I’m to take you to the front of the valley.”

Alisceon stepped away when he came close, shaking her head. “You’re going to go there yourself and make certain Lady Éowyn arrives safely. I’m going to stop Boromir from this stupid mission.”

“I cannot allow that, My Lady. He is going to save the King and I will not dishonor that.”

She stopped short, wondering for a moment what the truth was. Had Boromir lied to Éowyn, or the guard? It didn’t matter now. She was in headfirst. “He said that so you would let him go. Boromir means to have revenge on the Elves. I mean to stop him whether or not you intend to allow it. I would be willing to bet I can run faster than you.”

Alisceon did not give him time to ponder it, taking off without a beat. For a time she heard him trailing her, but she was faster and more silent than he, and made it away soon enough. Which left her the problem of finding Boromir. Now in the dirt rather than tiles of wood laid down, she could see boot prints in the mud. Taking the chance it was he and not an Elf, she tracked the prints carefully.

A hand darted out from behind a tree, snagging her dress as he wheeled her around and pushed her against the rough bark. Those sea-colored eyes were livid. “What in the name of the Valar do you think you are doing out here?” Boromir hissed, his hand heavy on her shoulder. “Did that fool woman actually allow tell you what I expressly forbid her to speak of?”

A smile slid across her lips at his absolute fury. He frowned in expectation of an answer. “She told me.”

“And you thought to come out here and do what, cheer me on? Damn you, ignorant females, all of you,” he growled. The Steward looked from side to side, then back into her face. “You can stop your smiling for I plan to survive long enough to use my belt on you, and I refuse to have mercy. Of all the childish things you have done, this leaves them all in the dust.”

Alisceon shoved her hand against his shoulder roughly, causing him to stumble in surprise at her audacity. “Get over it, Boromir. Like I goingoing to allow you to attack the Elves while my cousin and I were attempting escape. Did it occur to you they would know something was going on if you suddenly lost value in your life?”

He tugged at the bracer over his left wrist, biting the side of his lip. “Oh, you believe you have it all figure out, don’t you? Did it occur to you I was going to wait until nightfall to begin my hunt?”

Rattled by his reply, Alisceon crossed her arms and paced a few steps. “Why do you even bother? What does it matter that thssaussaulted me? You didn’t seem to care too much last night.”

“You spoiled little brat,” he accused, resting his foot on a fallen tree and glaring at her. He ran a hand through his auburn hair “You angered me. You are still angering me, to be honest.”

She batted her lashes at him impishly. “Going to use the belt?”

He grinned suddenly and that made her wonder what he was thinking. Boromir put his hand to his buckle and started for her. “Hold still, Lady Alisceon, or when I catch you, you will wish you had left me to my fate.”

The Lord of Gondor started jerking the leather from its loops. He looked very much like he was enjoying himself. Alisceon stopped, calling him on his bluff. “You’re going to belt me, right here?” she challenged, raising her chin in defiance.

His arms spread and his amusement seemed to heighten. “You chose to die with me, Lady. We have until nightfall before beginning our hunt and I always use every moment constructively.”

She backed away despite herself, not really believing he would actually hit her, but not sure she wished to test him. As it was, she backed into a tree and he seemed very haughty about it. When his hand came against her cheek slowly, caressing down to her jaw, she froze and stared up into his eyes. His gaze was soft, hazy but firm.

Boromir took her by the arms and turned her chest against the tree, causing her to jerk in surprise. “You will sweesweet-talk your way out of this, Lady Alisceon.” His tone was so confident and matter-of-fact she could have kicked him.

“Let go of me, you sick son of a bitch!” she growled rather loudly, pushing herself from the tree. The bark scraped her hands.

His hand came against her back between her shoulder blades, shoving her and pinning her against the tree again. He leaned close to her ear and said deeply, “This is for your loud mouth. You will see us killed before our fun tonight.”

He hit her. Not too hard, but he made his point. Alisceon squirmed when the belt came against her behind, stinging her through the thin dress. “How dare you?” she almost screamed in her anger, but his hand over her lips kept her silent.

“Ah, so you wish to increase my amusement,” he said, his voice husky. He swatted her again. “That is for your loud mouth as well.”

His hand left her lips and he leaned very close, the belt resting against her hip. “You’re sick,” she whispered, turning away from him.

That got the desired effect. Boromir moved away from her and swallowed, brushing back his hair. He turned away from her and let out a long breath. “Forgive me. I forgot myself. The game…I never meant…”

He cursed when he hit the forest floor with her on top of him. Boromir rolled from beneath her straddle, pushing her to the grass when he saw her lose her balance. Brows knit, crawled over her roughly and lay over her to keep her from freedom. Biting her lip, Alisceon beat at his shoulders until he captured her wrists and pinned them down. His face was flushed as he looked her over. “You are a wild, foolish woman and I should save our lives if only to satisfy myself strapping you good for that little deception. I thought I hurt you.”

Alisceon smiled and brushed her thigh against his, breathing, “Don’t hurt me, Boromir.”

His jaw tightened, but his mild expression did not change as he growled, “You are evil.” Without allowing her to retort, Boromir forced his lips down over hers in a hard, rough kiss that senr ser senses reeling. His tongue plunged down, demanding of her own the warmth and wetness of her mouth as he stole her air.

Alisceon squirmed beneath him, but his hands were tight around her wrists like iron cuffs, holding her to the dirt. He had pinned her legs, making her helpless to his hungry kiss. It made her feel hot and tense all over, sent jolts across her chest and down her abdomen. He left no crevasse undiscovered by this plundering search, taking intimate pleasure in her soft sounds until finally he let go for a breath. Half-lidded and panting, the Lord of Gondor watched her watching him, his hips against her belly.

“I should leave you laying there in desire,” he said softly, laying a small kiss against her cheek.

Taking a deep breath, she shifted beneath his strong hold, asking curtly, “What makes you think I have any desire?”

Boromir laughed, biting the inside of his cheek. “You really wish me to answer you?”

She nodded and he let her wrists go. Shifting to the side he jerked her skirt up until her stomach was bared before him, leaving everything else visible as well. Alisceon moaned out when he inserted two fingers into the warmth between her thighs, stroking the wetness within. He thrust several times, watching her expressions in interest, then stopped to let her shiver and relax. “That tells me you have desire for me.” His eyes grew serious, expecting no nonsense from her. “What do you want of me?”

Trembling beneath his hand as he caressed her softness again, she slow,low, “I thought you knew.”

Boromir slowed his measured thrusting down and kissed her ear, running his tongue up the tip. “I know what I can do to you at my pleasure, Lady. What would you have of me?”

Drowning in warmth, forgetting everything else, Alisceon brought her hand to his arm, pulling his fingers from her flesh. He waited, blinking as she jerked his pants open. Then he groaned when she positioned him, watching softly and rubbing her breast over the flimsy white cloth over her. Sliding her leg across his hip, cradling her arm beneath his, Alisceon looked up into his hazy expression, breathing, “For now, I want this.”

His auburn hair fell across his face and he groaned when she jerked him into her body. The sensation made her hold him tightly, trying to regain her senses though they were tingling. Boromir traced her jaw softly, the pushed her head back so he could get her throat, biting at the tender flesh as he surged forward a few times, filling her as far as he could. She moaned out and moved against his thrusts, needing more of him, demanding of him as he rocked hard.

Boromir left her throat, tracing his hot mouth down her chest. “I could devour you,” he hissed, putting his mouth over the sheer fabric, lapping at the flesh so near beneath. Alisceon could feel the thin cloth moistening over the hard center that he captured with his suck. His hand pawed at the loose neckline, drawing it dowr shr shoulder until he bared her breasts for his liking.

She wanted more. Tightening her legs around him, Alisceon took him by surprise in rolling over on him. He groaned hard when she came down on his hips, throwing his head back to the moist dirt below. She straddled him and rocked forward, catching her breath at how deeply he pressed up inside her. Bracing back on his elbows, Boromir cocked his head to the side and thrust against her, his lashes fluttering every so often and deep sounds coming from his throat.

Alisceon closed her eyes and pressed her hands to the dirt above his shoulders, feeling sparks of heat move through her as he hissed breathlessly, “Yes, love. Move for me. Does it feel good?” His strong hands molded to breasts, his thumbs brushing the centers repetitively. She moaned when he covered one with his mouth, biting at her upraised flesh.

Sensing her close, Boromir welcomed her body on his, smoothing his hands across her back before wrapping them around her. Thrusting hard to meet their pleasure, he lay over her once more and hugged her into him, resting his face against her shoulder. She could hear him groaning and it only served to increase her desire until finally she could take no more. Gripping his shirt, holding it tight in her fist, Alisceon closed her eyes and moaned, losing his whispered urgings as her climax took her.

Boromir came down hard to meet his own, then rested against he he he shook. She could feel him panting, feel his intense warmth and all conspired to close her eyes. He drew back and brushed her moist hair back, looking into her face with a sated expression. “Next time I want you naked,” she whispered with a little grin. “Show me what you have.”

He nodded, then suddenly rolled off her and lay on his back at her side. Doing up his pants, he laughed, “There isn’t going to be a next time, you little harlot.”

“How you you insult me after that?” she asked testily, pulling her dress up and smoothing her skirt.

The Lord of Gondor jabbed her hip playfully. “Insult? You enjoy being a harlot and you know it. But that is well. I enjoy it as much as you.”

Narrowing her eyes, Alisceon slapped his shoulder hard, but he only offered her a lopsided smile as he grabbed her dress and yanked her back down into his arms. She squirmed, but he would not let her go, smoothing her hairk ank and pressing her head to his shoulder. “Rest. We have hours yet before our deaths.”

He said it so casually she may have been able to believe it were a jest and nothing more. But as her eyes closed upon the gardens of Rivendell, she knew there was no turning back from this.