Underneath It All

Title: Underneath It All (9/?)
Author: laeglass
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Tolkien does. No harm is intended and no profit made.
Summary: Surprise.
Feedback: Yes please.
Beta: the amazing namarie120 *hugs*


Soft lips slid confidently down the shaft of Aragorn’s erection, and the Man groaned deeply in his chest at the exquisite feeling. He heard a light chuckle coming from his mate and the vibration around his cock made him reach out and take a steadying hold of his lover’s blonde hair. Legolas, the Man thought, and moaned aloud his pleasure as he gazed down at the beautiful Elf who was kneeling between his slightly spread legs.

Aragorn gave in to the selfish pleasure of having skilled lips stretched around his straining manhood, devouring every last inch of the proud erection. Agile, wet tongue ran up and down and around the sensitive glans and the King couldn’t help the small jerks of his hips that tried to bury his full length into the throat of his beautiful bedmate. Indigo eyes darted up to meet his in silent reproach, and Aragorn opened his mouth to issue an apology, but the words died on his lips when Legolas’ throat opened to allow the tip of his cock inside. Tight muscles encased the sensitive head while the ever limber tongue familiarized itself with the underside of his shaft, following the large vein underneath.

Strong fingers gripped the Elf’s flaxen hair, trying to pull him off before he spilled himself, wanting to taste the lips that were swollen and reddened by the exertion, but Legolas resisted and gently untangled his locks from the Man’s possessive grip. With a final lick the Prince surrendered his prize and rose to his knees, finally letting the Man feast on his slender beauty with his eyes as he shrugged off the light robe he was wearing. Aragorn reached with his hand to pull the Elf to him but frowned when his eyes fell to rest on the gentle curve of Legolas’ stomach. There was no questioning of his eyes; the slender Elf’s body was slightly, but noticeably rounded below his waist.

“What,” he started to say but was interrupted by his mate.

“Just enjoy,” the beautiful Elf murmured and returned to pleasure his husband’s cock with his skilled mouth. The tips of his long hair tickled the tops of Aragorn’s thighs; it was like cool, liquid silk against his heated skin.

His full sacs were weighed on an uncalloused palm, and slender fingers found the opening to his body, prodding gently until they were admitted in, and with small, precise moves located his pleasure spot. Very soon Aragorn found himself coming in deep, shuddering waves and filling Legolas’ mouth with his seed, feeling him swallow repeatedly around his throbbing flesh. He moaned loudly, overcome by the pleasure that gripped him

…only to wake up to find himself lying alone in his bed, under the covers but fully clothed, and with the worst headache he could ever remember having. He let out a disgusted groan as he realised that for the first time since his adolescent years he had experienced what was commonly called a wet dream, and consequently, soaked his breeches with his seed. There was no Legolas in his bed.

That thought brought the memory of last night in its wake, and Aragorn wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and let everything get solved by itself. He didn’t think he could look Legolas in the eyes, knowing what had almost come to pass between them; he was certain he would see disgust, and loathing, and worst of all, pity. He had grown used to seeing warmth and admiration in the Elf’s gaze when his mate looked at him, and now he might have lost it forever due to his own stupidity.

However, after allowing himself to wallow in self-pity for a few moments, he decided that this was not behaviour befitting a King, and he should start setting things straight, beginning with apologising to Legolas. It could do no harm to speak with the Elf and try and explain; he knew Legolas wasn’t unreasonable and would probably hear what he had to say.

A quick bath, two goblets of water and a change of clothes later he felt much better, rejuvenated almost, and felt ready to face Legolas and explain the previous night. A knock on the door of Legolas’ bedchamber got no answer, though, and when Aragorn risked the Prince’s wrath and peeked in he was treated with the sight of an empty room.

Legolas was gone.

~*~

At the same time elsewhere in the palace, two men had come together to hold a meeting. The subject matter of their little gathering was rather delicate and not something one wished to shout out from the rooftops; secrecy was imperative, and so it was with uttermost cautiousness the two men had met. One was pacing the floor furiously, muttering under his breath, while the other was leaning on his desk, regarding the younger one with an expression of annoyance and amusement warring on his face.

“I cannot emphasize this enough; the Elf must not bear an heir to the King,” he said very pointedly. “It must be prevented somehow!”

“I know this,” the young man said impatiently and ceased his pacing. “None of us is happy about this marriage. I only fear that there is very little we can do about this matter; King Elessar is very protective of his new spouse, and his suspicions will be easily roused..”

“The King is under the Elf’s spell; he is blind and deaf to his own kingdom,” the older man snarled, not quite listening to the other man. He had well concealed his hatred of the Elf Prince in public, and not even the King knew his innermost thoughts regarding his marriage. Elessar would be none the wiser if an accident befell the Elf; he would never know who was behind the scheme.

“I will not see our kingdom fall to ruin because of this marriage! I will not see the spawn of that union ascend to the throne of Gondor.” He turned his burning gaze to the young man. “I care not if you have to kill the Elf; simply, get rid of him.”

“Why did you not tell the King not to enter this marriage?” the other man asked, rather petulantly. “I am certain he would have listened to your advice; he holds you and your opinions in high regard.”

“He had already set his mind to marrying that creature,” the elder one said with contempt. “It would have been suspicious had I spoken against his decision. No harm has been done yet, though. Had that being conceived I would have been informed already. As would you,” he added. “After all, you are a part of the inner circle now, are you not?”

A sneer marred his face, and it was no secret to the other that while they were allies in this plot, the older man didn’t respect him in the slightest. It was of no consequence, though; they had a common goal, and once the goal was reached they wouldn’t have to deal with one another again.

“Aye, in a way,” the younger one said mildly. “’Tis a pity, though; the Prince is a beautiful one, and his offspring would surely be long-lived; but of course, as you said, that cannot happen, and I swear I and my men will do anything it takes to be rid of him. You can concentrate on finding a new spouse for the King.”

“One possible candidate is visiting right now,” the older man said with a cruel smirk. “An alliance with Rohan is much more worthy than one with Mirkwood, and I will curse the day the King decided to marry an Elf from some rural far-away realm to the fiery pits of Mordor.” Then his face turned sober again. “I trust you to deal with this matter, immediately. Do not disappoint me.”

The young man shivered under his glare, secretly glad that he didn’t have this man as an enemy, and nodded. “I will not. You can count on me.”

~*~

An hour later found Prince Legolas in a sombre mood. The entourage that had accompanied him to Gondor from his father’s realm had finally departed. As he now was the Prince Consort it was his duty to see them off, as the King himself was not available, and it was with a heavy heart that he watched them leave. Tiríon had apologised that they couldn’t stay any longer, but Legolas knew that duty awaited them back home, and so he had smiled and spoken lightly to alleviate the older Elf’s worries.

“I will send word to you as soon as there is news,” he had said, and subconsciously his hand had brushed his still taut waist. “Tell father not to worry, please. Tell him that I am well content with my husband, and we are well-suited.”

Tiríon had looked at him closely and a sad smile crossed his lips. “You love the man,” he had said, and it wasn’t a statement that needed an answer; he had known Legolas since he was an Elfling, and the young Eldar’s eyes spoke volumes of his true feelings. Legolas had fallen in love, and his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. “He does not know what he has in you, Prince,” the advisor said softly. “I pray to the Valar that he will not bring you grief, but joy and happiness instead.” With the familiar gesture of a hand pressed against his chest he had bid his leave then. “Namárië, Legolas.”

The goodbye had sounded so final, and the Prince wrapped his arms around himself as a sense of foreboding hit him; but then he shrugged the feeling off as superstitious folly and returned to the castle, certain that he was only feeling wistful at being parted from a trusted friend.

The Prince now yearned for the comforting company of his husband, but was informed that the King was in a meeting with King Éomer, and the Prince didn’t want to interrupt what he knew was an important discussion between the two Monarchs; and truth to be told, Legolas wasn’t sure how he should act with Aragorn now. The previous night had been strange, surreal even, and Legolas would have believed it a mere dream had the bruises on the back of his neck not proven otherwise. The marks were fading, though, as was Legolas’ anger; and his confusion grew as he let himself remember the night’s events. He couldn’t overlook the fact that the King’s kiss had roused him, and that once he had denied Aragorn the Man had obeyed his wish and left him be.

Aragorn was a good man, a decent man, and the Prince didn’t wish anything like this to come between them.

A note awaited Legolas in his room upon his return. The Prince curiously picked up the small piece of paper and unfolded it to read the note.

Prince Legolas,
Again duty keeps me from Your side, and I beg for Your forgiveness. Please accept this humble gift as a sign of my appreciation and gratitude. The archery range is Yours to use; I have asked others to allow You privacy and peace today. I shall meet You at dinner.
Elessar

In the table next to the note lay a package wrapped in a linen cloth. The Prince unwrapped the gift carefully, already recognising the shape but still not daring to hope until he held the bow and quiver in his hands. The cloth slid to the floor, unnoticed and forgotten as the Elf regarded this surprising gift.

Legolas frowned in bewilderment. This was how Aragorn wanted to make up for the previous night’s indiscretions? However, he couldn’t deny that the bow was beautiful with the intricate carvings and polished wood, and the quiver that accompanied the bow was the work of a skilled craftsman; the arrows inside were light to hold and sharp-pointed. The Elf couldn’t suppress the delighted shiver that ran down his spine as he let his fingers stroke the curved bow. Wasn’t this what he had always wanted and consequently, been denied?

King Thranduil had denied his son’s heartfelt pleas to be allowed to train with his brothers and other warriors. Many a time had the young Elf followed his brothers to the archery range, aching to pick up a bow and test his skills against the other bowmen, but always he had been forced to stay hidden, out of harm’s way. Only his eldest brother had pitied him and allowed his presence, and even then he had to keep out of sight just in case Thranduil’s most loyal subjects loitered nearby.

King Thranduil didn’t suffer any acts of defiance from his children. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t love them; he merely believed, rather strongly, that as their father he knew what was best for his children, and that he knew their minds better than they knew themselves. Legolas was destined to marry and bear children to a noble of the King’s choosing, and he failed to see how archery skills would aid him in finding a suitable mate.

Legolas’ mouth curled in a triumphant smile as he gripped his bow. This was his husband’s gift to him, and no-one could deny him the use of it. Briefly he wondered how Aragorn had known of his secret desire to have a bow of his own, but then he remembered mentioning it to Faramir in a conversation and concluded that his husband had talked with the Captain and been informed of his wish. A delighted feeling spread through his body at the thoughtfulness of his mate; Aragorn had not perhaps found the words to apologise, but this showed that he wished to make amends, and for a Wood-elf a bow was indeed a very thoughtful gift.

With a light heart Legolas folded the note and after changing his clothing for more suitable ones he left the room, heading for the archery range.

~*~

Aragorn’s thoughts were with his husband as he regarded the visiting King who was sitting in front of him, fiddling with his half-full goblet and avoiding his gaze. Gone was the overly-confident, brash young Monarch from the previous night; Éomer looked nervous and twitchy, and Aragorn suddenly remembered that he was fifteen years (if you want to stay with canon here, I don’t have my book with me to check the appendix, but Aragorn is probably closer to sixty years older than Eomer) the Horse-lord’s senior, and indeed could present a rather imposing figure. With a conscious effort he softened his composure.

“I would like to issue a formal apology concerning the feast,” King Éomer said very awkwardly. He also seemed to be nursing the after-effects of too much wine consumed; his face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and he seemed very interested in the pitcher of water that was conveniently placed on the table before him. “I can offer no excuse, other than that the beauty of Prince Legolas blinded me and I acted foolishly.”

Now that Aragorn himself was sober and not blinded by his jealousy, he could admit that Éomer could hardly be faulted for falling for the beauteous Elf. “Let us forget about yesterday evening,” he said. “Drink and beauty can affect the greatest of Men. Let us speak of it no more.”

His guest seemed relieved that Elessar let the matter go so easily, and also grateful for the graciousness his host showed. “My thanks, King Elessar,” he said with newly-found respect, and so it was that the meeting, that could have turned very awkward and stiff, had a rather pleasant start.

~*~

Meanwhile Legolas had already found out that archery was not quite as easy as it looked; it was another matter to watch others doing it than to try it yourself. His father’s bowmen had made the handling of the elegant weapon look so graceful and effortless, but then again, they had centuries of practice behind them, whereas there had been only a handful of times Legolas had ever handled a bow before this. The string felt rather tight and already his thumbs ached, but Legolas wasn’t the son of Thranduil King for naught; the width of his stubborn streak was only rivalled by his father’s.

“It cannot be this hard,” the Elf murmured in frustration, pushing his hair from his face with his free hand. “Ai, Aragorn; could you not have appointed me an instructor to go with this bow?”

He fingered the fine-feathered arrow, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingertips, and looked at the target that was at least fifty yards from where he was standing. It should not be impossible to get a hit; he had seen his eldest brother hit a bulls-eye from well over one hundred yards, and some others had managed the feat at even greater distance, and so fifty couldn’t be too much for him. Legolas raised his bow again and placed the arrow. If there was one thing he had learned from eavesdropping on the training field, it was that practice made perfect. After ten arrows one could hardly master the skill.

Aim, draw and release. Aim, draw and release.

Finally the quiver was empty of arrows and Legolas made to look at the target. His good spirits fell when he realised that only a few had hit the target where he had intended; the majority were scattered all around the wooden board. The Elf swallowed the annoyed curse that came to his lips; he knew he shouldn’t have expected better, but it hurt to admit that he had a long way to go before he could even call himself an adequate archer.

He shrugged and went to collect his arrows to start a new round, when suddenly all the short hairs on his neck stood up, and his skin prickled in alarm. He wasn’t alone. Slowly he started to turn around to face the intruder when a gentle swoosh in the air warned him, and he made to step aside, thinking that the person also wanted to have a few shots at the target; but at the last second he understood, as he saw the cloaked man standing with his bow, that it was he that was the target.

The arrow hit before he had the time to make any further moves and forged its way through his shoulder, having missed Legolas’ heart only because of his side step, and he cried out in alarm and pain as the tip of the shaft pierced the muscles. He dropped his bow and made to clutch his injured shoulder, looking with wild eyes at the man that had so coldly intended to end his life. The man startled at his scream, and when Legolas made to scream again he scrambled away, dropping his bow in the process.

Blood trickled from his wound and it was Legolas’ first instinct to pull out the arrow to cover his injury, but when Legolas tried to pull it away the pain intensified and he let go with a pained cry. ‘Aragorn will know what to do,’ he thought then, and bent to pick up his bow, but left the arrows. With a grimace on his face he made his way back inside and went to search for his mate.

Why anyone would seek to harm his was well beyond his comprehension, but Legolas knew with cold certainty that someone had sought to harm him, and only by chance had they failed. A chill settled into his stomach as he thought of the implications this incident could have.

He needed Aragorn, now.

~*~

King Éomer had just finished telling an entertaining story of Fangorn forest when there was an urgent knock on the door. Elessar called permission to enter, wondering who would seek to interrupt his meeting with the visiting King; but when he saw the servant’s pale face he could immediately tell that the man was bringing bad news.

“Sire, the Prince Consort is injured,” the man said. “In the archery range.”

Aragorn’s heart stopped.


TBC…