Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA


Chapter 10

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WARNING: Contains a sex scene which is verging on non-consensual.
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The sound of Gimli’s voice, regaling the hobbits with a dwarven-tale of dragons and gold, faded behind me as I followed Aragorn into the forest. I paused for a moment, listening to my friend, bravely distracting the company when he desperately wanted to be at my side. We had discussed it several times.

“At least let me stay within ear in in case you need help,” he had begged, but I would not agree.

“I have to do this alone, and take that risk,” I had told him. Privately I did not doubt that there would be shouting of some sort before the afternoon was over, and I had no intention of letting the dwarf’s well-meaning intervention at the wrong moment ruin my scheme. So I had caught Gimli’s eye and slipped from the group alone, noting only his slight nod and the brief flicker of pain evident on his face.

I found Aragorn in a small clearing, practising with his sword. Having approached as silently as I could, I allowed myself a second simply watching, admiring his grace and strength as he ran through a series of familiar moves. The feeling of love and sorrow rose in my chest as I recalled our happier days . . . Struggling to suppress the sorrow, and concentrate on the love, I walked towards him, deliberately making enough noio beo be sure that he heard me.

He did not turn, or shis his swordplay, but simply said, “I have no wish for your company.” There was no malice in his voice, rather a sense of weary resignation.

I stepped into the clearing and leaned against a tree.

“Will you not talk to me?” I said softly, trying to fill my voice with warmth.

He turned then and jabbed his sword towards me angrily.

“Will you not give up? Have I not made it plain to you that I have no desire to hear your honeyed words?”

I had his eyes held toe noe now, and used the fact to my advantage. Shifting against the tree into a relaxed, but slightly suggestive posture, I ran a hand over my hair, following the line of my braid, remembering briefly how Aragorn had once loved to undo my plaits and comb the hair out. As I had hoped, his gaze followed my hand.

“I only wish to offer you some comfort, my lord,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Is there nothing I can do for you to ease the pain of your heart?”

My hand now toyed with the topmost clasp of my tunic, and it seemed that the intensity of his stare might burn through my skin to the breastbone.

For a moment I thought he might give in to the lust clearly visible in his eyes, but I was to have no such easy victory. He shook his head, and broke the spell.

“Damn you!” He spat out. “There is nothing you can offer me. Get out of my sight!” He turned away and strode to the other side of the clearing.

I drew the elven sword of the Galadhrim.

“Then shall we fight?” I asked him, in the calmest tone I could muster. He spun round and watched me feigning confidence, testing the blade and peering along it as if to admire its craftsmanship. Once I was sure I had his attention I smirked at him. “Gimli and I have found it to be a most . . . enjoyable . . . way to relieve our tensions.”

His angry snort told me I had picked the right words. “Gimli and you? You have lowered your sights indeed, to consort with the dwarf!”

I made a brief mental apology to my friend, and smiled in the face of Aragorn’s jealous fury. “I simply do what I must to remain content. Perhaps you should follow the same principle.”

He stared at me, eyes full of anger.

“Shall we fight?” I asked again, as lightly as I could.

“Aye, we shall,” he said slowly, walking back into the centre of the clearing, his eyes not leaving mine as he took up the swordsman’s waiting stance. “But expect no quarter from me.”

“Have I ever done so?” I said airily, knowing that my levity only infuriated him more.

I stepped up to him, and we fought.

I knew I was hopelessly outclassed, of course. Aragorn was the more powerful, and the sword was his first choice of weapon. He wielded Anduril as if it was an extension of him, wm, with familiarity and ease. I had only a borrowed blade, and my speed and agility to pit against his greater skill. It was obvious that he would win, and my plan depended on the fact. However, he would not experience the rush of energy that comes from battle - and so often spills over into simple lust - if it was an easy victory, over in moments. I had to fight, and fight well.

Luckily, Aragorn’s emotional tension seemed to have dulled the edge of his fighting skills. His movements were weighty; not exactly clumsy, but not quite as controlled as they would normally be. Whilst this went some way towards improving my chances, I soon realised that one heavy-handed blow of his could easily wound me badly - or worse - either by accident or design.

At this realisation something in me changed and I found myself fighting in earnest. My focus narrowed, and my blood began to sing in my ears, as it always does in the heat of battle. I ducked and parried, smiling as I leapt beyond his reach. My strength seemed to increase, even as I sensed his frustration building. Strange as it might appear, I found I was enjoying the contest, and could not hold back a triumphant laugh as I knocked his blade aside.

Aragorn, eyes blazing, increased the tempo of his assault. We had been fighting for several minutes now, and we were both breathing fast. I might have judged it to be enough, but it would have made no difference to the outcome. He would have had me backed against the tree trunk, my blade spinning off to the side, with or without my covert consent.

I stood with the sword tip at my throat and gave what I hoped was a defiant smile. “And so I yield, my lord.”

“”Not yet,” he growled, and his eyes narrowed as the sword pressed a little harder. His gaze moved down from my face, to the blood he must have drawn. “Take off your clothes.”

In spite of all my planning I found I had neither words nor strategy to aid me in that moment. I kept my eyes on his face, and did as he commanded. He watched, the hunger evident in his eyes and the sword no more than an inch from my neck, as I undressed, then pushed me back against the tree again and ran his gaze down my body.

“You are aroused.”

This fact was already painfully known to me. In spite of the peril I was in, I could not help but respond to him. He was Aragorn, and magnificent, and I had longed to stand before him thus.

“I wonder, do you expect satisfaction from me?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

“I merely defer to your wishes, lord.”

“Not yet,” he said again, and a slow smile crossed his face. “I think . . . I shall give you another chance. Pick up your sword, and do not try to run.”

This was something I had not accounted for, and I had to swallow hard to suppress a burst of panic. However, I had little option but to comply, so I edged towards the fallen blade, keeping my eyes on him. I moved as slowly as I could, trying to buy time in which to calm myself, but to no avail.

It was a short contest, and in truth he merely played with me, for I was at too great a disadvantage. I struggled to concentrate and to put up something of a fight, at least. But I could not ignore my overwhelming sense of vulnerability, which seemed only to increase the intensity of my arousal and my physical discomfort. Aragorn seemed strangely calm, and totally in control now, his eyes hard as they held mine, even as he fought.

Before long, my sword fell again, with Aragorn at my side, Anduril against my neck.

“On your knees,” was all he said. I breathed deeply and tried to slow my pulse, which was racing with anxiety. – You wanted this – I told myself, forcing myself to calm as I knelt on the grass.

He stood behind me, and I heard him drop his sword to the ground. A wave of relief passed through me. In spite of my assumed confidence before Gimli, I had not been certain until this moment that he would not put it to more serious use.

His hands on my shoulders gripped hard, and sent bolts of fire speeding through my veins.

“No,” he growled. “Expect no satisfaction from me. But I shall have mine. How shall I take you, elf? Face down on the ground where you belong, or on your back so I may see the pain in your eyes?”

There was nothing I could say, so I remained silent. He made his decision, pushed me forward, and kicked my knees apart.

I had made myself ready for this moment as well as I could, with numbing ointment begged from Galadriel’s healer. In the five days Aragorn and I had spent as lovers, this was the one act of pleasure we had denied ourselves, since we had both known what it would signify and were not ready to take such a step. So I had expected pain on this first occasion, but in my innocence, nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.

The sharpness of his breath as he pushed against me told me of his own discomfort, but he was not to be denied, and slowly but firmly, he entered me. I struggled to overcome my instinct to fight against the terrible intrusion, as his hands grasped my parted flesh and I felt he would tear me apart. It was not only the pain; the sense of being invaded, the loss of control was terrifying. It took everything I had learned about my own body to force myself to relax, to unclench the muscles desperately trying to refuse him access to my core. Fortunately he had paused, perhtryitrying to lessen his own pain, and in those few seconds I stilled myself.

The urge to detach even further, to disengage my mind from my body’s experience, was strong; but I knew I had to fight that too if I was to stay with him and make the connection I was seeking. So I gritted my teeth and breathed deeply as he began to move inside me. Every stroke was dangerous agony, but I did not give him the satisfaction of hearing me respond. His breathing was laboured, and before long he was making guttural, incomprehensible sounds. I strove to contact his spirit then, but could feel nothing but his lust, anger and guilt; he still would not let me in. It occurred to me, even through the haze of pain in my mind, that I needed to see his face.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and made my body go quite limp. As I had intended, this infuriated him. He did not want silent resignation from me.

“Damn you” he yelled again, and pulled away from me suddenly, stars of pain bursting behind my eyelids.

He wasted no time in turning me over, hauling my thighs up until my legs rested on his shoulders, and invading me again.

It was still unbelievably painful, but there was a difference to the sensation now. My back pressed into the grass, and my fingers at my sides scrabbled into the soil. I drew some strength from the contact, and the pain seemed to lessen. Then, as he pushed deeper, forcing my knees further down towards my chest, the unimaginable happened. I began to know the first inkling of pleasure, and shifted my hips to increase it. I gripped his arms with my hands, and stared into his eyes. He was clearly reaching the point where his control would be lost; and something approaching panic was visible in his face.

My arousal was building fast, but I could not let it distract me. All my consciousness was directed to him as he pounded his body against mine, forcing his anguish and his self-hatred into me with every thrust. I responded the only way I could; with love. At every point where our flesh made contact, he must have felt it, and it maddened him more, but I was not to be stopped now. My skin was humming, my head full of him and my love for him, and the feeling of triumph grew in my heart even as the agonising delight washed through me. He was helpless now, reaching his peak with wide eyes and shouts of pleasure, or maybe despair.

One of my hands released his arm and moved to my cock as I clenched every muscle in my body, in spite of the pain. For a long moment I held him there, and felt the heat, the hardness of him inside me, and I knew that he was mine. I released him and then clenched again, and it was too much for him. The spasms claimed him even as my own orgasm began, and in that instant I looked in his eyes and with every fibre of my being I sang my love to him.

When it was over, he clung to me, and shivered in my arms. I saw sorrow in his eyes, but he made no sound.

Finally, I rolled him to his side, and moving against him, I kissed him gently and felt his defences crumble.

“Legolas,” he said in a broken whisper, and the tears fell at last. I held him as he cried, long and deep, and reflected that this was the first time I had heard him utter my name since we had entered these woods. I stroked his hair soothingly and at length his sobs subsided, but after a while he pushed himself away and sat, looking at me with horror.

“What have I done? What have I done to you?” he blurted out. “How could I . . . I have taken from you . . .”

His cries of self loathing should have stirred me to pity, but in that moment something inside me seemed to break. I drew myself up to my knees, and looked down at him, rage suddenly flaring up in me. Perhaps I could have controlled it; perhaps I knew that it was better not to do so.

“Aragorn!” I was amazed at the command in my own voice. “That is enough.”

He stared at me, silent and open mouthed, in shock. Small surprise, since I had given him no cause to know my anger until now.

“You have done nothing, you have taken nothing, except by my will. Do you really think I would have let you have me by force? Has the ring blinded you so much that you have become a complete fool?”

He closed his mouth, then opened it again. “Legolas, I - ”

“Be silent, and hear me. It is time that you stopped wallowing in self pity. For too long now you have tried to take the pain and the guilt of the whole of Middle Earth on to your shoulders. You were destroying yourself, even without Sauron’s help. But I will not let you take responsibility for what has happened here. I chose to bind myself to you, and you did exactly as I wished, and I will hear no protest, for this is not just about you and me.”

I realised that I was shouting, and paused. He was still speechless. I placed my hands on his shoulders and said, more calmly, “We could not afford to lose you. Any of us.”

He had the sense to keep silent then, although I knew that he was struggling to comprehend the enormity of the situation: my spirit bound to his for all eternity. I found that I could read his thoughts with considerable clarity, and knew that when I spoke to him silently, he would feel my words.

- It was not a difficult decision, Aragorn. You have long had my love. –

The face he showed me then was beseeching, and I pitied him at last. I put my arms around him and kissed him deeply, drawing the fear and guilt from him and replacing them with love and desire. He shuddered in my arms, but said softly, “I can never forgive myself for causing you such pain, Legolas.”

“I will forget the pain, my love, but not the pleasure,” I told him.

His gaze burned me. “How can I . . . ?”

“Shhh, and I will show you.”

With that, I pushed him to the ground and undressed him quickly. He said not a word, but his eyes never strayed from mine as he lifted his back, then his hips, to help me remove his clothes. He was already half erect, and I paused to bring him to hardness in my hands, before kneeling between his legs and pulling his hips up towards me. I had no salve, no oil to ease the pain, so I licked my fingers before using them to open him to me. He groaned, but I knew he could offer me no resistance now.

I took him slowly at first, and then hard; and I saw the tears in his eyes and the amazement as the pain turned to pleasure. He moaned, and amongst the incoherent sounds I heard my name, repeated again and again as I stroked his cock in rhythm with my thrusting hips. At the last his eyes focussed on me and through them I saw his soul; and as I took him to the edge with me he cried, “I am yours, Legolas!” and I was undone.


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It was late night before we dressed and picked up our swords, ready to return to our companions. As I fastened the last clasp on my tunic he put his arms around me and held me tightly.

“Legolas, I love you, but I do not know what happens next.”

I understood. “Leave it, Aragorn. Let us not try to solve the problems of the world tonight. Let us simply have this, and find some peace.”

He nodded, defeated at last by his own weariness, but he would not let me leave his arms without saying, “I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am. Can you ever truly forgive me?”

“Can you not feel it in my embrace?” I responded. “And do not apologise; even you are not strong enough to fight the ring’s power alone. What you did, you did under its influence. If this is the worst it makes you do, we shall survive.”

He accepted that, and kissed me, before taking my hand and leading me back to the pavilion, where many tears of relief were shed.

I gave my heart, body and soul to Aragorn that day, and my love will last for eternity. Since then I have held no secrets from him, except for one; and it was many, many years before we could speak the truth of it.

I knew the ring, knew its voice and the feel of it in his mind. And I knew with absolute certainty that there had been nothing of its presence in Aragorn that afternoon, and that all throughout, his mind had been wholly his own.


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SLAVE

He likes to play at letting me have the upper hand when we are together. It excites him greatly, as it does me. At first the memory of that terrible, wonderful afternoon made me reluctant to take the dominant part; but when I saw the rapture it brought him, my desire overcame my guilt.

So when this mood takes us I throw him to the ground, trapping him beneath my weight as I claim him; or pin his wrists behind his head as my free hand roams his shuddering body. His flushed, breathless submission as my fingers push inside him would drive me mad with desire, were he not so skilled at bringing me my own release in turn.

Once I tied his hands behind his back with his own belt, before ripping open his clothes to touch the skin revealed there. I knelt before him and felt the shaking of his legs as I teased him with my tongue. When I finally took his cock in my mouth I had to support his hips with both hands, and even then the fire coursing through him, and through him to me, threatened to topple us both to the ground. He came swiftly and hard, filling my mouth with his salt-sweetness; I stood then and kissed him, full and deep, that he might taste himself in me. But I did not linger, for I had other uses for his mouth. Pushing him down on his knees, I wound my fingers in sleek blond hair and held his head as he enveloped me in soft, wet heat. The sight of him, bound and willing, was too much for me; and I spent myself so quickly, I could have been a boy of eighteen again.

He likes to play these games, but there can be no doubt who is really in control. I could do nothing to him without his consent, for he could bring me to my knees in delight - or despair – through the power of his thoughts alone. He does not abuse this mysterious connection between us, but he has made its extent known to me. This he did through action, not words, as is the way of an effective tutor.

In the silence of an early morning, he brought me to my peak, with a single finger stroking the side of my neck the only physical contact between us. In my mind, he spoke to me of what he might do, were we alone behind four walls and a locked door. By the force of his will he prevented me from touching myself, though I desperately longed to do so. He held me there, in exquisite pain, and I felt his amusement and arousal ripple through me. When I felt I could bear it no longer, he ceased even that lightest of touches, moved to kneel before me as I sat transfixed, and rested, three feet away and staring into my eyes. The moment was long, and he held me still on the very brink of bliss until I knew my reason would desert me. At last he relented, and allowed my passion’s release, though he did not move, and my body remained untouched. I would have woken the company and the world beyond with my screams as I came, had he not finally closed the gap between us and covered my mouth with his. He held me in his arms afterwards, and in his smile I saw what it was that I should learn.

I could no more resist him than the shore can resist the tide. Indeed, it seems to me that his love is a force of nature in my life. It is useless to resist; and so I no longer attempt to do so. Thus, at last, my heart has found some peace. For I have abdicated control of it to him, and he will no longer allow me to indulge in guilt or fear.

My dreams have become much clearer to me of late. I will stand before a great company of men, and they will see in me a strong and noble leader. None will know that my soul is in the keeping of another, and that without him I would be as nothing. Yet when the moment comes I know full well that he will return my soul to me, and it will be safe and whole. For he is pure and good, and strong enough to do what is right, when I in my weakness would falter.

I will not allow anxiety about Arwen to cloud my mind while there is yet work to do. By day I wear her jewel against my chest, but at night – for the time being – I carefully set it aside. She is dear to me still, but she belongs to another part of my life, one which I cannot reach without his spirit to strengthen me. And she, who sees the paths of destiny so clearly, would she not understand and accept? Indeed, as I bring the jewel to my lips before tucking it safely into my pack, I wonder if she has not already done so, long before I could.

For many years I scorned those men who sought to worship elves. That was before Legolas saved me from myself and redeemed my soul from the darkness; I doubt that such arrogance would find a place in my heart now.

Long years ago in Rivendell he and I found sweet happiness together. When he comes to me now, he brings relentless love, and raw, unfettered joy. It is terrifying and glorious, and I am helpless before it.

His may be the spirit which is bound to mine; but in truth it is I who am his slave.