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Legolas peered out from beneath the foliage, looking right and left, searching for the source of the rustling footsteps he had heard nearby. He had traveled for seven long days since he last rested properly; south through the Anduin valley, over the high-pass of Caradhras, and had made the descent down the west face of the Hithaeglir. Nearing his destination, he had allowed his expert vigilance to slacken until he perceived movement and sound coming from behind him. Closer than one hundred yards behind him.
Quickly spying a gnarl of high shrubberies to his left, he drew Faron1 with him and treading on the elvish way with all good beasts2, bid the horse to be still and quiet.
Arching his back slightly, he removed the bow from his shoulder and readied an arrow. Kneeling down, he parted the bushes and barely breathing, waited, and watched.
The footsteps were measured and even, and there was nothing to indicate the being felt anything amiss. Legolas scented the air and then, finally exhaling, replaced the withdrawn arrow into the quiver and returned the bow to his back. Smiling as he stood, he patted Faron on the withers and disappeared silently into the wood.
The wood-elf circled around his prey, keeping out of sight and making sure the breeze was with him. At last he took to the trees and was catching up, just paces behind, when the man paused. So did Legolas, and thoughtfully pondered his next move.
He knew the man would kill him without second thought should he pounce unaware. So Legolas did something uncharacteristic. He announced his presence. He watched the man closely and then shook the branches of the tree. When the man turned around, Legolas sprung, merrily calling the ranger’s name as he leapt.
Aragorn’s knees buckled under the weight and his breath was temporarily suspended as he landed with a thud on his back. Gasping, he looked into the eyes of his attacker and when he found that he had an armful of wood-elf, he laughed. Pulse racing, Aragorn defiantly overturned them so that he was posed atop.
“That was a brave move, mellon-nin. I could have killed you.”
“I gave you fair warning, ranger,” Legolas answered, eyes sparkling.
“Someday maybe you will greet me in a normal manner,” said Aragorn.
“Someday maybe I will not have to greet you in the wilds,” replied Legolas.
Aragorn sighed as he rolled off of Legolas. Each turned to face the other.
“It is good to see you, seron vell,” said Aragorn, eyes softening.
“What are you doing this side of the mountains?”
Legolas, smiling at the endearment, responded.
“And also you, melethron. I am actually on my way to Imladris. My adar gave me leave for a few months to visit, in his words, that ‘dwarf-welcoming, Dunedain harboring Noldo realm.’ He said it with a smile, Aragorn. He knows that I have missed you.”
“I have missed you too, Legolas,” said Aragorn, reaching out to stroke the wood-elf’s hair. He had always loved to touch its silken strands and closed his eyes as he reacquainted himself with the feel of it flowing through his fingers.
“Legolas, you are a boon to my weary eyes. I have been long in the wilds this time, nearly a two month. You have no idea how I yearn for a proper bath and smooth sheets to sleep on. But you are here now, and I feel almost as refreshed as if I were at home.”
Legolas felt a gentle nudge and both looked up to see Faron, pushing his soft nose into the elf’s shoulder.
Laughing, Legolas rose to his feet, and encircled the steed’s neck with his arms.
“Ah, roch-nin, I had not forgotten you.” Dipping his hand into a fold in his jerkin, he produced a small apple and gave it to the horse.
“It is good to see you too, Faron,” said Aragorn, standing up and seconding Legolas.
“When we get to Imladris, I will turn you out with Tôrannroch3, He will be as happy to see you as I am to see…”
Aragorn stopped in his speech as he looked over at Legolas. The late afternoon sun came dappled through the trees and as a gauzy veil it covered the wood-elf in a caul of golden light. The sight was breathtaking and it renewed in him the desire to be as one with the beautiful creature before him.
“As I am to see...Ai, Legolas. I think I need to kiss you now. Will you allow it?”
The spark of fire in Aragorn’s eyes drew Legolas nearer. It was what he loved most about the man – the bright flame that burned within. That brilliant flare of mortal immediacy that kindled in him an urgent need to match it.
He reached out and cradled Aragorn’s head between his hands. Their lips met, gently at first, their reunion as immaculate as a virgin’s touch, but Aragorn needed more and grasped Legolas around the waist. Pulling the wood-elf into him, the ranger deepened the kiss, parting Legolas’ lips with his tongue, the visceral need to possess him once more overtaking his senses.
Legolas laughed against him, reveling in the stark intensity of the man’s ardor. It had been months since last he indulged in the pleasures of the flesh and he found himself responding just as eagerly as his lover. He moved his hands to Aragorn’s waist and squeezed, breaking the kiss and taking a step back.
“You are too much for me, Aragorn. And you tempt me. But this is not how I wish for us to be together. Let us find somewhere to camp for the night and then I think you should continue with your warm welcome.”
Aragorn shook his head to clear it and nodded.
“You are quite right, melethron. It has been so long…I am sorry, it just overtook me, the need to have you …”
Legolas grasped the ranger’s hand and kissed it before whistling for Faron, who had wandered off to graze. As ever the loyal steed came to him easily. The pair mounted and continued the journey to Imladris together, Aragorn’s arms firmly surrounding the wood-elf’s waist, his face buried in the curtain of corn silk hair.
“There is a place nearby,” Aragorn whispered, “with a small stream for bathing and mossy ground for camping. It is just a few miles west.”
Legolas simply nodded his assent and leaned back into the strong arms that encircled him.
They arrived shortly at the place Aragorn had indicated and unburdened Faron of the light pack slung over his hindquarters. Aragorn set to work building the fire and Legolas went to the stream to get water.
After they had eaten a meager supper, they laid back to rest for time, talking of their homes, families and each other’s activities during the six months they had been apart. All the while, Aragorn watched Legolas closely, looking for a sign that he was ready to resume their physical reunion as well.
He did not have to wait long, as Legolas was just as anxious as he, remembering well their fervid couplings in the House of Thranduil. Legolas stretched lazily, throwing his head back, then lightly got to his feet.
“I think we should bathe, Aragorn. The night is drawing on and I would have you continue your welcome of this wood-elf to the lands of Imladris, but first I would cleanse myself.”
He looked at the man, eyes raking his body in assessment. Aragorn took up the cue, reaching out his hand to the wood-elf.
“Yes, I know,” answered the ranger, “I could use a good cleansing myself, but I am so tired of bathing in streams and rivers. Would that I had a tub full of hot water, some herbs to ease my aches and…”
“And?” asked Legolas, reaching down to help the man to his feet.
“Come, Aragorn,” he continued, clasping the man’s shoulders, eyes full of moonlight and promise, “I will endeavor to make it worth your pains.”
He moved to his pack, gathering the soapstone and searching for the small container of the oil that he used to keep his knives clean. His hands came up empty, and puzzled, he turned to the man.
“I do not have any oil. I thought it was here, but I cannot find it. Do you have something we could use?”
Aragorn’s breath caught for a moment, anticipating the act that Legolas’ question inferred. A shiver traveled down his spine as he moved toward his own pack. His hand stilled as he grasped it, and he put it down again with a sigh.
“Oh, Legolas. I left all that I had of my healing pack with the settlement of Dunedain I last visited. Including all the salves. You have nothing?”
“Only alum, to stop bleeding and close wounds. I do not think that we wish to use that.”
“No, I think not,” answered Aragorn ruefully, “That would have quite the opposite effect of what we are seeking.”
“Ow,” said Legolas, unconsciously running his hand over his backside.
“No. Decidedly not that. What are we going to do?”
“Well,” started Aragorn, placing two fingers into his mouth. After laving them for a moment, he pulled them free and held them up in front of his face.
“There is always…” he continued, waggling his fingers and looking to Legolas for some sort of confirmation.
Shrugging his shoulders, Legolas conceded that the alternatives were few. He took Aragorn’s hand in his and brought the two fingers to his own lips, welcoming them into the warm moistness of his mouth. Aragorn’s eyes closed as the lips surrounded his fingers and he heaved a long sigh, near a whimper, as the pillowy softness engulfed him. Legolas cupped Aragorn’s bewhiskered cheek and let the fingers slide from his mouth. Raising the man’s head slightly, Legolas spoke.
“I would not delay our reunion for the lack of a proper salve, meleth-nin. So be it. Come on. ”
Aragorn reached for a blanket and Legolas clasped the man’s hand. Together they walked toward the water, each leaning further into the other as they neared the banks of the stream. Aragorn abruptly stopped, muttering unintelligible words and Legolas looked at him quizzically.
“A wet-root,” he said. “Yes. A wet-root. A…a…mîdhthond4. Do you know it?”
“What do you mean, Aragorn?” asked Legolas.
“A little known use for the mîdhthond. You know, the root that is used for easing pain from burns and soothing reddened skin? The Dunedain use it at need for…just this purpose.”
“You know this from experience?” asked Legolas, cocking an eyebrow and eying his friend with a smirk.
“Um, no,” answered Aragorn, “I have just heard such in idle talk around the campfire. Do you know what it looks like?”
“Of course,” replied Legolas, adding proudly, “I am a wood-elf after all.”
“A wood-elf who obviously does not know his woodlore as well as he ought,” answered Aragorn, “else you would have thought of it. It is good to see that even you Legolas, long of this world, and versed in the fauna and flora of the forest, can learn something new from the Dunedain.”
“Such keeps me young,” admitted Legolas, laughing. “But we will have to find some. And then you can teach me further lessons of herblore.”
“Assuredly,” answered Aragorn, grasping Legolas and pulling him tightly against his loins. Legolas hardened against him and anxious to taste the man anew spun out of his arms, calling merrily as he began scanning the forest floor for signs of the root.
“We shall search the valley from head to foot and peer under every pebble. Come on, Aragorn; do you not wish to hasten?”
“Oh my, yes,” whispered the man as dropped to his knees and riffled through the plants at his feet. He knew the feel of it and his hands moved in ever-widening circles, searching through the dense undergrowth for the tell-tale spike that augured the root’s presence.
“We should not have to search long,” stated Aragorn, “It is common enough in these lands.”
Soon he heard the elf’s mellifluous voice call out to him.
“I have found a small patch. How many should I get?”
Rising to his feet, Aragorn answered, “Four or five should do. Make sure the roots come out of the ground intact.”
Soon Legolas appeared, mîdhthond in hand, and the pair continued their walk to the stream. Once they arrived, Aragorn took the plants from Legolas and bid him enter the stream to bathe.
“I will prepare them for us. Go ahead and bathe. I will join you shortly.”
Aragorn went to work, stripping the bark from the small carrot-like roots, which released their inner juices. He paused in the task as he watched Legolas disrobe and thanked the Valar once again that he was so blessed as to have such a beautiful lover. Mesmerized, Aragorn nearly forgot the task at hand, until Legolas beckoned.
“Are you coming?”
A sidewise glance from the wood-elf was all Aragorn needed to quickly finish the work. He laid the roots neatly aside on a piece of cloth and began to take off his own clothes.
Legolas watched him, as ever fascinated by the downy hair that covered the man’s body. He licked his lips in anticipation of feeling the fur against his skin, before turning to slide smoothly into the stream.
Aragorn swiftly followed, and shivered as he entered the water.
“It is cold,” said the man, looking down at his withering nethers.
“It is refreshing,” answered Legolas, laughing and cupping the water with his hands.
He slid under for a time and then broke the water, coming up through the surface as if Ulmo up through the waves. Or maybe Ossë, thought Aragorn. He knew not what forms the Powers took, but surely none could match the beauty of Legolas, wet and shining in the moonlight.
The man took a deep breath and slid under the water, swimming toward the wood-elf, diving under to grasp Legolas’ thighs in his hands. Once his palms touched skin, he slowly worked them upwards, stroking the lithe limbs and smoothing up the elf’s muscled torso. His lips followed after, gently following the trail of his fingers, until he took a ripe nipple into his mouth and sucked.
Legolas’ eyes opened widely, and he took a quick inward breath. The suddenness of Aragorn’s attention startled him for a moment and he let a gasp escape from his mouth as he felt tongue and then teeth caress the sensitive nub. Wrapping his fingers around Aragorn’s head, he followed the man upward as he felt the lips slide over his collarbone and up the nape of his neck. Finally, Aragorn took his mouth and Legolas opened to him, suppressing the deep moan that arose in his throat.
The kiss was possessive and Legolas let his body melt into his lover’s, feeling the hair on Aragorn’s chest brush over his skin and allowing the man’s strong arms to hold him upright.
Aragorn felt the elf submit and broke the kiss, pulling his head back to watch Legolas as he succumbed to his touch. Valar, he was beautiful; eyes closed, head thrown back, pulse racing under the translucent skin of his neck. Aragorn placed his hand over the wood-elf’s beating heart and held it there, feeling the life blood surge under his fingers.
“Come out of the water now, Legolas,” he whispered.
The sound of his name rolling off of the ranger’s tongue further inflamed the wood-elf and he grasped for Aragorn’s arm, seeking to steady himself as they walked to the water’s edge. Aragorn drew him up out of the water and laid him down on the blanket he had spread for them
He followed quickly with his own body, covering the elf, enveloping him with his arms and writhing over him, nipping and licking at his lips.
Legolas felt enlivened, his whole body heated and flushing under the ranger’s assiduous attention. Gulping for air, he reached between them, taking the man’s arousal in hand and pumping the tumescence, none too gently. Aragorn shuddered and rose to his knees, positioning himself between Legolas’ spread thighs. All the while Legolas stroked, up and down, up and down.
Aragorn grunted as he lifted the hand from his erection and reached toward the cloth that held the mîdhthond. He selected a medium sized root and returned to his position, helping Legolas to further part his legs and draw them up toward his chest.
“I doubt this will hurt, but it may be cool against your inflamed skin. Are you ready for me to prepare you?”
“Ai, yes, please. Please,” answered Legolas, spreading himself wider and lifting his legs higher.
Aragorn first circled the opening with the root, spreading the oozing liquid that had come from its core, lubricating and softening the skin around the pulsing aperture. Legolas drew back at first, until the viscous juice matched his own temperature and then relaxed into its’ soothing feel. He moved his hips in counterpoint and soon the mîdhthond was closing the circle, centered at the middle of the grasping passage.
When Aragorn pushed slightly forward, the tip of the root broke the entrance, and with steady but gentle pressure was soon embedded and clasped in Legolas’ tight channel.
Aragorn moved up over Legolas’ body until his lips were poised at the wood-elf’s.
“Do you feel it?” he whispered. “Relax against it and let it massage and open you for me.”
Aragorn gently moved Legolas’ thighs downward, anchoring them on the ground, making the elf more comfortable as he knelt between the spread legs. As the root worked within, Aragorn licked Legolas’ column, gathering small drops of his pearly essence on his tongue. He smoothed it over his lips, and slid his moistened mouth over the purpled crown of Legolas’ erection.
The elf bucked and thrust into him, and Aragorn acquiesced, taking Legolas’ slick shaft fully into his throat. His tongue swirled and his mouth tasted and the elf’s belly heaved with each movement. Fully concentrating on Legolas’ pleasure, Aragorn milked him, hollowing his cheeks, sometimes allowing a tooth to graze the taut flesh.
Legolas spread his arms out and his hands tried to find purchase on the ground, but there was none, so he balled them into fists and pounded the earth in slow rhythm with Aragorn’s bobbing head. As he felt Aragon’s fingers glide down to touch his full pouch, the combination of the ranger’s mouth, the slick mîdhthond within and the gentle rolling of his bollocks finally undid him. His body shuddered, his hips bucked, and with a low growl of intense pleasure, Legolas released himself into Aragorn’s mouth.
Legolas was so immersed in his own satiation that he barely felt it when the man withdrew the root and pushed his legs up to his chest. Aragorn entered him in one full thrust, the slick passage still clenching in the aftermath of his orgasm. A different cry came forth from his lips as he felt Aragorn breach him and the elf, still convulsing, spasmed anew, drawing the man inward with every succeeding clench.
Aragorn thrust quickly, relishing the feel of the clasping tunnel and at the moment of his peak, leaned down and took Legolas’ lips, kissing him deeply as he let go. A guttural groan entered the elf’s mouth and vibrated through him, sending a shudder down his spine as Aragorn rocked gently over him.
At last the men was spent and though loathe to separate himself from his lover, withdrew his faded member from Legolas, lowered his legs and dropped next to him. The moans that had interrupted his breathing subsided and he was quiet for a time. With eyes closed he savored the moment of utter completion and then he felt it. The slow build of giddiness, which started as small hitches in his belly and rose up through his throat.
He laughed out loud and soon he was rolling on the ground, mirth overtaking him and threatening to steal his breath anew. Legolas looked at him incredulously, for a moment wondering whether the man had taken leave of his senses, but such mirth was infectious and soon Legolas joined him and both man and elf echoed their joy into the night.
After a while, the laughter ebbed into low sighs of contentment and Aragorn and Legolas laid for a time in each other’s arms, reveling in their reunion, enjoying a moment in time that was theirs alone.
Finally, Legolas propped himself on an elbow and looked at the man who had given him such pleasure. Cocking his head, brows furrowed, he made his inquiry.
“Why were you laughing?”
“Ah, Legolas,” said the man, the swell of merriment building anew.
“That a mere mortal would show a wood-elf…a wood-elf, a new knowledge of woodlore. It is just too rich.”
“I am still young,” parried Legolas haughtily, not giving an inch to the man.
Aragorn snorted and took the elf into his arms, pulling him closely and kissing through the golden crown of hair.
“We should get back to the camp. The fire has surely waned by now.”
Together they rose and took up the blanket. Legolas grabbed the soapstone and Aragorn gathered the remaining mîdhthond.
Almost as if in further taunt, Aragorn presented the roots to his lover. Legolas reacted immediately, and opened his mouth to speak words of defense, but Aragorn stilled his lips with a finger as he answered.
“It worked, did it not? Here,” he said, placing the mîdhthond in Legolas’ hand.
“Next time you can show the teacher what you have learned.”
Before Legolas could respond, Aragorn turned away, and the wood-elf‘s face broke into a broad grin. Eagerly concurring that such new-found knowledge be put into practice, the elf clasped the mîdhthond and determinedly followed the man back to camp.
FOOTNOTES AND TRANSLATIONS:
All Sindarin is from A Gateway to Sindarin, by David Salo. The University of Utah Press 2004
(1) Faron – Legolas’ horse, lit. meaning – “hunter”
Mellon-nin – friend