The Best Medicine
by Arotora

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine……drat.
Summary: WSHH at the Black Gate when Aragorn faces the Troll, and the aftermath thereof.
Warnings: Fluff attack, and, oh yeah, a little hurt and a couple lines of gore, not really worth mentioning.
Archive: Yes
Feedback: Appreciated always.
Re: Translations: All are noted at the end. In a few instances where I think the words are not commonly known, I placed them at the end of the affected paragraph as well. I hope it doesn’t detract from the flow of the fic.
Author’s Notes: WSHH= what should have happened. Often, when I’m watching a scene I think, ‘Nyah, they cut that off too soon!’ Or, ‘Hey,I could have done that better!’ So, I put my pen where my mouth is and wrote this. (Hard to write like that, I know!) I include the quote below just ‘cause I love it!


"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan. My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day, we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"


The Elf’s ears pricked at the sound of an all-too familiar bellow. Legolas looked up just in time to see the massive Troll lift his sword and bring it crashing down amid the human warriors; all of them save one scuttling out of the way. He allowed himself a moment of panic as he realized whom it was who had decided to take on the beast- Aragorn, of course. Leave it to the man to face the largest, meanest and deadliest, if not smelliest, adversary on the field.

The problem was that the Troll was easily five times Aragorn’s size and as everyone else around him was suddenly busy saving their own lives, he had no backup. The Troll swung his sword again and Aragorn tumbled to the ground. Legolas was barely paying attention to the orcs on either side him, dispatching both at the same time with twofold sweeps of his knives. He could no longer see Aragorn but had marked the position where he went down. Pushing, shoving and blades flashing, Legolas pressed through the crowd of men and orcs.

Aragorn grunted as the Troll placed an oliphant-sized foot on his torso- holding him down. The oversize sword was lifted again and the Ranger was certain this time he would not be able to dodge the blow. Having dropped his sword out of reach, he hacked uselessly at the foot with the only thing he had left, the short dagger he carried in his belt. In retaliation, the beast leaned his weight forward. Aragorn choked in pain and dropped the dagger as his chest began to give way. Bones began to snap and whatever hopes the man had of taking another breath fled. Hecouldn’t even groan as pain racked his body, instead only shivering and clenching his teeth.

As the sword fell Aragorn shut his eyes, not willing for the dull metal to be his final vision. When the moment came though, he felt no sudden jolt severing his head from his body as he expected. Instead his ears were assaulted with a loud clash of metal against metal.

He opened his eyes to find the blade frozen only a few inches from his face, held back by crossed twin Elven blades. Legolas was standing over him and was using every last bit of his strength against the powerful stroke of the Troll. It was evident he was near losing the battle, Elf though he was, he did not have limitless muscle power. His face was set in a grimace, teeth clenched and lips pulled back in a snarl. The veins in his neck stood out in a pale bluish purple against his otherwise alabaster skin.

The sword lowered another inch and Aragorn’s eyes met those of the Elf, half beseeching, half in resignation of the inevitable. Legolas’ eyes flashed and with a great yell and trembling limbs he forced his hands to rise, lifting the hulking weight of the Troll with them. With strength imbued only by desperation and the passion of battle, the Elf gave a hard upward shove and amazingly, the Troll wavered. Momentarily unstable, the beast took a step back to regain his balance.

There was suddenly a great crack as of thunder but accompanied by a shaking of the ground. All eyes turned toward the origin of it, the dark tower of Barad-dûr. In a moment, the Dark Lord’s army was but a chaotic mass of fleeing bodies.

Legolas had taken his eyes off Aragorn and viewed the fall of the tower as had everyone else, but when the Troll shoved him out of the way and ran his attention was brought back to his friend. Aragorn lay oddly still and crumpled-looking with his eyes closed, seemingly unaware of what had happened. Legolas dropped to his knees and reached for the man.



Gandalf knelt and let the distraught Pippin grab him around the neck and weep. “Now, now, small one, we do not yet know of a certainty Frodo’s fate.” He glanced at the rising smoke that was all that remained of the Dark Tower. He squeezed the Halfling’s shoulder and lowered his head to speak into the small pointed ear. “If there is but one thing I have learned of this adventure it is to not underestimate the lesser things of earth—Hobbits in particular.”

Pippin pulled out of the embrace suddenly and stared wide-eyed at something behind the Maia, tears streaming afresh down his face. “No, it cannot be! This too?”

Gandalf turned without bothering to get to his feet and anguished at the sight before him. Out of the smoke and dust of the yet fleeing army and milling around men came the Elven Prince Legolas. In has arms was the completely limp body of Aragorn, and on his face was a look of utter despair. The wizard forced himself up and ran to meet the Elf. “What has happened? Tell me! How did he fall?” As he spoke, he was already running his fingers over the man and feeling for a pulse. His hand lingered just short of touching the trickle of blood from Aragorn’s mouth.

“I do not believe he was struck by any sword. He was pinned down by a Troll; literally, the thing was standing on him! He yet draws breath but only just.”

Gandalf grunted as he verified the man was still alive. He took a moment and his eyes scanned the skies. “There is naught I can do for him here, you must needs take him to Rivendell with all haste. He is best left to Elrond’s care.”

“Imladris? You cannot be serious! We are many days from there!”

The Maia’s eyes twinkled. “I did not say you should be going by horse, my boy.”

The sun was suddenly blacked out by a great shadow overhead and Pippinstarted to shout excitedly. “The Eagles!”


It was an experience the Elf was certain to never forget. Gandalf assured him it was perfectly safe and that he himself would be setting out in the opposite direction to ascertain the fate of Frodo and Sam. Legolas sat upon the back of an eagle with his legs tucked under the wing joints. Sitting in front of him, he held an unconscious Aragorn, allowing the man to lean back on him heavily. The Elf wrapped his arms around his friend tightly, but carefully, to avoid the injured areas and allow the man to breathe. Gandalf had determined there were at least two broken ribs and more than likely, several more were cracked. There was no movement, however slight, of Aragorn’s right side as he breathed and Gandalf was certain there was some internal injury to his lung on that side. He was a wizard, but not a healer and the best he could do was wrap the man’s chest with cloths to lend some support and administer herbs for the pain. He was loath to give much as Aragorn was unconscious but afterward it proved to be for the best. As he relaxed under the drug’s influence, Aragorn was able to breathe more deeply with the one lung that *was* working. When his breathing settled into a slow but steady rhythm Gandalf told Legolas it was time to go.

The trip took only a few hours and not surprisingly, Elrond was waiting for them on the roof of his home. Several smaller, but faster birds had carried advanced warning of the Elf and Man, and though Elrond could not speak their language, they spoke to the trees who then interpreted for the Elven Lord. He awaited his stepson’s arrival with much anxiety and paced restlessly. The rooftop was flat and would serve well as a landing platform in addition to being an outlet for Elrond’s fretfulness.

He saw a large black shape long before he heard the first shrill cry of the bird, alerting all to its presence and command of the sky. He moved to the edge of the roof, giving as much room as possible to the great bird. It lit as gracefully as if it were only a sparrow and crouched down low, settling its belly on the warm tiles. Thus lowered, it was easy for Legolas to hand off the body of his friend to the waiting arms of his stepfather and then dismount himself.

“Adar.” Legolas beseeched the older Elf tearfully. “It is a chest injury. I fear he no longer breathes.”

Elrond huffed out a breath. “I am aware of what has happened—at least somewhat.” He clutched the fragile human body to himself and lowered his cheek to Aragorn’s face. Sensing the slight movement of air on his skin, his eyes moved to meet those of the young Prince. “He is alive, though quite cold I think from the flight, and most likely in shock. Come.” He bowed his head in thanks to the great bird before turning on his heel and rushing inside with Aragorn. Legolas gave his thanks as well and hurried to catch up with the other Elf.

Inside, Elrond headed straight for Aragorn’s room. He’d already prepared it as best he could for what was to come, having laid out stacks of cloth for bandages and an assortment of vials and packets of herbs for treating everything from pain to infection. Elrond’s house servants came running as soon as he entered the room and helped the Elf place Aragorn on the bed. “Warm some water, quickly, and here, undress him. I must see what is beneath these bandages. Have several warm blankets at the ready.” The Eldar turned to Legolas after issuing orders to his staff. The Elf was standing nearby with his shoulders hunched, in obvious distress at seeing Aragorn in such a state. “Perhaps, Pen-neth, you should go rest. There is nothing more you can do for now.”

When he saw the resolve in the younger Elf’s eyes he lifted a hand to stay the objection. “You may remain for a short while, but please, stay out of the way.” Legolas nodded his thanks and moved to the far wall where he could still see but not hinder the healer’s efforts.

Elrond turned his attention back to Aragorn. Already his servants had removed the Man’s boots, jacket and tunic. They held the unconscious man in a sitting position so Elrond could remove the wrappings around his chest. As they laid him down Elrond touched the back of his index finger to Aragorn’s lips, noting how blue they were. “This does not bode well.” He rested one hand lightly on Aragorn’s chest. “He breathes, but it is not enough.” With one hand he grasped Aragorn’s nose and pinched it shut. His other hand slid up under Aragorn’s neck and lifted just enough that the Man’s head tilted back and his mouth fell open slightly. Elrond then leaned forward and sealed his mouth around Aragorn’s, blowing in a hard breath. He noted the chest rise slightly as the air went in, and released his mouth to let the air come back out on its own. The healer repeated his action several times before sitting back and nodding his approval of the effect. Aragorn was still very pale but no longer so blue.

Elrond turned to Tinúviel, “You will watch him closely. Should the blue color return to his lips or fingertips you must breathe for him until it fades.” The raven-haired Elf nodded his understanding.

Next Elrond moved to inspect the damage to Aragorn’s chest. It was obvious as he pressed here and there that ribs were broken but what worried the healer more was the great dark bruise forming on his side and a tear in the skin through which it seemed air was moving. Even as Aragorn breathed shallowly, with his every breath blood either gurgled out or air was sucked in. The healer frowned knowing an injury this severe should have already killed his stepson. The Valar were truly benevolent this day to have allowed him to live.

He took a wet cloth and cleaned away most of the dirt and blood to get a better look. It was then he realized what had happened: when one of the ribs gave way it had sliced through to the outside. Elrond shook his head; this was truly beyond him, yet he was determined to try. He wadded up the piece of cloth and pressed it firmly over the hole to seal it shut. As he held it in place, he glanced at the table and the paraphernalia he’d laid out in case he needed it. He had stitched wounds before but somehow did not believe this unusual injury would respond well to simply sewing it shut; there was no way to assure an air-tight closure. Suddenly the idea came to him- honey. It was thick and would hold in place, not to mention that he used it often to stave off infection.

The Elf made a decision about what he must do and began issuing orders again. The man was covered as much as possible with warm blankets leaving only his upper body exposed so Elrond could work. The Elf’s hands worked quickly across Aragorn’s chest as he pressed on the bones to make sure they were in alignment. At one point though he did have to slip a finger into the hole to make sure the rib was back in place. He grunted in frustration when the action produced an additional spurt of blood. At least it was not the bright red of a fresh and more dangerous injury. Quickly, he stitched the opening shut as best he could and cleaned the area of blood again. He then liberally slathered a cloth with honey and placed over the wound, sealing it. Aragorn’s entire chest was wrapped as before for overall support. As the bandage was bound, Aragorn gave the first indication he was aware to the slightest degree- he groaned in pain.

Legolas was at his side in an instant. He’d been near horrified by what he’d seen Elrond do, and the amount of blood Aragorn had lost, but kept his distance until now. He helped Tinúviel lay Aragorn back onto the bed and cradled the man’s head in his hands. Elrond brought over a cup of herbal tea. “Now is no time for him to waken. Help me get him to drink this.” Legolas lifted Aragorn’s head and supported his chin as Elrond poured just a small amount at a time into the man’s mouth, allowing him to reflexively swallow until more than half the cup was taken. “That will do.” He eyed the Elven Prince as he lay Aragorn’s head back down. “And as for you, who have yet to heed my advice to rest, perhaps now would be a good time. He will not stir again for some time. I will sit with my son for awhile- long enough for you to eat something and dare I say it- bathe!”

The Elf was taken aback at his elder’s frankness, but upon glancing down at himself had to admit Elrond was right. His clothing was still dusty and dirty from the battle, his hair was a fright from traveling aloft in the wind for so long, and he had to admit though he would be ever thankful to the eagle, he rather *smelled* like the bird right now. Slightly embarrassed, he took his leave quickly and headed for the nearest bath.


It was only an hour later when Legolas returned looking much more presentable though still not rested. He was clean and dressed in the silver tunic and dark grey leggings Elrond’s staff had set out for him. The house-servant had also provided a small tray of bread and cheese, which Legolas quickly devoured, as he was quite hungry after this long and stressful day.

He entered the room to find Elrond and his servants still tending to Aragorn. The Ranger had been completely undressed and his body bathed as well; even his hair was washed and spread out on the pillow to dry. As Legolas walked in, Tinúviel was tucking a third blanket around the Man. Thankfully, Legolas noted all traces of blood had been removed although he was sure if he lifted the blanket there would be some on the dressing beneath. Silently the servants left the room.

Elrond looked Legolas over with a raised eyebrow. “Better. But you needto sleep as well.”

“I truly am not tired.” Legolas’ eyes fell on the prostrate form of the one he so longed to be near.

“Very well, I would appreciate the company anyway. I fear this to be a very long watch.” As he spoke, he reached over and dabbed at Aragorn’s face with a wet cloth. “He is not feverish yet, but I feel it is only a matter of time, he is still in shock from the injury.”

Legolas nodded, grateful he wasn’t being sent away. He settled himself on the floor where he could rest his arm on the bed against Aragorn’s body. Though they were still separated by layers of bedding, the solid feel of the Man was comforting.

“You care for him.”

Legolas was surprised at Elrond’s statement. “Of course. He is a great leader. I would follow him anywhere.”

“That is not what I meant. You *care* for him.”

The younger Elf understood what it was the elder was saying. “I do.” He lowered his head in uncertainty of the response he would get.

“Yet you are aware of his destiny, what he is and must do now that the war is over.”

“I am.”

Elrond smiled and placed his hand over the other Elf’s. “Then my son has chosen well. He, too, is aware and that was why he resisted taking up Andúril until he could no longer avoid it. I could have had it reforged before the Fellowship ever left Rivendell, but he would not have it. He knew it would make him walk a path from which he could not return. It made him sorely afraid.”

“Aragorn, afraid? Never!”

“But, he was. Afraid to lose himself and that which he holds most dear.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes, wondering. He knew of Aragorn’s feelings for him, they were equally smitten with each other, but this was Arwen’s father, perhaps it was she of whom he spoke. He dared not ask.

The Elf Lord noted a flash of uncertainty in the younger’s eyes. “Yes, it is of you he spoke. While he cares for Arwen, and she for him, they are more brother and sister than anything else. They will wed, to honor the final alliance between Elves and Men in these our last days, and the strength and long life afforded by Elven blood will mark his lineage, but the union will be more political than not. As for love…” His dark eyes bore into those of the pale Sindar. “He feared there would be no place for it once he’d become King.”

“And what place would there be?” Legolas felt his heart was being laid bare by Elrond’s words. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Elrond spoke gently. “Nothing is certain, Neth Ernil, but love tends to make a way for itself, this I know, and have said as much to Estel. Do not lose heart, for if he survives this night and does indeed take up his destiny, he will need you more than ever. And as far as being King, well, being a Lord myself I can say there are certain…advantages…to such position. For one, being able to effect change to both law and custom without reproach, even to the taking of a consort.” [Young Prince]

Legolas eyes lit up. He’d always thought after Aragorn was King they would be forever separated. He made a move to speak but Elrond shushed him. “For now, let us see how he fares with this injury. All I have said could be for naught.”

“He will not die. He cannot.”

The Lord smiled. “No, he cannot, if the Valar will it.”

Both Elves settled into a companionable silence as they prepared to wait out the long night.


Fever had struck him the second day and of the Elven household, it seemed everyone was doing something that related to the King-to-be. He sweated profusely at times, soaking the bed sheets, and at other times was so cold there were not blankets enough to warm him. The servants were constantly coming or going with linens. Elrond, Legolas or Elrond’s sons were in attendance every minute, taking turns to administer sips of herbal mixtures to dull the pain and, more importantly, fight the infection that ravaged the Man. He was frequently restless and would murmur incoherently then drop off into a deep still sleep that was perhaps more frightening to behold, as it seemed he may never wake from it. During one of the times he chilled, he became so cold Elrond bade two of the younger Elves to use their own body heat to warm him. Oblivious to any embarrassment in their worry, both Legolas and Elrohir immediately stripped off their clothing and climbed into the bed, one on either side of the shaking human. They reached for each other and sandwiched Aragorn between them.

Elrohir offered a small smile to the Mirkwood Prince and whispered an encouragement. “My brother is strong, and has been through worse than this. But I am glad you are here for him.”

The Elf looked away, wondering if everyone in Rivendell was aware of his relationship with the Lord’s mortal son. When Aragorn shivered hard again he tightened his grip and looked pleadingly at Elrohir. “Worse than this?”

“Aye. Though he was very small at the time I’m sure he remembers; you must ask him about the poisonous berries he ate.”

Legolas’ brow knit, and Elrohir continued. “Trust me, this little bit of sweat we must endure is nothing. You have no idea how much dross can come forth from a human until their body forces them to eject it—from both ends. I swear the boy expelled double his own body weight.”

Despite the situation, the corners of Legolas’ mouth turned up in a smile. The image of Elrohir and Elladan being cajoled into caring for a sick youngster and possibly having to clean up all sorts of nastiness was too funny to *not* smile. His eyes glittered and he settled himself more fully against Aragorn. “Tell me a story, of when Estel was young—and impetuous.”

“Oh, I have plenty of those.” The twin’s face broke into an outright grin.


Hours later the two Elves were dismissed to bathe themselves while Elrond saw to his son. After two full days of suffering, the fever had finally broken, and Aragorn had drenched the bed with his body fluids. However, he no longer shook nor struggled and his manner of sleep seemed to be only that of exhaustion. The Peredhil was happy enough. After that, Aragorn’s care was more the work of boredom, as the Man simply slept while his body healed.

It was two days before Aragorn stirred again at all, and another three before Elrond would hold off on the drugs long enough that the man could do anything more than blink and fall back to sleep. In that time the laceration in his side had begun to mend—at least it appeared to be; the stitches were holding well, and there was no more gurgling of fluid and air, and Aragorn’s chest rose and fell on both sides equally when he breathed.

Impatient to do more than sit with Aragorn and keep him bathed and his bandages changed, Legolas implored Elrond as to when the Man might be allowed to wake—even if it meant he would be in pain. The young Elf had not had much to do with Men until joining the Fellowship but soon learned they did not bear immobility as well as the Elves. Muscles grew thin and weak without use, and the mind without stimulation became dull. He worried for his friend. Elrond had to agree, even the pain itself would be a good thing; it would keep his often bull-headed son from trying to do too much too soon.

In the late afternoon of the eighth day, Aragorn finally woke, blinking bleary eyes up at the pale blue ones looking down at him.

“Meleth, it is good to see you. How do you feel?”

The man took a breath and instantly regretted it. He winced in pain. “I thought you put down that Mumakill, but it seems to have stepped on me.”

The Elf laughed. “Twas only a Troll, though a big one.”

“Aye, with big feet.” He moved to get up and managed to get halfway before a fit of coughing struck him. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as the pain hit him with the force of a mighty club. He doubled over, gasping, and the Elf held him tightly until it subsided, the worry showing on his face that he’d pushed for Aragorn to waken too soon. After a moment, the Man smiled weakly and was able to accept the cup of soothing tea that was offered. After he’d taken several sips Legolas helped him lie back down.

“How long?”

“Eight days.”

“Eight! What of Frodo and Sam? Surely Gandalf has found them by now?”

Legolas put his hands on the man’s shoulders to keep him from trying to get up again so quickly. “Yes he did, and they are here. Both were injured and very dehydrated from going without water for a few days. Frodo has yet to wake but Elrond is certain he is just sleeping off the effects of having to carry that accursed Ring for so long.”

“Ah, understandable.” He glanced around the room as if just then realizing where he was. “Rivendell? When was I brought here? Or perhaps a better question is how? The Black Gate is a far distance.”

“Perhaps the story is best left for later, suffice it to say it wasurgent you be brought here, along with Frodo and Sam. The rest of the fellowship will be here in perhaps another week.”

Aragorn coughed again and clutched his hand to his side. “I see.” He seemed to be completely exhausted by the short conversation and let his head loll heavily on the pillow.

“Rest now. The tea contained medicine for the pain, though only a mild dose. This evening when Elrond returns we will see about having you sit up properly.”

Almost before he finished speaking Aragorn was asleep.


Aragorn gained his strength back slowly as any exertion made him breathe harder which in turn made his ribs hurt more—which made him want to avoid movement altogether. As it was, Elrond insisted that it would indeed be prudent to move as little as possible until he was certain the dislocated rib would stay in place, so Aragorn was only permitted to be up to bathe or relieve himself, and with both of those duties he often needed help. The only one he would allow to do so was Legolas and the Elf was happy to oblige, now certain the Ranger would soon be whole again.

After a bath and bandage change Aragorn was feeling quite good and began to idly stroke the Elf’s bare arm as he finished securing the cloth in place. “You know it has been a long time since we have been together.”

“Aye.” Legolas tucked in the last piece of material. “Just after the battle of the Deep. That was the last time we had more than a few hours to rest.” He smiled at the memory. “I had no idea how much passion battle could incite.”

“We have time now.”

The Elf glanced at him with an eyebrow raised in mock irritation. “And you are injured. Elrond will be most displeased if that bone does notheal properly. He said you must be careful for at least another week.”

Aragorn had to relent on that point when a sharp twinge reminded him of Elrond’s minor surgery on his body. The laceration was healing well and the stitches removed, and the bruises were beginning to turn odd shades of greenish yellow as they dissipated. Still he was quite tender to touch on the right side of his chest and tired at the slightest bit of exertion.

Legolas bit his lower lip as he considered carrying this conversation further. “Elrond told me the reason you did not take up Andúril at the beginning of our quest was that you feared for us.” He frowned realizing he was not being specific enough. He gestured with his hand between them. “You and I.”

The Ranger was only slightly surprised that his stepfather had chosen to share that information. “It is true. But when Elrond reforged the sword and brought it to me that changed. I realized if I could command the Army of the Dead, then what could I not do? I do not have all the answers, but I know one thing, that even finding my destiny cannot make me forsake you.” He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on the Elf’s mouth.

The corners of Legolas’ mouth drew up in a small smile. He looked deep into the steel blue eyes before him. “Nor I you.”

Passion blazed in Aragorn’s eyes and he moved to reach for the Elf, but Legolas stayed him. “You. Are. Injured.” He placed a hand on the center of Aragorn’s chest and made the man lie down. “But perhaps something might be done.” He smiled mischievously and ran his fingertips down to the front of Aragorn’s leggings and stroked the hardness that was already apparent.

“Ai, yes.” Aragorn let his head fall back.

“But you must promise to move as little as possible and allow me to do the work. If you have much pain or become overly tired, I *will* stop.”

“You wouldn’t!” He glared at the Elf, then shook his head. “Yes, you would.” He groaned at the possibility. “All right, I will try to stay relaxed, for what it’s worth, but I have been too long without your touch. I desire it greatly.”

Legolas swatted at him playfully. “I have bathed you every day for more than a week. My hands have been all over you.”

“Yes, but such ministrations have left me only wanting more.” He took the Elf’s hand and placed it over his groin.

Legolas nodded. “And I have missed you as well.” He quickly divested Aragorn’s member of it’s covering and stroked his hand up and down the silky length. How he loved touching the man in this way. Aragorn was calloused or scarred in so many places, but not here. Just the feel of the soft warm flesh under his fingertips sent waves of anticipation through him, awakening his own arousal.

Ignoring it was difficult, but the Elf was determined to first and foremost give pleasure to his lover. His own release was secondary. He noted a drop of clear fluid emerge from the tip and used his thumb to spread it around. “So eager.”

“When have I not been so with you? “

“No, you are not usually much restrained.” In truth their lovemaking was rarely slow, the heat of their passion making them desperate to couple as quickly as possible. It didn’t seem to matter which one entered the other, it was the contact of flesh-to-flesh that drove them. Only afterward when they were both spent did they ever relax and caress each other or simply curl up to sleep with their bodies entwined. The thought brought a smile to the Elf’s lips. Who knew what a cuddler Aragorn was!

Perhaps, Legolas thought, this was an opportunity for them to try something new. An easy, slow lovemaking was just the thing for this lazy afternoon. He wondered just how ‘slow’ he could go if he tried. With a smirk, he accepted the internal challenge.

Aragorn grunted in disapproval as the Elf released him, but was intrigued by what Legolas did next. He shed his clothing first, always a welcome sight, and then rummaged around through the various bottles and potions Elrond had left there. Finally choosing two, Legolas returned to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Aragorn asked as he idly stroked himself with his hand.

The Elf shoved his hand away and the Man’s semi-erect penis nodded against his abdomen. “No cheating.” He uncorked the small vial of pink hued glass and sniffed it before pouring a small amount into his palm. “It occurs to me, that this may be over far too quickly, and since, as you have observed, we *do* have the time…”

The Ranger raised an eyebrow and a broad grin spread across his face. He laced his fingers behind his head and settled himself back into the soft pillows. “Then have your way with me, Lend Ernil.” [Sweet Prince.]

“As you wish.” Legolas rubbed the lightly scented oil over his hands and sat on the edge of the bed. He began by massaging Aragorn’s upper chest and collarbones; he figured at least that part of him would not be too sore for a firm touch. His fingertips dipped and rose with the contours of the muscular body finally moving to knead the large muscle on either side of Aragorn’s neck. The Ranger groaned it felt so good. His eyes fell shut as he enjoyed having the tense muscles loosened. He idly wondered why he’d never had the Elf give him a good rub down after they’d been in battle.

“Do you intend to put me to sleep?”

“Hardly.” The Elf moved one hand to the inside of Aragorn’s thigh and stroked upward with a feather light touch. At the juncture he cupped his fingers around the twin sacs and kneaded them for a moment before trailing his index finger up along the pulsing vein to the head of the Man’s shaft. There he held the tip between two fingers and rubbed around the opening with the pad of his thumb.

“Ah.” Aragorn let out a sigh.

“Not yet Meleth-nín. We have only just begun.” The Elf bestowed a kiss where his thumb had just been and once again moved away from the area. He used both hands to massage the underside of Aragorn’s arms where they lay, still raised with his hands behind his head, then lightly brushed at the nests of fur in his armpits. As he had just bathed, there was no odor save for the sandalwood smell of soap and the slightly musky man-scent that was Aragorn himself and could not be washed away.

The Elven hands massaged lower, to the edge of the bandage, mindful to not exert much pressure where the purple bruises still showed. Legolas was glad he’d left the Man’s nipples exposed. He leaned across and used his mouth to greet the one furthest away while his fingers circled the near one, making it rise and harden.

With his free hand Legolas returned to the lower patch of dark curls, touching, but not touching. His palm lightly grazed just the hairs in a circling motion. He grinned as Aragorn adjusted his hips to get just a bit closer to the petting hand, and rewarded the effort by cupping the globes again and massaging them. His deft fingers played at the underside of the sacs and applied pressure at a point midway between there and the tight opening beyond.

Aragorn grunted with pleasure at the touch. The Elf took note that the Man’s breathing was a bit faster and more labored than he would like and slowly moved his hand away from the area, drawing small circles with his fingers at he went.

He moved lower on the bed and slid the breeches off Aragorn’s legs and then with a bit more oil applied to his palms, massaged the muscular limbs slowly and thoroughly from top to bottom. He finished with a lick and nip to one of Aragorn’s great toes, making the Man jerk his foot back at the tickle.

Another kiss was given to Aragorn’s straining manhood to placate it momentarily before Legolas reached for the second jar. The Elf dipped two fingers into the sticky brown goo and let some of the excess drain off. He then waved his hand over Aragorn’s stomach and allowed a golden brown thread to drizzle all around and down into the furry patch and up the rod rising out of it.

Done, the Elf began to lick his fingers but thought better of it and extended his hand instead to Aragorn’s mouth. Gladly the Ranger accepted the request and drew the slender fingertips into his mouth where he used his tongue to lave off the stickiness, his eyes staying locked with the gaze of the Elf as he did.

Legolas blinked, realizing he was becoming lost in his lover’s eyes—and the sensuous touch of his tongue—too easily; his task was not yet complete. He withdrew his hand and trailed wet fingertips down across the bandaged chest. As he did so, he climbed up on the bed and straddled Aragorn’s calves. He held his hair back with one hand and leaned forward. Slowly and methodically, he licked up every drop of that which he had just dribbled on his partner starting with the navel, which held a small pool of the stuff. Next, the whole stomach was cleaned, including a pesky trickle that wound its way over one hip and down into the bed linens.

The Elf squatted back with his head low and used as broad a surface as he could of his tongue to lick the trail of syrup from Aragorn’s shaft. Without pause, he stretched his body forward and laid himself out over the Ranger, startling the Man by claiming his mouth in a swift and deep kiss.

The soft-hard, hot-sweet mouth was gone again just as quickly and Aragorn licked his lips of the sticky honey left behind. He had no time to think further as the Elf’s mouth was on him again at the base of his shaft, apparently cleaning up whatever stickiness remained. The hot mouth ran up his manhood sucking slowly at intervals all the way to the end. The Elf rubbed his slightly roughened taste buds against the silken skin as he went and nipped with his lips where the skin was loose over the hard wood beneath.

“Ah, Elf! What sweet torture you are!” Aragorn bucked hips forward, his body demanding a more solid contact. His breathing was once more becoming rapid and Legolas slowed his movements somewhat. He needed to finish this soon or risk Aragorn injuring himself.

“Meleth.” The Elf implored. “Sweet as it is, I fear to harm you.” He moved one hand in a slow caress of the Man’s abdomen. “Try to relax now.Let yourself go.”

The Ranger did as best he could to calm himself and sank into the continued ministrations of his Elf. Legolas moved one hand rhythmically up and down Aragorn’s shaft while with the other he massaged the tight opening below until the muscle loosened. He inserted a finger and moved it in time with the rhythm of his other hand, probing deeply until he touched the small gland inside. Aragorn took in a sharp breath but kept himself relaxed. After only a few more strokes Legolas felt the Man tremble and lowered his mouth to suck on Aragorn’s shaft.

At the triple assault of mouth and hands, Aragorn gave up his last shred of control. His whole body quivered as he came, his seed spewing forth into the eagerly awaiting mouth. Legolas took it all in gladly. He was still concerned he might have over-exerted the Man, but did not relent until Aragorn had spent himself completely and the wood of his shaft melted away. Sated, and more exhausted than he would ever admit, Aragorn reached down to the Elf. He spoke with a shaky voice. “Legolas, ‘tis enough. Tol-sí.” [Come here.]

The Elf slid upward, his golden hair falling in a cascade and trailing over Aragorn’s body as he moved. He held himself aloft with his hands planted just above the broad shoulders and dipped his head to take the man in a deep sensuous kiss. Aragorn groaned as he tasted himself on the Elf’s tongue. Were he not in his present condition he was certain he would harden again almost immediately. As it was he stayed quite limp and relaxed. His hands rose to cup Legolas’ buttocks and he pulled the Elf’s body to himself, not surprised at all to feel the firmness that was not his own.

When he reached between them to take hold of the Elf, Legolas rocked back slightly removing himself from Aragorn’s reach. “Nay, Estel. You do not need to return the favor.” The Elf’s fingertips touched Aragorn’s temple and moved downward to caress the stubbled cheek.

A shadow flit across the Ranger’s face, but Legolas pressed two fingers to Aragorn’s lips to keep him from giving voice to his thoughts. “Soon. When you are more fully recovered.” He let his fingers explore the full bottom lip for a moment then slid them away and descended on the Man once again in a kiss that was anything but tender. He bit and nipped at the Man, almost mauling his lips. Holding his tongue stiffly, he pushed hardand fast into Aragorn’s mouth and once there sucked back just as hard, brutally pulling Aragorn’s tongue into his own mouth. The look of surprise in Aragorn’s steel gray eyes at such violence from the Elf made Legolas grin. In so doing, he had no choice but to release his captive.

Aragorn gasped and blew out a hard breath. He rolled his now sore tongue around in his mouth and grunted when he tasted blood. “Perhaps you’re right.” His eyes drifted shut and he breathed again as a vision of unrestrained wanton sex with the Elf filled his mind. The mere thought of it tired him even more—tempting though it was. He nodded to himself. “Rest. I should rest awhile.”

Legolas only chuckled in response and slid over to Aragorn’s non-injured side. The two gazed at each other in the simple joy of being together for a long moment, and then the Ranger wrapped an arm around Legolas’ shoulders encouraging him to lie down with him. The Elf reached for a blanket and drew it over their bodies. He nestled himself against Aragorn’s warmth and settled in for a nap. Elves were good at cuddling, too.

~See? I warned you it was fluff.

Meleth Love
Adar Father
Pen-neth Young One
Neth Ernil Young Prince
Lend Ernil Sweet Prince
Meleth-nín My Love
Tol-sí Come here



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