Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Taming Legolas ❯ Bridling the Spirit ( Chapter 5 )

Taming Legolas
By Cheyenne Dancer

 

Notes: I apologize for the long absence. RL has taken its toll. This piece I had written and posted to my yahoo!groups and totally forgot to post here. As I am taking up the writing mantle again in all my fandoms, I felt I should begin by posting this piece. The next part will be a few weeks, as I need to brush up on my Quenyan, my Sindarin and my story notes.

 

Please keep in mind, that at this point, the story has no betas, so all new pieces are being posted unbetaed. I've run a spell check and briefly looked through the story for continuity.

 

I hope you all enjoy. Warnings remain the same. References used and Dictionary at the end of this part.

 

CD

 

Chapter 5 Bridling the Spirit

He pulled from Aragorn's grasp, running his fingers through his tangled mane, bewilderment writ large upon his youthful seeming countenance. There was a deep and abiding sadness that seemed to grow as he watched the dance of intimacy between Aragorn and Arwen. Small things that only long time companions shared in the way of movement and surreptitious glances.

Feeling his heart plummet swiftly, he protested, sure that now that they had had what they required of him, he would no longer be desired.

 

"Have you not played enough of your games with me? Are you not satisfied with what has been done? I shall ever more carry this in my heart, the while you laugh and whisper to each other. Would you treat me less than a well-used tool but rather as a casually discarded trinket?" His throat burned but he ignored it. So deep in the darkness lurking in the tired corners of his mind, he did not even note the warning glimmer in Arwen's eye, nor the tightening of Aragorn's mouth.

"Come, my prince." Arwen spoke quietly, her voice yet husky from her spent passions. "You are tired from your journey and overwrought by your endeavours. Bathing will gentle your soul and ease your feä."

Surprise settled heavily upon his shoulders. He had not thought that they might desire ought else of him before he could slip away from the site of his betrayal of self. He stared at the slender white hand held regally toward him, as a queen would command her subjects, expecting naught but fealty.

Her fingers were long and slim as was the wont among the Eldar. Jewels adorned her hands, their glitter like stars cast down upon new fallen snow. A betraying heat traveled slow through him as memory taunted him with how she had touched him, held him, cajoled him to loose himself in Aragorn's hold, how she had refused to yield to his struggles, holding him as effortlessly as captive songbird in the palm of her hand.

And he had obeyed and reveled in it with shameless abandon!

Raising his eyes slowly, he followed the curve of her arm, the gentle swell of her breast adorned by the dusky rose of her nipple. Her dark hair tumbled in wanton disregard about her pale shoulders, exquisite waves of night framing her face. Her eyes sparkled like the deepest pools of sacred water from beyond legend, a blue so dark as to be named black. Her lips were kiss-swollen, bruised red with the ripeness of Aragorn's worship.

Legolas could not help but wet his own in remembered desire. He could think naught but of how she would taste of Aragorn when they had kissed. Another bright blush colored his cheeks and he shook his head, refusing to wallow in his shame. There would be time for such things later.

Cocking one dainty brow, a gentle quirk of her mouth hinted at Arwen's amusement. "It is too late to dither now, edhel-neth. You have chosen and the path lies before your feet. I shall not allow you to balk upon the cusp of your journey."

Disbelief parted his lips and annoyance flushed his cheeks in welcome relief from his humiliation. He ignored the burning brand of Aragorn's gaze, carefully fanning the small flicker of anger, hoping for a conflagration to erupt in a wall of protective fury.

"I can bathe myself!" Perhaps exhaustion lent irritation to his voice, or mayhap it was being treated as a child with no voice in his own affairs, still Legolas was unable to restrain the petulance that colored his honeyed tones. It did little good to soothe his ruffled spirit that even to himself he sounded more like an elfling not quite into his majority than he did a Prince of the forest kingdom he named home.

Backing up inadvertently, almost overwhelmed by the anger that radiated about Aragorn like a summer storm as the Ranger took two quick steps towards him. To cover his brief uncertainty, Legolas tilted his chin in defiance.

Aragorn growled. "I do not understand why you seek to constantly challenge me lest you continually delight in both the struggle and your punishment. Does my violence seduce you, little Elf? Do you wish to be forced to submit again and again? If you continue to test me, you shall have no pleasure in the result!"

Arwen touched Aragorn but lightly, a brief flutter of fingers against his shoulder was enough to halt his advance on the defiant Prince. The man fairly vibrated with his restraint, his eyes burning into the proud fair-haired Elf as if he would brand him as did the men of Rohan their steeds.

Sweetly, Arwen spoke, her gaze heavy and filled with secrecy, "We are sure you may, but think you that we would give you such sweet opportunity to flee?"

Angry that she spoke truly and knowing that if he had fled it would have been seen as yet another betrayal of troth, yet Legolas could not bite back his ill-formed protest, guilty as any young Elf caught in some misdemeanor, "I would not--!"

Arwen dimpled, sweeping across the floor with a breathless grace to gently brush the soft pads of her fingers on his lips. "Do not compound your transgression, sweet Elfling. You are ours now as I have borne witness to your surrender to Estel and he your submission to me."

Legolas turned his face aside from her touch, casting his gaze upon the ground. Truly having come to Rivendell had given rise to unruly thoughts and wanton action. Perchance it would have stood him well to have heeded his Father's warnings about the Noldor more carefully instead of brushing them aside with the knowledge of one sure of his own invincibility. Foolishness born of youth!

Torn between his yearning to have what his mind told him he could not, the unrest of his confusion made him feel well and truly young.

Should such indiscretions as the past day come to his Father's ear, Legolas shuddered, being treated as a youngling for another millennia might well be the least of what he need look toward. He thrust his Father's mocking voice filled with admonitions about the queer and haughty folk that dwelt within the Valley of the Bruinen to the furthest reaches of his mind. He knew that he must needs settle the quandary between what he wished and what he knew with what he felt and what his Father demanded, yet could that not be handled at a later date? It seemed foolish to dawdle here after all he had already allowed.

While lost in his thoughts, wondering should he flee, should he protest, Aragorn draped a silken robe of peacock hue about the fair lady's shoulders. When Aragorn shrugged into his own embroidered robe, Legolas felt a pang of regret when denied the view of their bodies. Did he truly wish to end this fantasy that had sprung to life between them? Would not this dream, shrouded even as it was with cloth woven of his most secret desire, come to its own natural conclusion when they left these rooms to attend the feast.

Regret deep and filled with sorrow rose within his breast; he knew then his decision reached. A few more moments to snatch for himself could surely do no more harm to his aching heart than the yearning he had tasted from the day he had known that the man he loved could never be his.

Falling back on his own surrender as proof of his good faith, Legolas reminded, sounding petulant even to his own ears, "I have said that I would do as you say."

Laughing lightly, a sound filled with the gaiety of an open meadow, Arwen patted his cheek tenderly as one would a child or a favored pet. It grated upon him and he could not help the angry flash of his eyes though he remained quiet. Turning, she strolled back toward Aragorn.

Aragorn's gaze rested solidly upon him and Legolas felt himself respond in kind to the unvoiced challenge. The man dropped a casual arm about Arwen's petite waist and they traded secret smiles that stabbed Legolas as sharp as a Morgul blade and reminded him painfully that he was here by grace of her benevolence.

Jealousy did not sit well with him. Furious for his begrudging acceptance, Legolas cast about for his garments intent upon ignoring both Man and Nís.

"You must be punished for such willful behaviour, my beautiful prince." Arwen husked her gaze halting him in a way that Aragorn's had not.

His heart pounded as Aragorn's handling of him filled his mind. Images of his willingness to bend across Aragorn's lap and accept the Man's hands upon his flesh in such rough manner, his lewd display of desire and need the likes of which none had driven from him before taunted him until he thought his cheeks were afire. He could not escape Arwen's knowing gaze. He caught but the barest twitch of her lips and he felt the sharp prick of resentment.

Throwing up his head proudly, Legolas spoke evenly, ignoring the image he must present to the two as he stood unclothed and defiant before them, spots of color high upon his cheeks and his silken hair disheveled as a maid's upon midsummer's eve. "I know not of what you speak." He clutched his clothing protectively before him, though little it provided against the own inflammation of his desire.

Prowling slowly across the too small space between them, Aragorn plucked the offending garments from Legolas' hands. "It is but a short way, meleth. You need not cover that which is mine."

Breath caught in Legolas' throat as his eyes grew impossibly wide, he licked dry lips his mind grown blank of all but the fact that he stood unclothed before the two lovers. He had never been body shy before, but of a sudden he knew his nakedness and it both excited and tormented him. He could not keep the disbelief from his voice as he spoke on a rising note, "You would have me trail in your steps bare as an elfling not yet fully out of swaddling?"

"Nay, little one. You misunderstand. You will not follow behind us but rather crawl before us upon your hands and knees. It will be a test of your will and an exercise in the obedience you have sorely been lacking."

The tender demeanor in which Arwen spoke, her words cloaked in the soft musical tones was so in apposition to her words that it took Legolas a moment to shake off the unconscious enchantment before understanding of her demand crashed over him. An illicit thrill scudded along his spine, his body at once in rebellion with his mind, her words stroking a deceptive flame into full-blown passion. His breath whistled from his open lips.

Aghast at his response, he defied her, eyes flashing in righteous indignation, "I shall not!"

"What a lovely picture you are in your anger and brave defiance. And indeed, we would have you no other way." Arwen gestured toward him again, an elegant flutter through the air, amusement soft upon her passion-bruised lips. "Yet you will, for have you not agreed to abide by what we command of you? Not once, but many times over?" She smiled sweetly, her eyes holding him immobile. "And yet you balk at so simple a test of your intent. How then do you plan on forestalling the temptations along the paths to Mount Doom with so little strength behind your words, young princeling?"

"This is madness!" Legolas protested even thought his belly fluttered in anticipation. Shame curdled in his belly; yet a strange eagerness danced along his naked flesh, painting his pale flesh the color of a sun-kissed sky. He could not deny that there was that in him which welcomed being treated so, even seemed to seek those avenues which would close all paths but one before him.

It bewildered him that Arwen could create such confusion and answering heat in his body without any encouragements from Estel, and shame seemed to link him inextricably with threads woven of seduction.

How could he react so to one for whom he held no love? What magic had been unleashed in this room to turn him into a willful wanton desirous of a punishing hand and a shaming word?

"Legolas." Aragorn rumbled softly, the same gentle tones that Legolas had heard him use to coax wild animals into his arms.

Just the one word and it was sharp enough to penetrate him deeply. It was as if Aragorn touched him somewhere deep inside himself, sending tingles of pleasure radiating from some secret place, causing his nipples to tighten to hardened pebbles begging for his caress. A slight quiver spilled across his exposed flesh like warmed cider--sweet and heavy, binding his movement as surely as dwarven forged iron.

"You spoke of love for me." Aragorn touched his face, fingers brushing aside his wild mane, his hand lingering hot upon Legolas' nape. Arwen moved in the edge of his vision, pausing in the archway of the hall that led toward the private baths.

He felt as if he were gliding over the waves of an avalanche, plummeting out of control toward imminent disaster. He was surely trapped even though he did not yet spy the netting. Legolas castigated himself; the desire to bolt from this room rising up a counterpoint to the tides of passion that urged him to surrender, the guilty heat of pleasure that wanted to yield him up an offering to Aragorn as the Easterlings would one of their captive women to their carnal gods.

His Father's voice echoed in his mind. He was a fool to have sought out Aragorn. More a fool to have stayed like some moon-eyed child and thrice-cursed in his stupidity for not fleeing before Estel and the Noldor witch could bind him further in this maze of forbidden desires and half-elven depravity.

Yet how could he seek freedom if it meant turning from this Man who held his heart with such casual ease? He had had but a taste of the sweet strength and iron command that Aragorn could wield, did he truly desire to flee? Were it not better to accept what was freely given rather than demand that which had never been his? His eyes stung and he resisted the impulse to dash wetness from his cheeks.

It was such a heavy thing to break with his Father's edicts. Did they even realize that which they asked, nay, demanded of him? Legolas eyes slowly fell closed, a silent prayer winging its way from his heart to Nienna, hoping for her compassionate guidance. Yet his seeking went unanswered for he was helpless to deny this yearning, as strong and encompassing as the call of the sea.

It was useless to struggle so between two desires with Aragorn less than an arm's length away, the intensity of the Man's gaze like a lover's touch seeking within his body.

Legolas startled as Aragorn cupped his cheek, turning his head to gaze upward at the Dunédan. Sliding his thumb in tender caress against Legolas lips, the Elf made a soft sound deep in his throat, his mouth parting in welcome invitation without Legolas' conscious volition. Unable to restrain himself, Legolas turned his face into that gentle touch.

Aragorn ignored the wickedly parted lips; rather he spoke huskily, his voice an angry purr. "You have said that you loved me, did you speak falsely?"

Jerking his head abruptly from the comforting caress, Legolas denied, "No! You know that I spoke truly, even though 'twas by trickery you learned of it!"

Aragorn moved closer, intent upon Legolas' face. "What proof do you give me, Legolas Thranduillion?"

Standing close enough now that his robe caressed Legolas' nakedness, Aragorn ran his hand lightly down the young Elf's shoulder, until his fingers could press lightly against the rounded swell of buttocks, drawing the resisting Elf inexorably closer.

Legolas felt himself weaken at the gentle touch, his sex slowly beginning to fill anew in its shameful eagerness to attract the Man's tender touches. He felt himself weaken even as his heart raced, his breathing grown rapid as he was pressed against the hard length of Aragorn's body, the man's eyes a blue abyss swallowing him whole, the soft silk a brand of awareness of his own naked vulnerability.

These games were beyond him to fathom. He had no skill at this and no will to escape. He turned a bewildered gaze not shorn of his woodland born innocence to Aragorn. He could barely draw enough air into his lungs to whisper, "What is it you are saying? I do not know that which you would have me do. Have I not shown you my heart? Is that not enough?"

"No, pen-neth," Aragorn spoke coaxingly, his voice like a rough purr, "You have not. Your pride stands like a shield between us, your heart wars with your mind and it would be too easy for you to deny away from this haven shaped by our passions. You keep much of yourself hidden from me, as if you would protect yourself from pain." Bending, Aragorn touched his lips to the tip of Legolas' ear, whispering softly, "I will not allow you to do so. You must walk through the pain to find that which you truly seek."

A shock of pleasure tumbled through Legolas as Aragorn grasped his buttocks and squeezed, pulling them together tightly. Legolas squirmed against him; silk gliding across his skin in a seductive tease that made him want to rub against Aragorn lewdly. He hid his face against Aragorn's broad chest. No matter he deny it, he belonged to Aragorn already, it was but a question how long he could fight the inevitable. He did not think he would survive the eventual loss. How many of his days would Aragorn number among them?

"It is time to stop this childish rebellion and surrender yourself to our mercies as you have promised." Aragorn drew the tip of Legolas' ear into his mouth and suckled.

A soft whimper trembled from his lips, his hips surging in heated need. 'Twas unfair that Aragorn could command his body to such levels of disobedience with but a touch and a soft word.

He was trapped by a silken web of their weaving and he had walked willingly into it. It made it no easier to bear. He knew that no matter his protest, Aragorn's mind was set upon it. "What you ask is unfair!" He had meant it in vehement protest, yet his voice did betray the rising tide of passion within him, quavering weakly in the riptide of desire.

Aragorn raised his head, pinning him as his smoldering gaze raked possessively across Legolas' flushed face. "You would die for me, would you not, pen-neth?"

"You know I would," Legolas breathed, feeling as if the wild beating of his heart sounded loud in the room grown suddenly small between them.

"Aye." Aragorn smiled, brushing his lips across Legolas' forehead, "Yet I do not ask for your death, little one, but your life, which you have freely given. Will you sunder this fragile bond for the sake of your pride?"

"How can you ask this of me?" Legolas could barely bring himself to whisper. Color drained from his face to be returned in a blazing wash of colour that rose rapidly until even the very tips of his ears tingled with warmth. He thought surely his heart had taken permanent residence in his throat, threatening to strangle him so that his breathing came in choked gasps.

Stepping back a mere pace from him was not enough room for Legolas to gather his scattered thoughts. Whatever arguments he had meant to wage shattered. Aragorn's hands had slid slowly from his backside as Legolas had tried to pull away; the sword calloused palms hard upon his hips, the fingers curling until they held him captive. Hard and hot burned the blue gaze of the Man who would rule Gondor, the weight of demand levied upon the Elf.

Aragorn shook him slightly, his hands never leaving his hips. Legolas knew he would carry bruises there that would linger a day or more. Firmly, Aragorn spoke, the light in his eyes that of a man that would not be denied. "Two Kings cannot dwell in Gondor, melethron, no more so than two Lords can rule one house."

Shame seemed such a pitiful thing to protest with Aragorn's endearments
surrounding him with warmth and filling him with hope. Helpless in his surrender, Legolas allowed this thing to happen.

 

He slipped gracefully to his knees and bent before Aragorn, his palms flat upon the rich carpet that decorated the cold marble floor. His hair slid across his shoulders hanging about his face and shielding him from the reality of his actions.

End C5-P1

 

Edhel-neth - elfling

Meleth/melethron - love, lover, beloved

Nienna - one of the Valar, sister to Mandos, giver of Compassion and known as "The Weeper".

Nís - female elf

Pen-neth - little one

 

 

References:

 

"Characters from Tolkien" by David Day

"The Complete Guide to Middle-Earth" by Robert Foster

"The Languages of Tolkien's Middle-Earth" by Ruth S. Noel

"The Silmarillion" by JRR Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien

"Screw the Roses and Give Me the Thorns" by Miller & Devon

"The Bottoming Book" by Easton & Lizst