Beside his father Thranduil King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood, Legolas watched as the creature Smeagol was lead off by the tether about his neck, first placed there by the Ranger — an Elf-friend of the folk of Westernesse — who now stood before them.

"'Tis late and your road has been long, Dúnadan. You will rest here within my halls, under my protection, until you set out again on your journeys." It was King Thranduil who commanded this and Aragorn son of Arathorn bowed low before him.

"My path has been weary, made only more so by its success. I am grateful for your hospitality, but much to my disappointment, I shall not be able to partake of it for long. Others await the news of Gollum's capture; he must be questioned."

"Mithrandir has already been summoned. You may wait amongst us for his arrival, if you will."

Aragorn bowed low again and Legolas saw the weariness in the Man's eyes that the bearing of his lean, tall frame sought to hide.

"Come," Legolas said to their guest when his father looked upon him to perform his appointed duties as a prince of Mirkwood. His elder brother stood on the far side of Thranduil and would remain; as heir, his counsel would be required. Legolas's other brother — younger by a mere three hundred years — attended the guards who escorted Smeagol to his cell. Legolas envied neither brother his present task, though he felt, as did his father, that his future path might prove the least enviable of all.

"Come, Dúnadan. Much comfort awaits you in my father's kingdom."

Legolas stepped down from Thranduil's side, and without another glance at Aragorn, strode from the Great Hall in the direction opposite that which Smeagol had been led. Behind him, he clearly heard the Man's footsteps, though he walked almost as softly as any Elf.

"You have spent much time among my kind," Legolas said. "But not here in the north, as I have only heard your name spoken and have never before beheld your visage. You have dwelled in Imladris?"

"Imladris has been as much a home to me as the lands of Middle-earth. Lord Elrond has spared no kindness in the many years since our first acquaintance," the Ranger answered.

Noting that the Man had not increased his pace in order to draw even as they walked, Legolas smoothed the pale blue fabric of his tunic. He still wore the grey of his cloak from his ride out with his younger brother Lhunnole and the guards to guide the Man and his quarry into the kingdom of Thranduil; he now adjusted the cloak about his shoulders, knowing what the opening at the back revealed to Aragorn.

"Imladris is a fair place with many worthy and honourable among its inhabitants. I have not been over the High Pass, west beyond the river Anduin and the Hithaeglir range within your lifetime. All is well in the House of Elrond?"

"Aye. As well as can be in foreboding times such as these."

Legolas acknowledged the Man's words with a nod, knowing that the movement would send his long, pale hair brushing across the rise of his seat.

He lead Aragorn down a side passage that fell into a long spiral of steps; they traveled further and further away from the Great Hall, away from the royal chambers of Legolas, his father, and his brothers. At present, the guest rooms were unoccupied and had remained so for many long years, since before the Battle of Five Armies, since before the increase in the Goblin population. The Dúnadan would have the entire level to himself, at least until the great wizard Gandalf arrived, if the Man chose to remain that long in the House of Thranduil.

Down another long hallway they tread softly to another set of stairs — neither as steep nor as numerous. Truly, the Dúnadan would have peace while he remained as honoured guest. Shortly they came to a plain oaken door fitted into the granite wall of the passageway. With one hand, Legolas lifted the latch and pulled the seemingly heavy door open. He then stood aside and waited for Aragorn to cross the threshold.

For the first time since their meeting, Legolas followed behind as the Man stepped into the chamber. His clothes were plain, Legolas noted, and worn, but they fitted him like a second skin. At first glance, the Dúnadan was unremarkable, as Legolas knew was by the Ranger's own design, but close study by perceptive eyes revealed more, though undoubtedly not all.

"Here you will be refreshed, honourable Chieftain of the Dúnedain."

The Man waved him off, as if 'honourable' were not a title he sought, though Legolas knew he was more than born to it; the reason for his presence here spoke of it, as did other tales that had reached this now northern-most realm of the Edhels.

"It is my duty to attend to you, as you may wish," Legolas continued. "To serve you in all your needs while you are here, though you may not yet want for them."

Aragorn bowed, but not as low nor as long as he had before King Thranduil, as was fitting to Legolas's station. "It is my honour to be attended by one so important as a prince of Mirkwood. Though I must ask: surely more pressing matters require your attention?"

Legolas shook his head slowly, allowing the pale braids that hung from his temples to brush over his shoulders. "It is my father's wish that you be attended properly, but it is my wish to attend."

Aragorn nodded, and then turned slightly; Legolas watched as the Man surveyed the room. The dark rock of the walls was polished as smooth as glass, allowing the few candles within the room to cast a warm glow about the wide space. Above, the ceiling had been left rough and jagged, unchanged from the day the room had been chiseled from the dense rock, long ago, after Sauron had driven Thranduil and his people from their home Amon Lanc north to Emyn-nu-Fuin.

Nearest them in the room was a small, deep pool fed silently by an aquifer that also fed the nameless tributary through the hillside that joined the Forest River some way further east, beyond the steep slope out of which the main mouth opened. Across and furthest from them was a bed of soft pillows, screened on three sides by curtains, the light-grey colour of birch bark, suspended from the rough ceiling.

Legolas saw the longing for sleep in the Man's eyes and he was loathe to deny him, though it was his intent.

"You are weary, I see, but slumber now will not bring you ease. Your mind will be troubled with dreams, as I suspect, it often has been these past days."

"Aye, 'tis true. Though it is what I must endure."

"Not while you remain here in Emyn-nu-Fuin. Not while I attend you."

Aragorn said nothing and he kept close what thoughts he might have behind unresponsive eyes.

"You must allow me to help you find rest," Legolas continued. "And peace, for it is known here that there will be little once you leave and none in times yet to come."

Legolas perceived acquiescence in the Ranger's stature, though the Man said naught. A mere step brought Legolas before Aragorn and he reached out with long, pale fingers to release the clasp of the Man's cloak. The coarse, brown material slipped from his sinewy frame and spilled to the ground about his booted feet. Legolas's fingers slipped to the smooth, wooden buttons of Aragorn's tunic, but before more than one could be loosed, the Man's hand closed about his own.

"There is much of my travels upon me and there is no need to sully yourself with them. I will attend to this."

"As you wish," Legolas said with a nod of his head that suggested a bow, though Men, no matter their lineage, were never above the Elder Children of Ilúvatar. Legolas stepped back a pace as his fingers came to his own tunic; there were no buttons to unfasten, only the clasp of a belt at his waist. When the belt dropped away from his lithe form, he shrugged the tunic off and it melted from him like snow in late spring.

Aragorn stared, his eyes now subtly wider. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came.

Legolas stepped from his soft slippers and waited. After a moment, Aragorn began to work on his own clothing, and Legolas perceived a slight clumsiness to his nimble fingers. The task would have gone faster had the Dúnadan not been so independent, though Legolas knew it was a key trait of any good Ranger and he would not insult the Man by stepping forth again.

Patiently, Legolas waited as only the immortal can, and then when the request came, he helped Aragorn from his boots. After, the two beings stood, both clad only in their leggings: Aragorn as dark and rough as the wilderness he patrolled and Legolas as pale and pure as the moonlight above that same wilderness.

Legolas stripped away his final article of clothing before stepping gracefully into the pool. He turned and held out his long hand to Aragorn and waited. "I will attend you," Legolas repeated as if he were speaking the pledge for the first time.

Again the Man stared, as if deciding what to do, though Legolas saw no reason to hesitate. Finally Aragorn pushed the coarse material of his leggings from his slender hips and stepped forward. He did not take Legolas's pro-offered hand and his footing was firm as he entered the water. Legolas withdrew to the far side, gathering cloth and scouring sand.

He returned to Aragorn, who had kneeled in the center of the pool and was now splashing water, which reached mid to his chest, up and over his shoulders. He paid no heed to Legolas behind him, whom he covered with a myriad of stray droplets. When Legolas touched his shoulder, the Man stiffened and ceased his bathing.

There was ill between them for a moment, though Legolas did nothing more than move the water over the Dúnadan's shoulders and back. Not before Aragorn finally began to relax did Legolas apply the fine sand to the Man's skin, seeking to smooth away the tension in his muscles as he scrubbed away the sweat and grime. As Legolas's hands continued to move over his strong, hard form, Aragorn relaxed further until he was mere inches from leaning against Legolas for complete support.

It was only then that Legolas halted his attentions. He shifted to the side as he, with a hand upon each of the Man's shoulders, encouraged Aragorn to lean back against the side of the small pool. The Dúnadan obliged him and Legolas moved before him to kneel at his feet, playing well the unlikely role of servant.

Legolas placed one long hand beneath Aragorn's right calf, lifting the limb to the surface of the water. Then he plied his other hand to the lean muscles, kneading the tight fibers. He moved his firm touch downward and when he began to massage Aragorn's tired foot the Man gave a low, throaty groan; Legolas was heartened to be the cause of such a sound.

He continued to move his fingertips against the tense muscles, working relentlessly for the smallest reward: the sound of relaxation and pleasure slipping unbidden from between Aragorn's fine lips. As Aragorn's moans lessened, Legolas reached for his other leg, to massage his other foot, eliciting more of those sounds he now longed for.

Perhaps it was merely the athelas scenting the water, but Legolas had to hope it was more. His own senses were heightened around this Man; never before had he felt as he did now.

He slipped his hand along the underside of Aragorn's leg, feeling the lean muscles until his fingers reached the bottom of the pool. Then he moved his hand in and up, to gently caress between Aragorn's legs. The Man did not protest — nay, he reacted in no way — so Legolas cupped his long fingers around his soft sac and gave a small squeeze.

He watched the Dúnadan's face. Though Aragorn's eyes remained closed, Legolas could sense he was not asleep — still, he saw no reaction.

Carefully, as if he were silently walking across a field of kindling, Legolas moved his hand upward until he was able to grasp hot, Fírimar steel.

Aragorn's eyes flew open as his hand came to cover Legolas's, preventing him from moving.

"No. I cannot betray the Lady Arwen so," Aragorn said with a strained voice.

"'Tis no betrayal, Dúnadan," Legolas said. "What I will give to you, she cannot; what she can give you, I cannot. Our purposes are exclusive, save for you." He spoke these words and hoped they would be enough of an explanation for the Man who had spent much of his life among the Edhel inhabitants of Imladris. However, Aragorn's eyes had not changed; his stilling grasp had not lessened, so Legolas continued.

"And you, you can only give to Arwen that which she deserves and to me that which I deserve; again, they are exclusive things. It is so among immortals, a subtle thing, done but not spoken of. The Lady Arwen will feel no betrayal." As he spoke, Legolas noticed a slight change in Aragorn's eyes as the relaxation threatened to return. He took the opportunity to slip his other hand between the Man's legs.

He found the smooth patch of skin just behind his sac and slowly began to caress it. He then watched as Aragorn gave into the ministrations, as he released himself to the pleasures Legolas was prepared to give.

The only question that remained in his mind was how far Aragorn would allow this to go.

Legolas moved his fingers back, slowly, until his touch elicited a small gasp from the Man. Aragorn flinched backward and stared hard. "No." He began to protest, but Legolas stilled his words by tightening his grip around the Man's sword.

"Allow me to do this for you, Dúnadan, and I will follow you when our paths cross again. You will have my allegiance."

They stared for many moments, until Legolas began to move his finger slowly over the tight hole, coaxingly, until he was able to slip his fingertip inside. Aragorn's eyes went wide, but he did nothing else to protest the intrusion, so Legolas pressed his finger deep. The passage was drier than he had expected, and entry was difficult, causing him to push and pull his finger, easing it a fraction of a measure deeper each time. As he did so, he watched as Aragorn's eyes rolled back and his lids lolled closed. Legolas began to pull his long finger free, but stopped short. He then swiftly pressed it deep again, seeking the spot he knew all male Edhel possessed: did the Dúnedain possess it as well?

A moment later, Legolas discovered that Men, like Elves, were capable of feeling such ethereal pleasures.

Aragorn gasped loudly; his eyes flew wide and his hand came up to grip Legolas's forearm, as Legolas continued to stroke the tip of his finger over the soft nodule deep inside the Man's body.

"Never have I ... never have I felt anything so...." Aragorn let loose a long breath, then quickly sucked in another lungful of air. "...Incredible."

"It is our way. We are Immortal," he explained — and to Legolas this was enough — but Aragorn looked at him with both wonder and curiosity as Legolas continued to pleasure him.

"You seek to kill me?" the Man gasped.

"No," Legolas answered, as if it had been a reasonable question. Aragorn gasped again as Legolas thrust into him, this time with two fingers.

"You undo me at the least." Aragorn was breathing hard with the new sensations. Legolas smiled as he moved closer between the Man's legs. Unlike with another Edhel, complete entry into the Dúnadan would not be made easy by nature, but Legolas was prepared. He reached over to the side of the pool and dipped his fingers into a thick, yellow cream. He placed these fingers inside the Dúnadan, liberally distributing the salve along the warm passageway. Aragorn moaned again, though Legolas had not brushed against his sensitive node.

Legolas withdrew his fingers, and then spread the remaining residue along his stalwart Elfhood. Immediately he moved forward, pressing the tip of his hardwood against the Man's soft entrance. More effort was required than he had thought, but he grabbed firm to Aragorn's hips and pulled, fully sheathing himself deep within the Man's body.

Aragorn let out a sudden gasp, followed by a long, low moan. Legolas smiled down upon him, waiting until Aragorn's features eased.

The Dúnadan did not speak, but Legolas could almost read his mind. The sensations must be strange to the Man: pleasure tinged with pain, ease mixed with tension. The Telari Elves had discovered ages ago the benefits of these combinations of sensation and, to this day, they continued the practice, though Legolas knew sharing with the lesser races was rare. Still, he knew in his heart that this Fírimar, this great descendent of the Númenóreans, this true heir of Elendil the Tall and his legendary son Isildur, would be strong enough to endure and benefit.

Legolas pulled back until Aragorn released a gasp through upturned lips, and then he drove himself home again. Aragorn threw his head back and Legolas stilled himself for a moment. With his hand wrapped around the Man's hard blade, he began to undulate his fingers as he rubbed up one side with a firm thumb.

Aragorn gasped again, louder this time and more guttural: "I beg of you!"

Legolas did as he was bid, thrusting again, but deeper and harder, seeking to pierce the Dúnadan to his very core.

"Sweet torture.... I never knew the Elves so capable...."

"'Tis naught but kindness," Legolas said and he thought it true.

"Overly so," Aragorn replied, ending his words with a strangled gasp as Legolas moved fingers skillfully over his tip.

Then Legolas leaned forward, stretching his back like a bow as he eased his head down. His fine, pale hair, like moonlight glinting off a well-hewn blade, spilled upon Aragorn's chest as he brought his head down for his mouth to capture a sweet prize.

As Legolas ran his tongue over the pliant head, across the salty slit, he listened for sounds of pleasure. But, none came. Instead, he felt firm hands stroking over his long hair and then tangling in the strands, encouraging as he sucked Aragorn deeper.

Despite his dexterity, the angle was extreme and awkward; Legolas's thrusts into the Dúnadan were now shallow and erratic, but he continued his attentions until he felt Aragorn's fingers clench and heard the man release a moaning gasp. Only then did Legolas ease off his mouth, loosing Aragorn's steel. He trailed his tongue now over the valleys and ridges that defined the Dúnadan's mid-section, up until he reached one small peak; like the newest spring bud, it swelled beneath the moisture Legolas laved upon it. Around he circled his tongue, as he again was able to thrust deeper into Aragorn. The Man arched his back, forcing the bud into Legolas's mouth, so he nipped at it until Aragorn hissed with more pain than pleasure, then he caressed the wounded flesh with the tip of his tongue, soothingly.

Aragorn's fingers slipped through his hair to curl behind his neck, and then Legolas felt himself being pulled upward. He allowed the motion, using it to bury his Elfhood deeper within the Man's heated passage.

Aragorn drew him up until their eyes met. Legolas froze; he felt Aragorn pulling him down and, guessing the Man's intent, he placed hands on his shoulders and forced himself away.

"No," Legolas breathed. He saw both confusion and rejection in the blue eyes that had only a moment before been brimming with pleasure. "You seek to tread on the Lady Arwen's domain. Such touches belong only to her."

"But..." Aragorn began to protest, but fell silent as Legolas continued to look upon him.

"Other, more fulfilling pleasures await," he explained as he pulled himself completely free of Aragorn, rising to tower above the reclined Man. "Arise, for there is naught finished between us." He held out his hand and this time Aragorn took it, allowing Legolas to help him.

They stood for a moment, knee deep in the soothing waters, their hands still clasped. Legolas ran his other hand up Aragorn's arm to his lean, muscled shoulder, and then down until his thumb grazed over the Man's still-swollen bud. Legolas bent his head to the other and began to suckle like an infant until the Man reached over to touch him.

Legolas pulled back, smiling at the Ranger, all the more handsome for the water beading on his skin.

He led Aragorn to the side of the pool and silently encouraged him to lean forward, over the edge. Legolas moved behind him, gently spreading the Man's legs with his foot. He pressed up close, guiding his hardwood home again, and then slid his hands to Aragorn's hips, balancing himself as he began to thrust. He pushed deep, slowly at first but soon quicker and harder.

Aragorn gasped as their bodies connected again and again. Legolas moved his hand lower, beneath the Man, to grasp the steel of his blade with sure fingers. In time with the deep thrusts of his shaft, he stroked over the length, as hard and as soft as mithril. Aragorn's gasps quickly turned to quivering moans as Legolas continued to move silently into him. With his thumb, Legolas brushed over the slick tip, weeping for his master; then he swept low, grasping and squeezing the tight sac of thick skin.

"Finish it! Or finish me," Aragorn commanded.

Legolas willingly obliged. He shifted slightly, altering the angle of his drives and returned his fingers to their first responsibility.

Suddenly, Aragorn's body went ridged beneath him, and the Man released a strangled cry, as if pierced by a fatal sword upon the battlefield. He shuddered deeply, and then collapsed with heaving breaths upon the edge of the pool.

Legolas returned his now-slick hand to Aragorn's hip, redoubling his thrusts until he felt his life-giving fluid deeply filling the Man. His knees grew oddly weak until he was forced to pull himself free. He turned and laid back over the edge of the pool, to stare upward at the roughly hewn stone of the ceiling.

Aragorn's breathing soon began to return to normal and he slowly stirred. The Dúnadan rolled onto his back, and then Legolas felt his hand grasp his own.

"I knew not the extent of Elfish knowledge until this moment," Aragorn said, his voice quiet but not labored.

"And you still do not," Legolas replied. "Dwell with us for an Age and you shall know more."

"Oh, that I could. However, darkness stirs in the south and I know in my veins that we have not an Age in which to terry. It is mayhaps too late already," Aragorn said, his eyes cast upward, as if he sought to see through the rock to the very stars high above.

Legolas stared at him a moment before replying. "It is the darkness that brought you here. It is the darkness that binds our fates. It is enough to know this. Let us speak of it no more."

Aragorn nodded and Legolas was satisfied.

"It is rest you now need. Come." Legolas stood and, still holding Aragorn's hand, helped the Man to his feet. He led Aragorn to the single table within the room and took up a large, light-grey towel, which he unfurled as if it were a kingly robe. Legolas was surprised when Aragorn presented his back to take the fabric upon his shoulders.

"Dúnadan, I will leave you now to your peace," he said and waited for the Man to turn so that he might offer him the extra courtesy of a bow. But, when the Dúnadan did turn, he swept the length of toweling around Legolas, drawing him close, until their still-wet bodies were pressed together.

"I still have need of attendance," the Man said close to Legolas's ear.

"You have need of sleep," Legolas corrected, calmly, even as the Dúnadan swept his tongue over the sensitive point of his ear.

"It is my wish, Legolas, that you remain," he whispered. The feel of the Man's breath upon his neck sent shivers down Legolas's spine.

"Then, Aragorn, I shall remain."

~ The End ~