Emptiness of Space
Author - Nessa
Author's Note: Sex Scene was inspired by this WONDERFUL picture at The Library of Moria Webmistress' note: Hot f'n pic! Yowzer!! :)
The Fellowship had broken asunder. Nine there were when they first
left Rivendell, one of whom they lost in the Mines of Moria. But
they had lost so much more in the scant few hours that had gone by.
The Hobbits had disappeared; two they were now trying to find, two
more have gone on their own to the land of the Shadows – and
Boromir… Aragorn's heart clenched at the thought of his companion
whose body they had lain in a boat and sent over the Falls of
Rauros, the Great River taking care of what his companions could not.
As they tracked swiftly through the forest, Aragorn's eyes kept
glancing towards Legolas, whose face was taut with strain and the
anguish he had carried of late. Repeatedly he saw Legolas fondling
an object that he carried with him close to his breast wherever he
went – an object that, Aragorn knew, was more precious than his own
life. And his mind started to recall, unbidden, the events that had
occurred on the night of Boromir's departure…
**********
"We must move on, lad. It is best we do not linger," Gimli's voice
came through the curtain of grief that Legolas hid behind, his
cherished burden lying in his arms. Legolas shook his head wearily,
tears coursing silently down his face. Aragorn gathered the broken
pieces of Boromir's sword, bent with his own troubled mind. Thoughts
flashed through his brain as he wondered at the path for which they
had to take. He stood silently next to the Elf as he contemplated
the course of his next actions.
Finally he spoke. "Boromir said that they took the little ones. We
must hasten and rescue them. We cannot leave them to torment and
torture," he said slowly, his eyes moving towards the direction
where the Orcs had fled in terror when faced with their fierce
assault. Legolas raised his head, his eyes now devoid of any
emotion. Gimli clasped the Elf's unwounded shoulder encouragingly.
"Then what of Boromir? We cannot leave him lying like carrion
amongst these foul Orcs," he murmured, his hand never ceasing to
stroke Boromir's hair and face, every now and again he leaning
forward to kiss the cold lips of his Beloved. "We will put him in
our boat with his weapons and send him over the Rauros," suggested
Gimli, "But we must do it soon." A look of pain passed swiftly over
the Elf's face but he agreed.
After tending to the Elf's injury, Gimli and Aragorn carried Boromir
towards the river bank. It was no easy task, for the Man was large
and heavy. Legolas' wound had by then stopped bleeding, for Elves
heal quickly. But he still did not have the strength to help with
the task of bearing his Beloved. They placed their comrade in one of
the remaining boats and Legolas knelt beside it, his eyes roving
hungrily upon his love's face. Gimli looked around and saw that
there was only one boat left… and Sam's baggage was gone, along with
Frodo's.
"Think you that Sam went with his Master?" asked Gimli, his eyes
troubled. Aragorn paused for a moment before nodding his head in
affirmative. "I think he did. You said that he went in a different
direction? Then it means that he was not with Merry and Pippin."
There was a short silence and then he turned his attention towards
the Elf.
"Come, Legolas. It is time. We must let him go," he said gently.
Legolas was silent as stone, eyes fixed intently upon the unmoving
figure that was laid in the boat. And then without a word, he took
out his knife and proceeded to cut off a lock of Boromir's hair.
Folding it carefully, he then placed it in the pocket of his tunic,
next to his heart and he stood up, a determined light in his eyes.
He was ready. And together they pushed the boat into the river,
watching in silence as the Elven boat rode the falls and foaming
pools, bearing the body down towards the direction of Osgiliath,
never to be seen again…
**********
That had been several long hours before and they still pressed on,
searching for signs that Merry and Pippin might yet be alive. For
many hours they travelled, night breaking into dawn, the footprints
of the Orcs still freshly imprinted onto the ground. It was not
until Gimli called for Aragorn to halt that the Ranger realized
something was amiss. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to
look at Gimli. His heart nearly stopped when he saw that Legolas had
fallen, his head pressed against the ground and his body was shaking
uncontrollably, hands clenched in a fist.
"Legolas!" he cried out, alarmed and rushed to the Elf's side. He
gathered the body in his arms and became frightened at how pale the
Elf looked. Quickly he inspected the wound at Legolas' shoulder for
fear that it had become infected. Legolas was cold to the touch and
his eyes had taken on a frighteningly glazed expression, something
that was extremely rare amongst Elves for they always have a very
intense look in them.
As the Ranger unwrapped the Elf's bindings, he gave a sharp intake
of breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The flesh had healed
remarkably, but the area around the shoulder had taken on a horrible
shade of black. "Poisoned!" Gimli gasped out in horror as he bent
down to grab hold of the Elf's legs which were trashing about
uncontrollably. The poison seemed to be spreading quickly in
Legolas' body, and before long, despite Aragorn and Gimli's
desperate attempt to soothe their comrade, his body was shaking
violently, his laboured breathing was rapid and shallow.
"Aragorn, look to Legolas! I will see if I could find some herbs to
ease his pain," Gimli said, his fear for his friend's life mounting
with terrible speed. Without looking back, he dashed into the
forest, looking for the ingredients to make an antidote that might
combat the poison that surged mercilessly through Legolas' body. He
knew not what concoction the Orcs used but he was willing to labour
on the whole day just to find a cure – except that he did not have
much time. Aragorn barely noticed Gimli running off as quickly as
his stout legs could carry him.
Legolas was in terrible pain. His body was racked with violent
tremors of the chill that seemed to pierce through the very core of
his being. Ice seemed to flow through his veins instead of warm
blood. He was felt so wretched and cold that in the deep recess of
his mind, he slowly succumbed to the temptation of leaving the
mortal world.
Aragorn, unaware of the incoherent thoughts that were going through
Legolas' pain filled mind, had in the mean time built a fire in a
desperate attempt to provide sufficient heat to warm the Elf. When
that was done, he grabbed the blankets that they carried with them,
wrapping it securely around Legolas' trembling body but the shaking
did not cease. He then cradled the body to his chest, hands trying
their hardest to bring some warmth into his comrade's flesh but it
was no used. It was as if the Elf was giving up his attempts to
fight the poison as it threatened to claim his life.
"Nay, Legolas, you mustn't give up," the Ranger whispered achingly,
his lips pressed to the tip of the perfect Elven ear. He rocked to
and fro gently, seeking to bring comfort to this beautiful creature
in his arms that was struggling to draw breath. Aragorn wept at the
agony that the Elf was put through – already his laboured breathing
seemed to grow softer and chest barely moving with each intake.
"You cannot leave us now, Legolas. Not when there are those who
still love you. We need you. Do not forsake us… Do not forsake me,"
he said softly, tears trickling down his cheeks and a lone tear
dripped onto Legolas' face. The Elf shuddered once more at the
warmth of the droplet upon his cold skin, his lips parting as if to
form words. Aragorn bent his head closer to catch the strangled
sound that escaped from the Elf… and then he heard it. "Beloved,"
Legolas choked out, struggling to remain focused.
What choice does the Ranger have but to use the only tool that he
had to bring his love back? "Yes, Legolas. Your Beloved is here. He
is waiting for you. He is alive. You cannot leave him now. Do you
not love your Beloved?" Aragorn said, his voice harsh as he wept.
The Elf made several indistinct sounds, as if he were struggling to
speak and Aragorn knew that the battle to get the Elf to the world
of the living was half won. The Elf fought back, desperate to return
to the realm of consciousness once more – to be with the one Man he
loved.
For several long minutes, Aragorn spoke to the Elf; speaking words
of encouragement and words of love. And throughout those long
minutes, the Elf responded to the Ranger's voice, his chest heaving
with each painful breath that was drawn into his lungs. Every minute
seemed to be an eternity as Legolas writhed under the agony
inflicted by the poison.
And then, mercifully, Gimli's heavy footsteps could be heard running
towards them. In his palm, he clutched an assortment of plants and
herbs. Quickly, the two friends started to work. Taking fresh water
from their water skin, they poured it into a metal bowl that they
had chanced carried with them. Gimli set the bowl on the fire and
toss in a measured amount of the herbs and waited for the water to
boil. Aragorn looked on anxiously, his arms wrapping themselves
possessively around Legolas, bending every now and then to brush his
lips against the Elf's forehead. A few unbearable minutes later, the
antidote was cooled and ready.
Picking up the bowl carefully, Gimli handed it to Aragorn. "He must
drink this. It will be foul to the taste but he would benefit from
it," he said. Aragorn carefully laid Legolas on the ground, taking
the bowl from Gimli. The smell that emitted from the concoction was
terrible and he dipped his finger into the warm liquid and tasted
it. Immediately he spat it out again.
"This is poison!" he exclaimed in dismay and made as if to toss away
its contents, but Gimli stopped him. "Nay! He must drink it. I know
a little of the ways of the Orcs for my people had long since had
trouble with them. They are cunning, and their weapons are laced
with poison that no antidote can cure. It is only with another
poison that the venom will be purged from his body and, hopefully,
the pain will lessen."
There was a long silence, broken only by Legolas laboured
breathings. "It must be done. Poison will thwart poison, Aragorn.
Trust me." Gimli entreated, his voice shaking with emotion. Aragorn
closed his eyes; his heartbeat seeming to drum in his ears. "So be
it," he said, his voice emotionless but when he opened his eyes
again, Gimli could see the fear and doubt.
Cautiously, Gimli propped Legolas against his chest, causing the Elf
to sit upright. His body seemed to be deadweight against the dwarf's
and Aragorn held the bowl to the Elf's lips. But the Elf was too
weary to swallow and the medicine dribbled down his chin whenever
the Ranger tried to pour it into his mouth. Gimli started to despair
before Aragorn tried another way of feeding the medicine to the Elf.
Taking Legolas into his arms, he lifted the bowl to his lips and
drew some of its content into his mouth. And then, he pressed his
lips to the Elf's cold ones, and slowly released the potion into the
Elf's unresisting mouth, careful not to feed the Elf too much at a
time for fear of him choking. "Do not swallow it, Aragorn," the
Dwarf cautioned as the Ranger repeated the process, putting his life
in danger to safe another. Such was the extent of love Aragorn had
for Legolas.
Finally the last drop of the antidote was given to the Elf and
Aragorn rinsed out his mouth with some fresh water. His eyes were
fixed intently on the Elf, his expression wary. "How do we know that
it will work?" he asked, his misgivings clearly seen in the blue
depth of his eyes. Gimli shook his head. "We know no such thing. The
Orcs' venom will kill him anyway if we do nothing. The only thing
left to do now is to wait."
A deep sense of fear seemed to uncoil itself at the base of
Aragorn's spine. "Wait? What for what?" The answer to his question
came swiftly as a hiss escaped from the Elf's lips and his back
arched frighteningly like a bow. "Hold him, Aragorn! It is the
medicine that is affecting him thus!" Gimli said, perspiration
beading at his brow as he strived to pin the bucking body to the
ground. Aragorn placed his weight onto the body that was trashing
about even more violently then before. It took both the strength of
Man and Dwarf to hold Legolas in place as tremors racked through his
body. The Elf's eyes were rolled so far back into the back of his
head that only the whites could be seen and his chest heaved in a
most alarming manner.
"Come on lad. Do not give up now," murmured Gimli as Aragorn spoke
words that were meant to sooth the Elf. It seemed to go on forever
until finally, with a piercing cry that was wrenched from his
throat, froth began to spew out from Legolas' mouth – its colour was
as black as night.
"Up she comes. There you go lad. Easy… Easy," whispered Gimli as he
turned Legolas onto his side as the poison proceeded to spill out
from the Elf's mouth. And then the trembling of his body suddenly
ceased – the Elf had become motionless, as still as Death. "Legolas,
come, my lad. Breathe. That's it now. It's alright," Gimli said, his
voice shaking with fear as he fought to get the Elf to sit up,
rubbing his back at the same time. But the Elf did not move, and his
body limp and pliant under the frantic administrations of his
friends.
Gimli and Aragorn continued to speak to the Elf, gently slapping his
face, stroking his back as if trying to rub life into his body. Just
when they thought all was lost, the Elf's back curved backwards
suddenly as Legolas finally gave a loud, shuddering gasp as air
filled his lungs once more. It was as if he were a swimmer bursting
to the surface from the depth of a deep pool that he had lingered
too long in. The last shivers raced down his spine before Legolas
slumped into Aragorn's arms, his chest moving up and down gently
with every breath he took. He was fast asleep.
Relief rushed to their hearts and the two friends allowed themselves
to give one another a shaky grin. Gimli sighed, fatigue showing in
every line of his face but his eyes were bright and happy now that
Legolas had braved the worst of his ordeal. He gave an unceremonious
snort. "I should have known that the Elf would be too stubborn and
too proud to die before me anyway," he joked as he burst out in a
rare chuckle. Aragorn just looked at the Gimli, his hand reaching
out to clasp the Dwarf's shoulder. "Thank you," he said simply, his
eyes telling the Dwarf all of what his tongue could not. And
suddenly they seemed to just realize that the day is filled with
colours and sweet sounds of the birds once more. It was a long time
before any of them spoke again.
**********
Legolas continued to rest throughout the whole morning and well into
the afternoon, drifting in and out of consciousness. The insides of
his body felt as it they had been scrubbed out with gravels. Every
now and again he would give a slight shudder as the reaction of the
chemicals in his body seemed to engulf his senses in pain, but they
were sporadic now, and more bearable. But always, always, he would
be aware of a figure next to him, gently wiping off sweat from his
brow and tenderly dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth
when the poison chanced to escape from his lips. Sometimes when the
pain seemed to be too much to bear, causing the Elf to moan, he
could feel soft, warm lips pressing against his brow and a strong
hand held his, stroking it lightly as Legolas lay down, inert, as if
in sleep.
Aragorn sat beside his love, his heart swelling with emotions. The
Elf was so beautiful and so perfect, even when he was at the brink
of Death. But that was a thought he refused to entertain. If Legolas
were to die then, he would have gone mad in his grief. He loved the
Elf. He admitted it freely to himself now as he trembled at the
thought of how close he was to losing his love. Carefully he lay
down on his side, next to Legolas. He drew the warm body close to
his heart and promptly fell asleep, his arm wrapped around the Elf
as if he could not bear to let him go…
**********
Aragorn's eyes snapped open. He wondered what was it that had
actually awoken him until he realized the cause – Legolas was no
longer next to him. He sat up drowsily and peered into the darkness
of the forest. It was nightfall and the wind was blowing gently
through the trees. Gimli was leaning against a tree, fast asleep,
snoring gently as he did – but Legolas was no where to be found. He
stood up, listening for the sounds of the Elf's footsteps or some
sign of where Legolas had gone off to. Slowly he wandered towards a
stream not far away from whence they slept. He knew not what drew
him there but when a sight greeted him, he suddenly understood…
Legolas stood knee deep in the midst of the running waters, a cloth
in his hand as he washed himself. He was naked; and the pale skin
seemed to glow with a soft light. His back glistened with droplets
of water, muscles rippling as he passed the cloth slowly but
thoroughly over the contours of his body. Aragorn felt his mouth go
dry and took an unconscious stepped from the safety of the shadows
towards the water edge. Legolas straightened his back, but he did
not turn around. Aragorn knew from the way the Elf held his back,
stiff as a rod, that his presence had not gone unnoticed. There was
a long but not uncomfortable silence.
"I have not thanked you for saving my life," came the voice, clear
as crystal but devoid of any emotion. Aragorn took a hesitant step
towards the water as if he feared that any sudden movements might
startle the still figure before him. "There is no need to thank a
friend, Legolas," he said, carefully matching the expressionless
tone of the Elf as he moved closer. He stood at the very edge of the
stream, unwilling to shorten the distance between him and the Elf,
but equally unwilling to turn back. Legolas' head turned slightly
towards the direction of the Man, and from an angle, Aragorn saw a
small but terribly sad smile upon his face.
"Legolas?" came the pained whisper. "Who is he? He longer exists. He
died when could not keep the promise he made." Aragorn was silent as
they both remembered the dispute they had at Lothlorien. `I will be
his salvation or `Legolas' no longer shall my name be' came that
angry echo in his mind and his heart constricted at the suffering he
heard in the Elf's voice.
"Boromir's death is not of your own doing, Legolas," Aragorn
murmured as he finally mustered enough courage to wade through the
shallow body of water and placed a hesitant hand upon the Elf's
shoulders. Legolas barely flinched at the touch but his entire body
began trembling with emotions that he no longer had the strength to
constrain.
"No? But where was I, Aragorn, when madness took him? Where was I
when he fell into the darkness that I had sworn to protect him
from?" he said, achingly, and when he turned to face the Ranger, all
the feelings that he had kept in check was laid out for Aragorn to
see. "Where was I," he asked again, his voice even softer and
quivering as if he was on the brink of tears, "Where was I, when he
fell to his knees, completely at the mercy of his enemy and my name
lingering upon his lips?" He spun around, his shoulders hunched and
head bowed under the weight of his guilt and sorrow.
"You were in his heart, right till the very last breath he took,"
the Ranger said quietly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from
Legolas as those shoulders began to shake with grief. "I failed
him," Legolas said, his voice now hollow, as if all that he had
lived for had been taken right out of his hands. It was as if there
was nothing left in his heart – nothing but the emptiness of a space
that he could never fill.
Aragorn stepped towards Legolas and gently but firmly turned him
around. He stared deep into those pain-filled eyes, and the love
that radiated from the Ranger was too much for the Elf to bear.
Legolas looked away, his lips compressed in a thin line. "Do not
love me Aragorn," he murmured as Aragorn took the cloth from the
Elf's limp hands and wrapped it round the curve of his buttocks.
"But it cannot be helped, for my heart only feels what it does… I
cannot stop myself from loving you," the Ranger whispered, his voice
strangely hoarse, as he held the edges of the fabric and slowly
brought the Elf against his body. Legolas closed his eyes as if he
were weary. "Then you must tell your heart what it already knows,
for I will never be able to return your love – not while I still
feel that I am bound to another." Aragorn leaned forward to kiss the
Elf's ear, running his tongue along its sensitive edges and Legolas
trembled with the sensation that it provoked in him.
"Then my heart must be mad for it will not listen," said Aragorn,
his eyes now locked upon the Elf's. Their eyes held for a long time
and then, with a soft sigh, Aragorn pressed his lips against
Legolas' in a tender kiss. Gently, he brushed his lips against the
Elf's, their breath mixing as he coaxed his lips apart. Aragorn
slanted his head and took Legolas' mouth whole, not giving himself a
chance to think, only to act in reaction to what the Ranger knew his
heart desires. The Elf tasted of his own unique essence – as sweet
as honey, thought the Man and in an instant, his body hardened
against the Elf.
Legolas stiffened and seemed to shiver away from the Ranger's
assault but the cloth that was around his hips served to imprison
him in Aragorn's arms. Each tug of the Ranger's mouth was pure
pleasure and as Aragorn bent his head to lay kisses upon Legolas'
neck, the Elf arched his back, his hand clutching the Ranger to him.
A tongue lashed against his nipples which had tightened in the cold
and Legolas let out an involuntary moan, his head tossed back in
helpless surrender. Aragorn stopped suddenly, and when he gazed into
the eyes of the Elf, his breath caught in his throat for they were
dark with awakened passion. What happened next was inevitable.
Within minutes, the two figures were on dry land, near the stream,
where Legolas had discarded his garments. Aragorn struggled with his
clothing, his eye fixed upon the Elf's hard arousal. When the last
item had been removed from his body, he stood before Legolas, his
breathing ragged and the evidence of his desire stood like an
exclamation point from his body. Legolas looked away, biting his
lips at the conflicting emotions that dwelled in his heart. But
Aragorn would not allow the Elf to attend to his thoughts.
Swiftly, he closed the distance between them and enveloped the Elf
in a crushing embrace, lips locked upon one another, tongues
tangling as Aragorn pushed Legolas down onto the soft ground beneath
them. The first sizzling contact of their erect members brought
about a hiss from Legolas and a groan from the Man. Aragorn
proceeded to torture them both by rolling his hips, their members
brushing against one another in a wicked rhythm, the friction
causing so much pleasure that their breath quickened with
anticipation.
Legolas grabbed onto those broad shoulders, his nails biting into
the Ranger's strong back and Aragorn began to give comfort to his
love the only way he knew how. It first began at the Elf's lips. The
Ranger's tongue darting out to lap at those beautifully sculpted
flesh, causing them to part; the breath that came out from them were
harsh. Aragorn kissed and licked his way down towards the one place
where Legolas needed him the most. And when he reached his
destination, he looked straight into the Elf's eyes. Legolas was
tense with expectation, his hips flexing and his eyes were glazed
with desire.
With a soft sigh, Aragorn placed the tip of Legolas' shaft into his
mouth and began his sensuous assault. Legolas' hip bucked repeatedly
in his desperate attempt to bring his member deeper into the hot and
wet mouth of the Ranger but Aragorn would not allow it. Grabbing
hold of those slim hips, he pinned it to the ground, effectively
quelling the restless movements, as his tongue and lips continued to
taste and nibble on the pulsating organ.
Legolas was delirious with need, his eyes shut and his head trashing
from side to side as he gritted his teeth to keep himself from
crying out his need. Hands replaced lips and Aragorn stroked him to
the brink of his endurance. "Estel…God… Please…" he gritted out, not
knowing what was it that he was really asking for. His hands groped
for some kind of anchor to prevent himself from being swept away as
waves after waves of delicious sensation seemed to wash over his
trembling body. Those hands then managed to latch itself onto his
clothing, clenching and unclenching it around the fabric.
Aragorn was gentle as he eased himself into the tight opening of the
Elf. `I only seek to give him the comfort that he needs,' he kept
telling himself, but when the Elf moaned aloud at the penetration
and started to move his hips frantically, all such thoughts were
erased from his mind as he bestowed all his heart, body and soul
onto this one fair Elf that was responding so sweetly to his
caresses.
Their hips moved in a rhythm that was as old as time. Aragorn's
hands played with the Elf's member, first stroking the hard shaft
and then tickling the tight sac under the erection. Finally, with a
cry of ecstasy, Legolas found his release as he reared up, wrapping
the Ranger in his tight embrace. The feel of the Elf body rippling
around his shaft pushed the Ranger over the edge and with a harsh
groan; he lost himself in the peak of his fulfilment. His hands
gently stroked the length of the Elf's body, as if seeking to dispel the remaining emptiness that remains in Legolas' soul.
Legolas fell back onto his clothing, his chest heaving with the
aftermath of the love making. Aragorn pressed soft kisses onto the
Elf's sweaty shoulder and murmured tender words against them. And
suddenly, he felt the Elf tense and shudder. He snapped his eyes
towards the Elf's and he saw the look of horror in them. Those
bright blue eyes were focusing on something the Elf held in his
hand. And when the Ranger turned to look at the offending item,
blood drained from his face. For in those hands, there was a
reminder of why the Elf could not submit himself to the Ranger. It
was a reminder of the Elf's devotion to the one person he could no
longer have. It was the lock of Boromir's hair.
"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, his voice hesitant as he propped himself
up on his elbows to get a better look at the Elf. His heart seemed
to break in two when Legolas started to shake. He disentangled
himself from the body and immediately, Legolas curled himself into a
tight ball, clutching the article to his heart, his eyes closed
tightly to stem the flow of tears. Aragorn moved away, his face
shadowed.
"Boromir, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Beloved. Please forgive me."
And with that, the Ranger grabbed his clothes and fled into the
night, running away from the one love that he could not have:
Running away from the pain of hearing those words that will haunt
his dreams forever.
"Boromir, I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
On to 'Eowyn'
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