Author: HathorC (email@example.com)
Category: First Time, Romance
Disclaimer: Sadly these characters are not mine.
Summary: Aragorn turns to Legolas for strength as they wait and prepare to wage battle at Hornburg.
Notes: Thanks to Michelle for the beta. This is my first attempt at writing for this fandom. Therefore any scraps of feedback would be greatly appreciated, especially with characterisation.
Legolas sat in the flickering shadows, his skilful hands fletching, allowing curls of silk thin wood to drift to ground. He listened to the dull echoes of fraught activity above with the patience of one born immortal. Within this melee of sound, one such noise sounded out with regular measure.
"Pacing will not hasten the passage of time," he said calmly, tipping his head to regard Aragorn.
Hooded eyes flashed as the Man slid his sword from its scabbard, testing the draw before letting the weapon slip back into its casing.
"There is so much to be done and yet not time enough to do it. This inactivity chafes me, Legolas!" Aragorn's fist sounded upon the stonewall of the ancient citadel in frustration.
"The hour will be here soon enough, my friend," the Elf remarked in a gentle tone. "Do not invite death to walk our walls before time."
Aragorn ran a bloodied hand through his unkempt hair. "They come, Legolas. Darkness and evil march upon Helm's Deep." The Man turned around to face his friend. "I fear Theoden may not be the King he once was. Many look to me to lead them into battle, or at least to ratify the orders of their king," he said in a half-whisper.
Legolas' sharp knife disappeared with a flick of nimble fingers; a half cut feather fluttering forgotten to the floor as the Elf stood.
"Many would gladly follow you into the darkness, Aragorn, even if they know not why."
"I do not ask for this!" came the pained reply. Aragorn turned to look at his friend, his voice dropping to a whisper. Eyes filled with anguish fixed upon Legolas. "I am not their king nor their leader. Who am I to command so many men to their deaths?"
A swift pale hand closed over Aragorn's sleeve, a gesture of reassurance from the Elf. "Death will come to many tonight, Aragorn, whether you command it or not. Will you not strengthen them with your words and actions? They look to you to tell them that this battle is not a forlorn hope."
"Hope is the only thing we have left." Faith tinged with desperation filled Aragorn's words.
"Then give it to these men. Imbue their souls with it, steady their sword arms and harden their hearts. I was wrong to doubt before that hope was not enough. This strength to stand up to be a leader and a king runs deep in your blood, Aragorn. I know this and I know you."
Aragorn sighed. "I think that deep down I fear that I may not be equal to the task, Legolas."
"I know, my friend. Would that I could help you in this and in all things."
"Your mere presence aids me, Legolas." A faint smile appeared on Aragorn's face. "As does that handsome bow you carry."
Legolas' elegant hand flowed up Aragon's arm to grasp his shoulder and he gave a rare smile. "Then it is a fine partnership we make."
A darker hand covered the Elf's pale one, fingers curling around the archer's palm. "It is a partnership that I value greatly, above all others. That much you must know." Aragorn's voice was low, pitched only for the sensitive ears of his friend.
"As do I," came the soft reply.
Aragorn's hand gently lifted Legolas' hand, intertwining their fingers as he brought it to his side. His free hand lifted to slide along the Elf's jaw to tangle gentle in the golden braids of his hair. Legolas leaned into the intimate touch, his eyes watching Aragorn with an intensity that the Man had not seen before.
"Prince of Mirkwood," Aragorn muttered in veneration. "My strength in the darkness that surrounds me."
In an instance Legolas had freed his ensnared palm, his hands enclosing around the Man's face as he pulled Aragorn's lips to meet his own.
The kiss from Legolas seemed to first shock and then warm Aragorn to the core. His arms encircled the Elf, snaking beneath the bow and quiver to pull the slender form against him. Belts and metal chinked against each other, but they went unheard by the pair. The sweet taste of Legolas and Aragorn's dark earthen scent seemed to increase the potency of the kiss for them both. Lungs laboured and tongues pursued.
A tug on Aragorn's hair forced them apart, causing the Man to arch his neck slightly. Legolas took no hesitation as he bent to feast upon the bearded skin. Deft fingers sought out the fastenings of the Ranger's tunic as Legolas drove them backwards to the nearest wall.
"Gods Legolas!" came the rough exclamation as cool fingers explored warm skin. Aragorn felt the lips pause and curve against his skin. The smell and taste of the Elf invaded his senses, accelerating his desire. Soft braids caressed across his exposed chest before delightfully punishing lips kissed him once more.
"You will rob me of my wits, Elf," he said hoarsely, pulling Legolas closer to him. The action caused hardness and heat to clash together, a groan issuing from both of them. This was an intoxicating chalice of which they could both drink oft and drink deep.
"I give you one more reason to live, Estel," came the low murmur, as bow and quiver hit the ground, quickly after followed by Aragorn's sword and cloak. Then with a tenderness laced with urgent desire, Legolas urged Aragorn to the ground to give his love freely in the short time that they had. It was a union borne of love and desperation. Two halves brought together and forged closer yet, binding heart, mind and soul.
As the arrows rained down from the sky and swords rang out their angry bites, the Heir of Gondor stole a look across to the Elf Prince by his side.
Their eyes locked and for an instance Aragorn found solace and strength amid a field awash with blood.
* The End *