Submitter: Pecos Date: 2005/12/29 Views: 3240 Rate: 7.00/10

“ I like men to behave like men – strong and childish.” -- Françoise Sagan


Legolas kept his feet well braced, stance wide and ready to move in any direction. He didn’t trust this strange Man. He’d been watching him most of the day, ever since becoming aware of his presence in the wood . It hadn’t been hard to find him -- the Man moved about as quietly as a gang of Orcs -- though he seemed to think that he was being very subtle. Legolas had approached him at last when it appeared that he was gathering wood to make a small fire.

“Hail, Man,” the Elf had called, a bit curtly, stepping into the open with exaggerated motion to cause as much noise as possible. He knew that Men did not like to think they were being stalked, and held the incorrect opinion that Elves were overtly stealthy. There were no impure motives in protecting the forest, or observing a situation before deciding your course of action.

The man moved clumsily, raising his fist in an obviously hostile manner. It took Legolas a moment to see that some small metal thing was clutched there, pointed quite rudely. He could smell the unnatural tang of it over even the waves of fear and old excitement gone stale that fairly radiated from the crouching Man. In fact, the Man utterly reeked of metal and noxious fumes, some of which Legolas had sniffed in the ‘City London’, and some which reminded him of the metal road coaches he’d ridden with Colin to arrive at this forest. How did this man think he would go unnoticed amongst the wood when he stank of corruption and burning? Even the trees recoiled.

The man was speaking to him, though Legolas knew none of these words. “I do not know your speech,” he told him, trying to remain polite when his nerves fairly sang with warning. Legolas patiently tried greetings in every tongue he knew, but none seemed to spark recognition in the Man’s angry, defensive eyes. He spoke again, louder, with growing forcefulness, waving his hand and groping a knife from his belongings. Rude, as well as smelly and unwelcome.

“Where come you from?” the Elf inquired, showing both palms in a placating manner. Perhaps he would just go back into the trees and watch this Man from a distance. If he could be trusted to tend his fire then the damage might not be too great, and he would likely move on with the rising sun in the morning. Men seemed to fear the dark, and it was oncoming. The angry retort was certainly unwarranted, and Legolas almost gave in to his instincts to tell him off.

“Legolas!” called Colin’s voice, urgently, some thirty or so paces away.

The stranger’s head swung, eyes wide, intentions clearly spoken in his features.

“I believe you have come here to cause harm,” Legolas said, ignoring Colin for the moment, but chagrined that he’d not caught his friend’s approach. This forest spoke to him only faintly, and with strange images, as if it had been addled in its long association with Men. It certainly knew little, if anything, about Wood Elves.

Colin was now speaking rapidly to the Man, moving through the trees. He apparently wanted to draw the stranger’s attention, and was doing so with harsh words. Colin was intervening where no help had been needed, likely in the assumption that Legolas was in some jeopardy from this person. The Elf narrowed his gaze and read the Man’s body and the shifting eyes. There was danger here in truth, mostly from fear and arrogance, but danger still, as well as fatalistic acceptance of death. He could feel Colin now through the trees, trying not to reveal too much of himself in the fading light.

“Legolas, enemy!” Colin said firmly. The Elf knew that word. He’d already surmised as much. “German!” Colin called, clearly frightened.

The enemy Man made to aim his threat at Colin, and Legolas moved forward -- not in attack, but to block and neutralize this menace in some way until Colin could explain things. The Man’s terror surged and there was a rending crack of noise. Legolas felt the hot burn of a wound in his thigh. His body responded more quickly than his mind, and even as the second burst of noise came he’d lunged. Until he understood the threat the Elf had no option of disarming and restraining. Colin was already rushing forward, and the need to protect his only friend in this place became paramount.

The Man’s neck was no stronger than a child’s, and snapped like a dry twig. Legolas held the angry face in his hands for a moment, apologizing for claiming his life as the spirit fled; then he let the limp body fall. Colin was behind him now, watching the scene with a fearful gaze. Legolas let his hand fall to the wound on his leg, feeling the muscles there clench in agony. He groped for the shaft of the arrow that pierced him, but there was none.

Blood welled from beneath the cloth, trickling down his leg as a wave of pain made the Elf’s gut clench. What was this injury he’d sustained? His questing fingers found another wound on the back of his leg as well. The projectile had gone completely through the meat of his thigh, leaving more damage on its exit than at the front. Colin paused to nudge the dead German Man, then grasped Legolas’ shoulders, seeking his eyes with fear and worry. Head reeling now with the unfamiliar pain, Legolas let himself lean into the Man’s grip, and the enfolding arms were welcome indeed.

Aragorn had a purpose now, and it energized him. His first mission was to master this language enough to be able to convey abstract thoughts and wishes. Marvin Jefferson Junior seemed more than willing to assist in this effort, introducing new people into Aragorn’s acquaintance, including a woman who evidently taught the young children of the city of Albuquerque in a special house. Her name was Rebecca, and she bore a no-nonsense, matronly air while wearing a wholesome maid’s body. Her hair was fair and reddish, and freckles blessed her nose and cheeks. She was as curious about him as he was about this place called America.

He also had to learn as much as he could about ‘Saul Harumann,’ as well as the lies and deceit which had brought the evil Wizard to this alien place. Saruman was in this world, which meant that Legolas might be as well – a hope that had nearly died in Aragorn’s heart. It also meant that there might yet be a way to return to his duties and destiny in Middle-earth, should enough of it remain after this passage of time.

After a particularly tiring day Aragorn feel asleep in the hangar, still fully dressed, stretched on the cot which Marvin had brought in for him. His body was limp in exhaustion, but his mind wandered far -- back past the horrors of battle at the Hornburg, the endless running of the plains of Rohan. Back before the wrenching loss of Boromir to the evil of the Ring, back to the last moments of respite he’d found in his troubled life.

He wandered in dream in the land of Lorien, with the voices of the Elves gracing his ears and easing the pain in his heart. He remembered seeking solitude there when the other members of the Company had fallen at last to exhausted slumber, moving through the blessed trees until he found a quiet grove and the darkness he sought to hide his own hurt. Legolas had come to him there, a presence of ancient calm and support.

“I would give you the comfort of the Elves, if you will allow it,” his friend had said softly, kneeling to cup the Ranger’s unkempt face in his strong, yet soft hands.

“There is no comfort due to me,” Aragorn had told him.

“Nay, there is not enough balm in all the woods to soothe your aching heart, son of the Dunedain. But take what comfort can be given, for whatever it yields. I offer you the love of those who cannot be here with you. Your foster father in far Rivendell, your brothers-at-arms from the North. Elladan and Elrohir, who love you much, and Arwen, who has pledged her heart to you, and who bade me see to your safety through all of this mission, to the very end -- whatever may befall our quest.”

The thought of Arwen’s devotion was enough to cause hot tears to course, and Aragorn let himself be pulled forward into Legolas’ warm embrace. The Elf enfolded him tightly, letting the grief run its full course, speaking soothing words and singing in sympathy with the voices of the Elves unseen in the trees far above. And when Aragorn felt emptied of at least part of his fear and grief, then Legolas’ lips claimed his in a surprising passion.

The comfort of the Elves was a glorious thing indeed.

They had been friends and comrades for many years, and Aragorn had always felt a keen fondness for the glorious Prince of Mirkwood. There had even been playful fondling and shared intimacies, but nothing like the gift of love bestowed on Aragorn that night. Legolas surrendered his strength and opened his heart for the Ranger, laying himself bare and vulnerable in more than just emotion. The lean, pale body fairly thrummed with heat and passion, and Legolas touched him so gently and intimately that he felt as though they had been lovers for centuries.

Aragorn had spent more than just his grief that night. He had given and taken in a concert of touch, need, and fulfillment, and when he’d finally slid into exhausted slumber he’d done so in the arms of a lover. He had awoken in those same arms in the light of a new day, and his soul had been replenished for the tasks and trials ahead.

Dawn came to New Mexico and Aragorn woke with the sunrise, his mind still lingering in memories of what had been given so freely that night, and the comfort and strength offered again in the days and weeks that followed. His body ached as well, but there would be no comfort for that until he was back in Middle-earth with the Elven archer at his side.



Colin did what he could with the German’s corpse, straightening his limbs and closing the unseeing eyes. Legolas claimed the knife, but wouldn’t touch the gun. Colin took the weapon and left everything else for the proper authorities to examine. He assumed that this was a downed pilot from one of the eastern raids, and if that was the case then men would already be out searching for him, and it would just be a matter of time. What they might make of the manner of his dispatch was something that Colin couldn’t spare time to worry about just then. He’d notify someone of where to look, but hadn’t made up his mind to say anything more. The last thing they needed was for someone to realize just how dangerous Legolas really could be.

It had been almost surreal how quickly and easily the lithe Elf had killed the enemy soldier. If Legolas had understood the danger of the gun he probably would have been able to avoid being shot as well. The second bullet had clearly missed him, so fast and efficient had been the attack. Legolas had been energized by the action, and was now clearly excited to have a weapon he understood, and likewise an enemy he could identify. Colin was certain that if they’d been anywhere on the continent there wouldn’t be a German left alive in the area by morning. But this wasn’t the time or the place to go looking for more trouble. He had to get Legolas out of the forest and somewhere to have the gunshot wound treated properly. That was going to be a major problem.

“Come on now, my dangerous friend,” Colin told him. “We have to get out of here, lad. It’s going to be a beastly dark night.”

The Elf was binding his own leg, staunching the bleeding efficiently. It might work for the short term. He turned sparkling eyes up to Colin’s face, and then grasped his shoulder firmly. Colin thought it was to assist Legolas in getting moving, but instead the Elf pulled the policeman toward him and brought their lips together. “Hannon le,” Legolas murmured, kissing him soundly.

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