… to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Shakespeare; Sonnet #131.

Most Precious, Chapter 7

Aragorn slept for a long while after his ordeal, but he did not sleep well. He tossed and thrashed, muttering and groaning beneath his breath. Legolas sat patiently at his side, singing softly and stroking the Ranger's brow when he seemed most agitated. At least the fever did not seem to be returning, or not in any significant measure.

When the Ranger quieted a little, the Elf got up and went out into the cold darkness outside the cave, gathering a bowlful of snow and listening carefully for any signs of life beside themselves. The wind had died completely and the snow had stopped, leaving the air crystalline and dry. It seized the breath from his throat, and turned it to ice before his face. Above him the sky was black and moonless, and the stars shone jaggedly against it, aloof and very far away. Legolas was not sure that any prayer to Elbereth, Queen of those stars, would reach her tonight across the vast silence. He began to doubt his hearing, so quiet it was, and he felt an absurd urge to cry out into the jagged mountain loneliness just for the sake of hearing a noise. But he refrained. The absence of noise did not mean no-one was listening.

He turned gratefully back into the shelter of the cave. Seeing that the Ranger slept peacefully for now, Legolas took a chair a little apart, and sat contemplating his patient, his new friend, his rescuer - and perhaps his lover? Though he had lived long and loved more than once, Legolas found himself startled by the depth of the feelings the modest, scruffy young man stirred within him. In his father's isolated kingdom, he encountered few mortals, and never, until now, had he met one so compelling. All the traditions of his people warned against loving mortals, and such loves were so rare that they were commemorated in tales, usually tragic ones. Legolas knew beyond doubt that it would be a very foolish idea to give his heart to this mortal. And, steepling his fingers thoughtfully in the flickering of the firelight, he admitted to himself that it seemed he had already done so.

Aragorn wrenched himself over on one side, a moan in his throat. Legolas moved swiftly to his side. "Mellon, how fare you?" he asked softly, but the Ranger was still asleep. Both his hands were thrust down his front under the rug that covered him, and the Elf was concerned that the wounded leg was paining him badly. He nudged aside the covering to see whether the bandage was holding. It was, but that was not what caused the Legolas' eyebrows to rise. Still in the grip of his dreams, the Ranger was very much aroused.

"Aragorn!" Legolas put a hand to the Man's shoulder, meaning to wake him gently. Like lightning, Aragorn's arms coiled around him, pulling the Elf down beside him on his makeshift couch; before Legolas could react, he was being rolled to his back, and Aragorn was devouring his mouth with kisses. Just as Legolas overcame his first shock and relaxed into enjoyment, the kisses stopped abruptly, and Legolas looked up into the Man's horrified gaze.

"I… I beg your pardon," gasped Aragorn, moving away quickly. He tried to get out of the bed altogether, but had to stop with a frustrated grimace when his wounded leg protested. Legolas seized his wrist gently and guided him back to his pillows, where he immediately turned his back to the Elf and put his face in his hands.

"You were asleep, then?" said Legolas, resting a tentative hand upon the Man's shoulder.

"Of course," replied Aragorn hoarsely. "I would never do such a thing…"

Legolas sighed, a little dramatically, and dropped to his back. "Am I so very repulsive?"

Aragorn rolled over and gave him an incredulous look. "You know you are not. It is only…"

"Yes?"

Aragorn found himself without words. There were so many reasons why it would be wrong… and yet none of them seemed to bear speaking aloud in the face of that pellucid blue gaze. And somehow one of his hands had found its way back into both of the Elf's.

"It is only the mandrake root," he said. "It ofttimes has that effect."

Legolas just smiled and shook his head slightly at him. "Have you promised yourself to another?" he asked. "Is that it?"

That, at least, was easy to answer. Only once had he even been tempted, and it had been made emphatically clear to him by his foster-father that ambitions so far above his mere mortal status were not permitted. "Nay," he said simply.

"Then our way is clear," said the Elf, sitting up on an elbow and bending his lips to the Ranger's. But Aragorn closed his eyes tight shut and turned his head. Legolas drew back and released the captive hand.

There were several minutes of painful silence. Then Legolas said, "I do not understand." There was honest dismay in his voice. "I desire you. You desire me. Neither of us is promised elsewhere. We are alone. Why do you … why do you turn from me?"

Aragorn bit his lip. "I cannot comprehend why you would desire a hairy, stinking, short-lived Man," he said, the bitterness of his own words surprising him a little. "And a debilitated one at that."

Legolas considered this for a moment. "Well, I do not choose to swell your head with all the reasons," he replied rather tartly, "but I do desire you. And what I cannot comprehend is why we are lying here discussing it." He reached a bold hand to the man's organ and discovered that there was still much interest there, at least.

Aragorn took a sharp breath and pushed the hand off. "My desire is…." He searched for a word. "Tainted."

"Tainted because you have hair upon your chest?" Disbelief rang in the Elf's voice.

"Nay, it is not that…" said Aragorn wearily.

A look of comprehension passed across the Elf's face. "Aragorn, when I woke you just now were you dreaming of what passed between us in the Witch King's lair?"

"Aye," confessed the Ranger. He turned to look Legolas full in the face. "I hurt you."

"Aye, you did. And it was necessary. And but a few hours ago, I too hurt you because it was necessary. It seems to me we are even on that score."

"It is not the same."

"Nay, it is not," replied the Elf gently. "Everything that happened in that place was under compulsion. There was, there could be nothing right about it, except your great courage, mellon-nín, and our will to survive."

"It was not the Witch King who compelled my body to react so, to revel in your humiliation and your pain…"

"I shudder to think of what would have happened if it had not," replied Legolas seriously. He turned and propped his chin on his hands, looking curiously at the Ranger. "Aragorn, how many winters have you seen? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-nine," Aragorn replied irritably. He had taken much teasing for his lack of years from his elven foster-brothers.

"No insult is meant," Legolas assured him. "But that is little time enough to explore the whole world and all the wonderful strangeness in it. I think you have not yet discovered that many people find others' pain or humiliation pleasurable in the context of desire, and many others find their own pain or humiliation pleasurable likewise. So long as both consent, and no lasting harm is done, it is not a tainted thing, but merely a different kind of delight that some of us are blessed by the Valar to experience."

"Some of us?" murmured Aragorn, obviously trying to understand. "Your body responded also … are you one of those who finds pleasure in pain?"

"In pain, or in the inflicting thereof; I delight in both," replied Legolas calmly. Aragorn's eyes grew wide and black at the knowledge. Ah, so that is how the wind blows, Legolas thought, and put the information away for some other time. "Or neither," he went on, "which is what I hope for now. Is it too much?"

For answer, the Ranger reared up and put a large warm hand on each side of the Elf's face, examining him as if he could detect any insincerity from the very colour of his eyes or the shape of his lips. Finding none, he fell back upon his pillow, opening his arms, and Legolas followed gladly.

As the Elf covered him, rubbing smooth skin avidly across the sparse, warm fur on his chest, Aragorn gave a little noise of discomfort despite himself.

Legolas sat up. "Now that is a kind of pain no-one can take delight in," he said, and carefully arranged cushions around and over Aragorn's leg so it could neither shift nor take a direct jar. As soon as he was done, Aragorn tugged gently upon one of the long braids, pulling him back, and murmuring, "But now you have me at a terrible disadvantage. I cannot make love to you; I cannot even move."

"Ah yes," smiled Legolas. "You are at my mercy at last, Human! How does it feel?" He flicked his braid out of Aragorn's grasp, and instead of lying down again, reached for the unlit lamp and coated his fingers with a generous amount of oil. The uncertain light from the fire gave only tantalizing glimpses of those fingers as they moved slowly down between Legolas' pale nether cheeks, and only the Elf's sudden sigh of pleasure told Aragorn of the moment he anointed himself. That sigh the Ranger matched a moment later when the same slick fingers found his unflagging organ.

"I told you, did I not, that your passion could never be rape between us?" Legolas asked, as he carefully straddled the Man's hips. "Let me show you."

And he did.

/-/-/

Night was falling once more when Legolas was awakened from light reverie to a sound of shuffling, not to mention curses in a variety of languages, at the mouth of the cave. "Stubborn as a mule - never was there a truer saying!" said the exasperated voice. "Move in or get out of the way, for you have three brethren who need shelter!"

Brego neighed indignantly as his spacious nook was suddenly crammed with four well-laden invaders. Aragorn sat up muzzily. It did not take Legolas' hasty lighting of the lamp for him to recognize their visitor.

"Gandalf!" he exclaimed.

"Mithrandir!" uttered Legolas at the same moment.

"Pleased to see you, lads, pleased to see you - woah there, you ill-favoured beast! I thought I might find you here."

Legolas paled slightly. "You did? Is this cave well-known, then?"

Gandalf grinned through his beard. "Maglint's den? Well, yes, I'd say it is well known to those in the know, if you know what I mean! It seemed a likely refuge."

"Will not the Witch King find us out here, then?" asked Aragorn, coming rapidly awake.

"The Nazgûl has worries enough of his own, never fear, dear boy," Gandalf responded breezily. Having settled his four mules to his satisfaction for the nonce, he proceeded into the main cave and settled himself rather breathlessly on their pile of rugs, averting his eyes from the sight of their nakedness.

"Have you two no garments?" he asked in an irritated tone, though there was laughter close beneath.

"In fact, I have none," admitted Legolas. "We fled in a hurry."

"And mine are in shreds," added Aragorn ruefully.

The old wizard chuckled. "I'm sure Maglint will not mind if you borrow a few rags," he said. "Try the crate in that far corner."

Moments later, the Ranger and the Elf were decked out in the finest velvet and lace, much to the amusement of all. Legolas was dissuaded only with great difficulty from adding a thoroughly splendid hat, complete with a long purple feather, to his outfit.

"Very well," said Gandalf at last, once the hilarity had subsided. "You are fit to be seen." He pulled Galadriel's Mirror out of the pack of the first mule, and without ado tipped the last of Legolas' meltwater into it.

"My faithful messenger." Galadriel's warm tones filled the cave. "You have found them, then."

"Aye, my Lady."

"And the treasures?"

"All accounted for, and ready for their long journeys home."

"The upstart Thraínn?"

"These clever lads deprived him of his power long enough for me to arrive. He was naught but a creeping worm, hanging helpless over the lip of a poisoned well, when I found him. I have imprisoned him in walls of bespellèd stone, deep within his own mountain. Unfortunately he will not expire, as we know, but it will be several dozens of years before he can find his way out and wreak mischief for the Dark Lord again."

Galadriel sighed. "Yes, we have thwarted the servant, but the master is still unconstrained. Still, you have done great service, Mithrandir. I thank you."

"Ah, most of the credit goes to these fine young fellows here. I merely mopped up the mess." Gandalf smoothed the ends of his long moustache.

"Thorongil." Aragorn jumped at the sound of the alias he was no longer accustomed to hear.

"Aye, my Lady." He moved into view of the mirror. Galadriel gave him an approving smile.

"I think Thengel King misses your company, my young friend. But he will have to spare you a little, for Mithrandir and I are entrusting you with the return of many of the treasures of the southern lands of Men. You have some interesting travels ahead of you, Ranger."

Aragorn - nay, he must start thinking of himself as Thorongil again - was gleeful at the prospect. "Thank you, my Lady."

"And Legolas."

Legolas stepped forward, feeling a little like an elfling summoned before his tutor. "Yes, my Lady."

"I have exchanged messengers with your Father. He looks forward to your immediate return to his Halls." Legolas bit back a smile as he realized his father's message was likely to have been more than a little peremptory. Then he reached for Aragorn's hand, realizing sadly that this meant they would part ways very soon.

"I am most grateful to Elbereth that you have all suffered no lasting harm," said the Lady, and her image faded gradually from the water leaving naught but their own reflections.

Aragorn limped over to the bed, grimacing slightly at the Lady's last words. Gandalf followed him with his eyes, and rubbed the knob of his staff thoughtfully against his lower lip.

"Thorongil," he said suddenly.

"Aye, Gandalf."

"I will have you know that this is very poor form on my part. The Valar do not approve. But I cannot have you limping around half Middle Earth." The wizard thumped the end of his staff once into the ground. There were no lights or fireworks. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get up, get up!" Gandalf went on impatiently.

Thorongil rose to his feet and first walked a few steps entirely without pain, then ran to the Wizard and flung his arms around him. "Thank you, Gandalf!" he cried.

"Yes, yes, yes," the greybeard said fussily, disengaging himself. "You are a good boy; it is the least I could do. Now even if nobody else does, I need to get some sleep. We depart at dawn tomorrow."

Silently the Elf and the Ranger set out a pair of rugs before the fire for themselves, yielding place of honour and the softest cushions for the wizard, who tutted greatly but accepted the favour. The animals having been fed and watered, the three of them settled for the night. Though Legolas and Thorongil lay apart at first, sometime in the night, when the wizard's snores rose as high as the smoke from the fire, Legolas insinuated himself into the Ranger's arms, and was pulled into a tight embrace.

Dawn came too quickly, with faint light and bitter chill. At Gandalf's insistence, they helped themselves to high boots and decadently warm coats of animal fur from Maglint's stock. Thorongil's half-voiced protest died upon his lips when he saw a quick flash from Gandalf's staff and heard the merry clink of numerous gold coins alighting upon the shelf at the entryway. "Satisfied?" grunted the wizard. Thorongil nodded his thanks. He was, after all, a great believer in honest commerce.

They took the long road, and slowly, Gandalf riding upon his lead mule, and Elf and Ranger together upon Brego. But still they reached the parting of the roads before the skittish winter sun quite disappeared. Gandalf developed a sudden fascination with the mountain scenery as the two dismounted to make their good-byes.

Thorongil drew his cloak around them both once more.

"Aragorn," started Legolas.

Thorongil hushed him. "It must be Thorongil from now on." Legolas nodded his acquiescence. "But one day," the Ranger went on, "one day you will announce me proudly to the world by my proper name." A smile curved the wizard's lips as the faint scent of Dúnedain foresight reached him on the bitter wind.

"We will meet again," said Legolas, resting his forehead against the Ranger's. "We will do all we can to accomplish it."

"I travel widely," replied Thorongil. "We will have many occasions, I am sure." By common consent, their lips met and they clung for a long minute.

"Stay well, my Ranger," whispered the Elf.

"And you also, mîr-nín [my treasure]."

Legolas blinked the brightness from his eyes, then turned resolutely away, and began to run, swifter than the wind, along the top of the snow-covered road to his father's kingdom. He did not look back.

Gandalf drew his mule up beside Thorongil and patted him gruffly on the shoulder. "Let's get these precious treasures delivered back to their owners then, lad," he said.

Aragorn's eyes were fixed on the small, swift dot approaching the confines of the forest. At length he replied, with a small sigh, "I think we have already delivered the most precious."

finis