Title: Darkness, Lies and Betrayal
Author: CheyenneDancer (cheyenedgr@aol.com)
Websites: http://www.slashcity.org/~cheyene/
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Darkness, Lies and Betrayal 4 - In the Deepening Gloom
By CheyenneDancer
Like a black stain upon the face of Arda, the mixed forces of Saruman and Sauron flowed into the meager protection of the forest. Anor, a pale bleached orb whose bright promise was leached by dark roiling clouds struggled to bring light into the wood, only to fail. It seemed as if even the blades of grass cursed the Orcs foul presence as they curled and blackened from the touch of the dark twisted creatures.
Even so, the Orcs cursed the brightness of day in their broken language, befouling the air with their black speech. Though they stayed within the confines of shadow, the morning made their tempers short and their voices snarl, as if the reminder of what they had been only served to infuriate them for their loss.
The hobbits, Merry and Pippin, were hustled along the forest floor; they had to scramble to retain their footing as the large brutish beasts pushed and chivvied them along. Merry stumbled and fell, gasping for breath and cried aloud in pain as an Orc grabbed him by his damaged shoulder, it's clawed fingers curling painfully tight against the still oozing wound.
"Oi!" Pippin shouted angrily, bringing his bound hands up to push at the mocking beast that shook Merry to his feet. "Leave him alone!"
With a casual disregard for any potential value the halfling might have for either Saruman or Sauron, the misshapen figure backhanded Pippin, sending the smallest of the hobbits tumbling head over heels until he came up against the bole of an huge tree with a solid thunk. Angrily, Merry swiped his bound hands into the fiend's groin as hard as he could, simultaneously biting the hand that dug into his shoulder.
Black blood welled up from betwixt the creature's finger and thumb and it howled its outrage, sending Merry flying to join Pippin with a savage kick.
Pippin blinked woozily, crawling awkwardly over to his cousin, "Merry? Merry? Are you well?" He shook the older hobbit, carefully paying attention to the wound and the rapidly appearing bruise on poor Merry's face. Merry groaned.
Aragorn jerked against the rope that tethered him to the Uruk-hai, struggling against his bonds. His charge to protect what was left of his tiny band a need so great it burned like the fires of Orodruin deep within his soul and was reflected in the grim light of his eyes.
Not too far ahead, the rope gripped tight in one clawed hand, Uruk-captain turned, its yellow beast's eyes gleaming ferally, it's thin lips drawn back in an annoyed sneer. With a powerful jerk of the taut line it used as leash upon the Dunedan, the Uruk-hai caused Aragorn to stumble and fall, the rope about his neck pulled tight and forcing the Man to fight for each breath of air he dragged into his lungs.
Still, the Ranger did not yield, but fought frantically against the rope binding arms and throat as he attempted to struggle to his feet and aid his friends. Turning, with an angry cry, Legolas broke from Boromir, slipping easily betwixt the ranks of undisciplined yrrch.
Boromir followed, grasping a bit of rope as he ran, the ease with which Legolas moved among the enemy underscoring the Man's fear that the Elf would, in the end, elude him. Though it was a matter of a few meters, Boromir found he could not close the distance between himself and Legolas. Milling Orcs barred the way, forcing Boromir to shove his way bodily through the stinking masses.
Legolas knelt by Merry and Pippin. With quick economical movements, barely hindered by the loose bindings circling his wrists, he checked the hobbits for injuries with gentle fingers and worried eyes. Satisfied, he rose with a steadfast grace. Before either Boromir or the Orcs could detain him, Legolas had moved with elven speed and agility to Aragorn's side. He leant his hands in support and aided the Dunedan to stand, loosening the tightened noose from where it bit deep into the Ranger's flesh.
Gasping for breath, Aragorn allowed the Elf to help him to his feet, though at what cost, could not be guessed save for the stern set of the Dunedan's jaw. The Ranger raked Legolas with a dark look. The Elf quickly dropped his hands from Aragorn as if burned by a living brand.
Lowering his eyes to the ground, Legolas gave no protest when Boromir pulled him roughly away. The Elf spoke quietly to the Son of Gondor, his voice barely heard above the din of angry Orcs and the bellowing of the Uruk-hai. "If you have it within you, yet, Boromir. Do not let them harm the halflings. Of us all, they are innocent and should not be a part of this."
Boromir shoved Legolas behind him, directing an angry glare towards the commander of the unholy legion. The Uruk-hai raised its heavy head slowly, its evil eyed gaze raking Boromir in dismissive challenge. Alien thoughts moved behind the cold yellow gaze touching Boromir again with a sense of unease.
With sharp bitten off words, Boromir addressed Saruman's foul lieutenant, "Your master wants the hobbits well and whole. Untouched were his words! You and yours have all ready failed him once, for the ringbearer is not among us. It would be well if you kept your mongrel motherless beasts under control."
The creature strode with a ponderous grace until it stood chest to chest with the Man from Gondor. Jutting its face forward, its stinking breath warming Boromir's face, "Mind your own, Man." With a solid unblinking glare, it spoke in the Dark Tongue, commanding his troops.
When two of the creatures had pulled a protesting Merry and Pippin into their arms, the Uruk-hai glanced over Boromir's shoulder to where Legolas stood. With a fang-filled grin, it tangled its talons in Aragorn's hair, yanking the Dunedan around and pushing him forward.
It cast a slanting glance at Boromir, "Camp." It waved vaguely in a direction towards the south, "There is a place, there, half day's journey. We move again at night. Faster."
Boromir gritted his teeth, the very creature setting him on edge. He could see no reason to deny the beast's request, though he wished to throw it back in its face as denial. But he had made this bargain and now would see it through to whatever bitter end it may portend.
Whirling on the Elf, Boromir wrenched Legolas's arm painfully, eyes flashing fire, "You are never to run from me again." He shook Legolas sending the elf's braids flying about his fair face as his head snapped back. "Do you hear?"
Pulling from the Man's grasp, Legolas drew himself up proudly. Though he would not glance at Aragorn, it seemed his words were aimed more at the Dunedan than the Son of Gondor as he spoke in low clear tones, "I do only that which must be done."
Boromir colored. "We shall see about that." With a quick movement, Boromir swept the surprised Elf's feet out from under him, tipping him to the ground. Quickly he fell atop Legolas, turning him and pinning him face forward in the dirt. Straddling the angry elf, Boromir took a loop of rope and quickly knotted it, hobbling Legolas's ankles.
Standing, Boromir pulled the flushed Elf to his feet. An angry Legolas was breathtaking in his fury.
The pale cheeks were spotted with high color, the blue eyes were dark and storm drenched, his lips were pulled in a tight line and his fists clenched spasmodically about the small length of rope hanging loosely between his wrists. Outrage laced the silver tones as Legolas snapped, "This would not hold me should I wish it otherwise."
Boromir could not resist touching his fingers to one dirt smudged cheek and brushing it lightly with his thumb. A sad smile hovered about his lips as he looked at this jewel he held within his grasp, wondering how he could bear the thought of losing it, wondering how he could keep it. He spoke in a hushed voice, filled with reverence. "Such beauty and spirit. All I ask is that you share it with me."
Legolas shook Boromir's hand off, his hair flying in a tangled golden mass about his face, he stalked away from the Man, his steps, perforce shortened. "You ask too much, Son of Gondor."
Snarling, Boromir caught up with the Elf, clamping his fingers around Legolas's upper arm, he dragged him about to face him. "Do not make me leash you. For I have no compassion for your dignity or your nobility."
"You would not dare!" The elf's indigo eyes glittered with a dangerous fire as they latched upon Boromir's muddy green glare.
"Do you seek to challenge me in this, Legolas?" Boromir spoke with deadly quiet intent.
The small band of Orcs about them seemed to be listening and the Uruk-hai made no secret in its interest in the outcome of the heated exchange, flat expressionless face watching the twain with fierce concentration.
Though it was apparent that Boromir's words flayed Legolas's elven pride, the Elf's stance straightening as he fought with himself. It was no easy thing for Legolas to yield time and again.
Boromir courted the angry fire he beheld within the elf, desiring to draw it out into battle, a battle that he had every intention of winning. He delighted in raising his hand and brushing the dirtied strands of hair back from the high-cheekboned face and watching the flash and flare of Legolas's eyes. He grinned mirthlessly as he added, "You are not the only one I hold that can be punished for your disobedience to my will."
Legolas faltered, "You cannot use him to ensure my continued good behaviour."
Grimly determined, Boromir tilted his head meeting the furious eyes. "No?"
In the end, Boromir won, as he knew he must. Defeat curved the Elf's shoulders and he seemed to pull in on himself, somehow his light diminishing. Legolas veiled his eyes with his lashes, as if seeking to hide that which warred within him from the Man's unwavering gaze.
With Legolas's capitulation, the group once more moved forward. The Orcs caused no further harm to the halflings, though an occasional grunt or sharp pained cry could be heard as the hobbits were handled carelessly. Aragorn remained grimly quiet, his eyes moving over the company restlessly.
His vigilance did not escape Boromir's notice and Boromir found himself, once again, wondering about the nature of the man who could have been king, but for Boromir. That Aragorn would die to protect the little ones was in no doubt, that if the opportunity arose, Aragorn would rise up and strike Boromir dead, was also no longer in doubt.
There was no hatred burning in the fire of Aragorn's gaze, just grim determination. That Aragorn would have preferred an honourable death in battle to save his friends, moved through Boromir and shamed him that it was his fault it was not so. And the Son of Gondor sought to lie that at the door of the Elf, as well. For if it had not been for Legolas, then none of this should have transpired.
It was something akin to relief, when the Uruk-hai once more strode to the fore, pulling Aragorn along on the leash like a disobedient mongrel, so that Boromir no longer had to meet the calm, deadly gaze.
Hours faded, fleeing into shadow, Anor sailed high across the blue of the sky rays burning through the covering cloud until the Orcs were crying out with discomfort and dismay, even hidden beneath the branches of the wood as they were.
Signaling for camp to be made, the Uruk-captain called a halt. The hobbits were tossed heedlessly to the ground. The grunts and snuffles of their captors creating a discordance within the wood that rankled upon Elf, Hobbits and Men alike.
Pippin huddled close to Merry, tucking his head on his shoulder, his bound hands linking about his knees. Merry whispered quietly to his younger cousin, his heart near breaking and a fervent wish that he had forced Pippin to stay behind in Imladris whilst there had been a chance. Merry watched Legolas and Aragorn, but no sign came from them and he kissed Pippin's cheek, wishing his arms were free so that he could hug him close.
The Uruk-captain pushed Aragorn to the ground, not caring whether the man was hurt in the fall. With swift unstudied movements, it took the excess rope it had been using as a leash and bound Aragorn's feet. Aragorn gritted his teeth, eyes angry slits and remained still, his back painfully arched. Blood could be seen seeping from his damaged side through his torn clothing.
Legolas stood still, staring bleakly off into the distance.
"Why are we stopping here? We have not made nearly as good a time as we should."
Scowling at the Man that was little more than an irritant, the Uruk-hai growled in its shattered voice, "Who's blame is that, Man?"
Boromir frowned, but at glance at the pale and exhausted faces of the hobbits swayed him where nothing else might and he bit back any further protest. Without further ado, he bade Legolas follow, for he would not leave the Elf admidst such rough company. Not with the leering glances and half veiled challenges that had been issued among the Orcs, nor with the steady lust-filled gaze of the Uruk-hai leaving Boromir in no doubt as to the Elf's fate, had Saruman and he not come to an understanding.
"You could help gather firewood, you know." Boromir spoke to the Elf in irritation.
Legolas's glance flickered over him quickly and away. Without word, he began to stoop and awkwardly gather bits of wood and dried twig. Sighing in his frustration, Boromir thought he would rather have Legolas spitting fire and venom than this quiet accusation.
It was but a moment's time for Boromir to have a small fire going. Boromir mixed water and dried strips of meat and vegetables in a small metal pot he balanced on branches slung low over the flames. The scent of shepherd's stew wafted through the encampment and Pippin lifted his head sniffing the breeze like a starving puppy.
It was easily seen that the company did not trust each other. For though Boromir was in their midst, the Orcs and Uruk-hai shared their own firepit. Cooking strips of half-raw flesh that made Boromir's stomach curl from the smell.
When Boromir motioned for him to sit next to him, the Elf did with a stiff grace that underscored the unquenchable anger burning deep within his heart. Boromir sighed, fighting down disillusionment and hurt. He gathered plates and scooped some of the watery stew onto metal plates and handed one to each of the hobbits with a bit of hardened trail bread.
Merry stared at him distrustfully, taking the plate and staring at it as if wondering if there should be some poison hidden therein.
"It will not poison you, you know. You liked my cooking well enough before. I do not think the day has changed it any."
"Why not? It changed you." Merry spoke in grim hurt tones.
Flinching, Boromir turned away, squatting down next to Pippin. "Pippin? Here, little one, you need to eat to keep up your strength."
Pippin gave Boromir a watery smile, taking the plate from him with a soft murmured 'thank you'. Boromir ignored Merry's glare as he gave Pippin an encouraging smile and ruffled the dark locks. "It will be alright."
Large green eyes looked up at him mournfully, "How can it be, Boromir? How can it ever be right again?"
His own heart hurting, Boromir turned from the hobbits, ignoring the mocking grin of the Uruk-hai sitting across from them. He glanced at Aragorn, and would have ignored the Ranger altogether save for the expectant looks and silence of the halflings. Grudgingly, Boromir handed the Uruk-hai a plate to feed Aragorn; for it looked and smelled like whatever the Orcs were eating would make a man ill.
When the Uruk-hai unbound Aragorn's arms so that he could feed, the man's limbs fell uselessly to his side. A swift inhale the only indication of painfully returning circulation to deadened extremities. Boromir ignored them, trusting in the twisted creation of Saruman to keep the Ranger under control. Aragorn took the plate in visibly shaking hands and began to sop up the stew with the bread, following Merry and Pippin's lead.
Returning to where Legolas yet sat, as unmoving as the statues of the Argonath, Boromir knelt, offering the Elf a plate of food.
Legolas frowned slightly and shook his head in refusal. "I do not hunger."
"You must eat. I do not know much of elves, but I am sure even your hardy race cannot do without food or drink."
Canting Boromir a aloof look, Legolas murmured softly, "You are right, Boromir. You do not know much of elves."
Clenching his jaw, Boromir tossed the plate at Legolas's feet, splattering the trail worn boots with the weak gravy. He grabbed Legolas by the chin, forcing the Elf's face around, "You will eat, Legolas. Or no one shall. Not Merry. Not Pippin. And certainly not Aragorn. This I promise you, they shall only eat or drink whatever and however much you force yourself to choke down." Boromir shoved his face forward until he could feel the Elf's sweet breath fanning his face erratically. "You will not be allowed to starve yourself. I did not go to all these lengths to end up with a dead consort."
Paling, the Elf cast his glance about the small company, as if taking count of his friends.
"If... if... Legolas isn't hungry, then I am not." Pippin chirped up, sitting straighter and trying to look brave.
"Fine." Boromir made to rise and Legolas lay a hand upon the Man's wrist, feeling the stiff-tooled leather of Boromir's bracer beneath his fingers.
"I will eat."
Boromir handed Legolas the plate once more watching as the Elf dipped his bread in the stew and began to nibble disinterestedly.
Legolas kept his eyes implacably upon the food in his hands, juggling it with difficulty to get it to his mouth.
In desperate misery, Pippin's youthful voice broke the fragile silence. "Why, Boromir? Why did you do this to us? Why are you doing this to him? I--don't understand."
Boromir looked across at Merry and Pippin, firmly keeping his thoughts averted from their eventual fate. He forced himself to dwell only on what was happening now. How he could protect them and yet achieve his desires, now. He licked dry lips, framing the only answer he had, one that he hoped, yet knew, would not redeem him in their eyes. "Because I love him. And 'tis the only way in which he may be bound to me."
Pippin stared at him, eyes large and hurt with disbelief. "How can you love him and hurt him so? I do not understand."
Voice cracking with anger, Merry yelled, "That has *nothing* to do with love!"
Moved more by rage than reason, Boromir rose, striking Merry to the ground. A small trickle of blood wound its way from the little hobbit's mouth and Boromir felt a little bit of himself die. Reaching out with his hand, whether to offer help or beseeching forgiveness, he did not know though Boromir's voice was thick with confused and pained emotion as he saw what he had done, "Merry--I..."
Merry scrambled back from Boromir, distrust tantamount in his wide gaze.
Running his hand distractedly through his hair, Boromir's eyes darkened as he watched Merry's rejection of his aid and plea. He seemed to struggle with some savage possession before his mouth firmed into a grim line. Eyes glinting like chips of ice, he spoke in a cold, hard voice. "I suggest you eat what you can, while you can. The Dark Lord's plans may not allow for full bellies or many more nights of rest." So saying, Boromir turned away from the halflings, ignoring the hurt that seemed lodged permanently within his heart.
"You do not love him. You know nothing of love. Your actions speak of your ignorance, Boromir." Aragorn's quiet implacable voice cut easily through the cacophony of the Orcs. He raised his head from the plate in his hand; jaw squared and eyes challenging.
Boromir looked angry enough to flay the Ranger alive. Legolas sat up straighter, brought roughly from his inner turmoil by the sudden danger he perceived hovering wraithlike about the Dunedan. "Estel... " He lapsed into quiet as both Boromir and Aragorn gestured angrily.
Two steps brought Boromir to Aragorn's side to stare down at his rival. His defeated rival. By all that was holy, he should not still have to fight for the cursed Elf's affections! He had won--Aragorn was cast down. Why didn't Legolas understand?
With meditated cruelty, Boromir struck Aragorn across the face. "Why you?" He hissed, his voice filled with venom and hatred, "Why do *two* of the Fair Folk offer up *all* that they are for you? A mere Ranger and an Exile by choice! You turned from the path long ago! It is not fair! Why cannot he turn to me?" Boromir raked Aragorn with a look of utter scorn and loathing, "You want him not! By rights, he should be mine. He *is* mine, whither he acknowledges it or not."
"You cannot lay claim to his heart, Boromir. He does not love you. He can never love you."
Boromir turned from the quiet lilting voice of the Ranger, heated gaze focusing on the Elf who had half-risen to his feet, wary gaze watching him as if he were his enemy. "It is your fault, you know. If you were not so cold and unfeeling, cruel and heartless as the stars above, I would not carry this pain in my breast."
Rising to his feet fully, Legolas waited, shaking his head in denial of Boromir's words. "I neither taunted you nor promised you."
"How can you say that? How can you stand there, looking as you are, bright and untouched as the snow upon Caradhas? You are painful in your beauty and I, a mere man, helpless before you! I give my heart to you and you throw it in the dust!"
"I neither sought nor asked for your heart, Boromir. I am sorry if..."
Boromir wound his fist in Legolas's hair, jerking the Elf roughly to him. He circled the slim waist with one arm, angry eyes traveling over Legolas possessively. "Why can you not love me, Legolas? Why?"
Stiffly, Legolas stood passive within Boromir's grasp, though by the skin pulled taut about eyes and mouth, it was obvious he was unhappy. "You cannot order my heart by simple decree. I would not have willingly chosen to love a mortal whose span is but a moment in my life. Think you, then, that I *wish* to dwell in sorrow for all my long years? To be condemned to wander lonely through dark and shadowed wood when my love has passed through to Mandos' Halls? 'Tis madness and folly for an Elf to love a mortal man. If it were possible to gainsay my heart, I would."
With savage disregard, Boromir yanked Legolas's head back at a painful angle, exposing the length of pale throat to the Son of Gondor's ardent gaze. Boromir's voice was threaded with grim determination as he held Legolas bent in an agonizing bow against the Man's body.
"If I cannot have you as my helpmate and consort, I *will* have you as my whore. There is no question in *my* mind that you are mine. If you have any doubt, then I have been remiss. And I shall remedy this now."
Legolas strove to throw Boromir off of him, even hobbled and bound as he was, eyes snapping their fury and promise of deadly reprisal as Boromir shoved one leg roughly between the Elf's thighs threatening to topple them both to the ground. "I am no man's whore!" The Elf's vehement denial struck Boromir like a black-fletched arrow.
"Oh no, sweet prince?" Boromir's voice was mocking as he kissed the white expanse of throat sucking hard to leave his mark upon the Elf's blemishless flesh. "Do not lie to yourself. You sold yourself to me for the price of the Dunedan's life. You sell yourself cheap, at that! That makes you little more than a precious bauble to me, to be used and cast aside as the mood takes me."
Pushing Legolas back a few paces, Boromir raked his muddied green gaze over the slender figure from head to toe and back again, lingering upon the bruise that bloomed dark across Legolas's throat. "Disrobe."