AFTERTHOUGHTS
Missing scene from ''The Bitter Gift of Compassion''
by Soledad Cartwright

Disclaimer: still not mine. Obviously.

Rating: NC-17, just to be on the safe side

Author's note:
While writing the ongoing Boromir storyline, I became interested just what might have happened between him and Elladan on that fateful night that got their fates bound together for eternity. This is not about the physical part, obviously. I am interested in the emotional ramifications of this encounter, and while certain descriptions were inevitable, I tried to keep them as little graphic as I could.

If you only want to get all hot and sweaty, please go away. There is enough mindless smut for you to devour elswhere. If you never read anything else from me, nor do you intend to do so in the future, don't bother to read this. It won't make any sense to you. This is not a PWP but an integral part of a very intricate web of different storylines, and I don't want to be read simply to satisfy anyone's hormonal overload.

There is a beautiful picture to this chapter has been made by my generous and talented artist friend, Hope Hoover. You can see it on the ''Star-crossed'' page, which is my Boromir-Elladan gallery.

Okay, if you are still with me (even if a little annoyed), then be my guest and read on!

* * * * * * * * * *

Hundreds of years ago, on a sunny afternoon during Coirë1, the Prince of Mirkwood was sitting with me high upon one of the many balconies of my father's house, and we were talking about fate. Close at age - in Elven terms at least -, Legolas and I had always been close friends, as close as a Peredhil2 and a Wood-Elf ever could be, but he had some deep, almost uncanny wisdom in his heart, mayhap an inheritance from his mother who had the foresight, that made me feel like a child in his company.

We talked about our families, the cruel turns of fate that took soo many of our beloved ones untimely to Mandos' Halls or - in the case of my mother - chased them over the Sea to seek healing; then we spoke about the gift of love that often comes unexpectedly and consumes the heart like an unquenchable hunger.

Only a mortal lifetime or two had passed back then since Legolas came to our valley from Mirkwood to heal our father who was fading away from grief over the departure of Mother, and I asked him whether he had ever hoped to find a place in Father's heart or had thought that some day they would become lovers.

It was a silly question, I know, but he did not mind. He only laughed merrily (though at that time I already had learnt to read the sorrow beyond that lyrical laughter), and said in his usual, easy manner:
''Few can foresee whither their road will lead them, till they come to its end.''

Back then I thought Legolas was only avoiding a direct answer. Now I know that he shared with me the most profound truth about life and love. For who, indeed, would have thought that I would fall for a mortal Man so deeply that I would give up everything for him and expecting naught in exchange - naught but his acceptance.

* * *

From the very moment on Arwen had pointed him out to me among the guests of many peoples who filled the great hall of my father's house, I wanted him.

Noble and kingly he seemed to me, clad in black leathers and deep burgundy red silks and royal blue velvets; yet his rough beauty outshone even his rich attire. His locks, shorn over those broad shoulders, seemed dark in the shadows of the hall; yet they gleamed golden in the sunlight like the helms of Elven warriors in the Elder Days.

A big man he was, even if an inch or two less tall than Estel, with big bones and heavy muscles, a broad chest and a lean waist - yet what caught my eyes first, before all his other bodily attributes, were those beautiful, strong thighs that could have broken the back of a great war horse.

I imagined lying between them, and the mere thought nearly made me lose control. I knew he would love me hard and well.

I had not been ravished by a Man for several mortal lifetimes, and I longed for it. Sure, I had lain with the skilled and passionate males of Lórien every time I visited my grandparents, but Elven lovers always left me unsatisfied. I needed the rough hands of mortal Men on my skin, their harsh, hungry kisses all over my body, their rough love bites and their hard, desperate loving.

They always tasted of blood and tears - and I longed for that taste, for it made me *whole* again, less and Elf who cannot blend in with his own people and more a Man who just happened to be brought up as an Elf, like Estel.

Yet sometimes even Estel seemed more at home among my own people than myself.

So I decided to make my move on the Heir of Gondor and warm my empty bed with his mortal passion - with his hard, strong body. And I made my move, indeed, and it was surprisingly easy to seduce him, for he reeked of desperate need and probably would have gone with any one who promised him release.

I took him to my bedchamber, where we could be undisturbed, and he came with me tamely like a lamb; yet I knew I was dealing with a dangerous creature here and coud easily get hurt if I did not handle him with care. He never took a male lover before and was certainly scared - and very, very aroused, as the tightness of his leggings confirmed.

I kissed him again, parting his hard lips with my tonge and sliding inside his mouth. He shivered with need, grabbing my hair roughly and taking control. I let him and enjoyed being thoroughly kissed. He seemed a little unused to this, though not completely so, but his need guided him, and soon I found myself wrestled down on my own bed, with my hands pinned down on both sides of my head, and one of those well-muscled thighs between mine, rubbing against my rapidly hardening groin.

I was prepared to be taken, without preamble, without any preparation, by force if I resisted, so desperately the need in him burned. I decided to let him take what ever he needed from me, even if he would rough me up badly, for I understood that this was the only thing he ever knew - and his raw desire made me feel so *alive* I never felt when lying with Elves. Not even with other mortal lovers before.

But just as sudden as he had begun, he broke up his assault and fell heavily aside me, hiding his face in the pillow.
''Forgive me'', he rasped hoarsely, ''I lost control.''

I laughed and rolled him back again, so that I could look into his dilated eyes. He was mad with desire - and so was I.
''That is the whole point of this exercise'', I said, opening the front of his tunic and shirt so that I could explore his chest with my fingers, lips and tongue; ''to make you lose control.''

He arched into my touch, gasping, but his brows were still knitted in a worried frown.
''You would not like me on the lose'', he said breathlessly. ''I can become rather... violent at times.''
I smiled and bit down gently on one hardened nipple, making him hiss with pain and pleasure.
''Try me.''

But he only moaned under my touch, still not ready to let go of his precious control, and, as I came to learn later, fearing that he would, in his limited experience, hurt me. Even though I am more massively-built than Elves in average (at least the ones of these later times), I still did look fragile to him.

Well, I *could* show him how wrong he was, and I intended to do it, too, for by then, I wanted him so badly that it hurt. As I said, I had taken mortal lovers before, but never in all the thousands of years of my life had I love someone as-yet untouched. Knowing that I would be the first to enter his beautiful, strong body, only fueled my desire.

He glared up to me, glassed-over eyes turning deep blue with want, cheeks flushed.
''Let me see you!'', he gasped.

I nodded and shrugged off the several layers of heavy ceremonial robes that kept me confined, and I felt his eyes roam my skin like liquid fire. All my mortal lovers found me beautiful, which was part of why I seeked them out all the time - I am rather plain for an Elf, compared even with my brother, no matter how much alike we seem for the untrained eye, not to mention the wild, alien beauty of Legolas Greenleaf, yet mortals always took a liking in me. They would admire Elves - especially the likes of Legolas - from afar, but they truly and madly desired *me*, for I was the only one they could connect with.

I crept up to my bed again and went on the task to undress this Man whom I intended to ravish and by whom I intended to be ravished. Elbereth, he was beautiful! All those hard muscles I already imagined beneath the layers of his clothes were now laid free, and I simply could not look my fill.

I parted those strong thighs and went on kissing and biting the inside first one of them, then the other, still avoiding to touch his groin, until I wanderd off to the underside of one thigh, biting down hard on the area where the thigh ended and even more desirable flesh began. I must have hit a hot spot, for he almost jumped off the bed.

The I returned kneeling between his thighs again, trailing my hands over my own torso, making him tremble beneath me. From the sight of his flushed body I decided that he was ready for being breached.

Slowly, deliberately, so that he could have no doubt what I was about to do, I took the small vial of honey-scented oil from the nightstand and coated my fingers. He parted his legs further for me and leaned up on his elbow to watch me.

Our eyes locked for a moment; he nodded, and I eased a finger inside him.

It was not easy to breach him for he was very tight, unused to such intrusion, and I did not want to hurt him. I gave him time to adjust to the unusual feeling, holding my hand still, till he began to move slightly against my hand, all the muscles in his taut stomach tensing, head falling back and hands clasping the sheets tight. I eased in another finger, smiling lightly at the strangled moan that escaped his arched-back throat and seeing how painfully hard he already had become.

''Tell me what you want'', I said softly, admiring his sweat-covered face as the waves of pleasure rippled over his flesh.

He raised his head again to look at me, and I could see that he was already far beyond coherent thought.
''Take me!'', he gasped, barely able to catch his breath. ''Take me, Master Elf! I am yours.''

''Oh no'', I laughed, carefully massaging his velvety inner walls, ''not yet. You are still so tight I would hurt you badly - or myself.''

For though I was no bigger than any well-endowed man, I certainly was larger than an average Elf, built more like mortal Men, which my Elven lovers always found exciting. Yet my spear had an arrow-shaped head as it is common by Elves, which would have torn up his too-tight opening badly if unprepared.

Therefore I worked on loosening his entrance a little longer, and since my fingers are long, I finally found that sweet spot hidden deep in his body.

He gripped me with his strong inner muscles - so strong they were, indeed, that for a moment I feared hewold break my fingers -, his body ached up, tense as a freshlyy-astrigned bow, his head threashing on the pillow. He was very, very close; so I bent down and took him in my mouth. Oh how I had hungered for this moment!

He tasted as mortal Men always do: of blood and tears.

I continued stroking him inside his body, hitting the pleasure spot again and again, and finally he went over the edge and his taut body opened up for my spear. I gently pushed his knees wider apart, creating a more comfortable kneeling space for myself, and wrapped his strong calves around my waist.

Then I looked down upon his strong, beautiful and very exposed body, trembling under my every touch, and we locked eyes again.
Mine were dark with lust, I knew, even without having to see them, but his...
Every grey tone was gone of his eyes; deep blue they were, like the magic lamps of the Noldor that had not burnt anywhere since the fall of Gondolin, and full of yearning.

Yet there was something else in those passion-inflammed eyes.
There was trust.
Trust that I would not hurt him, even if this was the first time he gave himself to a male lover.

And there was shame.
Not for laying with another male; I believe he had accepted his nature long ago, even if he considered it a fault.
He was ashamed to take what I was about to give him.
He was ashamed to be weak enough to accept comfort from any one but from his beloved.

And there was loneliness.
Utter, desperate, bone-deep loneliness, without the hope that one day it would end.
He needed what I could give him so desperately.
The comfort of flesh, to warm his freezing soul a little.

And I was one of the very few who could give it him.
For here he was not the Heir of the Ruling Steward, nor the Captain-general of Gondor's forces, who always had been watched, even by his own father.
Here he only was the Man I wanted. No more and no less.
I could barely believe the freedom this simple fact gave him.

''Take me'', he said again, in a deep, hoarse voice that laid his very soul bare before me; ''I need this. I need *you*''.
I nodded, still shaking from the powerful experience of touching this noble and tormented soul. And, after I made sure he was truly ready for me, I slowly and carefully sheathed myself.

His body gripped me in every possible way: muscular arms around my shoulders, strong thighs around my hips, snug inner depths around more intimate parts, like a too-tight leather glove. I was sure I would be more bruised than him in the morning.

''Easy'', I murmured, rubbing soothingly the small of his back, ''you are too tense. It will hurt you if I move inside you.''

''I care not'', he groaned, and I understood that part of him wanted to be punished for taking pleasure from me.
*That* was a game, however, I was *not* ready to play.
''But I do'', I said. ''For it would hurt me, just as badly, and I for my part could never find any pleasure in pain.''

He looked so guilty I felt pity for him. What might have been done to him to fear his own pleasure so much?
''I tought not of that'', he admitted ruefully.

I laughed and kissed him again, still motionless inside him; and again; and again. He offered me his bared throat - the unconscious gesture of an alpha wolf yielding to someone even more stronger. I accepted his submission by kissing his throat and sucking on the surprisingly soft skin till an angry red mark appeared.

I had marked him. Every one could see that he was mine.

His tension lessened a little, and now I could begin to move... slowly, carefully, for I did not want to hurt him.
Yet he had other ideas.
''Harder'', he hissed between clenched teeth, ''I need it hard, really hard. Give me everything you have. I need to feel...''

''You need to feel what?'', I spat, rapidly losing control myself. ''How you tear up inside? How your own blood tickles down your thighs? For that is what you shall feel if I go on any harder!''

He looked up to me with those darkened eyes, and there was infinite sadness in them.
''I need to feel that I am still alive'', he gasped, despair fueling his urgency. ''There has to be something else but the Shadow.''

And as our eyes locked once again, all of a sudden I found his soul wide open before me, just as his body was wide open beneath me. And I could see the shadow that fell upon his heart and almost consumed him.

The darkness could not corrupt him directly, for he was a noble man, a good man, a man of honour - so it tempted him with deepest despair and false hopes alike. And though he fought it valiantly, I knew he would never be able to win against it. Not alone.

But he was not alone, was he?
He had me now to fight on his side.

For from the very moment on that I pried into that brave, beautiful and very tormented soul, something changed in my heart, too.
I did not recognize it at first as love.
I thought it was compassion.

So I did as he asked, loving him fast and hard, wanting to show him that he was not utterly alone, to tell him with my body instead of weightless words that he was desirable and wanted and oh so beautiful, more so than any Man or Elf I had ever lain with him. For he was the first one who truly needed me.

And though his face was bathed with sweat and tense with ecstasy, he did not close his eyes. Not even at the moment when we both went over the edge. Our eyes remained locked, despite the urge of his body to shut them. He fought that urge with all his might, I could see it.

At first I could not even guess why he would struggle to look at me while being taken - then, suddenly, I understood... and was deeply moved.
He did not want me to believe that he was thinking of an other one while lying with me.

At this moment he was *mine*, and mine only, of his own free will, no matter whom he would desire in the depth of his heart.
He not only gave me that magnificent body of his, he also bared me his very soul.
He might have loved an other, but his heart was big enough for me to have a corner in it, too. This was a gift I never had been given before.

And I knew I would not let him go after this one night.
What little time we would be given, I intended to use every moment of it.

I kissed him again, long and deeply, stroking him gently, till he stopped convulsing in my arms. Then I went to my bathroom for a wet cloth and cleaned him up, enjoying to caress every inch of his skin, kissing the faded scars of old wounds that criss-crossed over his whole body. He let me have my fun, those changeable eyes finally falling shut.

I thought he had fallen asleep (most Men I had lain with before did, after they had their pleasure), and regretfully pulled the blanket over him. But when I climbed to bed to him, he opened his eyes again, and they were very, very awake.

''You had enough already, Master Elf?'', he asked, his voice hoarse.
I shook my head in silent denial.
''I would never have enough of you'', I answered truthfully.

He looked a little shocked. Blast, I kept forgetting that Men found Elven honestly unsettling. But he recovered fast enough, to his credit, and grabbed my head with a possessiveness that was both surprising and highly arousing.

''That is good'', he said in a low voice that sent cold and hot shivers along my spine, ''for I have not had yet my fill of you, either.''

I laughed, in spite of the raising heat in the pit of my stomach.
''Then, by Elbereth, ravish me!''
This was my last clear thought before being kissed into oblivion.

* * * * * * * * * *

He wanted me to ravish him.
This three-thousand-year-old, beautiful Elf warrior, the firstborn son and Heir of Elrond Half-elven, last of the great Lords of the Eldar, wanted to be ravished by me.
What have I done to earn such a bounty?

He came to me straight in the Hall of Fire, shared with me, an unknown stranger, and a mere mortal above all, the secrets of his soul, then he kissed me in front of his father and all the guests, and offered me the comfort of flesh.

And I was weak enough to accept.
I have wanted this for so long.
I needed this so badly.

I was no complete innocent, of course. No Man could live without release over forty years, not even at times of peace; less so at times of war. And what else but war had I seen my entire life? Death had always been too close for denying myself some crude relief.

So they had been others, yes.

Cheap war whores who tried to survive by serving the needs of hungry soldiers at the border of battlefields.

Grief-sickened widows in half-destroyed dwellings, seeking a little warmth for their empty beds and mayhap some safety in strong arms, for one night or two.

And hollow-eyed, broken young women with no hope for a husband or a family, for the ones who could have given them a life they would deserve, had fallen in battle.

I took what they had to offer and gave them what little I could give, for it would have been cruel to deny them those morsels - or myself. But it always left a bitter taste in my moouth, and I prayed to the Valar that no unfortunate child be born of these sad encounters.

And there were men, too. Fierce couplings in the dark, outside the camps where the firelight could not reveal us for others; hard, desperate loving before battles from which we might not return on the next day; or heated clash of battered bodies after those battles, in unbelieving relief over our survival.

But I had never given myself to an other before.

I was their Captain, and often I did not even know the names of those I have taken. Most of the times I did not even know which of them came to me in the dark, seeking comfort and safety in my greater strength.

It mattered not. They needed me, and I never denied them aught, knowing well that this could have been their last time to lie with someone. Death was so near. Always so near. And I always had to be the strong one. The one in control. The one to give.

Only now, in the softness of an Elven bed had I understood how comforting it could be to give up control and be taken. There was an as-yet unknown freedom in lying there, at the mercy of my skilled Elven lover, who played my body like a finely-tuned harp. His strong, slender fingers seemed to find every sensitive spot on my skin, most of which I had not ever known to exist. He ignited a fire in me I had never felt, a raw desire I could barely control.

At one moment I nearly took him by force.
Had he resisted, I mayhap would have, so far was I already gone.

But he simply let me have my way with him, his strange, elegant eyes darkening with a desire akin to me, so I was able to gather the remaining shreds of my control.

I felt deeply ashamed and asked for his forgiveness.

Yet he only laughed, clearly not offended at all, rolled me onto my back and continued his sweet assaults against my already heated senses. He tasted so differently from any one I was ever with: sweet and yet spicy, like a strong wine flavoured with honey.

I wanted to see all of his beauty, and he eagerly disrobed for me, letting me drink in the sight of his pale, slender and yet so strong body, his soft skin flushed with desire. Then he crept up to the bed and peeled off the rest of my clothes, kissing and licking and even biting his way down my body as he went along, making me delirious with pleasure.

Then I saw him reach for the small vial on the nightstand and pour some oil into his palm. It smelled like honey, but was clear and colourless.

I knew he was about to take me.

And I was so ready to be taken.

I parted my legs to make more kneeling space for him and leaned up on my elbow to watch him. I wanted to keep the memory of every single moment of this etched deep in my heart, for I knew, outside this valley I would never - *could* never - allow any one to enter my body again. This was the only place I could let go, unwatched.

He looked at me in askance, and I nodded. Then he breached me with his oil-coated fingers, and at the same time he touched my weeping need, and I lost all ability to think.

Faintly and from far away, I could hear myself begging to be taken, and his gentle laughter, but the meaning what he said barely reached my passion-fogged mind. In that incredible, red-hot darkness I only could *feel*... feel being filled and completed in a way I had never felt before and probably never shall again.

I forced my eyes to stay open and lock with his.

I did not want to think of any one else in this moment of utter completion - not even of my brother.

I still loved him with all my heart, but this - this was different... a union, born of a fire older than the gentle feelings of the heart, older even than the sinful desire for my own brother that I had been trying to hide all my life. It reached back in a time before mortal Men ever roamed the Earth.

I never thought the passion of an Elf could burn this hot. I always thought them to be cruelly beautiful yet dispassionate creatures, watching us, mere mortals, haughtily and with cold detachment. Or was it the mortal blood of Beren and Tuor3 in his veins that made him burn this passionately?

I knew not. Nor did I care. I only wanted to drown in his passion, to burn in his fire, to be consumed by him, even if there was no tomorrow. It might not be love - yet it was beyond love. It was the union of the two kindred in our bodies, and I gladly gave up everything I was to this fire.

* * *

Some time later I came back to my senses to the soft, cool touch of a wet cloath caressing my heated skin, following by gentle fingertips and warm lips mapping the old scars on my whole body. I opened my eyes and looked up into the fine, fair face of my lover, smiling at me. Mayhap he thought I would fell asleep in the afterglow of our passion.

Well, 'tis always dangerous to underestimate a soldier of Gondor.
''You had already enough, Master Elf?'', I teased, though my voice barely obeyed my will.

He shook his head, smiling again, yet there still was some dark fire smoldering in those keen, elegant Elven eyes.
''I would never have enough of you'', he said with that uncanny Elven openness.

I could barely trust my ears. What he had seen in me, was beyond my understanding. In all those thousands of years he had walked the Earth, he must have had many lovers, Elves and Men alike, probably all of them gentler and more skilled than I could ever hope to become. And yet, of all people, he had chosen me.

I knew not why.

And I cared not, either.

Instead, I grabbed that beautiful face with both my hands and said, barely able to control my voice:
''That is good. For I have not had yet my fill of you, either.''

He laughed again, his eyes sparkling with gentle amusement, and his voice was low and soft as he answered:
''Then, by Elbereth, ravish me!''

I was not entirely sure that invoking the name of the Lady of the Stars was proper for an Elf while preparing to give himself utterly to a mere mortal, but I could not care less.

He wanted to be ravished, so ravished he would be.

I kissed him breathless, than rolled him under me, and in the remaining long and sweet hours of that night I thoroughly devoured all that he could give me.

Oh, how different it was from all my earlier encounters, getting lost in his arms, wrapped up in soft skin and steely muscle, buried in silken mouth and velvety depths! So fragile he seemed, yet so unbreakable strong he was, my true match both in hard passion and slow, gentle loving. Like a wildcat and a wolf we were together, equal in strength (or so I humoured myself, though mayhap he could break my neck like a dry twig if he wanted), yet so very different, and we took great pelasure in our differences.

Finally, even my tireless Elf was worn out, and after he cleaned us up once more, he spooned up agains my back, wrapping his arms around me, and began to sing, softly and slowly, in a tongue so ancient I had not even heard of. It sounded like the music of starlight on the shiny surface of a deep and quiet lake.

With this ancient song in my ears, I finally fell asleep. And for the first time since the fall of Osgiliath, I slept deep and peaceful, without the nightmares of darkness and fire haunting my dreams.

End notes:

1 The Spring season fo the Elves. According to the Calendar of Rivendell, it fell between 2. February and 27. March.
2 Half-elven in Elvish
3 The mortal ancestors of Elrond's family in the First Age.

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