Seated comfortably on an outstretched tree
limb, Legolas toyed idly with a buckle on his tunic as he settled in
for his nighttime watch. Needing little rest in comparison to the
others, he gladly stood watch over them as they slept, enjoying the
brief solitude it offered.
Leastwise he usually enjoyed it. This night seemed to provide little
for him but melancholy. Too cloudy for gazing at the stars and even
if he could without waking the others he felt no urge to raise his
voice in song.
No, it was not solely the fault of the night, he decided. His
restiveness had deeper roots, twined into their quest and feeding
off his own growing unrest.
For all that this was a noble and purposeful quest it was also
terribly dull, with little to occupy the mind. Legolas was
accustomed to a certain amount of travel but always before the
purpose had come quickly, whether it was to purge some place of the
presence of orcs or to play ambassador for his father. Journeying
for weeks on end, with little hope of a conclusion in sight was
wearying to him.
A sound came from the direction of the camp and his hand reached for
an arrow automatically before Legolas recognized it as a nothing
more than a tired murmur from one of the sleepers. It was both
irritating and amusing to note that out of the entire group, only
Aragorn stirred at the sound and even he did not wake.
He'd often considered that being a Man must be like living with a
burlap sack tied over your head, hardly able to see or hear at all.
But perhaps that was too harsh a thought. Surely if Legolas had not
been standing watch they would have slept lighter and he knew that
all of the Company was weary from so much unaccustomed traveling,
the Hobbits especially. The subtle arrogance that often seemed so
common amongst his people where Men were concerned exasperated him
to no end; the very fact that they saw themselves as superior to Men
made their opinions suspect.
Legolas was beginning to find them fascinating, and not only the
Men, but the Hobbits and the Dwarf as well. Never before had Legolas
found himself with companions such as these, and with nothing else
to engage his thoughts, he had taken to studying his companions;
their habits, their words and their silences, and just lately, more
for Legolas' amusement than any true study, their scents. It was a
game of sorts he'd invented to entertain himself.
Beneath sweat and the accumulated filth, inevitable on such a long
journey but still bothersome to Legolas, each person had a
distinctive scent. It interested him because this was something that
Elves lacked. All Elves scented alike, even Elrond whose blood was
mingled with that of Men. Legolas had not so often spend time in the
company of others that he realized it was not the same with all
species; that their scent might change by the day or a meal, yet
still held an underlying thread that remained constant.
Interestingly, all the hobbits had a certain similarity in their
scent, somehow sweet and fresh like new mown hay. Curious that it
would be so with Hobbits, because the same could not be so for Men;
Boromir was nothing like Aragorn, his odor an almost uncomfortable
one, reminiscent of soured milk and several times Legolas had had to
distance himself from the Man, as it seemed very strong on occasion
and was not affected by bathing.
Or perhaps that was how all other men scented? Aragorn was not
purely of the blood of Men, and underneath the layered smells of
travel, there was still a note of warmth, of purity, unsullied by
the dark paths he knew Aragorn had been forced to tread at times.
Gandolf, on the other hand, scented most unusually, the sharp scent
like that one carried in the air in the moment just before
lightening struck and to concentrate on it too long made the head
swim.
Yet for all the unusualness of the others, it was Gimli's scent that
intrigued him the most. He'd noticed it when they first met,
something earthy, as rich and heavy as the mountains he surely came
from, and yet, also oddly familiar to him, in a way he could not
place.
On nights such as these, it picked irritably at the back of his
mind, and he worried at it like he might a ragged fingernail. He had
lived many long years, it was true, but his memory was a clear as
the air in early dawn. That he could not recognize this one thing
was quite aggrieving.
The forest around him was alive with the sounds of nighttime, and
even far in the distance there was no indication of a threat. With
boredom looming ever closer, Legolas finally gave into his whim to
consider the matter again.
Shifting his feet silently on the rough bark to settle himself more
comfortably, Legolas closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding his
breathe a moment before releasing it, relaxing as he sifted through
all the humors of the night air to focus on that one scent.
Pipe smoke, sweat, yes, but something else as well, something he
knew, warm and thick, rich as the cloth his mother's ladies wove
during the winter months and almost as tangible, as if he could wrap
himself in the comfortable heaviness of Gimli's essence, bury his
face into the coarse hair of Gimli's beard, feel it chafe enticingly
against his own bare cheeks, against his chest and perhaps lower,
perhaps against the aching flesh between his legs, rough and yet not
so, rubbing until Legolas was giddy with the delight of it, until
the ache would rise up and consume him, heating him as he shuddered
his way through need into joy...
Legolas blinked, the half-dream fading away and he was disturbed to
find that dawn had come while he'd drowsed, tinting the dark clouds
gray.
More disturbing was the uncomfortable state of his trousers and the
fact that his hand seemed to have wandered inside them without his
permission.
Pulling his hand free, he shifted somewhat awkwardly into a better
position before he fell from the tree and made the situation that
much worse. His hand was wet with damning evidence and he wiped it
on a rag he kept for cleaning arrowheads, and he was silently
grateful that the length of his tunic would conceal any other
stains.
It was better that they weren't traveling with other Elves, he noted
wryly, because he would be the one scenting strangely on this
day, and he well knew that no Elf would be able to resist a playful
comment or two. He doubted he would be able to explain
trance-induced masturbation about a dwarf to any of the Elves in his
acquaintance, no matter how fascinating it had been...
Fascinating?
Legolas focused on Gimli's blankets, frowning thoughtfully as he
studied the sleeping dwarf. How very interesting, that he scented
like a memory of lovemaking, or perhaps not because Legolas could
not truly recall such a memory at any time in his long life. A
memory wishing to be made, then?
He considered that for some time, until the others began to stir,
moving into wakefulness to resume their uncertain journey.
Laughed softly at his own dilemma, Legolas leapt down to join them,
ruefully grateful they had slept long enough to give his leggings a
chance to dry. Gimli was grumbling under his breath as was his wont
at this hour of the day, to low for anyone but Legolas to hear him,
and for the first time Legolas decided to actually listen. Perhaps
there was something interesting to do on this journey after all.
-Finis-
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