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31 March 2004 | 8436 words
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Summary: A moonlit night in Minas Tirith provides two people a quiet and romantic atmosphere to talk of memories and other things – PWP, one-shot.
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A/N: I’m sorry, this is an extremely pointless, plot-less ramble, the result of a bored day spent at home thanks to a sprained ankle, and I’m not entirely sure it’s turned out aswhat it was meant to be.
A Moonlit Night
The city of his birth had an ethereal quality to it on a moonlit night. Standing at the balcony of the chamber he normally used on his visits these days, he watched the cool night breeze ripple through the trees in the gardens outside. They were trees of the same variety that were to be used to re-lay the gardens of Ithilien. As tall and graceful as the elves who had brought them to Gondor, they swayed gently in rhythm with the wind. Below the garden the remaining levels of the city lay spread out bathed in the milky whiteness of the moon. All was quiet, as he stood in the citadel and looked upon Minas Tirith, until his thoughts were interrupted gently by a soft musical voice.
“My lord steward.”
The prince of Ithilien turned in surprise for he had not expected the speaker to be here tonight, standing by the door to his chamber. He must have opened it very silently.
“A beautiful night, is it not?” his visitor asked coming and standing by him.
“You have arrived today?” it was beautiful voice, more melodious than the sound of a harp, soft, and as beautiful as the speaker, as ithil lit him up in its glow.
“Yes, this afternoon,” he replied, slowly drawing his mind away from the mesmerizing golden glow.
“All is well at Rohan?”
“And you will leave for Ithilien soon?”
“In a few days. I will attend the meetings and then leave.”
“And your dear lady is not travelling with you?”
“Surely you know when all of Arda does, that my lady and I do few things together, perhaps none these last few months.”
One exquisite eyebrow was raised as he continued speaking in a dry disinterested tone.
“Éowyn finds that the training of shieldsmaidens in Rohan has slipped badly since her departure. She has stayed back to restore the system. She also hopes that when she returns, she will not find a similar slippage of standards here.”
“You do? Then I am glad to hear that. Many do not. They see other reasons.”
“And there are no other reasons?”
“You came here to discuss my marriage?” he asked bluntly.
“Nay, my friend. But, you yourself have admitted, it is a matter of much interest across Arda,” the lilting voice held neither scorn nor even pity; it held nothing but its pleasing quality.
“I would have thought the interest would have died down much earlier,” he sighed heavily.
“Very well, I see then, you are still not fond of discussing this. Let us talk of other matters.”
“Yes, let us,” Faramir said maliciously, “what brings you here at this time. Should you not be with Elessar? My queen, I am told, is away visiting the vales of Lossarnach with my cousin.”
“He meets with some delegation. A pity on a night such as this,” the first hint of moroseness crept into the lyrical voice.
“The king of Rohan arrived a day before I did,” Faramir said in a tone of mock innocence.
“He dined with your uncle tonight, and expects to receive fine wine and words of wisdom late into the night.”
“You are very well-informed about me, my lord,” the finely carved eyebrow arched up again.
“You did explain it all very clearly to me,” Faramir replied mildly, “Seven months ago.”
“Seven months? It seemed a much shorter time to me,” came the sincere reply.
“It is true then, time feels different to your kindred. But where is Verasul?”
“In his chambers. We have a relationship much like you and your lady do. We do not come in the way of the other’s ‘other’ interests.”
“Not all that similar. My lady and I have a legal binding but we have naught but ‘other’ interests. If we were to come in the other’s way, no doubt our lives would be shorn of anything of interest to either.”
“You must be tired,” there seemed to be a faint hint of concern underlying the statement.
“It is a long ride form Rohan, and I rode fast, and the king wished for a bout of sparring.”
“It is obvious. Never otherwise would you speak of your marriage so candidly, much less speak of it at all.”
“You did ask,” Faramir pointed out, realising with dismay that the wondrously fair creature next to him had assessed the situation carefully. Tiredness, he decided, could be as bad for loosening one’s tongue as ale.
“Aye, I did,” his guest spoke a little sadly.
They stood in silence for a while watching the vista before them, till the musical notes sounded in Faramir’s ear again.
“It is seven months, you say?”
“A little more,” he replied casually.
“Yes,” he said patiently wondering what seemed to surprise the other so much.
“You were going to retire?”
“I was going to take a bath first. The water lies ready.”
“Yes, you should.”
He was a little taken aback to hear that from one who had always been so gracious to him. Trying not to let the disappointment show in his voice, he nodded and admitted, “It was long ride, and I wished to be here this morning, and even a mere friendly sparring makes one dusty. Time and material enough for cleanliness and grooming now.”
“I merely meant that it would help rid you of the tiredness in your limbs and relax you,” came the puzzled reply, “Remember I have ridden with Elessar in his days as a ranger. If I could live with that, I could live with anything. You, dear friend, are a paragon of cleanliness next to him. Come, let me not detain you,” a long graceful hand settled on his shoulder almost making him jump. He had forgotten how magical the touch could be.
He turned to look at the clear blue eyes and quirked his eyebrows questioningly.
“Come where?” he asked.
“Come, let me help you. You are tired. Would you like me to massage your shoulders and back for you?”
“It is kind of you to offer –” he began hesitantly, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Verasul?” his guest stared at he newcomer, “What is it?”
“The king is free now and wishes to know if you would come by.”
The tall, lithe figure moved close to the newcomer, very close, and the soft whispered words could just about be made out, “Tell him I am asleep. I have some matters to discuss with Lord Faramir, and later I wish to sleep a little. If you have finished whatever you have to do, let us greet the sunrise together in some hours.”
Verasul’s eyes glinted with pleasure, as he bowed farewell to them, and left shutting the door behind him.
“Very well, that is done now. Come. This way, is it not,” he was expertly steered towards the small chamber next door where a tub full of hot water had been kept ready for him. It was still warm, and the aroma of the herbs in it wafted up to their nostrils as they neared the tub.
Faramir waited expectantly.
“You do not wish to bathe with your clothes on do you?” came the question.
“If you would let me undress –” he murmured softly.
“Faramir, my love, I have seen you naked. I explored every inch of your body the day you insisted you would share your bed with me!”
He flushed a little at that, “That was seven months ago,” he protested weakly.
“I can still remember what you look like,” came the serious reply, “I can remember each mark on your body, even the tiny little spot where you yourself can’t see it.”
Faramir shut his eyes briefly.
“Come now, love, take your clothes off, as you did that day,” there was almost a teasing note to it.
He took off his tunic quickly, slipped off the leggings with equal dexterity, and hurriedly lowered himself in the tub, all in one swift motion.
“Still as lovely, I see,” this time he definitely detected a teasing note, and murmured a few soft curses in return.
The water felt good, and he sank a little deeper into the big metal tub, idly watching the vapour rising from the water, carrying the herbal scent with it. He let out a soft sigh and relaxing his shoulders, leant his head back so that his nape was resting against the warm metal walls of the tub. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes fully. Blue eyes looked back into his face, and a small smile played along the perfectly shaped lips.
“Let me help you relax a little, my love.”
“Why do you call me that,” he asked tiredly, closing his eyes as the slender, gentle fingers began kneading his taut shoulder
muscles skillfully. For one as lithe as that, his friend had a lot of strength, he decided.
“Do you not like it?” came the answering purr, very close to his ear, so close he could feel the other’s warm breath on his cheek.
“But there are others worthy of such words. And I am nowhere near their stature in your life,” he murmured sleepily.
“Seven months ago, when I called you that, you kissed me.”
“Seven months ago, I was not in full control of my faculties.”
“I asked you when you had regained your control, whether you regretted it. you said you had not,” came the matter of fact reply.
“I did not,” Faramir admitted softly, as the memories of that beautiful night floated into his mind.
“Our sensible steward, always so careful, always so stoic, always so poised, drinks a little too much ale one night, and whose arms does he throw himself into and beg to bed? A male and not even one of his own kind,” it was a teasing tone, but a loving one nevertheless, as the fingers continued their work deftly.
Faramir could feel the knots disappearing in hi shoulders, and he sighed in pleasure before responding, “Aye, no female elf would look at me.”
“But how did you find me, love, I did not even know you knew of my, should I say, tastes?”
It was lovely sensation, calming and soothing, “I knew not it was you, all I saw of you was your hair, from the distance. It was a blur, the ale being so strong.”
A soft musical laughter sounded above him, “You thought I was your lady?”
He sat up surprised, splashing water about him, and turned a flushing face to the laughing figure sitting back on the floor now.
“It was the hair,” he muttered feeling a little foolish.
“Then we entered the room, and then the bed…”
“Not before you threw off all your clothes, and pulled mine off too!”
“ And the moon came put from behind the clouds, and…”
“You jumped out of the bed naked. You should have seen your face! It was priceless. And the way you stammered about trying to apologise, and oh Valar, the look on your face when I asked you if you had any other plans for the night, and…” here his friend broke off into peals of laughter.
“I think the ale vanished form my mind after that, the steward replied a little sourly.
“You said you had no plans, and when I asked you if you wanted to complete what you had started… Elbereth, what a look on your face!”
“You pushed your sheet off!” he said accusingly as the gentle hands pushed him forward a little and started rubbing a cloth spread with cleaning herbs on his back.
“You were so scared, I thought you were going to scream!”
“I am no maiden,” Faramir snorted.
“You nearly swooned! I had to help you sit on the bed.”
“It was the shock!”
“Of finding yourself on another’s bed?”
The circular motion of cloth on his aching back relaxed him once again, as he replied, “of seeing you like that.” The fingers were on his lower back now, and he couldn’t help but remember how once they had gone just a little lower and given him such pleasure as he had never experienced.
“You humour me,” but the smile in the voice was unmistakable.
“Why else do you think I agreed to complete what we started?” The hands now moved onto his chest and stomach, and he sank blissfully back against the tub yet again.
The fingers brushed against his nipples for a little more than the briefest second, and he felt a shudder go through him, but almost immediately the strong fingers were running over his flat stomach.
“Do the two kings know of each other,” Faramir asked suddenly.
And of Verasul?”
“Nay. They are neither as perceptive as you dear one.”
“You told me.”
“You do not remember what you said as you lay in my arms?”
He did. Lying exhausted against the other’s chest he had known he was not the only one and said as much, “Will we ever again lie together like this?” he had asked., and had received the answer with characteristic calm. His first time with a male had given him an experience that might never be replicated, because the other was committed not only to one of his kind, but also to the king of Gondor, through old ties in younger days, and then after a reckless night in Edoras, to the king of Rohan, because as he had said the young man would have been heartbroken if he had told him the truth.
“The sparring was a little in excess?” came the sudden question, as he felt a slight twinge when the fingers ran over one of the bruises he had received.
“The king seemed to wish to work out some… emotions, I daresay?” he replied as he remembered how short-tempered Elessar had seemed, “what did you do to him?”
“He harkens not after gentle lovemaking, our king.”
“Not gentle,” he asked puzzled.
“Roughness is what he likes. It was his ranger days I presume. Tell me love, did you not do such in your days as ranger.”
The hands were around his lower belly now, and he could feel a heat spread through him that was not caused by the water. He tried to get rid of the feeling by splashing water on his hair to cleanse it, “Nay, the enemy was too strong, and took all our effort and concentration, and I… they would not come to the steward’s son for such. But you say, rough? That is strange indeed. Why would one crave what hurts?”
Another short burst of laughter greeted this, “aye, I see what Éowyn means.”
“Éowyn?” He felt one arm being picked as the cloth was rubbed slowly on it.
“Your gentleness does not satisfy her.”
“Does all of Arda really know what happens in my bedchamber?” he supposed he should be furious but he really didn’t care. Nothing of note had happened in their chambers after their first night together, barring a few more attempts at kindling a passion in their relationship. The hopelessness of such a cause soon became manifest, so that they settled for the present situation.
“Éowyn told Arwen and Arwen told Elessar, and…”
“No more, please! But surely such news is many months old. My wife and I have not been near each other for many months now.” His other arm began to receive its share now.
“Then, in these seven months you have not…”
“No,” he stated, eyes still shut, suddenly feeling almost empty. The dormant frustration he had kept locked inside him was welling up once again, with no scope for release. His hand was lain down, and his legs were taken up.
“What of the king of Rohan?” he asked desperately to take his mind off everything.
“He is like a big, impetuous puppy,” came the reply, half exasperated, half amused, but underlain with fondness and love, “Rough and tumble. Both of them are. Not for them lotions and creams, they like their lovemaking raw.”
“Does it not hurt?”
“Aye but the pleasure one gets far overrides it,” came the dreamy reply.
The dexterous fingers worked up his calf and thigh, inching closer and closer to the source of a throbbing feeling. Then his legs were placed back in the water. He settled in a little deeper and let the water cover him till his neck. A new kettle full of warm water was poured into the tub, and he almost purred in satisfaction at the feeling of fresh warm water mingling with the old, tepid water around his skin. His eyes grew heavy and his mind foggy, as the sounds around him drowned themselves out. He felt himself being pulled up and murmured a sleepy protest, as a rough huge cloth was wrapped around his bare skin. He was scooped up gently, and he snuggled against the support offered, till he felt himself lowered into his bed. And something brushed his lips, something soft and sweet. The most perfect mouth in Arda was upon his for a fleeting second as he struggled to open his eyes. The huge towel was unwrapped, and he sat up, realising his nakedness.
“Do you?” came the soft musical lilt.
“Yes,” he breathed out.
“I will be gentle,” promised the other.
“Do not. I would like to see how it feels.”
“Nay, not you! You, I will never hurt!”
“You reserve your special treatment for special folk, is it?” he needled the glorious fair one before him, “One hurts those one loves.”
The insinuation was deftly ignored, “They are both bigger than you, with none of your grace. I like you too much to hurt you, my love.”
“Like? Éowyn says she likes me too. Not loves, but likes.”
“You ask to be hurt? What are you?”
“Do not the others?”
“Have you not hurt enough? I know you have.”
“Éowyn?” he sneered back.
“You talk in your sleep love, I heard you that day.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Those hurts were of a different nature. They brought no pleasure. If this will, I want it,” Blue eyes gazed sadly at him, and he pleaded once again, “It will be just this once. Let me feel this pleasure too that others feel. I have had none for seven months and for just as many before that. You know of my marriage. Give me something to last me the next seven years, if you could.”
A soft hand reached up to his cheek and he trembled at the touch. Grasping it in his own hands he squeezed it tightly.
“Turn around then.”
“Why? The last time you said you wanted to see the pleasure on my face.”
“I cannot bear to see you in pain. And, it will hurt,” he was warned.
It did. At first. Seven months ago, the kisses on his body had been light and feathery, now they were hard, and demanding, more bites than pecks, breaking skin, bruising him, sending out pinpricks of pain across his chest and back. Before he was pushed onto his stomach, his mouth was claimed with brute force, leaving him gasping for breath. Seven months after they had first entered his body, the slender long fingers entered him yet again, but this time with no preparation. The last time they had been coaxed in lovingly into a well-oiled entrance. Now they were rammed in. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, scared that the other would stop. And then the intrusion grew larger in size and he knew it would hurt more. His hair was grabbed and tugged, his shoulders bitten into, as the relentless pounding began. His tight muscles were stretched and stretched, and the pain grew so much he could feel it ringing through his ears.
Beads of sweat began to stand out on his forehead as he buried his face into his bed. Just when he thought he could take it no more, he felt it. Untold pleasure, a deep overwhelming sense of joy flooded through him as he began to thrust his hips in rhythm with the pounding in him. Soft moans of pleasure came unbidden out of his mouth, as he felt his ears being nibbled at. His groin felt on fire, but a delicious fire, and now it was both hot and cold as something wet began spreading across it.
They came at the same time, he weeping silently in joy and the other crying out in pleasure.
“I think I understand,” he said a while later as he circled a finger along the other’s smooth hairless chest.
“Your lady will like that,” said the other sincerely.
“Nay, it is too far gone for that.” He replied lazily, as he felt his eyes grow heavy again.
“Why?’ came the puzzled response, “why what?”
“Why do you humour me? What am I to you? Not a kindred, that would be Verasul, not old friend, that is Elessar, not one you wish not to disappoint as Éomer , what am I then?”
“My special one,” he felt a soft kiss brush his forehead, “You will need another bath.”
He snorted in reply. He was almost asleep when the wet cloth was rubbed over his now limp member, and he moaned in pleasure once again. Then on his sore entrance, and he nearly squealed. Across his chest, and then his stomach the cloth went cleaning him up again. He lay still though the ministrations patiently moving aside as the soiled sheets were removed and new ones pulled out from the closet.
“I will take the soiled sheets away,” he was told.
He felt the golden hair splay across his face and chest as the other bent down to kiss him lightly on his forehead, “Sleep well, dear one. The next time will not be as far away as this, I vow.”
“There will be a next time?”
“Yes, love, there will be. Our kings, I feel will find they have a duty to their queens. There is however, a steward of the realm with no such duties.”
“Were we not supposed to discuss the re-laying of the gardens in Ithilien, so you can bring your folk there?” he asked sleepily.
“That is what the meeting is for tomorrow, dear one. Good night.”
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