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Five Hearts Print

Written by Sarah Eleven

30 March 2004 | 6745 words

Five Hearts
Sequel to: Spoken For
By Sarah Eleven

Aragorn sat alone at the long, decorated table, absently buttering bread as he gazed unblinkingly into white space. He put down his knife and took a bite, then dropped the bread onto his garnished plate. He had no interest in nourishment, or in anything else, for that matter. He had no energy, no drive, and no longer found satisfaction in any aspect of his personal life.

He had foolishly allowed his heart to be consumed with the image of a future with the beautiful she-elf who had chosen her immortal life over him, and he could not blame her. Who was he to ask her to give up her immortality? Aragorn had no regrets considering Arwen. She was gone.

His saddest regret was Legolas. Long ago, Aragorn had fallen madly in love with the Sindarin, but because he had already promised himself to Arwen, could not let his heart be swayed by the lovely Mirkwood elf. As much as he loved him, he had been more concerned with his image, steadfast in his path to this damnable throne. Aragorn wanted to kick himself. Legolas had begged for his love, and he had denied him.

He felt he deserved his lonely fate.

He had a duty to Gondor. As King, he had committed himself, and he would honor his commitments. His responsibilities were great, and his expectations of himself were even greater. His personal crisis should be of little or no importance compared to the needs of his kingdom.

He sighed remorsefully and attempted to sit straighter. One more night, one long, sorrowful night of wallowing in his loneliness, and he swore to put away his own needs and attend to business. He was no wilting lily. He was a proud and victorious Númenoreon King. He would be strong.

For Gondor.

Gimli sat whittling in the town square, mumbling to himself. Since Legolas had bonded with Faramir, nothing had been the same. Gimli had grown accustomed to his familiarity, the lilt of his gentle Elven voice, the slight smile that curled his lips and softened those blue eyes, the glint of sunlight on the long, blond, Sindarin hair. The touches that no one else had merited but the silly, infatuated dwarf, who now believed that the beautiful elf had never shared the love he had once thought existed between them.

Gandalf was quick enough to yank Sam away just as the sharp knife whirled through the air and buried to the hilt into a corner post. Gimli’s temper had erupted, to his own dismay. The redheaded dwarf stood, mortified by his own recklessness, cursing his incredible strength. “Sam, are you all right?” he asked, repentantly.

“I’m fine, Gimli, no thanks to you! Fortunately, Gandalf pulled me back in time or I would have been skewered! You should watch what you’re doing, you know. You could hurt someone in your lunacy!” Sam scolded.

“I’m sorry, Lad.” Desolately, Gimli turned away, leaving his knife in the post, and a mound of wood shavings on the walk. Putting on his helmet, he trudged up the hill, through the gates and out of the city.

“Where’s he going?” Sam asked, watching after him with concern.

“Walking off the anguish,” Gandalf answered. “He has lost the great love of his life, Sam. For a dwarf, that can be overwhelming.”

“It can be overwhelming for anyone!” Sam said. “Believe me, I understand! I thought they were going to be together forever, too, Gandalf. They were so close! How could Legolas leave him behind and go to Faramir like that?”

Gandalf smiled at him. “You have not taken a good look at our fair Faramir, have you, Samwise? Have you seen him?”

“Of course, I’ve seen him! If you’re talking about how good-looking he is, yes, of course I noticed, but what’s that got to do with it? Looks mean nothing! Not in real life, anyways! Not when it counts.”

“Very admirable, Sam, but tell me, would you love Frodo as much if his eyes weren’t quite so blue, and his lips weren’t so plush? Would you have followed him into the fires of Mordor if he had a face like Gollum’s?”

Sam shuddered. “Don’t compare him to that beast! But yes, I would love him, no matter what he looked like. I would!”

Gandalf nodded, studying him. “I believe you would, Sam.”

Sam was in a momentary lull. “Though I do so love those blue eyes and those plush lips…”

Legolas touched a long scrape on Faramir’s shoulder, examining it closer. The steward slept, undisturbed as the elf’s nimble fingers traced the abrasion. Legolas frowned in concern. The man was always littered with minor injuries! He was accident prone, so it seemed, in a constant state of appearing battered. How he accomplished this when his feet had not carried him from the city in weeks, no one could guess. It made Legolas want to lock him in a padded room for protection.

At the moment, Legolas was sporting two enormous marks of his own; one on his inner thigh, and one on his lower abdomen, evidence of their lovemaking the previous night. He glanced down at them fondly, hoping Faramir would not see them and regret his passion. He had enjoyed Faramir ‘feasting on his fair Elven flesh’.

There was a knock at the door. Legolas closed his eyes, a bit perturbed at the early intrusion, but to advocate Faramir’s station as Gondor’s Steward, he rose and threw on his robe to answer it.

Sam gave him an apologetic grin. “Good morning, Legolas,” he greeted. “I just thought you should know that Gimli could probably use a friend right about now. He is out walking off his temper. Oh, and were you aware that Gondor’s king is in a state of utter depression? I don’t know if there’s anything you can do in either case, but I thought you should know, because I do believe everything is your fault.”

Legolas looked appalled. He knelt before Sam and threw his arms around him. “My fault? You bring to me the sorrows of my friends, Sam, and hand me guilt!” he said anxiously. “Very well. I will explain the problem to Faramir, and will go and offer my comforts to Gimli. I know not how to speak with Aragorn.”

Sam hugged him tightly, and whispered in his ear. “I know you. You will figure it out. I don’t know why you limit yourself. Frodo and I have included Merry and Pippin in our bed many times, you know. I fail to see the transgression of loving more than one.”

Legolas drew back and gazed at him thoughtfully. “No transgression is committed unless one involved objects. I do not know how Faramir would look on such a scheme.”

“Would you like me to set Merry and Pippin on him? They’re pretty good at making themselves heard.”

“Yes, I know, but no, Sam, probably not one of your better ideas. Faramir’s nature is sensitive, so he could be shocked by such an advance. Thank you, but I should approach this subject myself.” Legolas ran a gentle finger down the hobbit’s button nose. “Thank you, my friend.”

Sam smiled at him. “You’re welcome. And that’s quite an impressive hickey you’ve got there!” He winked as he touched Legolas’ neck.

Surprised, Legolas laid a quick hand on the spot. “I’ve got one there, too?”

“I won’t ask where else. I’ll take my leave, now.” Sam patted the elf’s arm and waved goodbye.

Gandalf had been told that all the king’s meals had been returned to the kitchen untouched. The wizard’s concern prompted him to action.

He showed up for breakfast and was served at the king’s table, his only guest. The aroma wafting up from the bacon, hot cakes and honey tempted the wizard, but he waited for Aragorn to take the first bite, and sighed when the heir of Isilduir sat gazing towards the fireplace.

“Aragorn, she is gone. Please try to carry on. You must — for the sake of Gondor.”

The king’s sad eyes shifted to his face. “I am sorry, Gandalf. You are right, of course. I know this. Arwen is gone with her people, and Legolas is with Faramir. I have lost them. I should have been more perceptive in this matter.”

“You could not have known.” Gandalf said gently, taking his hand. “You are too honorable, and it has been your undoing. I can help if you will allow it.”

Curiosity sparked. “In what way?”

“I am a wizard, Aragorn, or have you forgotten? Although I rarely use such powers, I can become Arwen or Legolas, or whomever you wish.”

Aragorn stared at him meditatively. “How would this power help me, Gandalf?”

Leaning towards him, the wizard spoke softly in his ear. “I offer to comfort you, if you wish.” A withered hand surreptitiously squeezed the king’s arm. “In your bed.”

The blue eyes widened with surprise. “In my…” He licked his lips, which had gone suddenly dry. “Would it be appropriate for the king of Gondor to accept such comforts?”

“I see no reason why it would not.” Gandalf answered, smiling.

Aragorn gazed away again, deliberating for a time before he responded. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Neither do I.”

“Then whose face shall I assume, Arwen’s or Legolas’? They are both beautiful.”

“Neither. Gandalf, my friend, to make love with you would be wonderful. I am no longer beholden to Arwen, so I am free to be with you… in secret, of course, to save face from the gossip. But I would not change your face for the sake of beauty, because you are beautiful just the way you are.”

Gandalf chuckled fondly. “You are kind to an old man, Aragorn. I admire your absence of prejudice.”

“I would have you just as you are, if you are truly willing.”

“I am, and so we shall do this, as soon as you finish your meal.”

Aragorn looked down at the plate, which was heaped with healthy meats and vegetables, but reached instead for a sugar glazed tart. “I will eat when I have worked up an appetite,” he bargained.

Gandalf laughed. “Then this shall come to pass,” he said.

Legolas chewed his lip as he dressed quietly, hoping Faramir would not wake until he was gone so he would not have to answer questions until he returned. It was not to be. The handsome steward rolled over in bed and smiled at him with affectionate blue eyes. “Good morning, my love,” he said, stretching. “Where are you going?”

Legolas moved to the bedside and bent to kiss his lips. “I must go to Gimli. He has need of a friend. I fear he will do something dangerous should I tarry. Please do not be upset with me, Faramir.”

Faramir caught him and brought him down for a deeper kiss, certain that, if he insisted, the beautiful elf would stay, but Faramir was not selfish. “Go, and be a friend to him. Assure him also of my friendship. If you wish, invite him to supper with us tonight.”

Legolas beamed at him. “I love you,” he said, then after another quick kiss, rushed out the door.

Faramir sighed, aware of the dwarf’s problem. He was in love with Legolas.

And who could blame him?

When he arrived at work, Faramir found Aragorn sitting at the head of a meeting table, with Gandalf and four other old men in attendance. The topic today was ‘Knights’, and who was up for the honorary title. The four knights who had joined had seniority over all the knights in Gondor, and were very particular about handing out the title to new applicants. Faramir took a seat between the king and the wizard, listening carefully to the arguments. He noticed that the good King Elessar never interrupted.

Every meeting, his admiration for Aragorn grew. Faramir thought there had never been a wiser or more striking monarch in all of Middle Earth. In the year that had passed since Aragorn’s arrival in Gondor, since he had saved Faramir in the ‘House of Healing’, he had learned much about him. But in the past two months, since Faramir had begun his relationship with Legolas, he had learned twice as much, and soon began to understand the elf’s preoccupation with this magnificent man. Faramir had found himself, on more than one occasion, fantasizing about him.

He glanced at Aragorn, and received a smile, which he returned cordially. The smile seemed more stressed than usual, and the steward was reminded that he was still mourning the loss of his his lady love. Trying for consolation, he smiled again, and stretched out a hand to pat his arm beneath the table.

Aragorn surprised him by capturing his hand and holding it fast. Interlacing the fingers, the king pulled the hand into his lap and squeezed it. One last fond glimpse, and he turned back to the knights.

Gandalf caught his other hand, winking when he turned his head to look at him. His heart flipped over in his chest. There could be no better vision than finding himself sandwiched between Mithrandir and Elessar.

Distracted, Faramir tried to pay attention to the discussion, but the warm hands holding his completely shook his concentration. He remained as he was, unresisting. This would certainly make good fodder for the next fantasy.

“Gimli!” Legolas had seen the dwarf far ahead, at the rise of a green hill. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called again, “Gimli, wait!”

Hearing nothing, Gimli plodded on. Legolas broke into a run to catch him minutes later.

The dwarf whirled angrily when he felt the touch on his arm, but his eyes brimmed when he realized who had stopped him. “Legolas, what are you doing way up here? What’s the matter?”

Legolas knelt before him before he responded. “Gimli, I hope you know how much I care for you. I will always be your friend.”

Gimli nodded in mild confusion, and ran his thick fingers gently through the elf’s unbraided hair. “I know it,” he said, “And I will always be yours. You also know that I love you, and that I would die for you, my Lovely.”

Legolas closed his eyes. “I love you, too, Gimli, and if I were free to be yours, you would have the most loving elf left in Middle Earth. You are dear to my heart.”

“I have never touched another’s lover, but were you to offer yourself to me, I would find it hard to keep true to my morals, my love. You’re the only temptation I would ever succumb to.” Gimli leaned closer and kissed his cheek.

“Neither would I have the strength to overpower these longings.” Legolas murmured.

“You love the steward, do you not?”

“Yes, I do, very much.”

“He is a good man, a kind man. I have also found myself attracted to him.”

Legolas glinted up at him with interest. “I remember when you told me that Aragorn was the only man you would ever find attractive, other than perhaps our sweet wizard. Now you fancy Faramir, too?”

“They’re all exquisite, and I feel depraved for thinking so. It’s bad enough I fancy an elf, but to also believe three men are beautiful as well! I must have gone crazy somewhere along the way!”

“I wish for such lunacy in all dwarves, men and elves.” Legolas said, considering the possibilities. He drew back, kissing Gimli’s hand as he stood. “I must go now, but please, have supper with us tonight,” he invited. “Will you come?”

Gimli sighed and nodded. “Of course,” he answered, cupping the fair cheek in his wide hand. “I’ll be there if it’s what you truly wish.”

“It is, my friend. Will you come back to the city with me now?”

“Not now,” Gimli declined. “I will walk a while. You go ahead. I’ll see you at suppertime.”

Legolas conceded, hugged him quickly, and sprinted away, hoping against hope that Faramir would be receptive to what he had to say.

When Faramir arrived home later in the day, he smelled bread baking, and sniffed the air appreciatively. He moved into the kitchen to find Legolas bent to peer into the oven. Leaning on the door facing, Faramir watched him, smiling warmly, as the elf removed the bread from the oven with a towel and put it on the table.

Legolas looked up and smiled back at him, then went to give him a kiss. “It’s good to see you home so soon!” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

“We do?” Faramir held him possessively, kissing him again. “You have flour on your face, you know.”

“Where?” Legolas brushed at his cheek, the wrong one.

“Here,” Faramir answered, leaning to lick it off. “Mmm, delectable.” He kissed him again, one hand dropping to cover the swell of the elf’s backside. “What else have you cooked?”

“Chicken, potatoes, peas, onions and carrots are in the roasting pan in the oven. Oh, and a pie, too.” Legolas was interrupted on the last two words by another kiss. He closed his eyes and returned it, wrapping both arms around the steward.

When Faramir backed away, both were a bit breathless. “You have tidied up the house, too, I see. What is the occasion?”

Legolas chuckled. “I clean the house every day, Faramir! I merely washed the curtains and cleaned the walls.”

“That is why it is brighter in here today.” Faramir noted, looking round the sunlit room. “And I see that there are also fresh flowers in the window. Tell me, my beauty, who have you done this for?”

Legolas kissed him once more. “Everything I do, I do for you,” he whispered amorously. “But we do have guests coming to supper. Before they arrive, I want to talk with you. How open minded are you today, my love?”

“Open minded?” Faramir moved to the kitchen table and seated himself. “Bring tea for the two of us, and we will see how open minded I am when you tell me what is on your mind, dear heart.”

Legolas took Faramir’s free hand as he sipped his tea and began to gently clean his fingernails. “I have invited Gandalf, Gimli and Aragorn to join us for supper,” he said.

“Wonderful! I look forward to their company!” Faramir said, watching his lover’s obvious avoidance of direct eye contact. “Legolas, what troubles you, my dear?”

There was a hesitation before the Sindarin’s eyes rose. “Have you ever considered loving more than one, Faramir?”

The blue eyes were distant for a minute. “Do you love them, Legolas? Do you want them?”

“Faramir, I have bonded with you, and to that I will hold! I love you, and always will! Please do not wonder if my love is true! What I speak of will be your choice, and if you choose to be monogamous with me, so be it. I will be with you and no other.”

“Yet you wish to be with them, also?”

“I wish for both of us to be with them, also.” Legolas waited for his reaction. “I do not see why it cannot be so, all of us, together, loving all the others. Why would this be so perverse? I understand this is not common practice, but such affairs are not unheard of in the world of men.”

Faramir thought about it. “The king has an important title, as do I. We could never allow this sort of relationship to public knowledge. If such a thing became known, it would destroy us all.”

“It could be kept a secret,” Legolas said. “Aragorn cares so deeply for us, Faramir, for Gandalf, and for Gimli. He needs love desperately, but is such a warrior that he will deprive himself if we do not seduce him.”

Faramir smiled in amusement. “So our intent is to seduce the king into our bed, a bed we make for five? This suggestion, my sweet Legolas, has far exceeded my expectations of love. My objective was you.” He kissed the elf before him. “The moment I beheld you, I fell in love with you.”

“Why?” Legolas asked, moving into his lap and lounging in his arms. “Can you explain this to me?”

“No,” Faramir answered, very close. “You are beautiful, but that is not the reason. I think it may be that your eyes show such love and dedication to your friends. I wanted you to look at me that way.”

“And have I looked at you that way?”

“Yes, many times since.”

“I love the way your eyes warm when they light upon me,” Legolas said, tracing his lover’s face with his index finger. “I rarely see you smile at others, but for me, there are always smiles, and I feel favored. I love your smile, Faramir, and I love your eyes. I love your hands, and the way they touch me. I love your kisses, and cuddling with you at night. I love everything about you.”

Faramir graced him with one of his extraordinary smiles. “So we’re waxing poetic, are we, my sweet elf? Very well, let me tell you what I love about you.” He paused to lift the slender hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “I love your scent. I love the texture of your skin against mine. I love that you rub my back at night, and fuss over my many bruises, and that you kiss each one. I love that you’re so attentive to me, and that you care for me so deeply. No one else ever treated me with such love and attention. I love caring for you as well. It gives me peace in my heart to sit in front of the fireplace at night and comb your hair, or simply hold you.”

“I love you, Faramir,” Legolas whispered, very affected.

“I love you, too, and I never want to lose you,” Faramir said. “If we share this intimacy with three others, three that I do love most dearly, I might add, can there still be this closeness between you and me? Will I still have you as I do now?”

“I will make it so,” Legolas slid to his knees between Faramir’s legs and wrapped his arms round his waist. His pointed ear flattened against the man’s chest, and he drew in a peaceful sigh. “I hear your heartbeat, and it is precious to me. I wish for the magic to keep you young and beautiful for eternity.”

Faramir gazed lovingly on the elf. “If I could live forever, I would do it with you.”

“Then I will be yours alone,” Legolas said, as if the matter was settled. “I would not tarnish our love. You mean too much to me.”

“You mean just as much to me, but I have become convinced to invite Aragorn, Gandalf and Gimli to bond with us, if they are willing, and you wish it.”

Legolas looked up at him quickly. “You have?”

“Yes,” Faramir ran idle fingers through the elf’s blond hair. “I have. I have always loved Mithrandir. I love Aragorn, perhaps as much as you do, and I have also come to love Gimli, although there are days when he tends to be…”

Legolas smiled. “A dwarf?”

“Yes, but a very sweet, thoughtful dwarf who is the most fiercely loyal comrade I have ever met. His love for you is astounding, and I would feel grateful to him for his protective nature. I am more than a little impressed with his character.”

“And I am even more impressed by yours, my Faramir.” Legolas rose for a creamy kiss. With the agility only mastered by elves, he straddled the man’s lap without breaking the kiss, and wrapped himself nimbly around him.

Breathless with the intensity of the moment, Faramir whispered, “Shall we take this to the bed, my love?”

When Legolas nodded and began another torrid kiss, Faramir began to fumble with buttons and ties to get them both undressed. By the time they reached the bed, several minutes later, their lips were kiss-swollen and their clothes littered the floor. They tumbled, tangling their limbs in covers, still kissing, hands exploring.

Legolas bent to take him into his mouth, and when he was slick with saliva, he climbed into his lap again, knees on either side of him. Impatiently, he pressed himself down on the hardened length.

“Legolas, you did not give me time to…”

“Please, Faramir, I need you now!” Legolas cried out as he impaled himself, his fingernails deep in the steward’s shoulders.

Wincing, Faramir sat back on his elbows and watched him, fascinated at his enthusiasm. It was obviously painful for the first moment, but the elf’s muscles soon adjusted as he lifted up and pushed down faster and faster. Faramir’s shoulders were gripped with Elven strength, his mouth was plundered, and his body was tossed on the bed by his irrepressible lover, but Faramir smiled and murmured encouraging words as he teased at pink nipples and nibbled at smooth jawbones.

Their completion was almost unexpected, it happened so suddenly and explosively. Their shouts rang throughout the house, echoing from the upper recesses of the chimney, and alarming the guest who had just arrived at the door.

Dusk was upon them. Faramir stumbled into his trousers on the way to the door. “One moment!” he called, watching Legolas recover all the clothing from the floor and return to the bedroom, closing the privacy curtain behind him. With a fond smile that followed the naked elf, he opened the door and welcomed their visitor, a ruffled, redheaded dwarf who stood ready with his sharp axe.

“Are you being attacked?” Gimli asked, squinting to look into the darkening room.

“No, my dear Gimli,” Faramir answered, reaching to place a calming hand on his strong shoulder. “Everything is fine. Welcome.”

“Where is Legolas?” Gimli demanded, whirling to face him.

“He’s in the bedroom, getting dressed. He will be out to reassure you in a moment. Please, have a seat and I’ll pour you a cup of tea.”

Gimli sat down with misgivings, and accepted the tea as Faramir set it in front of him. “So, you are loud lovers, I take it,” he said boldly.

Faramir was surprised at the statement. “Gimli, please! Honor us with your discretion, I beg of you!”

Gimli nodded as he took a gulp of the hot tea, burning his tongue. His eyes rose as Legolas emerged from the curtained bedroom, and a smile played at his lips. Attempting stoicism, he nodded at him.

Legolas bowed and approached him for a hug. The dwarf’s embrace was so powerful he feared for his ribs, but he found himself abruptly released and pushed into a chair. “Gimli, what is wrong?”

“Nothing!” Gimli answered quickly. “I… I heard you scream, and I thought you were hurt. My heart is still pounding needlessly in my poor chest. No need to worry. I will overcome.” He took another slurp of the scalding tea, closing his eyes until the burning stopped. When he looked up again, his immediate concern was evident as he viewed the retreating steward’s bare torso. “What in bloody Mordor happened to you, Lad?”

Standing, Legolas moved to stop him before he could reach the bedroom. He caressed the crimson streaks that covered the man’s slim shoulders and back. “Faramir, there are more marks, now, more that were not here this morning.”

Faramir’s tentative glimpse went from his eyes to his hands. “I have told you, Legolas, that I am clumsy. Do not be troubled by my bumbling. I will get dressed now, if you will see to the charming supper you have prepared for our guests.” He kissed the elf, noting Gimli’s embarrassed look, then escaped into the bedroom.

Elf and dwarf exchanged a worried glance, and Legolas went to tend the food.

Faramir had just returned, fully dressed, when another knock came to the door. He proceeded to open it, bowing lightly to the king and the wizard. “Aragorn, Gandalf, please, come in.” He stepped back to allow them into his humble home.

Aragorn pressed a hand to his friend’s shoulder, tilting his head to look around him at Legolas, who was stirring in a pan on the stovetop. “What is your lovely mate doing?” he asked.

“He’s cooking, my lord. He’s become very skilled at it, taught much by the hobbits. They came every day for a time, until he mastered the art.”

“Good for the hobbits!” Aragorn approved. “It’s time our Legolas learned to do something domestic.”

“Oh, he’s very domesticated, now,” Faramir assured him with a wink. “But it was his own idea. He is the one who asked the hobbits to teach him the culinary arts.”

Aragorn was even more proud of his friend. Smiling, he went to put a hand on the elf’s shoulder. After switching hands with his stirring spoon, Legolas returned the gesture, but after only a second of the symbolic gesture, he gave into his impulse and threw both arms around the king.

Aragorn laughed out loud and hugged him back. “Oh, Legolas, my dear Legolas!”

Legolas kissed his cheek. “I still love you, Aragorn,” he said, making no effort to keep his voice down. “And I always will.”

The king was a bit disconcerted, but gave him a tighter squeeze. “And I love you, too,” he murmured.

“And what are your feelings concerning Faramir?”

“I adore him.”

“Good!” Legolas said. Drawing back from him, he beamed with happiness. “And what about Gandalf and Gimli?”

Aragorn was confused by the discussion. He shrugged. “They are dear to me. Dear friends, all of you,” he answered. “You know this.”

Faramir pulled out chairs at the table. “I will seat you, now,” he said, which brought the exquisite man from the elf’s arms and to the table.

As he sat, the king looked uneasily up at Faramir, but said nothing. To ease the tension, Gandalf led into an anecdote. “I once traveled to Lothlorien to take counsel with the Lady of the Wood, but on the road along the way, I came upon a slave trader who offered to sell me a golden elf. This elf, he told me, was a hard worker, very domesticated and tame. He was fair of face, tall, and subservient. The trader assured me that he was the best of cooks.”

Aragorn smiled at the wizard as he took a seat next to him. “How far were you from Lórien when you met with this trader?”

“Very close,” Gandalf answered. “I could hear the twang of bowstrings as I bargained with him.”

Gimli was interested, having been to Lothlorien along with his companions shortly after Gandalf’s fall into the abyss. “So what happened?” he asked.

“I held up a hand to suspend their attack. The elf was in bondage. I asked him to remove the chains, and at first he was reluctant, deeming it unwise. I insisted, so he agreed. I held my elf from behind so he could unlock the chains, and when he bent to put the key to the shackles round his ankles, I whispered in his ear, ‘When he lifts his head, kick him in the chin.’ The poor trader never had a chance. He was flat on his back as soon as the chains fell away.”

Gimli laughed. “Good enough for him!” he said loudly. “What moron would try to keep an elf as a slave?”

“‘Moron’ was right, dear Gimli,” Gandalf said. “For the elf he had captured and enslaved was none other than the Lord of the Golden Wood, himself.”

Aragorn had heard the story before. He winked at the wizard, because he knew what wonderful favors Gandalf had reaped from the intended slave.

Faramir nodded. “Legolas is not my slave, Mithrandir,” he said. “He is my beloved.”

“Yes, this I know,” Gandalf said, taking his hand. “The story was not a parable, Faramir. Merely told to ease the heaviness in the room.” His quick tug unbalanced the Steward and caused him to sprawl into the king’s lap.

Moving quickly, Aragorn caught him. “Are you all right?” he asked, very concerned.

“Yes, I am fine,” Faramir answered, unsettled, “You are the one who was fallen on! Are you all right?” He touched the older man’s cheek and made himself comfortable.

“No bloody wonder the boy is covered with bruises if he’s that clumsy!” Gimli muttered.

Aragorn was a bit embarrassed with his host’s bizarre mood. As Faramir righted himself, but made no move to get up from his lap, he asked, “Would you like me to help you to your feet?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Faramir answered contentedly. “I’m fine.”

Legolas placed a dish on the table and, after a sweet smile at Gandalf, Aragorn and Faramir, pirouetted and flopped gracefully down into Gimli’s lap. “Oh! Many pardons!” he exclaimed without the proper inflection. He ran long, slender fingers through the dwarf’s red hair. “Elves do have their clumsy days.”

Gimli’s arms had circled him as he had descended, and now they gripped him tightly. “That’s quite all right, my dear elf. All is forgiven.”

Legolas leaned closer to him. “And if my lips were to accidentally bump against yours, would you be offended?”

Gimli’s eyes fastened onto the elf’s luscious mouth. “Nay, of course not,” he said lowly. “But would Faramir?”

“Be offended?” Legolas glanced at Faramir. “If Gimli kissed me, my love, would it offend you?”

“Never, sweet Legolas. Kiss at will. And if I kissed our gorgeous king, what would you have to say?” Faramir said, his eyes on Aragorn’s face.

“I would say that I want to be next for kissing the king,” Legolas answered. “And then our wizard.”

Gandalf chuckled, knowing the score, but Aragorn sighed. “You would have me believe that the two of you wish to share your affections with the three of us or does my heart deceive me?”

Faramir gazed deeply into his eyes, hoping he would not rebuke them. “Your heart does not deceive, my Lord,” he murmured respectfully. “We love you, very much.”

“What do you expect of me?” Aragorn asked.

Gimli was the one who spoke up. “It’s fairly obvious what’s expected of all of us, Aragorn! They’re offering to share themselves with us because they’ve seen what lonely, forsaken folks we are, you and I. Can’t you see this is pity?”

“No,” Legolas objected, as his hands framed the dwarf’s face. “It is not pity I offer to you, Gimli. It’s love. I love you, and I was under the impression that you loved me also!”

“I do,” Gimli said. “I love you, and you know it. But what about Faramir?”

“I love him, too. And I love Aragorn, and Gandalf.” Legolas answered. “Why can’t there be more than two? Why must we limit ourselves?”

“Now you sound like a hobbit talking!” Gimli said. “But I like what you’re saying!”

“Then may I kiss you?” the elf requested.

“Yes, I suppose.” Gimli grinned at him. “If you promise not to get too carried away. Elves have a reputation for wildness, you know.”

Legolas bent to kiss him, and found himself swept away with deep, sensual kisses. Astounded, he opened his mouth as the dwarf’s tongue invaded his mouth and took his breath away.

Watching in awe, Aragorn said, “Faramir, you condone this act? This is well with you?”

“Yes,” Faramir answered, gazing fondly on his lover. He looked again into the king’s blue eyes. “I believe he’s right, that the five of us can have love together.”

“You realize my position, and your own, my lord steward,” Aragorn’s convictions faltered as Faramir neared him. “It would be… less than…” When their lips touched, his words drifted away for a few seconds as Faramir indulged him with a succulent, vibrant kiss. Afterwards, he took a few deep breaths to clear his mind again before he continued, “appropriate…”

“So, you don’t wish me to kiss you again?” Faramir asked, moving as if to rise from his lap.

The king grabbed him by the arms and held him in place. “I did not say that,” he said quickly. “We will simply be discreet, and keep this a secret.”

The steward smiled at him knowingly, and kissed him again.

Gimli stood, lifting the feather-light elf in his arms, and moved to the fireplace to sit on the long chaise lounge before resuming their kisses. “I am lost in the taste of you, my love,” he murmured against his lips. Speaking louder, he said, “Gandalf, Aragorn, Faramir, join us here. Let us continue these pleasures together since this delightful couple seems bent on sharing their affections with us.”

Gandalf, Aragorn and Faramir rose and joined them on either side of the dwarf who was laden with a lapful of elf. Legolas switched his seat to Aragorn’s lap, wrapped his arms round his neck and kissed him with fiery passion. The king was overwhelmed with sensations as Gimli stretched to press a kiss between their mouths. He wanted more. Reaching for Faramir, then Gandalf, he brought them into the mix. Although it was physically impossible for any of them to simultaneously kiss the lips of four others, they tried. Again and again and again they tried until they were burning with need.

“Let us see how we fare in bed,” Legolas challenged, on his feet, tugging the other four along by the hands.

“Gandalf, have you done this before?” Legolas asked, aware of the wizard’s serenity.

“Oh, yes, of course. Multiple partners are nothing new to me. I have taken part in many glorious events over the centuries.”

“Then you are our advisor in this, because I have not,” Legolas said. “I have never been with more than one, so I need guidance.”

“But my dear, this was your idea!”

“Is this wrong?”

“Do you see it as wrong?” Gandalf asked, pulling the doubtful elf onto his bare lap. The others paused to listen.

Legolas took a moment to look into Faramir’s eyes, then Aragorn’s, then Gimli’s. At last, gazing deeply into Gandalf’s ancient eyes, he shook his head. “No, I see it as perfect.”

Gandalf kissed him gently. “Perfect. You are right, sweet Legolas, this is perfection. Elven softness.” He turned his head to kiss Faramir. “Utter radiance.” he breathed. He reached for Gimli and bestowed upon him a lingering kiss. “Dwarven power.” Last, he took Aragorn’s mouth in a hungry kiss. “And noble intensity.”

“And wizardly passion,” Aragorn murmured against his lips.

“Aye,” Gimli agreed, pulling Faramir in for a kiss. Aragorn leaned between their faces to capture first Gimli’s lips, then Faramir’s. Looking around for Legolas, he found him immersed in another silky kiss with Gandalf. The elf’s fingertips clawed at the wizard’s strong shoulders.

Faramir darted forth to grab the clawing fingers and straightened them. “Legolas, my love,” he whispered in his ear, “Gandalf is old. Please be careful of your passion.”

Gandalf took the hands from Faramir’s grip and placed them back on his shoulders. “I am old, Faramir, but not weak. I am capable of suffering his passion.”

It was Gimli who figured it out. “The marks on your back, Faramir,” he said, tracing one of the long, red scratches. “You are not clumsy, as you claimed. You merely have an Elven lover.”

Faramir nodded quietly, his eyes on Legolas. The look of understanding came, followed by self-condemnation. “Legolas, I have not complained!” he said carefully. “Your love is worth it!”

“I did not realize! I am sorry,” Legolas said, curling his fingers into his palms. “I would rather cut off my offending digits than to hurt you!”

“I know this, but I prefer you keep them as they are. I rather enjoy their touch.”

“As do I,” Gandalf seconded.

“And I,” Gimli agreed.

Aragorn smiled at him reassuringly. “And I.”

“You are all wonderful!” Legolas kissed each of them again. He bounced up from the bed to throw back the curtain of the wardrobe and searched until he found a pair of woolen mittens. “If I cannot control myself, I will at least ensure your safety while we share pleasures.” He pulled the mittens on over his hands and returned to the bed, ready for action.


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