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Intentions (NC-17) Print

Written by RubyElf

18 March 2012 | 26062 words

Title: Intentions
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir & Legolas

Thranduil arrives unexpectedly, Arwen solves everybody’s problems before dinner, Eomer is looking for his elf, hobbits are unhappy, Boromir is annoyed, and apparently Gandalf has shown up with some plans for Legolas and Faramir that perhaps he should have asked them about first.

[ all pages ]

Intentions – Part 12

Éomer stood in one of the seemingly endless halls of the upper levels of the city, a deep scowl on his face as he contemplated where Berendir might be and whether the elf was deliberately avoiding him. He jumped and had to hold back a yelp of surprise when a light hand touched his shoulder.

“Sorry to startle you,” Arwen said, smiling serenely.

Éomer glared at her. “I doubt that. You’ve always got something in mind, my Lady, so what is it this time?”

She laughed. “You are in a foul mood, King of Rohan! I might think you were engaged in an endeavor which has not been successful.”

“You know who I’m looking for, I’m sure.”

“Of course I do. And I know where he is, too.”

Éomer forced himself to settle down and attempt to be civil; Arwen hadn’t, after all, done anything to deserve his temper.

“And would you care to tell me where he is?”

“I will, but first I need to ask you something.”

“Yes, my Lady?”

She smiled and stepped closer, studying his face as she spoke. “What are your intentions toward this person you seek?”

Éomer chuckled slightly. “Must you really ask that?”

Her smile vanished and she fixed Éomer with a stern look. “Not your intentions for today, Éomer. Your intentions. Period.”

He frowned. “You know very well I’m expected to be married to Imrahil’s daughter.”

“I know that. It’s a wise decision. Lothiriel is a cousin to the line of Stewards as well as a member of the royal family of Dol Amroth, and marrying her will strengthen Rohan’s alliances considerably.”

“Then I don’t suppose I understand what you’re asking me,” he said. “I don’t see how my intentions toward this other individual can be anything but… casual.”

Arwen turned and glanced down the hall before turning back to Éomer. “Would you speak of my husband’s relationship with his Steward as casual?”

Éomer looked surprised. “I… well, no, my Lady. They are… I’m sorry; I never expected to be speaking of them with you.”

She laughed. “I know very well what the two of them share, Éomer, and you know that they’re both honorable men, and neither of them would do this without my full knowledge and consent.”

“You are an unusual and extraordinary woman, Queen Arwen. But I don’t see it likely that Lothiriel will agree to any such arrangement.”

“If she would agree to such an arrangement, what would that mean for you and your other companion?”

Éomer shuffled his feet. “I would like to keep him. But…”

“Lothiriel, I suspect, is not much looking forward to leaving the beautiful seaside land of Dol Amroth and coming to live in the bleak wilds of Edoras. It seems likely that some sort of bargain could be made… perhaps in exchange for being allowed to make extended visits to stay in her homeland on a regular basis, and to enjoy a sort of freedom few wives in arranged marriages are given, she would be willing to bear you heirs and turn a blind eye to your other activities.”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you doubt my persuasiveness?” she asked, smiling.

“No,” Éomer said. “In fact, I wonder sometimes if you don’t have talents that exceed your grandmother’s.”

She lowered her eyes, but her smile did not change. “I won’t live long enough to achieve the skills Galadriel has. But there are… compensations for that.”

She dropped a hand to her belly, the slight roundness barely noticeable through the many layers of her attire. Éomer grinned.

“I had heard that there was to be a new member of Gondor’s royal family. Congratulations, my Lady.”

“Thank you. You’ll find Berendir in the garden down the hall, the one with the tall iron gate at the entrance.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” he said, turning to depart.


“Yes, ma’am?”

“He is a wood elf, after all. If you don’t see him at first, look up.”

“You didn’t tell me that you idiots went and got Berendir involved with a Horse Lord!” Gandalf hissed, giving Faramir, Legolas, and Aragorn a sharp look.

Legolas was about to reply, but the door abruptly crashed open with enough force to make the hinges squeal in protest, and Boromir stormed into the room, fists clenched, face flushed, and shoulders squared. The elf that stalked in behind him looked almost as hostile, but not quite as dangerous.

“Boromir…” Aragorn said.

“Oh, no. I don’t want to hear any platitudes from you, or any sensible comments from my brother, or any clever remarks from the elf, or anything from you, wizard, until I’ve had my say! Thranduil and I have been discussing…”

“You and Thranduil discussed something?” Aragorn interrupted, surprised.

Boromir, temporarily derailed, glared at him. “Yes. We discussed something.”

“It seems that the Steward and I can agree when it comes to the matter of this,” Thranduil said, indicating Faramir and Legolas with a gesture.

“What about it?” Gandalf asked.

“About this plan of yours to join my brother and that elf in a formal bond in the eyes of the Valar!” Boromir snapped. “I don’t know what you think to accomplish, and I don’t know why you would even suggest such a thing… will the Valar even agree to bind two males? And an elf and a man?”

“Have you given any thought to what will happen to my son when this mortal dies, if you bind them together in this way?”

Gandalf rolled his eyes. “I told you, Thranduil, they’re already bound in spirit. That decision was made without my approval, and I would have had some serious reservations about it, considering the risk to both of them in the process, but they both survived it, and it’s why your son is here to discuss this. Now…”

“That’s not the point!” Boromir interrupted. “The point is…”

“Yes, Boromir, what exactly is the point?” Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow.

Boromir glared at him. “The point is that you want to marry them. I won’t give my brother away to belong to that elf…”

“And I will not give my son away to belong to that man!” Thranduil added.

“So I strongly suggest you take your plan and your wizard talk, old man, and go back to entertaining hobbits with parlor tricks, because I won’t agree to this, and…”

“Boromir,” Aragorn warned.

Gandalf waved a hand. “It’s all right, Aragorn. Let him talk.”

“I won’t agree to it either,” Thranduil said. “I have plans for my son, and they don’t involve…”

“If you’re talking about having me take your place as King of Mirkwood, I’m not even remotely interested,” Legolas said coolly.

Thranduil blinked. “What?”

“Even if I’d never met Faramir, I still wouldn’t be interested. First of all, I have no interest in being a king, Second, you’re only interested in me being a king because you know that everyone in Middle Earth knows of the Fellowship, and you know what it would mean for Mirkwood to have a hero and a legend on the throne. And third, you coming here and pretending to care about my happiness and my future does nothing to erase the last two thousand years when you wanted nothing to do with me unless I would submit to your will. If you’re finally convinced of my worth now, it’s only because everyone else in Middle Earth has forced it through your skull. You’ll have to find yourself another heir… father.”

Thranduil glared at him. “If you allow yourself to be formally recognized by the Valar as the partner and equal of an ordinary man, I will disown you.”

“Does that mean you’ll leave me alone?” Legolas asked hopefully. “Excellent. Gandalf, when can we get started?”

Thranduil turned on his heels and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Faramir looked past Legolas and his eyes found his brother’s face, and to his surprise, Boromir’s anger seemed to have faded. He was smiling now, and Faramir realized why.

Legolas, he thought, I do believe my brother is actually almost proud of you.

The corner of the elf’s mouth twitched. I’m not quite sure what to think about that.

Faramir turned to face Boromir.

“Well, brother… you’ve already made it clear you won’t agree to any of this…”

Boromir scowled. “I don’t approve of it. You know how I feel about that ill-mannered elf.”

Legolas chuckled. “The feeling is mutual.”

Boromir looked surprised for a moment, but then he regained his sullen expression. “I don’t approve of any of it.”

Gandalf tapped his pipe out on the table impatiently. “It makes no difference anyway. If Thranduil disowns Legolas, there’s not much sense in arranging this for the sake of politics.”

“No,” Faramir said. “But it would force Thranduil to recognize that if that bond would be blessed by the Valar, he would accomplish nothing but drawing their wrath by attempting to separate it.”

He glanced at Boromir expectantly.

“Damnit,” Boromir muttered, glaring at Gandalf. “This is your fault.”

Faramir grinned.

Éomer nearly jumped out of his boots when Berendir dropped out a tree and landed neatly on his feet directly in front of him.

“Did I startle you?”

Éomer scowled. “Are all elves as unbearably obnoxious as you?”

“Yes,” he said, studying the man curiously. “What are you doing in Minas Tirith?”

“Paying a visit,” Éomer said.

“Ah, yes. You must maintain good relations with the cousins of your wife-to-be.”

Éomer rolled his eyes. “I told you, I don’t have a choice in this. This marriage has been planned since the day I was crowned king. Imrahil is quite determined that I marry his daughter.”

Berendir nodded, but his green eyes had darkened. “I understand. It was silly of me to think that such things would work out for me the way they have for my brother.”

“I can’t say that it’s been entirely smooth sailing for your brother, either,” Éomer said, eyes moving over the archer’s slender figure. “But…”

“But what?”

“Arwen seems to think that… arrangements can be made.”

Berendir crossed his arms. “Arrangements? With your future wife?”

“Well, yes.”

“I don’t know that I care to share you.”

Éomer resisted the temptation to use one of his typical strategies he preferred when dealing with people who were being unreasonable; he doubted that threatening, punching, or getting drunk with the elf was going to achieve his desired goal.

“I didn’t say it was a perfect situation,” he muttered. “There’s not going to be a perfect situation, though.”

Berendir considered for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Does that mean you…”

The elf smiled. “Why don’t you convince me it’s worth it?”

Éomer glanced over his shoulder. “Here? In this garden?”

“The gate locks.”

“Does it,” Éomer said, moving to flip the latch on the gate. “How convenient.”

“You know, if you’re going to convince me, you’re going to have to put some work into it,” Berendir said.

Éomer growled and grasped the elf by the tunic, pulling him closer. “I intend to convince you very, very thoroughly.”

“Oh?” he asked, as the man’s hands yanked at the laces of his tunic and bared a strip of bare skin, which he immediately attacked with his mouth.

“Absolutely,” Éomer said, his hand sliding down to stroke the length he knew he would find hardening in the elf’s breeches. “In fact, I intend to convince you until you’re shouting my name loud enough to scare off all those birds that were up in that tree with you.”

“What if I’m cross with you and don’t intend to shout your name?”

Éomer chuckled as he pulled the laces holding the elf’s breeches closed. “I’ll have to make sure you’re done being cross with me.”

“So you think I’ll just forgive… oh!”

Whatever he was going to say trailed off into an exclamation as Éomer dropped to his knees and, grinning up at him, drew his cock from his breeches.

“Will this assist you in being less cross?”

“Oh… yes… that will work… quite nicely…”

Éomer’s mouth was too busy to answer, but he signaled his approval by reaching around and squeezing the elf’s buttocks firmly. Berendir gasped and thrust forward, reaching out to steady himself against the tree. Éomer released him for just a moment.

“Easy, there, elf. I don’t intend for you to come like this.”

“No? What did you have in mind?”

“Hmm. You. On your knees, with your hands on that stone bench over there. To brace yourself, of course, because I intend to fuck you very, very hard.”

Berendir’s reply was lost in a low moan as the man took him back into his mouth and sucked hard. If he had learned anything about the man of Rohan since meeting him, it was that Éomer was always, always a man of his word.

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4 Comment(s)

Well, that was just great! I really enjoyed this.

— Ria    Monday 19 March 2012, 2:25    #

Heehee, Hobbits! XD I can almost hear their incessant chatter about each and everything. Of course they would pretend to be all timid and shy – and then make whispered remarks about the other party guests, loud enough everyone can hear.

The whole scenery seems like something that happened during lunch break on the Ring set. Like: somebody (most likely one of the hobbit actors) snatched a camera and then they were going to do their own version of The Secret life in Middle Earth. Thinking about it I´m absolutely positive there is a secret extra somewhere in a sinister corner of the DVD…

And I must say I find the idea of Arwen having fun with itching powder very pleasing – and perhaps she would as well. It must be so annoying to spend all your time being wise and serene, especially with all these lively halflings around. The longer I think about it the more I like the idea of stripping all these over-glamorous characters of their flawlessness – at least a tiny bit… >:)

A refreshing look at a lighter and funnier Middle Earth – I bet there are even such things as fart cushions (in Arwen´s drawer)! XDDD

— raven22372    Wednesday 21 March 2012, 16:23    #

hahaha, I have laughed nonstop at this end! hahah!

— Laivindur    Thursday 22 March 2012, 18:38    #

Oh, I just love Pippin!!! “Makes it up as he goes along!” hahaha

— Laivindur    Thursday 22 March 2012, 19:10    #

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