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Legolas glanced absently at the snowflakes that landed on his shoulders as he walked across the frozen, rutted ground of the training yards and toward the new building past the edges of the city. It was shaped rather like the stables and barns where the city’s horses, cattle, and other animals were kept, but the domestic animals resided on the other side of the city, with the best pastures and easy access to fresh water. This low, broad building was walled on three sides and open in the front except for a sturdy wooden fence.
He found Berendir leaning on the fence, looking into the barn. He spoke without turning around.
“Hello, brother.”
“How are you, Dragon-Keeper?”
“Rather bored. Once we got him used to his nice little makeshift cave and fed him well enough that he wasn’t starving anymore, he’s spent most of his time sleeping. Not very exciting.”
Legolas looked into the dimness of the barn and saw the young dragon, Osbon, curled up contentedly on the bare ground (someone had originally thought straw would make a nice bedding, and the result was that the first time the dragon snored he nearly burned down his new home). Small wisps of smoke rose from the dragon’s nostrils.
“I think he’s starting to talk, though,” Berendir said, perking up.
“Really?”
“It just sounds like growling, but I’m quite certain he’s trying to speak. Very precocious young fellow, isn’t he?”
“Perhaps he’s trying to learn to speak so he can tell you to shut up.”
Berendir rolled his eyes and kicked at Legolas, who stepped deftly out of the way.
“Thinking of going back to Edoras?” he asked.
Berendir scowled. “Not unless a certain mortal decides to make amends for his appalling behavior and general lack of tact.”
“Eomer’s never had any tact that I’m aware of, but he may decide to apologize for his rudeness at some point.”
“Where have you been?” Berendir asked. “One day you’re here, and the next day you’re gone for a week or two and no one knows where. Do you even tell Faramir where you’re off to?”
“I’m looking for something,” Legolas said, quickly changing the subject. “Speaking of Faramir… he sent this for you.”
Berendir took the neatly folded letter from his brother. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t say ‘Legolas’ on it.”
Berendir raised an eyebrow. “That never would have stopped you before.”
“Yes, well… that would have been before I knew Faramir could tell if I was lying about it.”
Berendir laughed. “Your bond seems to have put some limitations on the extent of your questionable behavior.”
“On the contrary,” Legolas said, with a smirk. “You have no idea what sorts of new questionable behaviors I’ve been introduced to.”
“After two thousand and some years, someone had something new to show you?”
“Faramir is a very creative young man,” Legolas said, “and not opposed to research new methods and tactics to improve his strategies.”
Berendir unfolded the letter and read it, then looked up at Legolas, then back at the letter. “Do you know what this says?”
“Yes,” Legolas said, amused. “I know exactly what it says. Read it over and decide what you think. Faramir and I will be in our rooms at dinner with enough food for three of us, and whatever you decide to stay for after that is entirely up to you. If nothing else, I must say that even if you decide just to sit and watch, there are quite a few people in this castle who would do just about anything to be allowed even to do that.”
“Watch…”
“We’ll see you this evening, Berendir.”
He walked away through the snow, his feet falling as lightly as the flakes that drifted down on him. Berendir watched him go, looked at the letter again, and then glanced at his dragon.
“What do you think about this business?” he asked.
Osbon looked up and cocked his head. Berendir sighed.
“I know. I wish you could speak as well as you understood.”
The dragon growled.
“What was that?” Berendir asked, leaning closer. “Did you say something?”
The dragon gave him a sharp look and tried again. “Go… with.”
“Go with? You mean I should go with them? And whatever they’re suggesting?”
“Go.”
“Why do you think… it seems… now, wait. Are you just trying to get me to go away because you’re tired of me hanging around watching you and pouting?”
The dragon’s mouth opened in what appeared to be a toothy and alarming gesture, but Berendir had begun to suspect it was a chuckle.
“Yes.”
“Fine,” the elf said, laughing. “But see if I teach you any more words after this.”
The dragon deliberately yawned, turned around like a large, scaly cat, and went back to sleep.
Aragorn looked up from the papers spread out across the table in front of him and sighed. Boromir, who was supposed to be assisting with the papers, appeared to have dozed off in his chair.
“Boromir!”
He woke with a jerk. “I was just closing my eyes!”
“Of course. This is a mess. I think Thranduil’s gone even more insane than when I saw him last. These ‘terms’ of his don’t make a bit of sense… is he looking for a trade agreement or threatening to attack?”
“I’m not sure he knows anymore,” Boromir said. “Faramir said there’s been word from the elves in Ithilien that Galadriel and Celeborn are urging him to sail for Valinor before he loses himself entirely… but if his two sons are any indication, he won’t listen to a bloody thing anyone tells him.”
“Where is Faramir, anyway?”
“He requested this evening off. He has been working hard. He always…”
Most people would knock before interrupting a conference between a King and his Steward, but Merry and Pippin were not most people, so they burst in without warning and clambered up into the chairs on either side of Boromir, both talking at once.
“Quiet!” he snapped.
They both fell silent, looking at him expectantly.
“All right. Now, ONE of you tell me what you’re so agitated about.”
“Merry and I were…”
“Pip saw…”
“And the kitchen lady said…”
“She did not! It was the guard!”
“The guard threatened to box your ears.”
“I’ll box your ears!”
Boromir scowled. “I’ll box both your ears if you don’t be quiet! What are you yammering about?”
Merry gave Pippin a warning look before he started talking. “We went to the kitchen…”
“Only to say hello, of course,” Pippin interrupted.
“And one of the cooks had some lovely apples, and of course Pippin had to try to steal one…”
“I wasn’t going to steal it! I was just going to make sure there were no bad spots on it!”
Merry glared at him again. “The cook caught him and took it back and said there weren’t so many nice apples left this time of year, and that she’d been instructed to find whatever fruit was still available for the dinner that was being sent to Captain Faramir’s rooms tonight.”
“Everyone knows elves like fruit,” Boromir said impatiently.
“Yes, but this was quite a bit, so Pippin, because he has no manners…”
“I do so have manners!”
“… asked how much company Captain Faramir was expecting, and the cook said that he had asked for dinner for three!”
“Is that all?” Boromir asked wearily.
“No!” Pippin jumped in. “We saw someone going to Faramir’s rooms, and we asked the guard who it was, and he said it was Berendir!”
“So you burst in here all excited because Berendir is going to Faramir’s rooms to have dinner with his brother, who lives there? I hardly see what the…”
“Why a private dinner, though?” Merry demanded.
“Probably to avoid you two idiots and your gossip,” Aragorn muttered.
“It’s not gossip,” Merry said firmly. “It’s speculation. And we are speculating that your brother has plans for this evening with both elves.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Boromir said. “You came to that conclusion just because they’re having dinner?”
Merry’s face flushed slightly as he reached into his pocket. “Well, that… and this letter from Faramir that Pippin just happened to stumble upon while he happened to be wandering around the dragon house…”
“So you were spying.”
“It’s not spying,” Merry said. “It’s being enterprising.”
“Besides, it was laying right on his dresser…”
“Pippin!” Merry exclaimed.
“What were you doing in Berendir’s rooms?”
Pippin looked at his feet. “We heard something he and Legolas said, and…”
“Just give me the letter, you sticky-fingered little monstrosities,” Boromir said, snatching it from Merry and reading it over. After a moment, he looked up at Aragorn. “This appears to be an invitation to quite a bit more than dinner.”
Aragorn shrugged. “Eomer did tell him to take both of them and do whatever he wanted.”
Boromir scowled. “But that’s my brother! And one elf is bad enough! What the bloody hell does he need two of them for?”
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how many people would pay large sums of money for an opportunity to have those two elves together?”
Boromir rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“I’m rather enjoying thinking about it,” Aragorn said, closing his eyes and smiling. “I’m sure Berendir looks just as fine as Legolas when…”
“Stop thinking about naked elves!” Boromir bellowed.
“Are you talking to him or to us?” Pippin asked. “Because I’m quite certain we were doing it too.”
Merry’s eyes were still closed, but his face wore a dreamy smile, and he nodded in the affirmative.
“All three of you! Especially you!”
Aragorn laughed. “Go take a walk, Boromir. I’m going to toss these papers in the fireplace. If Thranduil can’t manage to put a coherent idea together, I’m not reading thirty pages of half-mad gibberish. I’m going home for supper.”
“Are we invited?” Pippin asked hopefully.
“Certainly not,” Aragorn said firmly.
“Don’t be silly, Pip,” Merry said, climbing down from his chair. “We’ve got much, much more important things to do this evening.”
“If you’re thinking of getting a peep at what’s going on in Faramir’s rooms tonight, don’t bother,” Aragorn said. “He’s learned his tricks from Gandalf, and if he doesn’t want you seeing, he’ll make sure you don’t.”
Pippin glanced slyly at Merry. “It wouldn’t be the first time hobbit ingenuity had foiled a wizard’s plans, would it?”
“I don’t believe so,” Merry said. “And Pippin and I can be quite creative.”
“Ugh,” Boromir said. “Go away. Whatever you see, don’t tell me about it.”
Pippin followed Merry down the hall toward Boromir’s room.
“So, how exactly do you figure we’re going to get to peek on anything?”
“We never have trouble getting a peek at those two back there,” Merry said.
Pippin rolled his eyes. “That’s not terribly difficult to do. Anybody could get a look at them…”
“You mean anybody who was small enough to hide in Boromir’s liquor cabinet before they came back?” Merry reminded him.
“True. Could we get into Faramir’s rooms?”
“Pip, first of all, they’re already in there. And second of all, we have a key to Boromir’s rooms.”
“I know that,” Pippin said. “I do wish he’d stop getting his locks changed. It would save us the trouble of having to steal his new keys all the time.”
“He wasn’t very happy the time he found us in the liquor cabinet,” Merry pointed out.
“No, he wasn’t,” Pippin said, and giggled. “But he was naked.”
“That doesn’t help us with getting a look into Faramir’s rooms. You know he’ll have all his shutters locked and we won’t get them open…”
“We already tried that,” Pippin agreed. “And we tried picking the lock, but that didn’t work either.”
“That’s because you’re not very good at picking locks,” Merry said. “And we’ve been trying to steal his keys for months with no luck.”
“Well, that’s because he doesn’t leave them lying all over the place like Boromir does.”
“I don’t think ‘in his gear bag wrapped in a tunic and hidden in a drawer’ counts as lying all over the place,” Merry mused.
“Well, close enough,” Pippin said. “But now Faramir’s in there with two elves doing all sorts of things, and we don’t have a key, and we can’t look through the windows, and we know he’s not going to let us in…”
“Right,” Merry said. “So what are we going to do?”
“We could go to the kitchen and steal some jam and I could let you lick it off me…”
Merry rolled his eyes. “Pip, we can do that any night. Please try to focus.”
“I am focusing. On you licking jam off of me.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Maybe the jam will give you some ideas,” Pippin suggested.
“Why would jam give me ideas?” Merry asked, annoyed. Then he stopped so suddenly that Pippin nearly ran into him.
“What?”
“Jam,” Merry said.
“The jam was my idea,” Pippin protested.
“Not jam to eat, you idiot. When we were in the kitchen, they were just starting to get their food ready, weren’t they? So they’ll be going into the rooms with it soon.”
“What does that matter? Are you thinking they need some jam with supper?”
Merry slapped Pippin’s head. “Stop it! I said, not the kind of jam you eat.”
“What other kind of jam is there?” Pippin demanded, rubbing his head.
“There’s the kind of jam,” Merry said, “that happens to a lock. You know, when it jams. And doesn’t lock properly.”
“You want to put jam in their lock?”
“Are you listening at all, Peregrin? I said, I want to jam the lock so that when the kitchen staff leave, the door doesn’t lock behind them!”
Pippin blinked. “Oh! That’s quite clever, Merry! How will we do that?”
“The same way we used to do it to the pantry doors at Brandy Hall when the cook was trying to keep us out of the goodies,” Merry said. “The locks here aren’t much different. I need a few metal pins, and we need to hurry before the kitchen staff finishes preparing their supper.”
“What are we going to do after that?” Pippin asked. “You know elves can hear everything. They’ll hear us sneaking in even if we don’t have to pick the lock.”
“They won’t,” Merry said, “if there’s some other sort of dreadfully loud noise at the same time to distract them.”
“What kind of noise…”
“I was thinking of Boromir shouting about something.”
“Nobody can hear anything when he’s doing that,” Pippin agreed. “What shall we do to make him shout?”
“Oh, that won’t be hard to think of. He does it for just about no reason at all. I think a squirrel loose in his rooms for Finn to chase ought to cause a proper mess.”
“So…”
“So, we’ll jam the lock,” Merry said, “and then we’ll hide down the hall and wait until Boromir comes home and finds that Finn’s destroyed his room chasing a squirrel, and once he starts roaring, we hurry and get into Faramir’s rooms while Boromir’s distracting everyone.”
“But that means we only have a few minutes to jam the lock and find a squirrel.”
“No, it means I have a few minutes to jam the lock, and you have a few minutes to find a squirrel. The ones in the Queen’s garden are so tame they’ll sit on your knee… just grab it and stuff it in a bag and get back to Boromir’s rooms as quickly as you can. I’ll take care of the door.”
Pippin grinned. “I’m a professional squirrel-catcher, you know.”
“You’re a professional idiot. Now hurry up!”
Pippin returned from the Queen’s garden with a squirming, writhing sack, holding it gingerly at arm’s length.
“Squirrels are scratchy.”
Merry looked up from the lock on Faramir’s door, scowling. “Be quiet, Pip! I’ve been trying to jam this lock and it’s not working…”
“It’s Faramir’s lock. It’s probably got a Gandalf sort of spell on it to keep out hobbits.”
“Well, it should still…”
Merry broke off mid-sentence and, grabbing Pippin by the arm, darted around the corner just in time to avoid being spotted by the kitchen staff, who were approaching down the hall with trays of food.
“Damnit! We’ve missed our chance!” Merry muttered.
“That food looks good. Is it time for dinner yet?”
“No! Are you listening? That’s the only time tonight that door’s going to open, so we just lost our only chance to get in!”
Pippin frowned, looking at the bag he was still holding. “Well… what should I do with the squirrel, then?”
Merry, arms crossed and wearing his best Brandybuck scowl, rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what you do with it. I suppose you could toss it in Boromir’s rooms anyway, just for some entertainment later.”
“He won’t be happy about it,” Pippin pointed out.
“It’ll distract him from thinking about the things two elves are doing to his brother,” Merry countered.
“True,” Pippin agreed. “And since we’re not going to get to see any of it anyway, we might as well have some fun this evening.”
“Besides,” Merry said, “it’s good for him to be able to let out some of his stress occasionally. I think shouting at us is quite therapeutic for him. Afterwards he usually has a few drinks and then sleeps like a baby.”
“Or a lot of drinks.”
“Pippin, please try to stay focused. There’s not…”
They fell silent as the kitchen staff departed from Faramir’s rooms, the door latching securely behind them. Merry muttered a few curses, then shrugged.
“All right, then. Let’s go give Finn her new toy.”
“She won’t hurt it, will she?” Pippin asked, frowning.
“She’ll never catch it. All those tables and chairs and hiding places and things on the wall to climb… she won’t catch it, but she’ll wreck the place trying.”
“And why is this a good idea, again?” Pippin asked.
“Because I’m in a bad mood, and I need cheered up,” Merry said.
“Oh. Of course. Shall we, then?”
“And the dragon is actually talking?” Faramir asked, reaching for the last piece of bread.
Berendir, sitting cross-legged on the sofa on the other side of the table, nodded. “Just a few words, but I think he understands quite a lot.”
Legolas, who had been laying back with his legs across Faramir’s lap, staring at the ceiling, glanced over at his brother. “You’re not teaching him to say bad words, are you?”
Berendir grinned. “Only for certain occasions. Although I will warn you… he seems to have decided on his own that ‘Eomer’ is a very insulting word meaning ‘loud drunken bad-tempered person’ and he won’t be convinced otherwise.”
Faramir shrugged. “Not entirely inaccurate. From what I’ve read, I wouldn’t have expected that a dragon would learn to speak at such a young age, but… most young dragons don’t have any contact with speaking people besides the ones trying to shoot arrows at them.”
“I think he’s very bright,” Berendir said.
“I think he just particularly likes you,” Legolas said. “He took a liking to you from the first… he did follow you home, remember?”
“Yes, and…”
There was a knock at the door. Faramir frowned; he’d given the guards orders that he was on leave for the evening and was not to be disturbed, and he could count on one hand the number of people who could override that order, and he didn’t particularly want to talk to any of them.
“You two go back to the bedroom and close the door. Whoever wants to bother me is probably looking for gossip and I don’t care to encourage it. I’ll tell them you’ve already left… or something.”
Legolas scowled. “Someone always has to ruin everything around here… come, brother; we’ll go hide in the bedroom until Faramir has dispatched with whatever annoyance has arrived.”
Making sure the topics of potential gossip were out of sight, Faramir went to the door and opened it. He had expected his brother, irate about Faramir’s company, or Aragorn, desperately needing assistance managing his brother for some reason, or possibly Gandalf having arrived unannounced and expecting to chat. He had not expected a flustered and anxious Arwen, wearing a plain house dress and with her hair loose around her shoulders, her feet bare.
“Arwen?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you…” she said, and Faramir realized she was near to tears, “but I don’t know what else to do.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Livien… she just won’t stop crying. She’s been screaming for hours and hours… nothing I do seems to calm her at all. I’ve tried everything I can think of and everything the nursemaids could think of, and she just keeps crying…”
Faramir laid a hand on her shoulder; it was rare to see the Queen in such frustration and distress. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Would you please come and see if you can calm her down? She’s so fond of you… I don’t know how much more of it I can bear. Aragorn ran off hours ago. Please, Faramir… you know she adores you…”
Faramir sighed. His evening was going to be interrupted; there was no ignoring this plea.
“All right. Let me put by boots on, and I’ll come with you.”
He emerged a moment later, already worrying in the back of his head that the baby might possibly be ill or in some serious distress, and hurried to follow Arwen off down the hall. He was, in fact, so distracted and rushed that he failed to take his usual precaution of making certain that his door latched securely behind him.
This fact was not missed by Merry and Pippin, who strolled around the corner a minute later, Pippin now relieved of the troublesome squirrel and both of them discussing going to see what the Royal couple was having for supper. Merry stopped so abruptly that Pippin ran into him.
“Merry!”
“Look.”
“What? It’s a door.”
Merry rolled his eyes. “Did you notice anything about the door?”
“Hmm. It’s made of wood?”
“It’s not closed properly!” Merry exclaimed, jabbing him with an elbow and looking around. He crept up to the door and pushed it open slightly. “There’s no one in sight, but the bedroom door is closed.”
“What should we do?”
“Well, someone must have left, which means they’ll be back. So we’d better get in there and find a place to hide, quickly!”
Faramir walked into the royal nursery to find that all of the nursemaids were gone; he had no doubt Arwen had become rather harsh with them when their suggestions failed to calm the baby. Apparently nothing else had worked either, because Livien was in her bassinet, squalling at the top of her lungs and with a hoarse tone that suggested she’d been doing it for quite a while. Her little fists waved in the air, demanding assistance, and when Faramir reached to pick her up, her usually fair-skinned face was red and her eyes squeezed shut. Usually she smiled to see Uncle Faramir, but at the moment she didn’t seem to care a bit who was holding her; she screeched at him and kicked her feet.
“Little one!” Faramir exclaimed, holding her against his chest to stop her flailing. She pounded at him with her little fists, but her screams decreased in volume to something somewhat bearable.
“You see?” Arwen said, rubbing her face . “She’s not hungry, she’s been changed, she’s… oh, everything anyone could think of!”
“Shhh,” Faramir murmured, stroking the little girl’s head, her dark hair already thick and showing a hint of a tendency to curl, to Aragorn’s amusement. “Why so upset, little one?”
He rocked her slightly, but this only drew another scream. He sighed and shifted her to his other arm before resuming stroking her head.
“Has she…” he asked, but his question was cut off by a sudden flash of something that shoved its way into his head. He fully expected it to be Legolas, the elf being the only one who should have access to the inside of his head, but it wasn’t. Although he had no idea how he knew, he abruptly looked up at Arwen.
“Her ears hurt.”
“What?”
Faramir nodded, trying to chase the flash of awareness. “I’m quite sure of it. Her ears are hurting her… that’s why she’s crying.”
Arwen grabbed the baby and looked at her ears. “They’re not red.”
“They’re not red yet. They will be within a few hours. Both of them. Does Aragorn have something in his healing arsenal…”
“The nursemaids have drops that they use in babies’ ears when they’re infected,” Arwen said, rocking the child, who was still sobbing, but seemed somewhat calmer. “We didn’t use any… her ears look fine.”
“Arwen, I’m quite certain,” Faramir said. “Give her the ear drops right now, and in an hour she’ll be sleeping.”
Arwen glanced at him and gave him a frazzled smile. “If that works, Faramir, I’ll have you given an award.”
“If it works, just tell me she’s feeling better in the morning,” Faramir said, petting the little one’s dark hair.
He stepped out into the hall and headed back toward his rooms, certain of what he’d told Arwen but not at all certain of why he knew it, except that Livien had very clearly, despite having no words, communicated to him the awareness of the pain in her ears. He began to wonder if he was going to be subjected to all sorts of random intrusions into his head at inconvenient times when he reached his door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. The room was dark, but he could hear the two elves laughing in the bedroom.
“What are you two up to in there?”
“Probably not what you were hoping,” Legolas called back, “since both of us still have all of our clothes on. But we are making fun of your brother and Eomer, and you’re welcome to join us!”
“Well, if that’s all you’re going to do, come back out in the living room and have some wine while we make fun of them,” Faramir said.
The pair emerged from the bedroom, still chuckling.
“So,” Legolas asked. “What kingdom-threatening disaster required your immediate attention?”
“A very distressed Queen and a very unhappy baby.”
Berendir grinned. “She came to fetch you to handle a crying baby?”
“Livien is quite fond of Faramir,” Legolas said, his laughter gone. “And Faramir is quite fond of her, as well.”
“You’re not jealous, brother, are you?” Berendir asked, laughing.
Legolas shook his head slowly. “No. I’m not jealous. Children have always liked Faramir, and he’s always been good with them.”
“Well, did you calm her down?” Berendir asked.
“I hope so. I think she’ll be settled soon,” Faramir said, taking a bottle of wine down from the shelf and filling three glasses. “Sit down, and we’ll continue our discussion. I always enjoy making fun of my brother, and…”
A strange creak from the large wardrobe on the far wall made all three of them pause and turn to stare at it. There was another, louder creak, and then a sort of groaning and cracking sound, and then one of the front legs of the massive thing cracked, and it came plunging down on its face with a deafening crash that rattled the windows across the room. All three of them jumped, but Legolas was the first to his feet, just as small voices were heard from the wreckage.
“Ow! Merry! Get off!”
“You get off! That’s my leg. Help! Faramir, help!”
The two elves had little difficulty heaving the smashed wardrobe somewhat upright, at least long enough for Faramir to pull two stunned hobbits out of the shattered doors. Everything else in the wardrobe came with them; piles of clothes that clearly belonged to Legolas, belts and summer tunics and breeches and boots, but also numerous broken remnants of several bottles which had covered the clothes, and the hobbits, with a sticky and foul-smelling liquid.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Faramir demanded, setting them on their feet and looking them over anxiously.
“We were... doing things,” Merry said.
“In the wardrobe,” Pippin added.
“Perfectly legitimate and ordinary things,” Merry said.
“That had to be done in your wardrobe, for some very good and logical reason,” Pippin chipped in, at which point Merry elbowed him quite sharply.
“Why were you in my wardrobe?” Legolas demanded, his face red.
Berendir laughed. “The same reason half of Gondor would be if they could… trying to get a peek at the party going on in here.”
“Oh, you mean the party that isn’t happening?” Faramir asked, shaking his head. “You two could have been killed! And what is all over you? It smells terrible! What did you have in there?”
“We didn’t have anything,” Merry insisted. “When it fell over, all those bottles fell on us.”
Pippin sniffed his hand curiously. “It smells like the pond water did when it was bad…”
He stuck out his tongue as if to see if it also tasted the same, but Legolas jumped forward and slapped his hand down. Pippin stared at him in astonishment.
“Don’t lick that, you idiot!” the elf snapped.
“What is it?” Pippin asked.
“None of your business! And now it’s all over the place… and all over you… bloody hell,” Legolas muttered. “You two. To the bath, immediately, and wash yourselves properly, hair and all, with lots of soap… and don’t touch those clothes again till they’ve been cleaned.”
“Why?” Pippin asked.
“Because I bloody told you to!”
Puzzled and alarmed by the elf’s sudden fury, the two hobbits bolted for the door, leaving it standing open behind them as they ran down the hall toward the baths. Legolas stood for a moment, his jaw clenched.
“Faramir, go and make sure those two get thoroughly clean. They’d better get all that off quickly before it harms them.”
“What was in those bottles?” Faramir asked, confused.
“Just go and make sure they get clean,” Legolas answered, his tone sharp and controlled. “Berendir, go and tell one of the guards to send some maids immediately, and that all these clothes must go into sacks, and they must wash up well after they handle them.”
“What…”
“Just do it.”
Berendir shut his mouth and stepped out into the hall. Faramir, glancing back at Legolas over his shoulder, followed him. Legolas stood, looking at the clothes and broken glass strewn across the floor. He was still in the same spot when Faramir returned a few minutes later.
“I stuck the two of them in a hot bath with lots of soap. Are you going to tell me what this is all about? Why did you have a wardrobe full of…”
“Not now,” Legolas said.
Faramir frowned. “What do you mean, not now? Yes, now! You’re been playing mysterious long enough and it’s all fine and good until you’re storing poisons with your summer clothes…”
Legolas turned on him sharply. “I’m not storing poisons. I was…”
They were interrupted by a tremendous roar from nearby down the hall, and Faramir recognized the voice, especially since it was, as usual, shouting at Merry and Pippin. He turned back to Legolas, but the elf was already moving, throwing his travel cloak over his shoulders and snatching his bow and quiver where they stood waiting by the door.
“Where are you going?”
Legolas glanced at him. “Just… don’t ask.”
“Of course I’m going to ask! You keep disappearing and you… Legolas!”
The elf turned to walk out the door. Unfortunately, just as he stepped into the doorway, a small bullet of reddish-gray fur shot between his legs and vanished somewhere into Faramir’s rooms, followed a moment later by a rather large and disheveled yellow dog, barking excitedly. Unable to follow her quarry under Legolas or around him, she settled for the option of bowling him to the ground, sending him sprawling across the floor as she tore off into the room and began intently hunting under the sofas for her prey.
“FINN!” Boromir bellowed, storming into the room. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the sight of Faramir flushed and upset, the smashed wardrobe and its disgorged contents, and Legolas sprawled on the floor, he stopped in his tracks and stared blankly.
“What the bloody hell…”
“Hobbits,” Faramir said.
“Oh,” Boromir said, as if this explained everything. “How did they manage to destroy both of our rooms at once? And why are they in the bath? And where’s Berendir? And what’s that awful stench?”
Legolas swept himself gracefully to his feet and retrieved his bow, slinging it over his shoulder. Boromir looked at him, then at Faramir, and then at Finn, who had just discovered the squirrel halfway up a curtain and had taken it upon herself to rip the curtain down to get at it.
“Finn!” he shouted.
She looked at him and whined.
“DOWN!”
She laid down, looking up longingly at the squirrel, which was now perched mockingly on top of the curtain rod, chattering down at her. Boromir turned back to his brother and his brow furrowed, but he seemed unable to even formulate a question. Faramir looked back at him, equally bewildered. Legolas scowled at the dog, then at the mess, and without another word he turned and stormed out of the room and off down the hall.
“Where’s he going?” Boromir asked.
“I have no idea,” Faramir said.
“Well… what’s all this stuff all over the floor?”
“I have no idea, but we’re not supposed to get any of it on us without washing up properly.”
Boromir shook his head, and a slow smile crept across his face. Faramir scowled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking, little brother, that you have a very, very odd way of throwing a party.”
“Bugger off.”
“Fine. I’ll deal with the hobbits… you deal with the squirrel.”
Arwen stepped quietly into her daughter’s nursery, noticing that the nursemaid usually attending to the child at this evening hour was nowhere in sight. Instead, Faramir was sitting in the ornate rocking chair next to the little girl’s bassinette, eyes half-closed, while Livien was dozing contentedly against his chest, her head over his heart.
“Most of my nursemaids don’t have beards,” she said, smiling.
Faramir opened his eyes and chuckled. “No, but perhaps they should. She seems to derive endless hours of enjoyment from pulling on mine.”
Arwen sat down in the chair next to Faramir. “She does that to her father, too. He’s a bit less nervous now… perhaps now that she’s a bit bigger and not so fragile-looking.”
Faramir glanced down at the baby, who had opened her eyes at the sound of her mother’s voice and was turning her head, searching. “I think she’s hungry.”
Arwen sighed. “Hold her for a moment while I undo these.”
She began untying the laces holding the front of her bodice closed. Faramir raised an eyebrow.
“Would you like me to leave?”
“Oh, don’t bother,” she said, tugging the fabric down until she managed to expose a breast, from which Faramir politely averted his eyes. “I’ll take her now… and don’t look so embarrassed, Faramir. Surely you’ve seen women feed their babies before.”
Faramir forced himself to turn his face back to Arwen, relieved that Livien had immediately latched on and her head now obscured most of the distraction.
“Yes… of course I have. It’s just… I’ve never seen a Queen…”
“Pull out her tit in front of you?” Arwen said, grinning. “At ease, Captain Faramir. Mine are no more magical than anyone else’s. I could have a wet nurse for her, but… I like feeding her myself. Especially now that she sleeps through the night.”
Faramir leaned back in the rocking chair. “It seems every week she’s a little heavier.”
“She’s getting rolls of fat around her chubby little legs,” Arwen said fondly, playing with the hem of the baby’s nightgown. “Her elf blood is strong… she should be a healthy child. Of course, not immortal, and not immune to ailments… such as ear infections. You never did tell me how you knew that’s what was wrong with her, Faramir.”
He lowered his head. “If I tell you, will you…”
“Of course I will.”
“Even from Legolas.”
She frowned. “Of course. If that’s what you want.”
He attempted to explain the feeling of holding the crying baby and of the sudden flash of awareness that had hit him, the intrusion of another mind communicating quite clearly where her pain was.
Arwen raised her eyebrows, looking remarkably like her father when she did. “That’s an extremely rare talent, Faramir. Rarer even than your gift of foresight. I didn’t know that men could have it… I thought only elves were gifted with such abilities.”
“What is it?”
“You can sense what’s in the minds and hearts of others. Perhaps now it’s only those you’re very close to, like Livien, but if you train yourself, it will become more powerful.”
“Is it… because of the bond with Legolas?”
“That might have helped open the doorway, but this is a gift you were born with,” Arwen said. “You should speak to Gandalf about it, if no one else. It’s a gift that requires training and knowledge.”
“I will.”
“And why don’t you want Legolas to know about…” she began, but stopped, looking down at the baby in her arms. “You don’t want him to know that you have that strong a connection with Livien.”
Faramir lowered his head. “I don’t think he resents her for it, my Lady… I truly don’t. He seems… troubled, that I’m so fond of her, but I don’t… it’s not jealousy or anger I find in him. It’s more like disappointment. Or perhaps even shame.”
Arwen frowned. “What would he be ashamed of?”
Faramir sighed and reached over to smooth a lock of Livien’s unruly dark hair. “I’ve had the last three weeks to think about it…”
“That’s the longest he’s been gone, isn’t it?”
Faramir nodded. “I wish I understood… are all elves as difficult as he is?”
“No,” Arwen said. “He is an extraordinarily stubborn and determined and moody creature even for an elf, but he takes after his father that way, much as he would hate to hear me say it. Tell me… what do you think he feels from you when you think about Livien?”
“I’m sure he feels my love for her,” Faramir said slowly. “And the contentment I find holding her, when she’s not screaming about something. And…”
“Does he know the pain you feel when others speak of her father?”
Faramir bit his lip. “I didn’t know it was that easy to see, my Lady.”
“You’ve been here quite a bit since she was born, Faramir. I see how the way you hold her changes when Aragorn comes in, as if you don’t think you ought to be holding someone else’s child.”
“Aragorn doesn’t…”
“Aragorn thinks it’s fantastic,” Arwen said, smiling. “He adores his daughter, but he’s still not always certain what to do with her, and he’s very pleased that you care for her so… and that I call for you and not him when she’s upset.”
Faramir had to laugh; Aragorn gazed on his daughter with obvious amazement and affection, but he still didn’t seem to quite believe that she was real, or that she could be handled without fear of damaging her.
“It’s you that feels it,” Arwen said, shifting the baby to a better position to relieve the weight on her arm. “The pain that she’s not yours. That she will love you all her life, but she’ll always call Aragorn her father. And the pain of knowing that no one will ever use that name for you.”
Faramir looked up sharply, as if the words had burned him. “I knew what choice I was making when… I knew. And I’ve heard my brother’s suggestions that I find myself a nice, cooperative girl to bear a child or two and then be paid off to go live in a nice house somewhere and not come back…”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“No. I… I don’t want a child of mine born through some convenient arrangement. Even if Legolas could stand to know that I was…”
Arwen took up where he had fallen. “Even if Legolas could stand knowing that you were sleeping with a woman, even if only for procreation… he would still have to spend every day watching you raise a child that he knew had no part of him in it.”
Faramir nodded, rubbing his face. “Arwen, I would never hurt him… if the best I can be is an uncle to Livien, I’ll live with that…”
“Legolas is trying to find his own way to live with that,” Arwen said. “He wouldn’t deny you the chance to be part of her life. What pains him is knowing that she’ll never fill the place in your heart that your own child would have.”
Faramir stood up, frustrated. “And the bloody elf couldn’t just tell me that he knew these things?”
“You should have assumed he knew, Faramir.”
“I… thought I hid it better than that.”
“Faramir, I’m not your bonded partner, and I can see it as plain as day. How would he not see it?”
Faramir sighed. “If he would ever come back, I would speak with him about it.”
“He’ll be back,” Arwen said. “When he feels like it. I told you, he takes after his father. Proud to near-arrogance, stubborn enough to die before surrendering, and foolish enough to suffer in silence even when words could ease the pain. Thranduil was a frequent visitor to Rivendell when I was a child, and I never knew whether to be afraid of him or sad for him… and I believe the loss of Legolas’ mother was the last weight he could bear, and he took his kingdom into darkness with him. Celeborn is healing it, and they say the darkness is lifting… but Legolas is very much his father’s son. And Thranduil will not be thwarted. If he wants something, he’ll either find a way to have it or find a way to not want it anymore.”
“That does sound like Legolas,” Faramir agreed ruefully, sitting back down.
“You know he carries some of that darkness, Faramir,” she said, stroking Livien’s head. “But it’s his to live with, and deciding how he’s going to accept what Livien has woken in you is his decision to make.”
Faramir frowned, distressed by Arwen’s solemn expression. “You’re saying he might make some rash or ridiculous or dangerous decision, aren’t you.”
“He might. He knows you won’t violate your bond with him... but he might try to break it, thinking to free you. There are very few ways to break that bond, and most of them are very ugly. You can only hope that he thinks clearly and realizes that losing him would hurt you more than anything else.”
“I don’t want to be freed from our bond!”
“I know you don’t. Tell him… wherever he is. Keep telling him. Even if he’s refusing to listen, he’ll still feel it.”
Faramir rubbed his head and turned toward the door. “You speak the truth, Arwen, but it doesn’t always make things any easier.”
“The truth very rarely solves anything on its own,” Arwen said, rocking her baby in the dim light. “It can only point the way.”
Arwen was instructing Aragorn in the skill of dressing his squirming, uncooperative daughter when Faramir stepped in, bowing quickly to both of them.
“Sorry to interrupt…”
“No apology needed,” Aragorn said, looking quite relieved, since he had somehow managed to get Livien’s leg through one of her sleeves and the infant did not seem to be pleased about the delay. She shrieked in annoyance, and Arwen, rolling her eyes, righted the baby’s leg and finished doing up the buttons.
“Can put on an entire suit of armor himself, but can’t tell whether he’s got his daughter’s leg or her arm...”
“Boromir had suggested you give him a doll to practice on,” Faramir said, ducking his head to avoid Aragorn’s sharp look and knowing that Arwen would silence any attempt at an argument.
“Did you need something?” Aragorn asked, looking hopeful that it might be something requiring his attention.
“Were we expecting a party from Rohan?”
Aragorn thought for a moment. “I’d have to look at the calendar, but I don’t think so.”
“They appear to have brought about two dozen horses without riders, and five or six riders to steer them.”
Aragorn nodded. “Brought some young ones to sell, most likely. I don’t suppose one of those riders is Eomer, is it?”
“It appears that way,” Faramir said, trying not to smile.
“Of course,” Aragorn said wearily. “I can keep your brother away from him for a day or two, but you’ll have to keep him away from Berendir.”
Arwen raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how to you plan to keep Boromir away from him, my dear?”
Aragorn flushed. “I thought I’d find some task for him…”
She laughed and kissed his cheek. “Don’t be silly. I know perfectly well there’s only one thing Boromir would rather do than fight with Eomer, and I know exactly what it is.”
Aragorn turned even redder.
“As for Berendir,” Arwen said, “I’m quite certain he can manage Eomer on his own, especially since he does happen to have a rather rapidly-growing pet dragon to back up any threat he might make.”
“That’s fine with me,” Faramir said, happy to be relieved of the duty of trying to distract the single-minded Horse Lord. “I’ll go and see the stablemaster and we’ll go have a look at the horses. That sounds like a task that shouldn’t involve too much arguing with anyone. The stablemaster will haggle a bit, but he knows horses from the Rohirrim always bring top dollar, so he’ll give in quickly enough.”
Aragorn nodded. “I suppose I should go and find Boromir before he and Eomer find each other.”
“My poor husband,” Arwen said, smiling as she played with Livien’s feet, making the baby giggle. “His tasks as a king are so tiresome and unpleasant.”
Faramir slapped Aragorn’s shoulder. “We should go, my Lord. It’s two women against two men and I won’t take those odds, even if one of the women is still rather small.”
The two men headed in opposite directions, Aragorn toward Boromir’s rooms and Faramir down to the lower levels of the city and the stables. Faramir found himself imagining exactly how the conversation between Berendir and Eomer would go; knowing how stubborn and proud Legolas could be, especially when slighted, Faramir doubted Eomer would earn a proper welcome without paying for his previous behavior.
He couldn’t help but allow his thoughts to wander to Legolas, and thinking that he would gladly pay whatever price the elf demanded for whatever unknown offense had been committed. Of course, it was difficulty to think of a way to apologize when one had no idea what offense one might be guilty of, but that didn’t seem to be relevant to elves, at least the ones Faramir was familiar with.
He walked into the cool dimness of the royal stable, where the horses belonging to the royal family, the Steward, and other important individuals were housed. At the far end of the stable he could hear a voice , but that didn’t surprise him; the king’s stablemaster had lived his entire life among horses and often chatted with them as he went about his business. After a moment, though, Faramir realized it wasn’t the stablemaster’s low, monotone voice he heard; it was a higher-pitched and much more animated one.
He walked slowly down the row of stalls as the horses raised their heads and snorted at him curiously. When he reached the last stall, he saw a familiar white head swing over the top of the stall door, and a soft nicker of recognition.
“What are you doing?” the voice from inside the stall demanded. “If you don’t hold still I’ll just leave this mud all over you. I should have asked the Rohirrim for a brown horse so I wouldn’t waste so much time keeping you clean.”
Arod, however, did not respond, and after a moment his caretaker came to the door of the stall to see what the distraction was.
The elf seemed startled to see Faramir; he stopped in his tracks, and his blue eyes widened slightly. Faramir stared back, completely at a loss for words. He had not seen Legolas for nearly a month, and to come upon the elf in the stable, grooming his horse and chatting as if he’d never been gone, left him bewildered.
“Faramir,” Legolas said, glancing at the brush in his hand as if it might explain everything. “I just wanted to give Arod a proper grooming, and then I was coming to see you.”
“Did… are you just now coming back?”
“Well, yes,” Legolas said, running a hand through Arod’s mane. The horse butted him sharply with his head. “Yes, I suppose you’re clean enough for now. I’ll leave you to your grain.”
He stepped out of the stall and set the brush on a ledge, seeming to take an inordinately long time to decide where to put it.
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Faramir burst out, surprised at how loud his voice was.
Legolas turned to face him. “I’ve been… visiting. I’ve been to Lorien, and to Rivendell. Mostly in Rivendell. The twins and I are old friends, you know, and…”
“If you’d gone to Rivendell to play with the twins, you’d have told me so,” Faramir said, frustrated.
Legolas hesitated for a moment, and Faramir could feel the elf’s mind turning over how much he wanted to tell the man at this particular time. Finally, he met Faramir’s eyes again.
“Can you accept, for now, that there were things I wanted to know, and I went to the places I hoped I could find what I was looking for?”
“That’s a very poor explanation,” Faramir sighed, but the resignation in his tone told the elf he was free of further questioning for the moment.
“If it eases your mind,” he said, “I hope you know that I didn’t lay a hand on… or even think of… anyone but you all the time I’ve been gone.”
Faramir nodded slowly. “I… didn’t think you would have. Then again, Elrond’s twins are quite handsome…”
Legolas grinned. “You know I’d have nothing to do with those two. The only thing worse than what they’ve actually done is the stories they’ve made up about the few things they haven’t done yet. Not that they didn’t offer, mind you…”
Faramir stepped closer, the proximity of the lean, familiar body and the faint fragrance of trees and sunshine and grass that always seemed to cling to the elf overwhelming the other, less coherent thoughts. “It’s been rather lonely here without you.”
“I’m sure,” Legolas said, glancing down the row of stalls to make sure no one was watching. “It’s been a rather lonely trip, I’ll admit.”
He darted forward and pressed Faramir suddenly back against the wall, crushing their bodies together as his mouth locked onto the man’s with bruising demand. Faramir stumbled, got his feet under him, and returned the favor, digging his fingers hard into the elf’s hips and pulling sharply, feeling Legolas inhale deeply through the kiss as Faramir brought their hardening cocks together through their clothes.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said quietly.
“You knew I’d come back, didn’t you?” Legolas murmured, his hands locked behind Faramir’s neck.
“No. I didn’t. I never know anything, with you. Keeping me in a state of constant bewilderment seems to be your latest hobby.”
The smile vanished for a moment. “Faramir, I swear to you, there’s a reason for it, and not a trivial one. I wouldn’t be away from you, and I certainly wouldn’t hide things from you, if… if I didn’t have to.”
“What would you have to hide from…”
“Not now,” Legolas said, sliding his hand down to brush over the front of Faramir’s breeches. “There are more urgent matters I’ve been waiting to settle.”
Faramir tried for a moment to balance lust and desire against the urge to demand that Legolas stop being coy and start talking, but with his arms around the elf’s slender body and his breath on Faramir’s lips, any thought other than lust was quickly doomed.
“Back to my rooms,” he muttered. “I’d rather not have the stablemaster walk in on us together.”
“It might be entertaining.”
“It would definitely be disruptive,” Faramir said, “and once I have you in my bed, I don’t intend to let you out of it for quite some time.”
“Oh?” Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a month’s worth of proper attention to make up to me, you know.”
Legolas grinned and slipped out of his arms. “Well, we’d better get started, then. You do know Eomer’s here, right?”
“I’d heard that. I’m sure it’s not to trade horses, either.”
“If he thinks he’s going to find my brother as willing to fall into bed as I am…”
“Oh, I have no doubt your brother will make him earn his forgiveness,” Faramir chuckled.
Legolas looked up at him, solemn for a moment. “And for me to earn yours, Faramir?”
“I’d have to know what I was forgiving you for, first,” Faramir said. “For now, I think you can start earning some forgiveness for leaving me alone in my bed for a month.”
“That much I’m certain I can do,” Legolas said.
With the official title of Royal Dragon-Keeper, a small but well-furnished house had been constructed near the dragon’s dwelling, complete with a sign over the door declaring the owner’s official title and stating the hours during which he was available for taking curious people to see the great beast. Eomer shifted his feet and frowned; as the King of Rohan he was not accustomed to having to knock on any door and ask to be admitted, especially not knowing the door might be slammed in his face. Well, he thought, his sister’s door might hold similar threats, but no others he knew of.
He finally rapped on the door with his knuckles, ignoring the small bell under the sign. After a moment, he heard footsteps, and then a voice.
“Yes?”
“Does the Dragon-Keeper have time for a visitor?”
There was a moment of silence.
“You’re hardly an ordinary visitor, Lord Eomer. Perhaps King Elessar can arrange for a more official tour…”
“Damnit, if I wanted to talk to Aragorn, I’d go talk to Aragorn,” Eomer growled.
“You’d have to get through Boromir first,” Berendir said, opening the door enough to look out. “And I’m not at all sure he wouldn’t hit you in the face.”
“I didn’t come to discuss Boromir.”
“No,” Berendir said lightly. “I’m sure you came to discuss what you assume will be the pleasant resumption of my availability for your use, which I can assure you isn’t likely to happen.”
He started to close the door, but Eomer blocked it with his hand. “Berendir…”
The elf looked back out. “Was there something you wanted to discuss, other than the fact that you regret your behavior because it cost you the opportunity to fuck me whenever you felt like it?”
Eomer gritted his teeth. “You don’t intend to make this easy, do you.”
“Of course not,” Berendir said, almost cheerfully. “I intend to make it extraordinarily difficult. So I suppose whether you’re interested in giving it a try depends on how much annoyance you’re willing to tolerate.”
“Perhaps we could start with you at least letting me in?”
Berendir smiled. “You see, if you’re willing to behave reasonably, we may actually get somewhere.”
He opened the door and allowed Eomer to step into the house. The man looked around.
“I see that the title of Dragon-Keeper comes with simple but pleasant accommodations.”
“I like it,” Berendir said. “There’s a second floor with a very nice bedroom.”
“Is the bed large enough to tolerate more than one occupant?” Eomer asked.
Berendir gave him a sharp look. “You’re getting a long way ahead of yourself, my King. Don’t presume that you’ll be anywhere near my bed any time soon.”
Eomer tried not to growl. Berendir motioned to the table.
“Have a seat. There’s some tea brewing and I have some bread and cheese to eat.”
“I don’t want any bloody tea,” Eomer protested.
Berendir smiled over his shoulder as he picked up the teapot that was heating over the hearth. “Either you sit and drink tea, or I’ll throw you back out the door you just came in, and I won’t open it next time. Are we clear?”
Eomer blinked. He’d been chided, reprimanded, and otherwise harassed by his sister, but he certainly didn’t expect it from anyone else, least of all his usually agreeable elf.
“The previous rules no longer apply,” Berendir said, retrieving two mugs from a cabinet over the stove. “Whether you manage to convince me to let you back into my bed will depend on whether you can manage to tolerate that.”
A sudden thought struck Eomer, and he looked at the elf with uncertainty. “Am I to assume… that you intend to chance the rules involved in me being in your bed?”
“Those rules are negotiable,” Berendir said. “But I will say that you will be required to demonstrate a certain… willingness to be a bit more flexible.”
Eomer shifted nervously. “How literally do you mean ‘flexible’?”
“I meant more in the mental sense than the physical one, but we can test both,” Berendir noted, pouring tea into the mugs. “Are you ready to run out the door yet?”
“I’m considering it,” Eomer admitted, shifting uneasily.
“Up to you,” Berendir said, shrugging. “Tea?”
“Thank you,” Eomer said, gingerly taking the mug and sitting down at the table.
“There,” Berendir said, smiling, but Eomer wasn’t sure he liked the hint of something evil behind the expression. “That’s a start, isn’t it?”
If any of the citadel guards were surprised to see Legolas striding briskly through the halls after his long absence, they had very little time to comment on it before Faramir passed then in just as much of a hurry. Reaching his door, Faramir fumbled in his pocket for the key and unlocked the door, only to have Legolas push past him, dropping his travel bag and bow and arrows by the entryway. Faramir closed the door and was surprised to find himself abruptly shoved against the stone wall with the elf’s fists wrapped in the front of his tunic. His small sound of protest was silenced by determined lips that came down over his, pulling all the air out of him and leaving him gasping.
“Legolas…”
“I told you, I’ve missed you,” the elf said, grinning.
“It’s just that…”
Another bruising kiss silenced him again, and Legolas, with the always-surprising strength of elves, was pulling him back toward the bedroom.
“It hasn’t been long enough that I’ve forgotten where your bed is,” he said, pulling laces out of the man’s tunic as he led him.
“You’re in an unusual hurry to get there,” Faramir managed to gasp, before Legolas spun him around again and pressed him against the wall beside the bedroom door, almost knocking the air out of him as he pinned him with his body.
“Are you complaining, Faramir?”
The heat of the elf’s wiry body twined against his own made Faramir’s head spin; Legolas had managed to slide one thigh along the man’s until he could rub it against Faramir’s painfully hard cock. He let his head fall back against the wall as Legolas went after his throat with quick nips and long, hot kisses, feeling the elf’s cock just as hard as his own and pressed firmly against his leg. Legolas had managed to get the man’s tunic unlaced and pulled it over his head before setting to work on his own, throwing his traveling cloak aside and pulling off the plain shirt underneath.
With their bare chests together, Faramir thought dizzily that while he had always sworn elves’ bodies were hotter than humans’, he didn’t remember there being such a fire blazing against him anywhere this elf’s naked skin came in contact with his own. They stumbled through the bedroom door together, Legolas stumbling as he kicked off his light boots, and then they were rolling onto the bed together. Legolas slid down to yank off the man’s boots, and his breeches quickly followed, leaving Faramir shocked at his unexpected nakedness. Legolas swung a leg over him and straddled his hips, grinning.
“You look puzzled, Faramir.”
“I… you’re not…”
“Perhaps being away from you for so long has made me more demanding than usual,” the elf said, leaning forward to twist bare nipples with his fingers, making Faramir squirm.
“It’s just…”
“You can’t possibly be telling me you want me to stop,” Legolas said, frowning.
Faramir blinked. “Stop? No… don’t stop…”
“That’s what I thought.”
His weight was gone, and Faramir sat up to find that Legolas had already shed what was left of his clothes and was pulling a bottle out of a pocket in his traveling cloak. For a moment Faramir thought it must be oil of some sort, but it was the same color as the greenish stuff that the hobbits had managed to discover in the elf’s wardrobe. Before Legolas could turn around, he laid back down and closed his eyes, opening them just enough to catch a glimpse of the elf as he finished swallowing the contents of the small bottle and stuffing it back into his cloak. He turned quickly, and Faramir closed his eyes again, his mind racing.
“I seem to have misplaced my supplies of oil,” Legolas said.
“You know where I keep mine,” Faramir said. “Were you so lonely on your travels that you had some stashed in your cloak?”
Legolas shrugged. “I thought I had some of the very nice oils that the Rivendell elves make… far superior to anything we have around here… but it must be in my bag. Nonetheless, our usual supply will have to do.”
“It’s always worked before,” Faramir said. Part of him wanted to demand to know what had been in the little bottle, what the elf had been meddling with and keeping hidden in his wardrobe, insisting it was dangerous when anyone else had touched it, but willing to drink it himself. The more cautious part of him, though, knew his elf too well. He was not supposed to have seen the small bottle, and if he asked about it at this moment, Legolas was more than likely to storm out of the room and disappear again, leaving him with no answers and no chance of getting them.
“Perhaps I’ve been spoiled a bit in Rivendell,” Legolas said, rummaging in the drawer beside the bed until he found a small bottle of oil. “And the weather’s never horrible there, either. I don’t think Arod wanted to leave.”
As he spoke, his voice was light but his hands were busy, pulling the cork from the bottle and pouring oil into his hands before stroking them over the man’s cock. Faramir jumped at the touch, and Legolas laughed.
“Haven’t you been keeping yourself amused while I was gone?”
“It’s… not as much fun by yourself.”
“That’s true,” Legolas admitted, still stroking slowly with an occasional twist of his hand that had the man writhing under his touch. “The twins spent quite a bit of time trying to convince me that I would have more fun with them.”
“You didn’t…”
“Of course I didn’t. Horrible creatures. Even if I didn’t happen to be bonded to you, Faramir, I still wouldn’t touch them… they’re as bad as hobbits when it comes to gossip and they’d have every creature in Middle Earth listening to stories about our antics.”
Whatever Faramir intended to say about this was lost in another kiss as Legolas twined himself around the man and embraced him, tangling his fingers in his hair.
“There’s no need to waste time chatting about Elrond’s filthy-minded children,” Legolas said. “We have other things to do.”
He rubbed Faramir’s fingers between his own, slicking them with oil. Faramir slid his hand over one smooth buttock and downward, both of them inhaling sharply at the tightness as his fingers found their target; it had been a longer time than either of them were accustomed to, and Legolas bit his lip and gave Faramir a crooked smile.
“Perhaps I will have to let you prepare me a bit before I demand that you fuck me.”
“I intended to.”
“I didn’t,” Legolas said, turning his head to suck at the soft skin of the man’s neck. “But carry on… we’ll get there shortly.”
“I drank my tea,” Eomer said sullenly, staring at his empty mug as Berendir, humming to himself, refilled the kettle and hung it back over the fire.
“I see that,” Berendir said. “And you only complained a bit. Your restraint is admirable.”
Eomer scowled. “What sort of game is this, anyway?”
“Whatever game I feel like playing. You came to my house. Now, you’ve been a reasonably good sport so far, so if you think you can continue to behave, I suppose I can take you upstairs and give you a tour of the rest of the house.”
Eomer perked up; anything that got him out of the kitchen and closer to the bedroom seemed like a step in the right direction. He rose and obediently followed the elf up the narrow stairs and into a small but cozy bedroom with lamps on the walls that cast a warm glow over the polished wood. Eomer quietly assessed whether the bed was wide enough and sturdy enough to accommodate both of them and decided that it was probably sufficient in size, and was replaceable if damaged. He was considering the logistics of the bed and whether there was any part of it an elf could be tied to when he suddenly felt something over his face. He instinctively raised his hands to pull it away.
“No, no,” Berendir said, securing the blindfold behind the man’s head. “Leave it on, or the game’s over.”
“I don’t like this,” Eomer muttered.
“You will.”
The man stood still, reaching out uncertainly and finding nothing he could touch to steady himself. Then there were quick elf hands on him, working at his clothing, patiently and thoroughly stripping him naked from his tunic to his boots. Berendir ran his fingers through the tangled blond hair.
“You seem to your best to avoid even encountering a hairbrush.”
“You sound like my sister.”
“Maybe that’s why your sister has such pretty hair,” Berendir said smoothly. He took Eomer’s hand by the wrist and led it to rest against his chest, and Eomer’s cock twitched at the feeling of bare skin under his palm.
“Are you…”
“Naked? Maybe.”
“That’s not fair. I can’t see you.”
“No, but I can see you. And it’s a very nice sight… but it needs a bit of something else.”
Eomer frowned. “What else?”
He heard the elf digging through things in the room, but his mind instantly recognized the clink of metal buckles and the smell of clean, oiled leather.
“What is that?”
“Be quiet.”
He felt the first strap around one wrist and then pulled across his back and wrapped around the other, binding his hands. The other straps around his chest and waist didn’t seem to be much good for restraining anything, but the man would be lying if there wasn’t something distinctly interesting about the feeling of the straps and buckles against his skin.
“On your knees,” Berendir said.
Eomer balked. “I don’t…”
“You’re really going to back out now?” Berendir asked, amused.
Eomer gritted his teeth; the elf knew that “back down” was not in the Horse Lord’s vocabulary. “Fine. If this is part of your game, so be it.”
He carefully lowered himself to his knees, finding a soft rug under him.
“Now, that’s a fine sight,” Berendir said. “Just needs one more thing.”
Eomer held his breath, and for a moment he wanted to kick out in protest as Berendir wrapped a strip of leather around his ankles, binding them loosely together.
“Now I can’t…” he protested.
“If you tell me you’re done playing, I’ll let you go,” Berendir said. “But it would be a terrible shame. Because, my dear Horse Lord, you are a stunning sight all bound up in leather.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I think part of you does,” Berendir said, and Eomer jumped as a warm hand found his half-hard cock and stroked long fingers over it, sending it surging to full hardness. “Always the master, aren’t you… doesn’t it get a bit tiresome sometimes?”
“Perhaps,” Eomer said warily.
“I think you’d like to give it up for a short time,” Berendir said, and he grasped Eomer by the arms, carefully drew him to his feet, and led him to the bed, pressing him face-down on the soft cover with his feet braced against the floor. “Are you comfortable?”
“No.”
“Are you tolerably comfortable?”
“I suppose so,” Eomer said, uncomfortably aware of the fact that between the smell of the leather and the feel of it against his skin and Berendir’s voice so close to his ear, his cock was not only achingly hard, but starting to leak a damp spot against the side of the bed. “Now what? Are you planning to fuck me, elf?”
“Certainly not at the moment,” Berendir said, and Eomer wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed; part of his mind had already been wondering what it would feel like to have that velvet-smooth cock inside him. “I have other things in mind first.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Berendir hummed, and Eomer recognized the next sound very clearly; it was the sound of leather slapping against leather. A moment later, a smooth leather strap was sliding across his exposed ass. He jerked forward, but there was nowhere to go.
“It’s not so bad,” Berendir said, slapping him lightly. “It it?”
When Eomer didn’t answer, the elf slapped him a little harder, just enough for the leather to make a distinct sound against the man’s skin.
“Is it so bad?”
“No,” Eomer muttered into the blanket.
“Shall I do it again?”
Silence from Eomer. Berendir chuckled.
“I don’t hear you telling me not to.”
The next slap was harder, but the sound that escaped the man was not one of protest. And when the next slap was hard enough to raise a faint red strip that quickly faded, Eomer bucked and distinctly, if not consciously, shifted himself to expose more skin to the strap.
“I thought you might like this game,” Berendir said, and Eomer could hear the elf’s smile just before the strap came down again, this time with a sharp sting that should have made him shout and try to punch his attacker, but instead made him moan and mutter something incoherent that sounded vaguely like pleading for more.
“Harder?”
Eomer’s response was silenced against the blanket.
“If you want me to strike you any harder than that, you’ll have to tell me.”
Eomer fought his pride, but only for a moment. “Harder.”
“How much harder?”
“Harder. Make it hurt.”
Berendir smiled and ran a smooth hand over the man’s ass.
“Very good, my King. I won’t harm you.”
“Just do it,” Eomer groaned.
“Say please,” Berendir said.
The words growled into the blanket sounded rather more like “Fuck you, elf,” than “Please,”, but Berendir didn’t really care. He slid the leather strap through his hands and considered the bare ass in front of him, deciding where to place the next blow.
Faramir let his forehead rest against the elf’s shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. Legolas, his legs still wrapped around the man’s hips, laughed and brushed the hair out of his face.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just… hmm. You seem to have been saving up your energy while you were gone.”
Legolas sat up and rolled over, looking up at the ceiling of the bedroom. “I’ve been waiting to come back to you.”
“Why didn’t you come back before? Why were you gone so long?”
Legolas looked over at him. “Only as long as I had to be, to find out what I wanted to know.”
“Are you going to stop with these secrets and tell me what you’ve been doing, Legolas? We… you shouldn’t have to lie to me and hide from me.”
Legolas closed his eyes. “I don’t like it, Faramir. I swear that I don’t. And if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be doing it. But… not much longer. I promise.”
Faramir considered asking about the little bottle in the elf’s cloak, but something told him he would get no answer for his efforts. As he lay thinking, Legolas rolled back over and took the man’s spent cock in his hand, squeezing it and tugging at it lightly.
“What are you up to?” he demanded.
“I want you hard again. I want you again.”
“Give me a bit of time, Legolas! I’m not an elf, you know…”
Despite his protests, his cock was already starting to swell in the elf’s hand.
“I know what pleases you most,” Legolas said, his voice low in the man’s ear.
Faramir groaned. “All right… but if you insist upon demanding another performance from me, I insist that you at least fetch me a cup of water in between shows.”
Legolas laughed and slid out of bed, darting out the door. He was back in a moment with a cup of water, and Faramir was lying on the bed waiting for him. The only thing that had changed in the elf’s absence was the location of the little mostly-empty bottle, which had been relocated from the elf’s cloak to a niche behind the headboard of the man’s bed.
“Your refreshment,” Legolas said, presenting him with the cup.
Faramir drank, noting that he was indeed quite thirsty after the recent activities. He had barely set the cup down when Legolas was licking his way down the man’s abdomen, skirting the fading burn scar and dipping down to close his mouth around Faramir’s cock. The man gasped, hips jerking, and he felt his cock swell against the elf’s hot, busy tongue.
“Legolas…” he gasped.
“Hush,” Legolas scolded, then returned to his work.
Eomer woke and, until he tried to move, the previous night’s events might have been a dream. However, the throbbing but not unpleasant ache inside him, and the sharp sting of welts across his ass and thighs reminded him that it had most certainly been very real. The leather straps lay in a pile beside the bed, which had, in fact, survived the night’s activities. Eomer realized this probably had something to do with the fact that Berendir had been considerably gentler in fucking him than he had ever been with anyone he could recall.
He rolled over and found the elf awake, lying contentedly with his hands behind his head and smiling to himself.
“You look almost as smug as your brother.”
Berendir glanced over at him. “I have every reason to be smug. Especially after the things you begged me to do to you last night.”
Eomer felt his face turning as red as his abused buttocks. Berendir laughed and rolled over to kiss him.
“No fear, my King. No one ever needs to know except you and I.”
Eomer sighed. “I would hope so.”
Berendir ran a hand absently over his chest. “I see. So… how are you this morning?”
“A bit sore. I’ve felt worse after a battle.”
“Mmm-hmm. I was just asking because I noticed that this bed appears to have survived last night without so much as a crack, and I wanted to know if you felt up to seeing if we could do some proper damage to it.”
Eomer winced. “I don’t think certain parts…”
“I intended to let you do the riding this time, my Horse Lord.”
Eomer grinned. “In that case, I’m fairly sure that this bed is almost certainly doomed.”
Faramir woke with the sun shining through the gap between the shutters. It wasn’t usual for him to sleep so late, but then again, it had been a very, very long night with a very, very demanding elf.
Legolas.
He rolled over, but the bed beside him was empty. Faramir forced himself to be calm. It meant nothing; even if Legolas had dozed after their activities, he would have been awake hours ago.
He slid out of bed, pulled on his breeches, and stepped out into the main room, telling himself that perhaps the elf had gone to get some breakfast from the kitchen or to visit with someone.
The elf’s traveling cloak was gone. His bag was gone. His bow and quiver of arrows were gone.
Faramir unleashed a string of curses loud and foul enough to have impressed his brother, and considered throwing something through a window, but in the end he doubted that would make him feel much better, so he slumped into his chair and opened a bottle of wine instead. After emptying the bottle, he decided to test out how throwing something might feel, but the bottle shattering against the wall didn’t really improve his mood much, although it did make him think absently that he would have to tell the maids to watch their feet, since he had been throwing bottles around.
Bottles.
He stumbled to his feet. Legolas either hadn’t noticed his bottle was missing or hadn’t been able to find where Faramir had hidden it; it was still behind the headboard, a little round bottle with a cork and a small amount of something green and unpleasant-looking left in the bottom of it. He tucked it into his pocket, attempted to tidy himself up enough to at least be seen in public, and walked out into the sunlight, looking for the one elf in Gondor that might know what a mysterious bottle from Rivendell contained. After all, if it had truly come from Rivendell, surely Arwen would be able to tell him something about it.