Seascapes

SEASCAPES

Chapter 10

It had been a long afternoon. Imrahil had spent most of it trying hard to concentrate, as he faced a seemingly endless procession of petitioners seeking his judgement on matters of property and family rights. Whilst he normally welcomed the traditional public audience as a chance to feel close to his people, this session had been more than excessive.

He had little doubt that a number of today’s claimants had come to the castle, in spite of the oppressive heat, largely in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Legolas. If that was the case, they must have left sorely disappointed; for the elf had not been seen since breakfast time, and had probably spent all day by the water.

Legolas’s absence from the audience chamber had not stopped Imrahil thinking about him, and not always at the most convenient moment. Indeed, Ancened had called the prince’s attention back to the matter at hand more than once, when scenes from his remarkably athletic encounter with the elf the previous night had suddenly flashed through his mind, rendering him near speechless, and his formal clothing unbear tig tight and hot.

As the guards ushered the last of the good folk of Belfalas out of the chamber, Imrahil leaned back on the modest throne and let out a loud sigh of relief.

“By the Valar, Ancened,” he said, “I know not which of my forefathers decided that his people should have better access to the wisdom of their prince; but I wish he had kept his forward-thinking ideas to himself.”

“You would change the tradition of the last three centuries?” enquired the counsellor, looking up from the pile of scrolls he was sorting through and handing to Heledir.

“You know that I jest, Counsellor,” Imrahil replied. “I have no interest at this moment beyond getting out of these accursed robes and breathing some fresh sea air.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he rose from the gilded seat and headed for the door, nodding absently in response to Ancened’s bow as he passed. He might love his people in principle, but an assembly of such magnitude on a hot summer’s day was hardly a treat for the senses. He badly needed a bath, or, even better, a swim.

His mind full of the thought of cold water tumbling across his skin, he marched purposefully to his chamber, and pushed the door open without breaking his stride. Once inside the room, however, he stopped, his pulse starting to race at the deliciously unexpected sight before him.

Legolas lay on the bed, on his side and facing the door. He was totally, gloriously nude, his hair falling loose, and his skin gleaming so perfectly that Imrahil suspected he had been applying oil to it. Indeed, a faint scent of orange blossom hung in the air, bringing a smile to the man’s face. Neroli was known in Dol Amroth as a powerful aphrodisiac, but he hardly felt that his arousal needed encouragement under these circumstances.

“Ah, I judged that you would be finished about now,” said the elf, closing the book which lay artfully placed on the bed before him. “I await your pleasure.” He stretched, and lifted a hand to smooth back his hair, shamelessly shifting on the bed to display himself more fully.

Imrahil laughed, though the sound that emerged from his suddenly dry throat was more of a growl. He quickly bolted the door, then turned back to the vision on the bed.

“I do not know where to start,” he said, his eyes roaming hungrily over the naked elf.

“Then I suggest you begin by removing those ridiculous clothes,” Legolas said smoothly, “and letting me see what is mine.”

The prince almost had to sit down on hearing these words, so intense was the wave of lust that rushed through him. But he determined to play along, and grinned wickedly at the elf as he shrugged off his robe, before bending to remove his boots.

“What would you have done,” he enquired conversationally, “if the door had been opened by Neledhen, not by me?”

“Given him the shock of his life?” suggested the elf.

Imrahil snorted, imagining the scene.

“No,” continued Legolas, “I would have hidden under the bed, I think. I recognise the sound of your footsteps, after all.”

The prince kicked his boots across the room and straightened, to find the elf’s eyes upon him, wide with amused desire. As he started to unlace his shirt, Legolas very deliberately slid his hand down over his own chest and belly to his cock, which was already erect and glistening with oil. The elf began to stroke himself gently, with slow, lazy movements up and down the whole delectable length, and Imrahil’s fingers stopped moving of their own accord.

“Well,” said Legolas teasingly, “Do you plan to join me sometime today?” His hand continued its caresses, and his eyes remained fixed on Imrahil, who thought he might pass out with need.

Finally regaining some fraction of his senses, the man tore his shirt off over his head, and started on the fastenings of his leggings. A seam gave way as he shoved them down, half undone, in his haste, then he threw them aside in the wake of his boots and turned once more to the bed.

“Ah,” sighed the elf, “Now that is a sight worth seeing. Look at yourself, Imrahil.”

The prince looked down at the damp, golden skin of his chest and at his cock, jutting out proud and solid belos ths the silkily seductive voice continued:

“Smooth and sculpted, like an elf, yet tanned and broad-shouldered like a man; hard and eager for me, yet open and willing when I take my pleasure in you; is it any wonder that I want you so?”

“Stop!” said Imrahil, raising his eyes once more to the elf, who now lay with parted lips, his hand cupping and fondling his balls, his gaze unflinching upon the man. “Or I shall spill myself before we even begin.”

“Then spill yourself,” said Legolas, smiling, “but in my mouth, for I would taste you as I come.”

Imrahil groaned loudly, somehow getting himself to the bed and climbing upon it. He sat up on his knees, sliding one towards the elf, who dropped his head to rest upon the muscled thigh. Legolas’s hand worked harder now, pumping his own cock firmly as he took the man’s achingly full erection between his lips.

Imrahil did not even try to hold himself back, and indeed there would have been little point in doing so. With the elf’s hot mouth around him, sucking down his full length, he came almost at once, with spasms of delight that seemed to start in his spine and spread right through his body. He gasped for breath and fell forward, supporting himself on his arms as he watched Legolas reach his own peak. The elf tensed, suddenly stilling the rapid movements of his hand, and moaned around Imrahil’s cock as he too came, his semen spurting in great pulses across the sheets.

As Legolas rolled his head away and looked up at him, Imrahil could only stare down at the elf in astonishment.

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Every time, I think it cannot get any better, and then you prove me wrong.”

“I do not know, lover,” replied Legolas, “I can only think that your manly enthusiasm inspires me. Is it not delightful?”

“That is hardly an adequate description.” Imrahil gestured to Legolas to raise his head and shifted his leg out from underneath. Sliding down the bed, he brought his face in line with the elf’s and leaned in to kiss him, as Legolas slid a hand around behind his head to pull him closer. He tasted the salt of his own semen on Legolas’s tongue, and marvelled at the sensual thrill of it. Everything he did with Legolas, he reflected, seemed to lead on to ever greater rapture.

He pulled his head back to speak, and the elf’s fingers trailed gently down to stroke his cheek.

“I wish you did not have to go, lovely one,” Imrahil said, “but at least you will leave me with a feast of memories.”

“Aye,” said Legolas, “And all the better for knowing that we shall both be finding pleasure in the same thoughts.”

Imrahil pondered this a w a while, and shivered.

“Are you still set on leaving tomorrow?” he asked, quietly.

“It is time. My people will expect me, and parting will not be any less painful if we delay it a day or two more. Besides, I have stayed here long enough.” The elf’s voice was suddenly serious, and held a note of sadness.

Imrahil pushed himself up on one elbow so as to look down at his lover. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I fear that my presence has caused enough difficulties,” Legolas said, with a slight laugh.

“Has something else happened today?”

The elf had already told him of Heledir’s encounter with a group of thugs in a tavern, and they had spent some time discussing the attitudes behind it. Legolas had been insistent, however, that the prince should not question Heledir about his black eye too directly, saying that the shame would be enough to ruin the man. Imrahil had reluctantly agreed, though his instincts told him to hunt the attackers down, and bring them to justice for their cruel treatment of the loyal secretary.

Legolas looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “I met your sons in the training yard this morning.”

“My sons? Both of them? What happened?”

“Merenin and I fenced with each other. He is a very fine swordsman, as you had told me; I greatly enjoyed the bout. Then Celaeren arrived and challenged me. I declined to accept, and we . . . talked.”

There was clearly much more to the story than that, but Imrahil had already learned that Legolas would reveal as much or as little as he chose, and there was little point pressing for more. He waited.

“It was not an easy interview, and I would not have chosen to conduct it that way; but I was honest with him, and I believe he understood my viewpoint in the end.”

Imrahil narrowed his eyes, but Legolas shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Let him tell you himself, if he wishes to do so,” the elf said.

“It grieves me, that our time together cannot be more straightforward,” offered Imrahil.

“Aye. On my next visit, perhaps we should spend less time at the castle, and more time on the beach.”

At these words, the man’s heart leapt, as the subject they had carefully avoided was now laid out before him.

“So . . . this is not the end of it?” he asked tentatively.

“Would you wish it to be so?”

‘How like an elf,’ thought Imrahil, ‘to answer one question with another.’

“You know I would not,” he said.

“Then I do not see why this should be the end.”

They stared at each other for a while, then Legolas smiled, and pulled the prince down into his arms.

“If this is to be your last night,” Imrahil said a while later, as they lay entwined, “let us take a boat out, and sleep on the water, under the stars. The air will be warm, and there is little wind.”

He did not ask if the idea met with Legolas’s approval, for the elf’s smile told him all he needed to know.

So it was that after a rather subdued, early dinner, man and elf climbed down to the jetty on the castle’s northern side. The old boatman waiting there seemed unsurprised to see his prince at such an hour, and if the sight of the elf startled him, he gave no sign of it.

“I have always enjoyed night fishing,” Imrahil whispered to Legolas, as they climbed aboard and threw their packs down, “and I take this boat out often.”

The craft in question was a small rowing boat, since there was too little wind to fill a sail. Imrahil took the oars, and Legolas sat in the stern. The faint splash as the blades entered the water was the only sound in the still night, as they headed out to sea. Imrahil looked at the lights of his home as they dwindled to bright points in the distance, and wondered at the feeling of peace in his heart.

The fishing platform out in the bay had been there as long as Imrahil could remember, and many a time he had moored his boat alongside. Every year, after the winter storms, he sent men out to repair the structure; but the worn wooden boards on top were little changed since those nights when he had sat, an eager boy, listening in rapt excitement to his father’s tales of the sea. He had slept there, too, on sultry late summer nights when the stifling heat and the biting insects had driven him from the castle; and as children his own sons had lain at his side, laughing and talking with him in the moonlight.

They made the boat fast and climbed onto the platform, feeling it roll and sway on the gentle swell. Legolas unrolled the mats and blas, ws, while Imrahil dug in his pack for the oil lamp and tinderbox, the bottle and glasses.

He lit the lamp, saying somewhat apologetically, “I would see your face, for a while at least.”

Legolas arranged himself cross-legged on the blankets as the man opened the bottle and poured them each a draught of the fragrant white wine. He sank down beside the elf and their glasses touched.

“To friendship,” said Legolas.

“Friendship.”

They sat and gazed out over the vastness of the water, calm and black under the stars.

“Tell me of the sea, Legolas,” said Imrahil at last. “I know it speaks to you; what does it say?”

“It overwhelms me,” said the elf simply. “Nothing could have prepared me for it. I feel its rush and murmur in my ears every waking moment. Evn myn my dreams I hear it. It speaks of the West, and more besides, singing to me a song of the inevitability of my fate, the enormity of Iluvatar’s creation, the utter insignificance of my pain. It is more beautiful than anything I have seen, more terrifying than anything I have known. I could lose myself in it.”

“Was that what worried you, what kept you away, the fear of losing yourself?” Imrahil remembered vividly the elf’s words on that first night, although it seemed such a long time ago, part of another life entirely.

“In truth,” said Legolas slowly, “I believed that once I had come to know the sea, I might never find the courage to leave it, and would have no choice but to sail or to subm mys myself in its depths. That is why I could not come alone; I needed someone beside me, to draw on the strength of his spirit, should mine fail me at the crucial moment. I presumed much, to ask that of you.”

“No, do not say that. But how does it feel, now that you must go?” asked the man, reaching out to take the elf’s hand gently in his.

Legolas looked at him, his face deeply shadowed in the lamplight. “It is not easy to leave what I have found here, and return to the longing and grief that has been so diminished these last few weeks,” he said.

Imrahil thought for a while about these words, and all that they might mean. The moment he had been waiting for seemed to have arrived; it was time to bare his soul. He held the elf’s hand a little tighter when he finally spoke, each word sounding out clearly in the still night air.

“I have thought long and hard about saying this, for I am not sure that it is what you want to hear. Yet I would not keep the truth from you, my friend. I love you, Legolas; I cannot pretend otherwise.”

“Imrahil.” The hand in his returned the pressure of his fingers, while the elf raised the other to stroke the man’s cheek. Imrahil turned his face into the touch, shutting his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Legolas’s palm.

“You know my circumstances,” said the elf, softly, and with sorrow in his voice, “and that my heart is not free. Yet such love as I have to give is yours, and I give it willingly.”

Legolas removed his hand from Imrahil’s face and replaced it with his mouth, shifting silently from his cross-legged pose to kneel at the man’s side. The kiss was long and deep, and Imrahil found himself clutching at his lover’s body as they swayed together with the gentle motion of the sea, lost in the bliss of the moment.

“I understand, more than you might think,” said Imrahil, when at last they broke apart. “I gave my heart to Glantathar when I was little more than a child, but the pledge was no less real for that. I love you now, but I love her no less because of it, and I will miss her until the day I die.”

“I know it,” replied the elf, combing the hair back from Imrahil’s face with his fingers, the gesture of affection that the man loved so much. “And I sensed that you would understand. It was one of the reasons why I came here to you.”

Imrahil raised an eyebrow, and Legolas continued: “Yes, I will admit, I did not tell you all of it, when you asked why I chose you. Does it surprise you that I kept something back?” The familiar lilt of laughter was there once more in his voice. “Can you have forgotten that I am an elf?”

“No, indeed,” Imrahil said, wrapping his arms around the slender body and falling back to the blankets, pulling Legolas down on top of him. “No man could ever be so . . . tantalising.”

“I am not so sure,” said the elf, adjusting his position until he lay full length on Imrahil, his arms resting on the blankets to either side of him, his face inches away from the man’s eyes. “It is a word I could well use to describe you. Then again,” he moved slightly, bringing his groin into more substantial contact with the man’s, “you do have elven blood.”

“And I imagine that is the only thing keeping me alive, in spite of your efforts to ruin me,” growled Imrahil, his hands grabbing the elf’s hips as his own pushed up to meet them.

They kissed hungrily, bodies pressed together, each as hard as the other in his need. Imrahil felt the desire flood through him, and knew that he would come from the pleasure of the fully-clothed embrace, if he did not hold himself back. Such a wondrous effect the elf had on him; he had not known his body to be so eager since the far off days of his y.
.

The man was breathing heavily when he lifted the elf’s face from his own with both hands. “Legolas, my love,” he said, feeling his heart swell as he spoke the words for the first time. “There is something I would ask of you.”

“Ask what you will; I am yours to command,” Legolas whispered, his voice fragile with lust.

Imrahil closed his eyes, willing himself to stay calm, for he had long considered this request. “Would you let me share your feelings, as you did that first time?” he asked.

“Are you sure that is what you want?” replied the elf. “You may feel more than you would wish.”

“It would mean much to me,” said Imrahil, quietly.

Legolas looked at him for a moment, and then nodded slightly. He pushed himself up on his arms and moved away from the prince, who watched curiously. As soon as he realised that the elf merely meant to take off his clothes, he sat up to do the same.

They stared at each other, and did not speak, as shirts and leggings were pulled off and laid to one side. This was no slow, teasing game; they moved with common purpose towards a more important end.

Before long they lay on their sides beneath the blankets, face to face.

“I love you, Legolas.” Saying the words, after waiting so long, sent a strange thrill through Imrahil.

“My prince,” replied the elf, and moved to kiss him.

It was gentle at first, a slowly building knowledge of desire distinct from his own. He was vaguely aware of Legolas’s hand on him, moving down his chest, caressing his nipple and causing a flash of pleasure to pass through him. He slid his own hand down to bury it between the elf’s thighs, stroking first the smooth sac, then questing behind it for the tight, hidden opening.

Suddenly, Legolas tensed, and pulled his mouth away. “Imrahil,” he said, with sorrow in his voice, “Please forgive me; there are some things I cannot give you. But perhaps this - ”

The elf wrapped his fingers around Imrahil’s cock, and began stroking him steadily, rhythmically. The man, understanding at once that there must be some acts too raw, too sacred, for Legolas to share with any but his true love, drew his hand back and closed it around the elf’s erection, mirroring his lover’s movements. The pain of his realisation was soon forgotten, as they kissed again, urgently this time, and the feelings coursing througm frm from the elf increased in intensity: a surge of sweet affection laced with sadness; the deeper grief a mere murmur, yet unmistakeable; and something else –

Underlying, overlaying all the other emotion he felt it, the swelling, rushing, restless force, washing over him, drawing back then flooding his veins once more. Again and again it filled him, wave after wave of frightening power, overwhelming his senses, submerging his very soul with its swirling promise of oblivion. It was unstoppable; in spite of the panic welling up in him, he was unable to move, to cry out, to pull away from the elf’s demanding mouth.

Imrahil’s mind began to blur as rational thought deserted him, leaving him only the knowledge that he was lost, utterly consumed by the dreadful maelstrom of sensation. His heart hammered painfully, and the roar in his ears threatened to deafen him, as at last the end approached. The grey eyes opened wide, staring into the elf’s in terrified ecstasy, as he came; crushing, rolling waves of pleasure passing through him, the last shreds of his consciousness ebbing away in their wake.

He woke to find the warm body pressed close to his, the elf stroking his back and murmuring soothing words into his ear, words he vaguely recognised, but could not understand.

“Legolas,” he said.

“Imrahil.” The elf pulled his head back to look at him, anxiety clearly visible in his eyes in the faint light of the lamp. “I am so sorry.”

The man did not speak, but lay bemused in Legolas’s embrace.

“It was too much for me, and I lost control of it,” the elf whispered.

“The sea,” said Imrahil, at last.

“Yes.”

His breathing was returning to normal, and his mind was clearing, remembering.

“Gods, Legolas, how do you live with it?” Intoxicating as the feelings had been, he would not wish for that experience again in a hurry.

“It is not like that all the time,” said the elf, “That was a combination of things, I think; you, and and and being here . . .”

“Still, I underd whd why you warned me.” He blinked, and wriggled his arm free from its place crushed between their bodies, moving it to his lover’s hip. “I am afraid I did nothing to satisfy you; I was too lost . . .”

“Nay, my prince,” Legolas replied. “You took me with you. I was inside your feelings, as you were inside mine, and it was wonderful.”

“Incredible, though I think I came close to dying of it,” said Imrahil, pulling the elf closer.

It was not long before the man shut his eyes, and gave in to the weariness dragging him down into sleep.

The sun was nearly over the mountain when he woke once more, to see Legolas standing at the platform’s edge, staring out across the water.

“Imrahil, look at this!” the elf said.

The prince yawned widely, and pushed himself up to a sitting position, screwing up his eyes to see what the elf was looking at.

There they were, a school of dolphins, leaping through the waves out in the deeper sea, where the sun already turned the water’s surface a shimmering, shifting gold. There were four, maybe five of them, twisting and circling, now leaping straight from the water, now curving in unison in and out of the waves, their sleek bodies gleaming in the morning light.

Legolas laughed, quite clearly entranced. “I have never seen such a thing,” he said. “Are they not playing?”

Imrahil staggered to his feet and went to stand at the elf’s side, adjusting his stance to the rocking motion of the platform in the lively breeze.

“Yes, they are playing,” he said, smiling at his lover. “Sometimes they come in close to the shore, and it is possible to swim amongst them.”

Legolas watched as the dolphins moved across the bay and out of sight behind the headland. Then he turned and looked at Imrahil with shining eyes.

“What a wondrous sight, and so perfect on this day of all days.” His voice became serious, as he added, “I have been blessed, my friend, to have had this time here with you.”

Imrahil thought that his heart might burst as he took the elf in his arms. He was sure that Legolas had never looked so beautiful as at that moment, and it would not be possible to love him more.

Back at the castle they found Merenin and Lelneth breaking their fast at the long table, although the hour was quite late. Merenin seemed more attentive than ever towards his wife, and Imrahil smiled to himself as he wondered what new devilment Lelneth had employed to bewitch his son even further. She, of course, was bright and confident as always, casting occasional looks of fond amusement at her husband, as she laughed and talked with Legolas.

As if by common consent, neither of Imrahil’s sons, nor any of the castle staff, came to the gate to see Legolas depart. He had taken leave of Merenin and Lelneth in the Great Hall, and had spent a minute alone in the study with Heledir to say farewell. Celaeren was nowhere to be seen; so the elf had asked Imrahil to convey his regards to the youngest prince.

When the moment arrived, they stood together in the courtyard, Legolas’s horse docile at his side.

Man and elf looked at each other for a long while.

“I suppose I should not expect you to visit,” said Imrahil at last, feeling awkward and unsure, “but be glad to see you when you arrive.”

Legolas surprised him yet again by bursting into musical laughter.

“I know there are those of my kin who work hard to appear mysterious,” he said, “but this elf, at least, has mastered the skill of letter writing.”

“You will write to me?” Imrahil could not keep the glee from his voice.

“Of course! It should not be too difficult to organise, for does your nephew Faramir not send a regular messenger to you?”

Imrahil felt his spirits lift at the words, even as Legolas slung his bow and pack across his shoulder.

“We could stand here all day,” said the elf, “and it will become no easier. So I say to you, farewell, my prince of men, until we meet again.”

He moved towards Imrahil, and clasped his shoulder with a firm grip. But the man cared not whose eyes were watching from the castle’s windows; he stepped closer still and embraced the elf warmly.

“Farewell, my love,” he said.

Imrahil stood alone and watched the elf, as he rode down the long avenue. Before he reached the city gates, Legolas turned, his golden hair glinting in the sun, and raised an arm in salute. Then he passed through the great arch, and was gone.

It seemed to Imrahil that part of his soul went with the elf, for the wrenching ache in his breast threatened to wind him. The joy and excitement of the past weeks, of finding love again, when he had all but given up on his own ability to be happy, drained from him. He stood bereft, empty of all emotion save his dragging sense of loss.

For a long moment the man did not move, staring after his lover, and wondering desperately how long he must wait before they could be together again. But after a while he lifted his head and gazed up at the sky, feeling the sun on his face and the fresh sea breeze in his hair, and at last he sensed his strength returning to him. Finally he turned on his heel to look up at the great stone building, the symbol of all that he had long found burdensome.

And then, to his own amazement, he laughed, thinking of the elf who would never cease to surprise him, and who had given him more than he could have believed possible. For although he felt grief at his lover’s departure, he could not deny that his life had changed; and somehow he knew that he would not sink into despair again. In spite of it all, he smiled at the thought of Legolas’s parting words, and wondered what delights the elf’s letters might bring.

Pain there was in his heart as he walked towards the castle, and back to the reality of his life; but alongside it there was something new. For the first time in many years, Prince Imrahil remembered what it was to feel hope.


***************** End *****************


Author's note: like all authors, this writer thrives on feedback. Please review the story if you have enjoyed it, or if you have comments or suggestions.

If you would like to read more by the same author, including the Legolas / Aragorn saga 'Call of the Sea', visit her website: www.geocities.com/c_capella2000