Call of the Sea
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
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Reviews:
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Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
5,177
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 12
CALL OF THE SEA
_________________________________________________________________________
WARNING: The story follows the book canon from now on, and contains some
spoilers for Return of the King
_________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 12
We sat before the city walls, Aragorn, Gimli and I, and drew breath at last. The trampled ruins of the fields of Pelennor lay before us, and the dark shapes of men, seeking the wounded and collecting the dead, were visible in all directions. I raised my face to the sunset as we talked of those who had fallen; Aragorn suffered particularly at Halbarad’s death, and I placed a hand on his arm, the better to let him share his grief and feel my sympathy. Our eyes met, and I knew that my pain found its match in the sorrow of his heart.
Gimli stood, muttering something about tents and water. He laid his palm briefly on my shoulder, and, as considerate as ever, left us alone. We watched in silence as he strode towards the men of Minas Tirith where they came down through the city gates, bearing bundles and pitchers. Aragorn made as if to move, but I stilled him.
“Stay, my love. It ime ime you took some rest.”
He sank back to the ground with a small noise of agreement, and we sat silently for a while, love and understanding passing between us as my thumb discreetly stroked his wrist.
He pulled his arm away, however, as the white figure approached.
I leapt to my feet. “Mithrandir!”
There was little time for fond greetings. Mithrandir spoke urgently to Aragorn and bade him find his healer’s herbs at once. The gravity of the situation was beyond doubt and the light in the Istari’s eyes was grim. He looked quickly from Aragorn to me, saying, “I will await you at the gate,” and he was gone.
Aragorn had found his healer’s kit and was fastening the grey cloak of Lórien about his shoulders.
“Shall I come with you?” I asked.
“Nay, love. You should stay and rest. For too many nights you have watched over me as I slept.”
His voice was full of concern, and he spoke no more than the truth, but I could not avoid a flicker of disappointment. He must have noticed it, for his hand brushed mine. “I do not wish to call attentio mys myself. Better that you stay here, for the eye of every man and woman in the city would surely be drawn to your beauty.”
He had the strength to tease me, even now. I would have devoured him, had the circumstances been different.
“Very well, I shall stay. But I would lie in your arms tonight.”
His gaze was searing, and caused a shock of desire to pass through me.
“I need it as much as you do, beloved. I will return to you.” With that he pulled the hood of his cloak over his face, and left.
Gimli had somehow organised two tents for us, and had them set up a little apart from the rest of the Dúnedain, with their entrances angled discreetly away from the others. He sat before them kindling a fire, and I saw that he had acquired both water and food.
“You are a marvel to me, my friend.” I waved an arm at the comforts of our camp.
“As you are constantly, to me,” he replied gently, and I was momentarily taken aback by the softness of his smile. “Where is Aragorn?”
I sat beside him as he busied himself with the fire, and explained the situation.
“Then you must make do with my company this evening,” he said.
“I can think of none better.”
As it turned out Elladan and Elrohir joined us soon after, and we invited them to eat with us. Barely had we finished the meal, however, when a messenger arrived to call them to Aragorn’s side. Gimli and I were left to share our stories by the fire’s light; we remembered happier times and did not speak of the perils ahead.
Once my friend had settled to sleep and I could hear his snores clearly through the canvas, I took a bowl of water behind the tents and washed myself as well as I could. I found I had no heart to take to my bed in the tent I shared with the dwarf; neither was there any prospect of peace in walking around the city’s walls or the bloodstained fields. After a moment’s consideration I slipped into Aragorn’s tent and unrolled his bedding. Making a pillow of my cloak, I lay down and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the man I loved.
I let myself relax, and began to examine my thoughts for the first time since our desperate race through the paths of the Dead. So much had happened, so much had I seen, I would not have known where to begin. But the choice was not mine to make, for as soon as I let my mind drift I heard it again: the cry of the gulls, tearing at the very fabric of my soul.
********************
Time had stood still for me, there on the river bank at Pelargir.
After four days and nights of hard riding, and the strange tension of our journey with the Dead, my mind had become focussed on a single purpose: following Aragorn to the end. Extraneous thoughts had been set aside and I had barely spoken, even to Gimli, for more than a day. But as soon as I heard that cursed, melancholy sound my concentration broke, and I could think of nothing except that of which they spoke; the sea.
It is hard to explain, this sudden desperate longing for something which I had never seen, and which had hardly crossed my mind before. I suppose that men and elves may yearn for love before they know its touch; the young may yearn for adventure, as I once did; those whose lives know only strife may yearn for peace. Yet this was such a strong and specific longing, almost physical in its nature, and it unsettled me to the core. I had never known a desire so powerful, except, of course, for one.
I stared at the canvas above me as I wondered how my soul could possibly bear the burden of two such aches.
Aragorn’s power and strength were growing by the day, and I knew that the hour drew near; ere long he would claim his crown and I would have to free his heart once more. Even now, as he walked in the city, his absence troubled me deeply, the tension in my stomach a constant reminder of my need for him. I could only imagine the pain I would endure once he took his place at another’s side. And yet I had pledged myself to him for as long as his life should last, a pledge which would hold me to the pain in Middle Earth and thus prolong the agony of my yearning for the West.
This was no time for despair, I reflected, as I tried to still my mind. The irony of the situation did not escape me; caught between two opposing needs, and unable to find any peace even by choosing one at the expense of the other. And yet there was a greater irony still; here I lay worrying about my future pain, when I knew that in all likelihood I should not live to taste it. For the battle that day had been won, but the war was yet to be fought; and I had no illusions about the full extent of Sauron’s might.
In this thought I found an odd excuse for comfort, and commending my soul to the inevitability of fate, I passed into dreams at last.
********************
I sensed his return and woke immediately. The light coming through the canvas spoke of dawn approaching.
A moment later he crept into the tent, and into my arms with a weary sigh. I kissed and held him, then settled him with his head on my chest while he told me briefly, in the softest of whispers, of Merry, Eowyn and Faramir; and of all that had passed in the city.
I stroked his hair and smiled down at him. “So the people of Gondor recognise their true king? It is fitting. These last few days you have shown the full splendour of your spirit, my love, and it will never be hidden again. You shine like a beacon for all to see.”
“If that is so, it is only by your grace,” he replied gravely, and shifted himself so that he could draw me into a long, soft kiss.
“The end draws near,” he said, as we finally pulled apart.
I could only murmur my agreement. The end of the war, the end of our hallowed time together, the end of beauty in Middle Earth; I did not ask him what he meant, as I knew the question would be irrelevant.
We spoke a little of Frodo and Sam, and dared to share our fears, as I knew he could with no other.
“My hope is still strong,” I told him, “For where Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel place their trust, I can only do likewise.”
“Aye, and Mithrandir too,” he agreed.
He told me then of the terrible plan they would put to the captains in the morning. I clutched him tightly, but spoke not of my fears.
“These are desperate times, Aragorn.” I smiled at the phrase, in spite of the context. “I know in my heart that you are right, and I shall be proud to stand beside you. But now, rest, and think no more of the morrow, for you are exhausted.”
“Yet my mind is still too busy for sleep; would that I had some means to calm it.” He sighed dramatically, and I was amazed to realise that he was tempting me, even at a time such as this.
I could not fail him. I knelt astride his hips and bent to kiss him once more, but he held my head and buried his nose in my hair.
“Ah, Legolas, you smell so sweet, and I am . . .”
“Shh,” I said, and captured his mouth with mine. It was true, his odour was strong, but it no longer repulsed me. If anything, it served to heighten my desire.
My fingers were practised now, and made short work of the fastenings of his clothes, my mouth following close behind. I kissed, licked and stroked my way down his chest, inflaming his body and driving all else from his mind. When I judged him to have forgotten his cares, I shifted down, and took him directly into my mouth. I would have lingered, for I so loved the taste and the feel of my lips on his cock, but I could feel the utter weariness beneath his arousal, and knew he would have little enough time to sleep. So I tuned my rhythm to his growing excitement, and stroked his thighs as I pleasured him, and let him feel the fullness of my desire as I did so. It was not long before he arched his back and stifled a gasp as he pumped his seed into my mouth. I closed my eyes and savoured the taste of him before I swallowed.
As his tremors subsided into limp exhaustion, I saw his eyelids start to close, but he fought against it.
“My love, I am so tired, I cannot . . . I am sorry.”
“No matter, it is better that you sleep now.”
“Please, let me watch you. Then I may find some peace.”
His eyes were fully open once more as I complied with his request. With the taste of him on my tongue, and the sight of his body laid out before me, I was already close to my peak. I licked my hands from palm to fingertip before grasping my cock with one, and caressing my balls with the other, as he loved to see me do. In truth I was too weary and too full of desire to attempt to control myself, and I came almost immediately, the fluid shooting in arcs across his muscular chest.
He sighed. “It is the most beautiful thing, when I watch you.”
“Everything we do together is beautiful.” I replied, running my fingers across his flesh to scoop up the liquid there. I raised my hand to lick the digits clean, but he grabbed my wrist and held it fast.
“I want to sleep with the taste of you in my mouth,” he said, and I shuddered as he sucked each finger carefully, slowly, then kissed the palm of my hand.
My mouth soon followed in its path, and our tongues met, his flavour and mine mingling there.
Soft words of love we whispered then, and I held him close. Seconds later he was asleep, his breathing gentle and regular. I lay still and simply watched his chest rise and fall, wondering at the strength of my love for him, and trying to ignore the ensnaring song of the sea-birds in my heart.
_________________________________________________________________________
WARNING: The story follows the book canon from now on, and contains some
spoilers for Return of the King
_________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 12
We sat before the city walls, Aragorn, Gimli and I, and drew breath at last. The trampled ruins of the fields of Pelennor lay before us, and the dark shapes of men, seeking the wounded and collecting the dead, were visible in all directions. I raised my face to the sunset as we talked of those who had fallen; Aragorn suffered particularly at Halbarad’s death, and I placed a hand on his arm, the better to let him share his grief and feel my sympathy. Our eyes met, and I knew that my pain found its match in the sorrow of his heart.
Gimli stood, muttering something about tents and water. He laid his palm briefly on my shoulder, and, as considerate as ever, left us alone. We watched in silence as he strode towards the men of Minas Tirith where they came down through the city gates, bearing bundles and pitchers. Aragorn made as if to move, but I stilled him.
“Stay, my love. It ime ime you took some rest.”
He sank back to the ground with a small noise of agreement, and we sat silently for a while, love and understanding passing between us as my thumb discreetly stroked his wrist.
He pulled his arm away, however, as the white figure approached.
I leapt to my feet. “Mithrandir!”
There was little time for fond greetings. Mithrandir spoke urgently to Aragorn and bade him find his healer’s herbs at once. The gravity of the situation was beyond doubt and the light in the Istari’s eyes was grim. He looked quickly from Aragorn to me, saying, “I will await you at the gate,” and he was gone.
Aragorn had found his healer’s kit and was fastening the grey cloak of Lórien about his shoulders.
“Shall I come with you?” I asked.
“Nay, love. You should stay and rest. For too many nights you have watched over me as I slept.”
His voice was full of concern, and he spoke no more than the truth, but I could not avoid a flicker of disappointment. He must have noticed it, for his hand brushed mine. “I do not wish to call attentio mys myself. Better that you stay here, for the eye of every man and woman in the city would surely be drawn to your beauty.”
He had the strength to tease me, even now. I would have devoured him, had the circumstances been different.
“Very well, I shall stay. But I would lie in your arms tonight.”
His gaze was searing, and caused a shock of desire to pass through me.
“I need it as much as you do, beloved. I will return to you.” With that he pulled the hood of his cloak over his face, and left.
Gimli had somehow organised two tents for us, and had them set up a little apart from the rest of the Dúnedain, with their entrances angled discreetly away from the others. He sat before them kindling a fire, and I saw that he had acquired both water and food.
“You are a marvel to me, my friend.” I waved an arm at the comforts of our camp.
“As you are constantly, to me,” he replied gently, and I was momentarily taken aback by the softness of his smile. “Where is Aragorn?”
I sat beside him as he busied himself with the fire, and explained the situation.
“Then you must make do with my company this evening,” he said.
“I can think of none better.”
As it turned out Elladan and Elrohir joined us soon after, and we invited them to eat with us. Barely had we finished the meal, however, when a messenger arrived to call them to Aragorn’s side. Gimli and I were left to share our stories by the fire’s light; we remembered happier times and did not speak of the perils ahead.
Once my friend had settled to sleep and I could hear his snores clearly through the canvas, I took a bowl of water behind the tents and washed myself as well as I could. I found I had no heart to take to my bed in the tent I shared with the dwarf; neither was there any prospect of peace in walking around the city’s walls or the bloodstained fields. After a moment’s consideration I slipped into Aragorn’s tent and unrolled his bedding. Making a pillow of my cloak, I lay down and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the man I loved.
I let myself relax, and began to examine my thoughts for the first time since our desperate race through the paths of the Dead. So much had happened, so much had I seen, I would not have known where to begin. But the choice was not mine to make, for as soon as I let my mind drift I heard it again: the cry of the gulls, tearing at the very fabric of my soul.
********************
Time had stood still for me, there on the river bank at Pelargir.
After four days and nights of hard riding, and the strange tension of our journey with the Dead, my mind had become focussed on a single purpose: following Aragorn to the end. Extraneous thoughts had been set aside and I had barely spoken, even to Gimli, for more than a day. But as soon as I heard that cursed, melancholy sound my concentration broke, and I could think of nothing except that of which they spoke; the sea.
It is hard to explain, this sudden desperate longing for something which I had never seen, and which had hardly crossed my mind before. I suppose that men and elves may yearn for love before they know its touch; the young may yearn for adventure, as I once did; those whose lives know only strife may yearn for peace. Yet this was such a strong and specific longing, almost physical in its nature, and it unsettled me to the core. I had never known a desire so powerful, except, of course, for one.
I stared at the canvas above me as I wondered how my soul could possibly bear the burden of two such aches.
Aragorn’s power and strength were growing by the day, and I knew that the hour drew near; ere long he would claim his crown and I would have to free his heart once more. Even now, as he walked in the city, his absence troubled me deeply, the tension in my stomach a constant reminder of my need for him. I could only imagine the pain I would endure once he took his place at another’s side. And yet I had pledged myself to him for as long as his life should last, a pledge which would hold me to the pain in Middle Earth and thus prolong the agony of my yearning for the West.
This was no time for despair, I reflected, as I tried to still my mind. The irony of the situation did not escape me; caught between two opposing needs, and unable to find any peace even by choosing one at the expense of the other. And yet there was a greater irony still; here I lay worrying about my future pain, when I knew that in all likelihood I should not live to taste it. For the battle that day had been won, but the war was yet to be fought; and I had no illusions about the full extent of Sauron’s might.
In this thought I found an odd excuse for comfort, and commending my soul to the inevitability of fate, I passed into dreams at last.
********************
I sensed his return and woke immediately. The light coming through the canvas spoke of dawn approaching.
A moment later he crept into the tent, and into my arms with a weary sigh. I kissed and held him, then settled him with his head on my chest while he told me briefly, in the softest of whispers, of Merry, Eowyn and Faramir; and of all that had passed in the city.
I stroked his hair and smiled down at him. “So the people of Gondor recognise their true king? It is fitting. These last few days you have shown the full splendour of your spirit, my love, and it will never be hidden again. You shine like a beacon for all to see.”
“If that is so, it is only by your grace,” he replied gravely, and shifted himself so that he could draw me into a long, soft kiss.
“The end draws near,” he said, as we finally pulled apart.
I could only murmur my agreement. The end of the war, the end of our hallowed time together, the end of beauty in Middle Earth; I did not ask him what he meant, as I knew the question would be irrelevant.
We spoke a little of Frodo and Sam, and dared to share our fears, as I knew he could with no other.
“My hope is still strong,” I told him, “For where Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel place their trust, I can only do likewise.”
“Aye, and Mithrandir too,” he agreed.
He told me then of the terrible plan they would put to the captains in the morning. I clutched him tightly, but spoke not of my fears.
“These are desperate times, Aragorn.” I smiled at the phrase, in spite of the context. “I know in my heart that you are right, and I shall be proud to stand beside you. But now, rest, and think no more of the morrow, for you are exhausted.”
“Yet my mind is still too busy for sleep; would that I had some means to calm it.” He sighed dramatically, and I was amazed to realise that he was tempting me, even at a time such as this.
I could not fail him. I knelt astride his hips and bent to kiss him once more, but he held my head and buried his nose in my hair.
“Ah, Legolas, you smell so sweet, and I am . . .”
“Shh,” I said, and captured his mouth with mine. It was true, his odour was strong, but it no longer repulsed me. If anything, it served to heighten my desire.
My fingers were practised now, and made short work of the fastenings of his clothes, my mouth following close behind. I kissed, licked and stroked my way down his chest, inflaming his body and driving all else from his mind. When I judged him to have forgotten his cares, I shifted down, and took him directly into my mouth. I would have lingered, for I so loved the taste and the feel of my lips on his cock, but I could feel the utter weariness beneath his arousal, and knew he would have little enough time to sleep. So I tuned my rhythm to his growing excitement, and stroked his thighs as I pleasured him, and let him feel the fullness of my desire as I did so. It was not long before he arched his back and stifled a gasp as he pumped his seed into my mouth. I closed my eyes and savoured the taste of him before I swallowed.
As his tremors subsided into limp exhaustion, I saw his eyelids start to close, but he fought against it.
“My love, I am so tired, I cannot . . . I am sorry.”
“No matter, it is better that you sleep now.”
“Please, let me watch you. Then I may find some peace.”
His eyes were fully open once more as I complied with his request. With the taste of him on my tongue, and the sight of his body laid out before me, I was already close to my peak. I licked my hands from palm to fingertip before grasping my cock with one, and caressing my balls with the other, as he loved to see me do. In truth I was too weary and too full of desire to attempt to control myself, and I came almost immediately, the fluid shooting in arcs across his muscular chest.
He sighed. “It is the most beautiful thing, when I watch you.”
“Everything we do together is beautiful.” I replied, running my fingers across his flesh to scoop up the liquid there. I raised my hand to lick the digits clean, but he grabbed my wrist and held it fast.
“I want to sleep with the taste of you in my mouth,” he said, and I shuddered as he sucked each finger carefully, slowly, then kissed the palm of my hand.
My mouth soon followed in its path, and our tongues met, his flavour and mine mingling there.
Soft words of love we whispered then, and I held him close. Seconds later he was asleep, his breathing gentle and regular. I lay still and simply watched his chest rise and fall, wondering at the strength of my love for him, and trying to ignore the ensnaring song of the sea-birds in my heart.