Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA

Chapter 3

It was neither an easy campaign, nor a short one. Well over a month had passed before we returned to Rivendell, having travelled further down the river than we had intended, and higher into the mountains than we had hoped. Success was ours in pawe hwe had routed three large nests of orcs and numerous smaller groups, while sustaining few casualties of our own. However, there was no doubt in our minds that these victories were but a scratch at the surface of the evil emanating from Dol Guldur; it seemed that Sauron’s stronghold there was indeed growing in might.

At the Old Ford I parted company with most of the Mirkwood Elves, sending them home with news of our deeds for my father. I was to join the party returning to Rivendell, to take counsel with Elrond before returning home. With me was Meluinen, my captain and friend, and two young archers as our guard. Meluinen’s joy at this turn of events was as I expected; I had noticed him paying much attention to a particularly lively elf-maid before we left Rivendell. As I watched the remainder of my fighters bidding farewell to the elves of Imladris, I felt a warm surge of hope. If nothing else had come of this venture, the ties between Mirkwood and Rivendell had become stronger in the camaraderie of our small army.

So we returned to the house of Elrond, battle weary but in good spirits, ready for rest and comfort. Elrond himself stood at the large gate to greet us, love for his sons and deep relief written clearly in the lines of his face. I was both surprised and pleased when he embraced me almost as warmly as them, thanking Elbereth for my safe return.

A great feast was declared for late that night, but full council, Elrond decidehoulhould wait until the next day. This left us a long afternoon and evening to take our rest. Aragorn, I knew, would wish to visit his mother, and Meluinen his sweetheart. For myself, I wished only to bathe and find some peace for my body, mind and soul.

Lying back in the warm water I gently kneaded the muscles of my neck and shoulders, sighing with a brief flash of longing for the bathing attendants of my father’s palace. Elrond’s ways were different from ours, and he lived a simpler life with far fewer servants; on this occasion I would have to unmake my own knots. Eventually I felt total relaxation seep through my body and sank down even lower in the bath, resting without conscious thought until the water became uncomfortably cool. I stepped from the bath and dried myself, luxuriating in the enormous soft towels that smelled faintly of summer rain.

The afternoon was unusually grey and blustery for the time of year, so I decided to rest in my room rather than walk through the forest. I lay on my back and stretched happily. Even an elf who loves the trees as I do can be seduced by the comfort of a large feather bed, especially when he has slept in the open, with one ear alert for danger, for the past six weeks.

At last I could begin the most important part of the healing that comes after battle. I could dismantle the wall of self control that had bound my mind since we had departed from Rivendell, and sort through my thoughts and feelings in peace. I reflected first on those I had slain, and offered a brief prayer that their tortured souls may find release through my intervention. I mentally reviewed the performance of the Mirkwood elves, including myself, and concluded that my father could be proud of our conduct and achievement. I pondered for a while tews ews we had dragged, painfully, from the captured orcs – news of the great power arising and strengthening in the East and in Dol Guldur – and wondered where these dread tidings might yet take us.

I could avoid it no longer; my thoughts at last turned to Aragorn, and my feelings for him.

After my crisis on the bridge that first night in Rivendell, I had made a rapid and pragmatic decision. My desire for him may have been some sort of temporary madness; if not, I could not allow myself the luxury of examining it further. We were about to lead our comrades into danger; such personal matters could not be allowed to interfere in any way with the campaign. I resolved to avoid being alone with Aragorn, or embarking on private conversations with him, and to store away all attendant feelings until our mission was over. I do not have the ability to erase my thoughts and memories completely, but like most elves I have learned to keep them hidden until the appropriate moment arrives for their re-examination.

As it turned out, my task was not too difficult. Once we left Rivendell, there was little opportunity or incentive to stray away from the main group, and at our camps we were never alone. A routine fairly quickly established itself, whereby Aragorn and I formed a close knit team along with Meluinen, Elladan and Elrohir. The five of us worked together well in our strategy discussions, and enjoyed each others’ company when we rested. I was also careful to spend a significant amount of my time amongst the other Mirkwood elves, some of whom had been my friends for centuries. I always led a different watch from Aragorn, and bathed only in the company of others.

All of this did not stop me enjoying his company or admiring his skill. It became obvious straight away that we all deferred to him, although he was but one tenth of the age of the youngest of us. His natural authority, composed of equal parts of wisdom, experieand and courage, was apparent from the start. It amused me to see Aragorn, who had chosen exile over the birthright of kings, stepping so easily into the role of leader. I wondered if he was aware of himself in this.

Watching him fight was a revelation. Although his techniques had clearly been learned from elves, he added to them a style which was wholly human. In place of the smooth composure which we strive for, he fought with open passion, blood and rage and sheer physicawer.wer. Yet he never lost control or allowed his vigour to cloud his judgement. In spite of my good intentions, I found myself staring at him on a number of occasions, as he moved through the throng of our enemies like a force of nature.

I could not deny that my respect and admiration for the man had only increased, whilst in the absence of any further private moments, lingering looks or touches, feelings esiresire for him had not troubled me. Perhaps it had been a momentary thing, some unexpected response to the unfamiliar contact with this mortal, with his pulse, his body heat, his very chemistry, so subtly different from my own.

Relaxed and secure, I let the final barriers go, and allowed my mind to drift freely. I saw him as he waded into the river in Mirkwood, and as he laughed in to my eyes as we lay on the forest floor. I felt again his kiss on my cheek as we had parted, and his strong arms around me as we embraced on the bridge. I watched again as he swung up into his saddle and led a charge down hill; as he sprang up from beside the wit with joy in his eyes to greet Elladan and me on our return from a scouting trip, as he carved his way through the horde of orcs like an ancient king of the West…..

The mind is a wonderful thing, and that of an elf is long schooled in reason and self control. I had all but persuaded myself that the danger was past, and perhaps it may have been, had my mind been the only player in this game. But as I lay there, naked and alone, letting thoughts of him wash over me, I discovered my weakness, and knew that in the end I am not so different from a man after all.

I listened finally to my body, and took my aching erection in my hand.

It seems to me that I made a choice at that moment. I could have refused to give in to my arousal – the temporary discomfort would pass, and I could revel in level-headed virtue. I could have given myself the relief I needed, but turned my thoughts to other, less troubling images. But having acknowledged the situation at last, perhaps it was inevitable that I should see it through to its shattering conclusion.

After a few gentle strokes, I left my cock to swell untouched. A shiver ran through me as I ran my hands over my chest, imagining Aragorn striding into the room, unkempt and austere as if from battle, leather coat swinging about him, sword at his belt. I pictured him sitting in the chair next to the bed, hands clasped between his knees, leaning forward to watch me in my nakedness, his glance roaming across my body before his grey eyes locked with mine.

I closed my eyes, the better to see the object of my desire, stepping up to the bed and seating himself beside me. As I stroked myself I imagined that his were the hands caressing my thighs, my belly, my nipples, my neck…. His fingers would be coarse and calloused, but the worn black leather of his gloves smooth and warm, as he wordlessly explored my body, without seeking permission or offering explanation.

By now my pulse was racing and my breathing erratic. Never had I felt arousal like this. I wanted to prolong the delicious waves of feeling sweeping through my body, but had rapidly passed beyond the point of self control.

My hand sought my cock again and I began to work it firmly and slowly, while my other arm stretched out behind my head. Now I writhed in Aragorn’s control, my hands pinned behind my head in his rough, strong grasp, twisting from side to side in an effort to fulfil my need. His hand on my cock slowed to a terrible halt and he released his grip, only to stroke lightly up and down the length of it, and slowly around the tip.

I whimpered, “Please,” as he teased me unmercifully, all the while gazing into my eyes, a strangely stern expression on his face. Turning my head away in desperation, I heard him speak, finally.

“Look at me,” was all he said.

In my mind, I turned to him once more and felt the answering pressure I needed. Strength and speed built up gradually, inexorably, until I could bear it no longer. I cried out his name as the most intense orgasm of my life overwhelmed me. The whole of my body seemed to spasm uncontrollably, and my blood screamed in my ears.

As my breathing returned to normal, I stared blankly at the ceiling in troubled disbelief. The nature of my fantasy shocked me. Until this day, sex had for me been a matter of light and beauty, comfort and play. Love for Aragorn, gentle friend, wise leader, beautiful man, I could accept. But desire for the grimy, hard-eyed warrior, the strength and violence, the utter mortal maleness of him, was something I was unprepared for.

I had absolutely no idea how I was going to deal with it, but deal with it I must. Even as I reflected on the problem, wondering how it could be that he could excite me so, I felt my arousal building again.


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DESIRE


When Gimli first heard the start of my story he laughed incredulously.

“It came as a shock to you? So much for the fabled wisdom of the elves. You told me yourself that you had to turn away from him at the river to avoid staring at him. Did you not recognise desire then?”

It is true that I had found him beautiful. But I had turned away to spare him embarrassment, not through any dismay at my own feelings. It is natural for an elf to appreciate beauty, a fundamental fact of our existence, and a matter of the spirit, quite separate from the physical sensation of desire. I am certain that, at our first meeting, my spirit alone was moved. How, then, did my body come to be in his thrall?

I was not completely unfamiliar with the sensual pleasures of the flesh. I could not say that I had experienced passion, but I had from time to time indulged in the languorous caresses of an elven companion. The friend whose massage of my aching muscles at the end of a long day’s hunting led to the sharing of more intimate touches; the attentions of an elf-maid of the palace while I bathed. These encounters, languid, subtle and relaxed, are not uncommon amongst younger elves, and there is a sweetness, almost an innocence to them. We delight in each other, even as we delight in the rest of creation around us. Possession and penetration play no part in our amorous games.

It is not that we are incapable of feeling the fire of physical love. Such ardour between elves, however, is usually slow to grow, and its fullest expression, the moment of penetration and release, is the sealing of a deeper commitment. So we find sexual fulfilment in the embrace of one true love; not through any sense of moral virtue, but simply because we are made that way.

Some may wait thousands of years for that one to enter their lives; others may live an eternity aeverever experience such intense happiness with another. This does not seem such a tragedy to an elf as it might to a mortal. We do not share the desperate need of men to bind themselves in sexual union and achieve release; procreation is not our route to immortality, and we know other sources of joy which they can only begin to comprehend.

Yet when an elf truly loves, it is a strong and awesome thing. Elves have been known to die of grief at the loss of a beloved, although this is not as common as men, with their exalted romantic notions of us, would like to believe. Paradoxically, they also call us cold, mistaking our circumspect self control for lack of emotion. But why should we rush when time does not hasten us? It is well that we reflect before embracing love, for the ties that we do make are not easily broken, and the pain that we suffer lasts for eternity.