The Price of Pride

Elvish translation

Gwador – brother (sworn, not blood)

Chapter 31

Aragorn had apparently appreciated my method of waking him so much the day before that he decided to try it on me the next morning. I woke slowly from dreams of him to the reality of him. The dreams had been wonderful, since there was no need for control in dreams, but the reality was even better. Warm lips, soft beard, blue eyes that gazed into mine, darting tongue that was as arousing in its absence as in its presence as I waited for it to return. I responded to the kiss but left Aragorn in control of it. As much as I enjoyed kissing him, letting him kiss me was also incredibly arousing.

Breakfast finished most of our remaining meat and we idly discussed the need to hunt, but none of us really wanted to expend the effort. When Elladan suggested an archery contest, winner to select a prize, though, we finished eating quickly and set up a target.

I knew what the twins’litilities had been when we fought side-by-side after their mother’s capture, but that was over four hundred years past. They had not been idle in that time and I was sure their skills had improved. Aragorn’s skill with the bow was a complete unknown. I doubted that he could beat me, and I was not about to let him win, so I had great hopes of winning the prize. I knew exactly what I would claim if I won.

When we began the first round, I realized that this would not be the easy task I had imagined it. The target was set at mid-range and every arrow we loosed landed dead center. We moved the target back and fired again. I watched my fellow competitors more closely, analyzing form, looking for weakness. Elladan shot first on the second round, with fluid, deadly accuracy. His arrows all found the target, but one was on the outer edge of the center circle we had marked. Though the distance was well within his range, and while his arrow would have been perfectly deadly in battle, it was points off if any of the rest of us could get all our arrows in the center. Elrohir followed his twin to the line we had drawn in the soft loam. He fired as smoothly as his brother, without the slight mishap, edging ahead of Elladan in the competition.

“Good job, ‘Ro,” Aragorn commented, stepping up to the line. His stance exactly matched that of the twins. I could see the fine hand of Imladris’ archery master in all three of them. Aragorn squinted, just a little, before he fired. Perhaps it was nothing, but it made me wonder if mid-range for Elves was reaching the limit for Men. Still, he landed all of his arrows on target. That left me. I moved into position and fired as rapidly as I could without risking my accuracy. The four points embedded themselves in the target, each point touching the one next to it. I heard a startled gasp from beside me as I finished shooting. Then I realized Aragorn had never seen me shoot before. He had benefited from my arrows the day I met him, but he had not watched me, his attention being taken up with battle. Half-jokingly, he threw up his hands in surrender. “I yield.”

“That takes all the fun out of the contest, Estel,” I chided.

“For you, maybe. For me, it just means avoiding humiliation.”

“Yet your arrows also hit the center of the target,” I replied.

“In three times the time.”

“Speed is only important if you do nacriacrifice accuracy.” How well and bitterly I recalled those words many years later when I sacrificed accuracy and did not bring down my prey. How many Elves died because I did not follow my own advice? That day, though, was still more than sixty years in the future. “Say you will shoot at least one more round. After all, Elladan is not giving up and he is behind.”

Aragorn reluctantly agreed, and we moved the target back again. Elrohir fired first this time. Two of his arrows hit dead center, one hit the edge of the center, and the fourth missed the target completely. He claimed to have been bitten by an insect, but it was too early in the year for mosquitoes. Elladan redeemed himself in the third round, hitting the target with all four arrows, though not all in the center. When it was my turn, I made a point of taking my time. I wanted to win, but I did not want to so intimidate Aragorn that he would give up. I still hit the target dead center, but at least I did not show off doing it. Aragorn’s arrows, likewise, all hit the target, but only one was in the center. When Elrohir proposed moving the target again, Aragorn said, “You have reached the limit of my sight. I cannot shoot if I cannot see the target. There is no need to prove to you that mortal eyes see less than Elf eyes.”

“We will shoot one more round without you then, gwador. I doubt we can beat the Sinda there, but we have to give it a try,” Elladan replied.

“You can try,” I retorted, “but you have yet to succeed.”

They moved the target and made me shoot first. I aimed carefully. I did not want to ruin any arrows by having the tip of one hit the shaft of another, but I also wanted to make my point. I had fired three times, all three perfectly placed, when movement in the woods caught my eye. Without pausing, I pivoted and fired, the arrow piercing the hide and the heart of the deer that had come, unsuspecting, upon us. The twins tried to claim that I had missed the target with my fourth arrow, but Aragorn came to my defense. “We have dinner because of him and you would disqualify him? Let him shoot again.”

If it had just been me, they probably would have refused just to say that I had “missed,” but they gave in to Aragorn’s demand. The fourth arrow landed, as the others had, exactly where I wanted it, forming a perfect ring in the center of the target.

Elrohir’s first arrow landed in the center, but the second only caught the edge. “I yield,” he said,ing ing way to his twin.

Elladan managed two perfect shots before missing, beating his twin, but not me.

“To the victor go the spoils,” Elladan announced graciously. “And what does the victor claim as a prize?”

“A kiss,” I answered, walking to where Aragorn stood. His jaw dropped when he heard my reply but he did not demur. I had every intention of dropping a gentle kiss on his lips and backing away, given that we had an audience. That resolve lasted until my lips met Aragorn’s and he flicked his tongue out to taste me. All resistance evaporated in that moment, every thought fading into the background except one. Kissing Aragorn. I was dimly aware of the twins leaving us alone in the clearing, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered except the man in my arms. The man with the clever hands that were shyly exploring my back, from my shoulders to the tops of my thighs. I let my lips wander from his lips across his beard, over his high cheekbones to his ear. I nibbled along the curve of his ear, expecting a passionate response. Though he shivered a little, it was not what I had hoped for. He obviously did not have an Elf’s ears. My lips drifted lower, catching the patch of skin just behind his ear. That got the reaction I was looking for. His knees buckled, leaving only my embrace keeping him upright. I tightened my grip and sucked gently on his flesh. My wandering lips must have given him ideas, because one of his hands soon found its way to my ear. The delicate, erotic touch made my knees buckle in turn and we collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap. I looked at him. He looked at me. And neither of us could contain the laughter that broke the spell. I stood and offered Aragorn a hand.

As he took it and stood beside me, he looked at me appraisingly. “I am not made of glass,” he said finally. “I will not break beneath your desire.”

So he had understood my hesitation. “I might,” I replied.

That, he obviously did not understand, judging from the bewildered look he gave me.

“This is all almost as new to me as it is to you. It has been centuries, almost an age, since I have had a male lover. Or a new lover for that matter. I want to do this right. For both of us.”