The Practise of Diffidence
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-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
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4,301
Reviews:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
4,301
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Part Four
A/N: Since I kept you waiting so long for an update last time, I decided that I would give you this little chapter as a present! Please keep reviewing! I really appreciate it!
Disclaimer: I hate to admit but I own nothing even distantly related to the Lord of the Rings!
The Practise of Diffidence.
By, Demetria.
Part 4.
* * * * *
Legolas groaned ain ain as he once more doubled over to empty the meagre contents of his stomach into the small metallic basin that had been placed beside him. It had been a week since Airanar had left to seek the help of Gondor's physicians and Legolas was now becoming desperate. Where could his friend be? What was keeping him?
Legolas hated this feeling, this human feeling of being weak, nauseous and vulnerable and being able to do nothing about it. He was not unskilled in the arts of healing himself but it was many years since he had had cause to practise them. The years after Sauron's fall had called for little use of the arts of healing.
And yet here he was now, restricted to his bedchamber as the other elves of the colony feared he would infect them with the sort of illness he had contracted. He was not offended by their actions, not in the le for for he would have probably done the same himself in this situation.
He moaned helplessly as another wave of nausea hit him relentlessly but he refused to succumb to it, instead moving to a sitting position to clutch his tender and roiling stomach. He felt dirty and unkempt and more than anything wished to bathe. He had never felt this way before. He was covered in perspiration from his restless nights and uneasy sleep which was due to this strange illness, he supposed.
Pushing himself up off the bed, he swiftly padded over to the bathing chamber where the elves of Ithilien had very considerately left several buckets of boiling water, minutes before. He had not heard them come in, his muddled mind, thought frantically. Was it getting so bad that his illness was effecting his keen senses also.
He hoped it might not come to that. With a little bit of luck and patience on his part, Airanar would be here soon and his friend would make everything as it was before.
Stripping quickly, he lowered himself into the soothing water, his muscles relaxing at the glorious warmth of the bath. Yes, he thought hazily, this was definitely much better. It was just what he needed. Grappling for the neat little bar of scented soap at the side of the bath, he quickly sought to rub away all the imaginary dirt that had accumulated.
* * * * *
It was about an hour before Legolas emerged from his bathing chamber, wrapped in a soft elvish dressing gown. Reaching for then comb on his desk, he brushed his hair quickly, determined to make himself presentable. He would not spend another day lounging around in bed especially when he felt so much better already.
Dressing in his grey leggings and his blue tunic, he plaited his hair swiftly in to the customary side-braids, before smiling at his appearance in the mirror in his bedchambers. Yes, that would do, he thought satisfactorily. He didn't look as if he was suffering from any ailments. But then that was what he always thought or hoped, until he was greeted with usual symptoms once again in the mornings.
Sighing, he seated himself at his desk. Dipping his quill in ink, he began composing a letter in his n flo flowing handwriting. The only problem was that he didn't know what to say. He supposed he should tell Aragorn about the trade Ithilien was doing with the other colonies and how much they were benefiting from it. How the elves were proud to call such a fine colony their home.
And of course the real reason why Airanar had gone to Gondor in search of a human healer. He hated having to lie to his closest friend but he had made Airanar promise not to let Aragorn come to Ithilien nor to tell him about the strange illness that was afflicting him. But the truth was that he did not think he could stand the sight of the man.
Seeing Aragorn in the flesh again would just be too much for Legolas especially after he had been spending so much time trying to forget what had occurred. And as far as he was concerned nothing of importance had occurred between them. So it would be well if he would forget it had ever happened. But try as he might, Legolas could not.
The man haunted his dreams as he slept. He felt the callused hands touching him, stroking him in the most intimate of places. The man's mouth descending on to his as he claimed him forcefully, possessively and yet with such tenderness that it made Legolas yield almost immediately to his touch. He had never been touched with such passion intermingled with lust before and it frightened him.
It frightened him that he could not control himself around Aragorn that it might happen again and that he had betrayed Arwen's trust in him. Arwen, his dear friend and Queen of Gondor who had always trusted him implicitly. He hated himself for breaking that trust so he had vowed never to speak of it, never to allude of it, never to think of it..... But it was too much to ask in reality.
Because Legolas had always been fascinated by Aragorn, fascinated by the man's determination, his stubbornness, the way the years showed on his face like bird prints, the way grey had speckled his hair like snow. But the real reason, he had succumbed to the man on that fateful afternoon was that he had loved Aragorn, son of Arathorn and he always would.
* * * * *
Airanar was fretting again. They were but a few hours ride from the land of Ithilien and already he felt his impending doom. Legolas would not be lenient when it came to this mistake, he thought worriedly. He had broken his friend’s and Lord’s trust and because of this, he imagined Legolas would be most angered.
After all, he had gotten a distinct impression from the Prince that he did not want to be anywhere near King Elessar at the moment. A most unusual thing surely, because before and after the war of the ring, the two had been the closest of friends. Closer that nay other friendship he had seen between a mortal and an elf. And now they weren’t talking….
But he had more important things to think about at the moment. Like how to win about Legolas’s trust once more. He had done the Elvish Prince a grievous injustice in betraying his trust and he had to warn him some way about the impending visit of Gondor’s royalty.
As they drew closer and closer to the borders of Ithilien, Airanar cast his eyes about frantically looking for some inspiration, some idea that would help him get out of this hole he had dug for himself. Finally, desperation overtook him and he rode frantically up to canter alongside the King himself.
King Elessar eyed him curiously and before he could change his mind, Airanar made himself plunge into rapid dialogue, head first with no idea what he was saying.
‘What was that, Airanar?’ the King shouted curiously over the sound of the horses hooves clattering against the hard soil and stones.
‘I was just wondering, my Lord if I could ride ahead to allow the elves of Ithilien to prepare for the King and Queen of Gondor,’ Airanar rambled. ’Surely it would give them time to prepare for they had no knowledge of your coming here.’
King Elessar seemed to consider this before giving his assent, with a quick glance back at his seemingly oblivious wife, Arwen. Airanar’s heart jumped for joy at the barely perceptible nod and at once he took off at great speed, urging his swift mare to pick up the pace all the way. He had one thought on his mind the whole way.
He must get to Ithilien to warn Prince Legolas.
* * * * *
Disclaimer: I hate to admit but I own nothing even distantly related to the Lord of the Rings!
The Practise of Diffidence.
By, Demetria.
Part 4.
* * * * *
Legolas groaned ain ain as he once more doubled over to empty the meagre contents of his stomach into the small metallic basin that had been placed beside him. It had been a week since Airanar had left to seek the help of Gondor's physicians and Legolas was now becoming desperate. Where could his friend be? What was keeping him?
Legolas hated this feeling, this human feeling of being weak, nauseous and vulnerable and being able to do nothing about it. He was not unskilled in the arts of healing himself but it was many years since he had had cause to practise them. The years after Sauron's fall had called for little use of the arts of healing.
And yet here he was now, restricted to his bedchamber as the other elves of the colony feared he would infect them with the sort of illness he had contracted. He was not offended by their actions, not in the le for for he would have probably done the same himself in this situation.
He moaned helplessly as another wave of nausea hit him relentlessly but he refused to succumb to it, instead moving to a sitting position to clutch his tender and roiling stomach. He felt dirty and unkempt and more than anything wished to bathe. He had never felt this way before. He was covered in perspiration from his restless nights and uneasy sleep which was due to this strange illness, he supposed.
Pushing himself up off the bed, he swiftly padded over to the bathing chamber where the elves of Ithilien had very considerately left several buckets of boiling water, minutes before. He had not heard them come in, his muddled mind, thought frantically. Was it getting so bad that his illness was effecting his keen senses also.
He hoped it might not come to that. With a little bit of luck and patience on his part, Airanar would be here soon and his friend would make everything as it was before.
Stripping quickly, he lowered himself into the soothing water, his muscles relaxing at the glorious warmth of the bath. Yes, he thought hazily, this was definitely much better. It was just what he needed. Grappling for the neat little bar of scented soap at the side of the bath, he quickly sought to rub away all the imaginary dirt that had accumulated.
* * * * *
It was about an hour before Legolas emerged from his bathing chamber, wrapped in a soft elvish dressing gown. Reaching for then comb on his desk, he brushed his hair quickly, determined to make himself presentable. He would not spend another day lounging around in bed especially when he felt so much better already.
Dressing in his grey leggings and his blue tunic, he plaited his hair swiftly in to the customary side-braids, before smiling at his appearance in the mirror in his bedchambers. Yes, that would do, he thought satisfactorily. He didn't look as if he was suffering from any ailments. But then that was what he always thought or hoped, until he was greeted with usual symptoms once again in the mornings.
Sighing, he seated himself at his desk. Dipping his quill in ink, he began composing a letter in his n flo flowing handwriting. The only problem was that he didn't know what to say. He supposed he should tell Aragorn about the trade Ithilien was doing with the other colonies and how much they were benefiting from it. How the elves were proud to call such a fine colony their home.
And of course the real reason why Airanar had gone to Gondor in search of a human healer. He hated having to lie to his closest friend but he had made Airanar promise not to let Aragorn come to Ithilien nor to tell him about the strange illness that was afflicting him. But the truth was that he did not think he could stand the sight of the man.
Seeing Aragorn in the flesh again would just be too much for Legolas especially after he had been spending so much time trying to forget what had occurred. And as far as he was concerned nothing of importance had occurred between them. So it would be well if he would forget it had ever happened. But try as he might, Legolas could not.
The man haunted his dreams as he slept. He felt the callused hands touching him, stroking him in the most intimate of places. The man's mouth descending on to his as he claimed him forcefully, possessively and yet with such tenderness that it made Legolas yield almost immediately to his touch. He had never been touched with such passion intermingled with lust before and it frightened him.
It frightened him that he could not control himself around Aragorn that it might happen again and that he had betrayed Arwen's trust in him. Arwen, his dear friend and Queen of Gondor who had always trusted him implicitly. He hated himself for breaking that trust so he had vowed never to speak of it, never to allude of it, never to think of it..... But it was too much to ask in reality.
Because Legolas had always been fascinated by Aragorn, fascinated by the man's determination, his stubbornness, the way the years showed on his face like bird prints, the way grey had speckled his hair like snow. But the real reason, he had succumbed to the man on that fateful afternoon was that he had loved Aragorn, son of Arathorn and he always would.
* * * * *
Airanar was fretting again. They were but a few hours ride from the land of Ithilien and already he felt his impending doom. Legolas would not be lenient when it came to this mistake, he thought worriedly. He had broken his friend’s and Lord’s trust and because of this, he imagined Legolas would be most angered.
After all, he had gotten a distinct impression from the Prince that he did not want to be anywhere near King Elessar at the moment. A most unusual thing surely, because before and after the war of the ring, the two had been the closest of friends. Closer that nay other friendship he had seen between a mortal and an elf. And now they weren’t talking….
But he had more important things to think about at the moment. Like how to win about Legolas’s trust once more. He had done the Elvish Prince a grievous injustice in betraying his trust and he had to warn him some way about the impending visit of Gondor’s royalty.
As they drew closer and closer to the borders of Ithilien, Airanar cast his eyes about frantically looking for some inspiration, some idea that would help him get out of this hole he had dug for himself. Finally, desperation overtook him and he rode frantically up to canter alongside the King himself.
King Elessar eyed him curiously and before he could change his mind, Airanar made himself plunge into rapid dialogue, head first with no idea what he was saying.
‘What was that, Airanar?’ the King shouted curiously over the sound of the horses hooves clattering against the hard soil and stones.
‘I was just wondering, my Lord if I could ride ahead to allow the elves of Ithilien to prepare for the King and Queen of Gondor,’ Airanar rambled. ’Surely it would give them time to prepare for they had no knowledge of your coming here.’
King Elessar seemed to consider this before giving his assent, with a quick glance back at his seemingly oblivious wife, Arwen. Airanar’s heart jumped for joy at the barely perceptible nod and at once he took off at great speed, urging his swift mare to pick up the pace all the way. He had one thought on his mind the whole way.
He must get to Ithilien to warn Prince Legolas.
* * * * *