The White Wolf

Preoccupied by thoughts that haunted him even now, alone in the solace of his rooms, Aragorn did not notice the drapes dropped down over the balcony doors. When he did he froze, his eyes sweeping around the room but finding nothing amiss. Some more practical corner of his mind told him that it had probably only been servants yet again, but some wilder inborn instinct that Aragorn rarely liked told him this was not so. He knew, almost for a certainty, what was happening. And fear crept into him at the thought.

Moving on silent feet, he crossed the space of the front room and stepped into the sitting room, intent on reaching the sword over the mantle. He was stopped midstep, however, as warm, slender fingers closed around his wrist and yanked him to a halt.

“Always so eager to run for your sword, aren’t you, Ranger?” Aragorn’s worst fears were realized at the familiarity of the voice. The voice carried a richness and warmth, and it had been low-pitched, a verbal caress intended only for him.

When Aragorn finally found his voice to reply, it was thick and low, a hint of anger flaring through his words. “What else can I do, given a limited number of choices?” He snatched his hand from Dinrogion and stepped back a pace to glare at the taller man.

Dinrogion had changed little, but Aragorn did not know if that was because the skinchanger’s eyes flashed with the same sardonic look or if the years had mattered little to him. His stark white hair was longer, falling in straight lines to his waist, but that was the only immediate change that Aragorn noticed.

“It is good to know your temper is still intact,” Dinrogion said, a brief smirk flickering across his face. “Though ill aimed.”

Aragorn ignored the sally, not willing to play that particular game. Not yet, anyhow. “You do not belong here.”

Dinrogion laughed at that and reached out with one hand to lay his fingers along Aragorn’s cheek. “I have my reasons for coming. You didn’t expect me to stay away forever, did you?”

Aragorn moved his head away from the touch and stalked out of the room and away from Dinrogion, though he was not sure where he was going. Guards were only a shout away, but he knew with a sickening feeling that he would never be able to call them on Dinrogion. He would not have been able to cause any harm to the skinchanger had his life depended on it. “I would ask you to leave, but I doubt it would do any good.”

Aragorn could almost feel Dinrogion’s smile burning into his back. Dinrogion followed him closely, one hand reaching out to slid up the loose tunic and rest on the small of Aragorn’s back. Aragorn stiffened at the touch, feeling the same fire begin to race through his veins even at the slight contact. “You would not send me back out in the storm, now would you?” Dinrogion asked, his lips close to Aragorn’s ear.

It took Aragorn a moment longer than he would have liked to pull away that time, and he hated himself for it. But again he managed to shrug off the skinchanger’s touch, though he wasn’t sure how many more times he could. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

“Many,” Dinrogion answered with a slight laugh, stepping back from Aragorn. “It’s almost shameful, really. I thought kings were supposed to treat guests with more hospitality than this.”

“You’re not a guest, you’re an intruder.”

“Then call the guards. Have them arrest me.”

Aragorn’s glare intensified.

Dinrogion shook his head and moved back into the sitting room, picking up his tumbler of brandy and drinking the rest of it. He glanced casually around the room, pointedly ignoring Aragorn, who had moved to the doorway. Finally, after refilling his glass and another, he walked back to Aragorn, offering him one. “Should I question why you aren’t glad to see me? Perhaps you had other plans for the night?”

Aragorn took the drink and downed it in one gulp before collapsing on the sofa, head turned away from Dinrogion. “I’ve no reason to be happy for your presence. And I’d much rather spend my time alone than with you.”

Dinrogion gracefully slid down to sit beside Aragorn, his leg resting against the ranger’s. He watched Aragorn over the rim of his glass, amber eyes sharp in the firelight. “It amazes me that you can still lie to yourself like that. I wish you would get over this strength issue and give up these tired old excuses. I’ve known you for too long to believe them. And no one can ever be content alone.”

“I’ve lived life that way long enough to know how.”

Dinrogion tilted his head to one side and frowned. “You’re angry at me.”

Aragorn shook his head.

“I had my reasons for staying away for so long. It wasn’t something I enjoyed either.”

“Why do you insist on believing that I give a damn?”

That was too much for the skinchanger. He carefully set his glass on the end table before turning to Aragorn, eyes feral. Before Aragorn could react, Dinrogion had trapped both of his wrists over his head, shoving him back until he reclined on the couch. Dinrogion then pressed his body down on top of the prone king, his face only inches from Aragorn’s. He waited until Aragorn had stopped struggling before speaking. “I’m getting tired of this game, Aragorn. I don’t want to fight with you every time I come to see you. Can’t you, just once in your stubborn life, stop fighting me?”

Aragorn looked at him before turning his head away and sighing. His body relaxed under Dinrogion’s, and his eyes closed. He said nothing, and for a long moment Dinrogion thought that he was going to stay that way until Din moved away. But then Aragorn surprised both of them by turning his head to look at Dinrogion. He then leaned up and put his lips against Dinrogion’s, a hesitant touch but nevertheless one that he had initiated.

Dinrogion felt a spike of pleasure run through his middle, more at the thought of Aragorn willingly starting the contact than at the familiar and long-missed feel of the body beneath his. Dinrogion released Aragorn’s hands to run his palms over the ranger’s chest, his lips moving but keeping the kiss light, the faint contact sending sparks along both men’s nerves.

Dinrogion broke the contact and smiled down at Aragorn before sitting and allowing the other man to sit as well. “I suppose that’s enough.” He glanced at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye, and Aragorn shivered. “For now.”

Aragorn snorted and crossed his arms, looking away. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Two reasons. To see you and to warn you.”

“To warn me?”

Dinrogion sighed, a sound of aching weariness that made Aragorn glance at him in concern. “It appears that Mordor is moving yet again. The lands around the Keep are teeming with orcs and I fear that something is happening in the black lands.”

“That’s impossible. Sauron is dead.”

A bitter smile twisted Dinrogion’s face. “Too true. However, most of us thought the war through when Melkor was defeated, only to have Sauron take his place.”

Aragorn slumped over, his head resting in his hands. “Another dread lord? How many will come from the shadows in the east? What else have you learned?”

Dinrogion looked at him and then shook his head. “Many things, perhaps even some that will help us. But I don’t want to discuss them now. It’s been a long, cold, tiring trip and I want to relax for once, without having to worry about anything.”

Aragorn nodded and almost seemed relieved to put the subject aside until daylight. “We can speak of it tomorrow. Since I assume you’re staying thght.ght.” He rose to his feet and crossed into the main room, tugging a bell rope on the way. “Just try not to go wandering around and scare any of the servants.” Aragorn sat behind his desk and stared at the stacks of papers before beginning to rearrange them into a more presentable order.

Dinrogion followed him, smiling at his back. “I’ll try not to, although those silly females that enjoy following you around do make a tempting target.” He watched Aragorn for a moment before going over and leaning against the desk in front of him, blocking the desk from Aragorn.

Aragorn frowned up at him, his eyes narrowing. “I can’t work with you in the way.”

“That is the point, you realize.” Dinrogion reached out and slid both hands through Aragorn’s still damp hair. “You should relax tonight, and not worry about work. Even you need to take a break sometimes.”

Aragorn sighed, and to Dinrogion’s surprise and pleasure, leaned into the touch. “There is much work to do. Some of it can’t wait.”

Dinrogion’s fingers slipped down the back of Aragorn’s neck and began to slowly caress the hard, tense muscles at the base of his neck. “If there is nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow for your attention, you should have taken care of it already.” Dinrogion shook his head slightly. “I should have known better than to leave you alone.”

That got the spark of anger back in Aragorn’s eyes and he stood, moving away from Dinrogion. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You do not take care of yourself at all. I’m surprised that you haven’t worked yourself to death yet. You need someone to watch over you.”

“I am not a child that needs to be followed around by a nurse.”

“I know that, Aragorn. I’m only saying that you were better off at the Keep.”

“I was doing no good wasting all my time hunting and socializing with your clan.”

“But it was healthier for you.” There was a knock on the door and Dinrogion started off to answer it, ignoring Aragorn’s command to be still. He opened the door to find a young female servant waiting. Her eyes widened when she saw Dinrogion standing there, and he was sure that she was going to bolt when he grinned at her. “King Elessar requests that food be sent up. Enough for two people. And a good bottle of red wine.”

The girl seemed frozen, staring at Dinrogion with a mixture of shock, fear, and curiosity.

“Well?” Dinrogion asked, raising one eyebrow.

Aragorn called out from the room behind Dinrogion, a hint of resignation in his voice. “Do as he says, Cari.”

“Y-y-yes, lord.” The girl bowed hurriedly and then flew down the hallway, almost falling as she rounded the corner.

Dinrogion shut the door and turned to find Aragorn closer than he had thought.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Of course.”

“You enjoy terrifying people far too much.”

“It’s something to do.”

A wry smile twisted Aragorn’s mouth. “I see you haven’t changed much either.”

Dinrogion spread his arms wide as Aragorn walked away, grinning. “Why change, when I’m perfect just as I am?”

“I could think of several things you could change.”

“Do you really want to get into a discussion of flaws with me, Ranger?”

“It’s something to do.”

Dinrogion laughed and then went and sat on the edge of the bed, his head tilted as he looked at Aragorn. “It’s not the only thing.”

Aragorn snorted and stepped away, crossing back between the partition and sitting at his desk once more. “I’d almost forgotten how stubborn you could be. You think of one thing,” he paused and frowned at the bed and then at Dinrogion, “and that’s all you think of.”

“As I said, I came for two reasons. Now that I’ve warned you, it’s time to settle other matters.” The skinchanger pointed one finger at Aragorn’s desk. “And you seem to be working, again.”

“I’m not working, I’m sitting here. Although I should be working, and I should find another room for you to stay in. You’re distracting.”

“I’m glad to hear that. And we both know you would not kick me out, so why bother with the threats?”

“It makes me feel better?”

“Come here. I can make you feel better.”

“Dinrogion!”

The skinchanger fell into a bout of helpless laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Aragorn could only watch, a resigned look on his face. He tried to ignore the small amount of pleasure he felt at being able to reduce the other man to laughter. By nature Dinrogion was not a person inclined toward laughter and mirth, something Aragorn had learned almost at first meeting. Before, Aragorn had always felt pleased to see the man laugh, for he had not seen many be able to cause the man to laugh. He was not sure if he should still feel the same pleasure from it; it had been a long time and he was not sure where he stood in Dinrogionife.ife.

Din finally managed to collect himself, a hint of humor and appreciation still in his eyes until he looked at Aragorn, and then he frowned at the look he saw on the ranger’s face. “What is that look for?”

Aragorn shook his head and began shuffling the papers on his desk again. “Nothing.”

A sigh and the sound of Dinrogion collapsing back on the bed came from behind the partition. “I’m not the only stubborn one.”

“I’m not as persistent as you are.”

“I always get what I want.”

“Or you take what you want.”

Aragorn didn’t have to see Din’s face to know that a smirk curved his lips. “It’s all the same in the end.”

Aragorn was saved from thinking of a reply when another knock came on the door. He got to his feet and started for the door, intending to get there before Dinrogion could. It was bad enough that news of the stranger in the king’s rooms would spread; the last thing he needed was for Dinrogion to make it worse.

But the skinchanger had acted just as quickly, and barely reached the door seconds ahead of Aragorn. Aragorn could only stop and glare at his back as Dinrogion opened the door to admit the servants.

The Mistress of the Servants, Isilme, was the first one into the room. She had probably been ousted from her room by Cari, intent on seeing for herself whether or not the king had unknown visitors. She was a fierce lady, known for her iron tongue and her ability to make anyone in her line of sight jump at her command.

She found her match, however, in Dinrogion. The skinchanger stood by the open door, arms crossed and looking down at the squat serving woman without a trace of his former humor on his face. Isilme tried glaring the man down but Dinrogion only flashed a quick smile, never saying a word.

Fluttered, a look Aragorn had never thought to see on his housekeeper, Isilme turned to stare at Aragorn with a brown-eyed gaze that spoke volumes of his foolishness. “Had the king been kind enough to inform he was going to be entertaining visitors, I would have been more prepared for the occasion. As it is, my king, I am having a room prepared and it will be ready shortly.”

Aragorn sighed and wondered for a brief moment what good being king ever did him. His servants didn’t seem to mind using whatever chance they could to admonish him over one little thing or another. He began to speak, thanking Isilme for her attention, when Dinrogion shut the door with a click and moved further into the room, stopping just behind Aragorn and looking at the housekeeper over his shoulder.

“No need, madam, though I thank you for the consideration.” Almost royalty in his own right, Dinrogion had court manners enough. When he bothered to use them, he could be quite charming. “Aragorn has kindly offered to share his rooms with me. I’ll be sleeping here for the duration of my stay.”

Aragorn groaned inwardly as Isilme’s eyes went wide and the two pages carrying the trays of food exchanged glances.

“Though that is a kind gesture, it is hardly acceptable.” Isilme shot a hard look at Aragorn before picking up her skirts and hurrying to follow Dinrogion into the other room, the two servants on her heels. “Surely you would be more comfortable in quarters of your own. And that way we would not have to impose on King Elessar.”

Aragorn followed the group more slowly, rubbing his forehead. The pages arranged the food on the table set at the back of the room, and Dinrogion had already chosen one of the chairs and was sprawled there, one hand propping up his chin.

“I would not want to impose on you, madam. I’m sure that you have many visitors here at the palace, and I would never take a room that could be better used for someone else.” He paused and smiled at Aragorn before turning back to face Isilme. “Besides, I will enjoy it here just fine, thank you.”

So now it was out. Aragorn doubted that anyone hearing Dinrogion’s words could doubt his meaning. He should have realized earlier that Dinrogion was not one to be trusted with keeping secrets. When he wished, Din gladly flaunted whatever he wanted and damn all the consequences. The news would spread faster than Aragorn could keep track of, no matter what actions he took against it.

It took Isilme a moment to recover from her shock, another expression Aragorn would never had bet seeing on her face. She snapped at the two gaping servants and they rushed to rearrange the table, almost overturning it in the process. Dinrogion watched it all, smiling, before turning his warm, humor filled gaze on Aragorn.

Aragorn glared at him before sitting across the table from him, trying hard to ignore the furtive glances the servants sent him and the way Dinrogion never once moved his eyes away.

“If that is all you wish, King Elessar, and you are determined to…continue along this course, then I shall leave the two of you to your meal. Please call upon me, if you need anything else.” With a short, grudging bow to Dinrogion and a deeper and somehow still grudging one to Aragorn, Isilme swept from the room, the two pages obediently following after her.

Aragorn waited until the outer door had shut before sighing and looking across the table at Dinrogion. “Was that really necessary? What happened to using tact?”

Dinrogion calmly filled his plate with the food, taking a generous portion from the almond crusted roast. “Why hide anything?” He waved his fork in the air before taking a bite. “I don’t see the point in it. They would have found out eventually, why not tell them straight up front? It will probably save you trouble in the long run.”

Aragorn rolled his eyes slightly before filling his own plate with food. “You mean to tell me you actually think of the future before you act?”

Dinrogion smiled. “Sometimes. Why does it worry you, anyway?”

Aragorn shrugged one shoulder and kept his eyes away from Dinrogion. “I’ve never bothered telling anyone of our relationship. I guess I really didn’t want them to know. I’m not sure how anyone would react knowing…well, knowing what they know now.”

Dinrogion’s eyes had narrowed slightly during the speech and he had stopped eating. “You’re hiding the fact that you belong to me?”

Aragorn laughed and then smiled when he saw the look of suspicion on Dinrogion’s face. “I don’t live among skinchangers. They would not understand that I’ve been ‘claimed’.”

“Then explain it to them.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes it is.”

“What can I tell them? That the lord of a clan of people they don’t even believe exists took me for his own? That somehow he bound me to him, so that I can feel his presence and I can recognize the fact that he owns me?”

“Yes. How hard would that be to explain?”

“Very. You don’t understand humans well.”

Dinrogion grunted. “No, I don’t. They are all too odd.”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“I am their king, they wouldn’t want to believe that anyone exists that proudly calls himself my master.” Aragorn grimaced at the word and a smile flitted across Dinrogion’s face. “They want to believe that I am invincible and able to take care of them. You should know what that feels like.”

“I do. But my clan is proud that I’ve claimed the king of Gondor.”

“Of course they are.” Aragorn ate in silence for a moment before pushing his plate away, not feeling very hungry. He watched Din eat, unable to stop himself from flushing when the skinchanger stopped and looked at him. “How is your clan?” He asked to cover the awkward silence.

Dinrogion’s eyes flashed with pride as they always did when he spoke of his people. “They grow. Since you’ve been their, twenty children have been born. We’ve had a bit of trouble out of some pesky elves lately that have come to patrol the border of Mordor. But other than that, it’s been fairly quite. Almost unusually so.”

“Maybe your people are calming down a bit.”

Dinrogion laughed. “I doubt that. Skinchangers are never truly calm.” He paused briefly, studying Aragorn. “You should go back. Several of them miss you, and you would be very welcome.”

“I would like to. The Keep was…a great place to be. But I belong here. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and a lot of things to see too. Especially if what you say of unrest in Mordor is true.”

Dinrogion rolled his glass goblet through his fingers, watching the light reflect off the cut crystal. “It is only too true. And inevitable, I suppose. Middle-Earth was not a land created to be at peace.”

“Perhaps, but this is the last thing we need. Gondor is already stretched thin as it is.”

“What is wrong with your country?”

“We have been having skirmishes with Rohan. The temperamental Riders seem to forget the pact we made in defeating Sauron and covet some of Gondor’s border lands.”

“The border near my Keep?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you should go check on these borders. See how much damage the Rohirrim are doing to your land and things of that nature.”

Aragorn rubbed a hand over his eyes before glaring at Dinrogion. “Nice try.”

“You should return to the Keep. And stay there. It’s where you belong, Aragorn.”

“I belong here.”

“You belong with me. And the Keep is my home. And since I claimed you, it should be your home as well.”

Aragorn pushed away from the table and stood. “I am the King of Gondor. The king the people have waited for since Isildur died. I cannot just abandon my throne and run away to live in the wilderness.” He moved around the table and strode from the room, hands clenched into fists at his side. Dinrogion’s offer was tempting, too tempting, but there was not a way for him to act on it. He was needed here, and this was his place in the world. Even if it was a prison he could not escape from.

He walked to the door and almost opened it. If he left, he could easily lose Dinrogion in the twisting, mazelike corridors of the palace. He knew them by heart, but the skinchanger would have a tougher time trying to find him. But instead he slumped on the corner of his bed and sat with his head in his hands. Running away would do no good because Dinrogion would only be waiting for when he returned.

Aragorn stiffened when Dinrogion sat close next to him, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed and the other pressing against Aragorn’s back.

“We will talk of this later, since I seem to have upset you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it at all,” Aragorn replied, moving slightly away from the warmth of Dinrogion’s leg in the small of his back.

“You don’t have much choice.” Dinrogion leaned forward and pushed Aragorn back on the bed, ignoring his protests. He straddled the ranger, lifting up his shirt and sliding his hand inside. “So stop complaining.”

Aragorn involuntarily arched up into the warmth of Dinrogion’s hand, fighting to keep his body under control. “Back to this, are you?”

He didn’t get to see the smile as Dinrogion leaned down and put his lips next to Aragorn’s ear. “You’re the one that went to the bed. I know a good opportunity when I see one.” Dinrogion bit the lobe of Aragorn’s ear gently before trailing openmouthed kisses down his neck, tongue flicking over his skin.

Aragorn shivered and a small gasp escaped his lips against his will. He wanted to wrap both arms around Dinrogion and pull him down tighter, but instead clenched his hands in the sheetis his head tilted to one side as Dinrogion’s mouth stopped to work at a spot over his collarbone and his eyes slipped shut.

Dinrogion smiled as Aragorn’s breathing began to become more ragged and he leaned back from his work, watching the rise and fall of the ranger’s chest before reaching down with both hands and pulling on the hem of Aragorn’s tunic. Aragorn sat up, bringing his body back into close proximity with Dinrogion’s and snatched the hem from Dinrogion’s hands, a warning look in his eyes. Dinrogion smiled and complied, letting go and leaning slightly away so that Aragorn could remove the garment.

But as soon as Aragorn was finished, Dinrogion moved again, tugging off his own loose shirt and throwing it on the floor before pushing Aragorn down again, pressing his body down on top of Aragorn’s, mouth closing over his.

One of Aragorn’s hands moved up to grip Dinrogion’s shoulder and his body moved slightly, seeking closer contact with the skinchanger’s flesh. Aragorn could feel Dinrogion’s muscles moving under his smooth skin as their chests pressed together, and when Dinrogion deliberately rubbed his hips against Aragorn, one leg sliding along the fiery heat of Aragorn’s need, Aragorn gasped, allowing Dinrogion entrance to his mouth.

Dinrogion swept his tongue inside, brushing it against Aragorn’s as he rocked against Aragorn, enjoying the whimpers it caused. Aragorn was trying his best to keep his head and to keep his thoughts in order, but with every touch of Dinrogion’s warm skin against his, he was driven further and further away from coherence. He felt a brief spark of hate at himself for allowing this to happen, but then Dinrogion’s hand moved down between his legs and he lost all thought.