Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA


Chapter 4

Aragorn caught my arm as I headed out of the stable door. I froze, and attempted to smile at him.

“I would speak with you, Legolas,” he said levelly, the look in his eyes far from neutral. “Will you walk with me for a while?”

So it had happened, in spite of my efforts to keep distance between us in the two days since our return. As I could think of no way of refusing without being uncivil, I nodded my agreement.

We set off towards the forest in silence, Aragorn walking slightly ahead of me, leading the way with my mute acquiescence. He stopped at a stone bench by the river and motioned for me to sit. He took his place at the far end of the seat, and we gazed at the water for a while. Acutely aware of the immaturity of my behaviour, I still had no idea what to say.

“If you will not talk to me, will you at least listen?” he asked.

“I will listen, Aragorn,” I replied softly. At the sound of his name he turned to me quickly and a brief smile touched his lips. His eyes were dark with emotion. Anger, I thought.

We stared at the river again as he began to speak, swiftly and urgently. I wondered if he had rehearsed this speech.

“It is not normally easy for me to open my heart to a stranger, Legolas. Yet when I met you it seemed as natural as breathing. Brief though it was, your friendship was a source of joy to me, and I believed you felt the same. I can understand you wishing to show me no favour while we led our men to battle, but this, here, is . . . you slip from the room as I enter it; you seat yourself away from me; you refuse to catch my eye – where is our friendship now? In a few days I must leave with Mithrandir, and it seems that our path may take us to Mordor itself this time. Who knows if I will return? I cannot allow myself to leave without trying to resolve this difficulty between us. If I can retrieve it, I will not let our friendship wither due to my base stupidity.”

My attention was suddenly all on him as I turned in my seat to stare. “Your stupidity?”

He seemed to focus his gaze on a tree on the far side of the river as he said, tonelessly, “It is not easy for me to say this, but perhaps I must. I was raised by elves, Legolas, and I may know your language, your customs, your songs, your fighting techniques, but I am not one of you. I cannot control my feelings the way that you can, and I know that you have seen it in my face, in my gestures, in my actions around you, however much I tried to hide it. I did not ask for this, nor did I expect it; I thought myself immune to the foolishness of men in the presence of your kind. I do not understand it, but I cannot simply make it disappear. But please believe that I am a man of honour and whatever my weakness, I will keep it to myself. I would never try to act on it, or embarrass you in any fashion. I know only too well how ludicrous it is for me to want you this way.”

His voice tailed off into silence and he sat motionless, staring miserably at the opposite bank. This was too much to take in, too much to deal with at once, but I knew I had to speak now to ease his discomfort. In spite of the faint buzz in my head and the pounding of my heart, I spoke slowly, and as calmly as I could.

“Aragorn, please look at me,” I said. Obediently, he turned his head to me, and met my eyes. He must have seen something there to reassure him, as he shifted in his seat to face me more completely. I leaned towards him a little, and placed a hand on his arm.

“If there is stupidity here,” I said, “It is all mine. Your candour puts me to shame, and much as I fear the prospect, I would be as honest with you.”

He looked to the ground, but I made myself wait until he raised his head again and held my gaze with his own. In an instant, I had made my decision, and my mind may have been apparent to him, for the look of utter dejection began to leave his face.

“You overestimate my powers of observation, I am afraid. I have been so busy attempting to suppress and avoid my own unexpected feelings, I have paid no heed to yours. For this alone I would beg your forgiveness.”

“Your feelings?” He frowned.

“Yes, my feelings - ” I paused. “ – towards you. It seems that whatever this ‘ludicrous’ malady is, it has afflicted us both.”

“You mean you . . .” A smile slowly widened on his face, “You have been avoiding me because you were afraid of this? I have not offended you?”

“Far from it.”

The smile left his face as, unthinkingly, I slid my hand over his wrist until it lay across his fingers where they rested on his leg.

Neither of us spoke as he turned his hand slowly under mine to clasp it gently. In response I curled my fingers around his palm, stroking the warm muscle of his thigh as I did so. His eyes widened and he caught his breath, but still we sat silently, and our eyes did not stray from each other’s.

All my being was focussed on our touch. I could sense his pulse, his heat, his very life force through that simple contact, and the feeling of euphoria rushed through me. I wondered, briefly, how much of it he felt too, with his mortal senses that I could never know. He must have felt something; his breathing only quickened further.

“What are we going to do?” He broke the silence, finally.

“I do not know.” On the face of it the choice was quite straightforward: submit to our mutual desire, a thought which greatly unnerved me, or turn away from it, a prospect which seemed barely possible at that moment. Clearly we both knew that the further consequences might be anything but simple, and so the question was not a foolish one. Nor was it to be solved by logic alone.

“I think . . .” he started, but broke off as I slid myself along the bench towards him, my body once again making the choice for me.

“I have already thought too much,” I told him, before bringing my other hand around the back of his neck, and pulling his head towards mine.

I could have foreseen it. I have known ecstasy with my arms around a great tree, letting the pulse of its life fill my spirit. How much stronger would the feeling be with my arms around this vital human, my lips on his, hungrily seeking his very essence from the secret depths of his mouth? As our tongues met and his arms moved around my waist, mine around his neck, eyes closed, nothing existing but this kiss, the blood rushed in my veins, and I felt my body shaking with the power of it. It was quick, and urgent, full of joy and wonder and fear and pain and life . . . I tasted his brief mortality, and it was bittersweet, and utterly compelling.

A small, desperate, moan from him brought me back to myself, and I pulled my head away, opened my eyes.

His face was rigid with shock, or awe, or perhaps horror.

“Gods, Legolas,” he whispered, “I think that you might kill me.”

I struggled to control my breathing.

“Forgive me, Aragorn, that was selfish of me, I should have known - ”

“That you would stop my heart and burst my lungs? My prince, I already know that you are deadlier than a field of orcs, you do not have to prove it to me this way.”

I felt my lips twitch at the corners, and raised an eyebrow at the stern expression he had assumed. Leaning into him, I held him close, as the laughter welled up in me. After a moment, I felt his body begin to shake too, in silent mirth. We laughed long, the tearful laughter of sweet relief. Our friendship, it would seem, was safe.

“Shall we go in? I know private places in these woods, but they are some way from here,” Aragorn said at last, rather hesitantly.

Immediately, the relaxed moment passed, and my pulse quickened again.

“I think . . . Yes.”

He sprang from the bench and took my hand, pulling me up as well, but stood still so that I was eye to eye with him.

“Is it always like that when you kiss?”

“I have not kissed a man before.”

His eyes narrowed. “But elves?”

“No.”

“Not like this, or you haven’t . . . ?”

“Maybe it would be like that if I kissed an elf for whom I felt strongly, I do not know. But I imagine it would be - different. There is something very . . . immediate . . . about you.”

I could see him taking in all the implications of this statement, and wondered if I should have been more circumspect. But after that first reckless kiss my defences were unmanned.

“Try not to kill me this time,” he said, and pulled me towards him.

I let him take the lead, which he did softly, sweetly. But the gentle kiss soon developed into an altogether hungrier affair as his hand behind my neck, under my hair, pulled me closer still. I stepped forward, and shuddered as his other arm around my waist suddenly arched my whole body into his. The heat of it was incredible. His heart beating against my chest, his erection hard against mine, his tongue pushing between my lips, opening me, exploring me, making me weak . . . I did not trust myself to speak when he finally pulled away.

His voice was hoarse.

“I want this too much. It frightens me. I don’t know . . .”

It took me a moment to realise that he was looking to me, older by five and a half centuries, for reassurance. Truly, passion had dulled my wits. I probably felt as unsure as he did, but I made the effort. I placed my hands on his shoulders and stepped back a little.

“We do not have to carry on, if you do not want to.”

“I would surely die of it, if we stopped now.” His voice was low.

“I am sorry I am causing you such peril, one way and another, when all I seek is to share some pleasure with you.” I deliberately kept my tone light, although the obvious strength of his lust was threatening to make my legs collapse under me.

“Come, let us go in.” I took the lead, but dropped his hand discreetly as we passed through the gates into the courtyard of the main house.

“To my chambers,” he said, barely audibly, “They are more private.”

He locked the door of the small outer sitting room behind us, and wordlessly drew me into his bedchamber. I could see from his eyes that he was still worried, and I determined to play the adult, regardless of the tension in my gut. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to sit beside me. I took one of his hands and clasped it between mine.

“Tell, me, Aragorn, what is it that you are afraid of? Is this such a new experience?”

He hesitated a while, but eventually sighed: “I have not lain with a man before, nor indeed an elf of either sex, if that is what you mean.”

“Not even in play, when you were younger?” I was genuinely surprised.

“I know it is quite normal, for elves, but never around me. I have never asked him, but I suspect that Elrond made sure of that; I understand why, now – I should probably never have reached the age of thirty.” His smile was wry.

“That is not what worries me, though,” he added. “I would not risk a valued friendship even for the sake of – this.”

I thought back to something he had said me at the end of that long magical night in Mirkwood – “A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship” - and I understood.

“The night we first met, Aragorn, I watched you sleep and swore a silent vow of friendship to you. My behaviour over the last few weeks has not been easy to forgive, but I would ask you to put it behind us now. I will say to you openly: whatever happens between us today, or tomorrow, or after, my friendship is yours, and I shall be honoured to stand at your side and call you brother, for as long as you walk this Earth.”

I thought I saw the glitter of moisture in his eyes as he raised my hands to his lips and kissed them gently, first one, then the other.

“I do not know if you realise how much that means to me, Legolas. You too may count on me to be at your side as long as I have the strength to stand there.”

The feel of his lips on my skin sent tentacles of fire through me, even as I revelled in his sweet words. My decision made, I abandoned myself to it and cast doubt aside.

“Let us forget solemnity for a while now, my lord,” I suggested, “And see what pleasures such a friendship may bring.”

With that, I turned, and moved onto my knees, one either side of his thighs, to sit on his lap with my face close to his. His reaction was beautiful: eyes wide and breath racing, he ranand and up each of my thighs and under my tunic, to rest them on my hips. I laughed, and kissed him softly, while working the fastenings at the front of his tunic, deliberately keeping a little space between our bodies. He tried to run his hands further up my sides, but cursed as my belt hindered him.

“Let me help you.” I untied and unclasped it, followed closely by his. His tunic now fully open, I ran both my hands down his chest, amazed by the softness of the hair there. I stopped at the waistband of his leggings, and waited while he fumbled with the ties on my shirt. Eventually I shrugged it to the floor, and sat back a little to look at him better, as he pushed his tunic off his arms and onto the bed.

“Beautiful Man,” I whispered to him.

“You call me beautiful?” He said, incredulously, “When you are . . . so . .
“
“Shh,” I silenced him with my lips once more.

If uncertainty remained, he did not show it, as a strong hand found the small of my back and pulled my body into his. All thought fled as he crushed my chest against his, sucking my lips greedily, then moved his hands up to my arms to steady me as his lips sought my throat, my shoulders, and finally my chest. I had never known such painfully bright pleasure as this, and moaned unashamedly as his lips and tongue moved from one nipple to the other.

After a while his hands dropped to my hips and he pulled back far enough to look me in the eye.

“Take these off for me, please.”

A polite request, given in a tone of quiet command. Shock ran through me and collected in a searing bolt of need in my groin as I remembered my image of him, watching me naked and helpless. How had our positions been reversed so easily?

I stood, and removed my leggings, with rather less grace than I might have hoped for.

“Wait,” he said, even as I started to move towards the bed. “Let me look at you first.”

A desperate thought flitted across my mind – was it possible that I could come with only his eyes upon me? I certainly felt close to doing so. I felt my face flush as I closed my eyes.

“Would you not look at me?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

“I would do more than that!” I could stand it no longer, and closed the distance between us in an instant.

Whether we were wrestling for dominance, or simply to get as much of our bodies in contact as possible, I am not sure. Wrestle we did, hands, legs, mouths everywhere, rolling across the big bed and off it, onto the rug with a shout from me and a brief snort of laughter from him. At length we settled, his body heavy on mine, my legs wrapped around his hips, him propped on his elbows, gazing relentlessly into my face as he moved his cock so maddeningly against mine.

“Aragorn . . . ” My voice sounded weak, breathy, “I believe you might enjoy this even more if you were to remove those cursed leggings.”

“Do it for me.”

I did not need to be told twice. Rolling him onto his side I undid the fastenings with care, and pulled the fabric slowly around his erection, intending to tease him by withholding my touch. But once his cock was revealed, I found I had little heart for the game. Leggings dispensed with, I stroked and kissed my way up his legs and without preamble, licked his cock from base to tip, circled there with my tongue for a moment, then took the greater part of its length in my mouth.

His gasp gave me no small sense of satisfaction. A fantasy is one thing, reality another. My need for this beautiful man had made me weak and indecisive for too long. Now I would accept it for what it should be – a celebration of strength and joy.

I felt a song building in my heart, as his hands twisted in my hair and he called my name sharply, and I brought him to his first climax.


*********************************************************


REALITY


I had dreamed of lying with him more times than I would care to count. I may have chosen a solitary life, but I am still a man.

At first, after we met in Mirkwood, my fantasies were of the fey and delicately beautiful elf, trembling under my touch. I would coax him into pleasure and bask in his dazzling smile.

Once I had watched him in battle and had seen his strength unleashed, my imagination had me worshipping his glorious warrior’s body, labouring to disturb his composure. At length he would respond, unable to hold himself back.

When I perceived that he had turned from me, becoming ever more distant and cold, my visions grew increasingly cruel. This shamed me, and prompted me to take action, to end this obsession.

I could have indulged in a thousand difft fat fantasies of being with him and never come close to the truth of it.

His body was no surprise - it was all that I had hoped for, and more. Compact muscles a mere suggestion beneath the smooth softness of flawless skin - hairless, pale skin with the faint sheen of spirit light; it is small wonder that men are prone to comparing elves to fine statues carved of ivory or alabaster, or cast in precious metal. There was nothing about him that was not perfect, to my eyes, in its form or finish. Such beauty should have been unapproachable, far outside my reach.

That he should desire me was beyond my comprehension at the start.

For twenty years I lived amongst elves and never doubted that some of them loved me. I knew also their anger, sadness and happiness, each in its time. It is said that elves feel both joy and sorrow more deeply than men do, and this I did not question. But it seemed that such emotion was slower than mine and somehow distant and serene, locked inside the elven mind for all eternity. How then would an elf desire another? With slow, measured dignity, full of ritual and respect?

One embrace from Legolas shattered my assumptions and left me utterly at his mercy.

I asked him about that kiss, once the power of coherent thought had returned to me later that evening. He told me he had connected with my life force, but was unable to explain how.

“Do the trees feel as I did, when you turn to them?” I asked him, half in jest.

He laughed, but then apologised, saying that he would not normally be so intrusive; he had forgotten himself for a moment and been as overwhelmed as I. There was no need for me to ask how he could be certain of this. If I had to explain it, I would say that during those moments, he knew me, and felt what I was feeling; while for the briefest instant I, too, had a faint idea of what it was to be him. Even if I were the one facing eternal life, I do not believe that knowledge would ever leave me. I had heard men talk of hearts bursting with happiness, and thought it a fanciful phrase, but I can come no closer to describing how it felt to me. A powerful mixture of joy and wonderment, excitement and desire, threatened to burst mine, and left me reeling.

The connection was there to some extent in all our kisses and caresses, although he took care not to frighten me again. No wonder, then, that he was such a wonderful lover, sensing my responses and feeding them back to me, magnified ten fold.

“Do all elves have this power?” I could not help but ask.

“To some extent, when they wish,” he replied.

“Why, then, would you dream of choosing a mortal lover?” I was not just seeking reassurance, but was genuinely bemused.

“I did not choose!” he laughed. “You captivated me with your body and mind first; but I find your spirit is beautiful too – no less so than that of another elf. Besides, it is all the more exciting for our differences – is it not?”

I could not deny it.

What then of distance and serenity? Did all elves hold within them the capacity for such direct love and passion? Such earthy physicality where I had expected remote and cerebral dignity?

“Don’t forget that I am no lofty lord of Rivendell,” he reminded me with a grin, when I questioned him again. “We wood elves are an altogether merrier and less mysterious people. And by our own standards, I am considered impulsive. Yet maybe we are not so different, my distant kin and I – perhaps only in the degree to which we choose to show our inner feelings to others.”

I had fantasised of an idealised, beautiful creature, entirely passive and remote, and thought that I would never be lucky enough to realise that dream. I will never understand how I came to deserve the lover I found in reality: strong and joyful, generous and loving, strangely innocent, yet at the same time devastatingly sensual.

When I woke with him beside me for the first time, I knew beyond doubt that I was in love, and had inadvertently discovered the meaning of bliss.