The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Nín – mine
Cuaren – my archer
Im naer – I’m sorry
Pen-velui – beautiful one
Maer aur – good morning
Melethronen – my lover
Ae syntrea chen – please


Chapter 42

When I woke the next morning, Aragorn was still spooned in front of me. I slipped from the bed, pulling on leggings and a shirt. I took the tray with me as I descended the stairs in search of the innkeeper to order breakfast and a bath to be bro to to our room. We had been bathing in streams and rivers, enough to keep clean, but Aragorn would need the warmth of a real bath to ease sore muscles this morning. When the innkeeper promised to deliver both as quickly as possible, I returned to the room to wake Aragorn. I needed to get him sufficiently dressed so as to not scandalize the servants when they brought the water.

When I opened the door, he still had not moved, but his eyes opened drowsily when the door clicked shut. “Maer aur, pen-velui.”

“Why are you awake?” he murmured drowsily.

“I thought you might enjoy breakfast and a bath.” I joined him on the bed. “How are you feeling this morning? I did not hurt you, did I?” I asked, running my hand down his back to his buttocks.

“A warm bath would be nice,” he answered, wincing a little as he shifted on the bed.

“Im naer, Estel. I did not mean to hurt you,” I apologized, seeing his grimace.

He sent me a saucy smile. “Are you really sorry, cuaren? I am not. In fact, I am looking forward to the next time.”

That look, those words, melted me where I sat. I leaned into him and kissed him tenderly. “Melethronen,” I whispered. I went to kiss him again when a knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” I called in the common tongue.

“’Tis yer bath, m’lords.”

“Just a minute.” I rose from the bed and tossed Aragorn his shirt. “Put that on at least. It would not do to shthe the servants.”

As he complied, he shot me a teasing smile. “You do not think they would enjoy the sight?”

“I do not share,” I replied, trying for the same teasing tone, and failing. I wonder, now, if things would have been different later had I not spoken or had I spoken differently. If I had not told him in such specific terms that while he was mine, he was mine alone, would he have altered the relationship between us so completely when he met Arwen?

When he was decently covered, I opened the door to admit the servants with the hot water. They bustled around, setting up the bath, laying out the tray for breakfast. I ushered them back out as quickly as I could. Even with the shirt covering his chest, Aragorn looked far too inviting, lolling there in the bed, for me to want anyone else to see him like that.

“Would you like a bath or breakfast first?”

He considered the question for a moment. “Breakfast, I think.” He slid out of bed, his shirt just long enough to tantalize. As if he knew just how tempting he was, with his shirt brushing sensuously against his upper thighs, he walked slowly across the room to the table, his eyes challenging me to resist. Or not to resist. I could not decide which. In the end, I could not resist. I came up behind him and ran my hand up his thigh, cradling one firm cheek. “If you keep parading yourself before me, I will have to give you what you are asking for,” I threatened teasingly.

“Ae syntrea chen,” he answered in the intimate tone of voice he had begun to use when wee ale alone together. I almost gave in to him. Almost. But last night had been his first experience with another male, and despite his words, I knew he needed pampering more than he needed loving. So I settled him in a chair to eat. When we had finished, he grinned at me lasciviously. “I hope you plan to join me for my bath,” he said, running his hand down my chest. That sounded like the best idea I had heard yet. I returned the grin, reaching for his shirt as he reached for mine. We wrestled our way out of our clothing. Aragorn sank into the still hot water with a groan of pleasure. I eyed the size of the tub and the water level, trying to see if we would in fact both fit. It would be a squeeze, but that would be part of the enjoyment. I gestured for Aragorn to slide forward so I could climb in behind him, but he shook his head, pointing to the water in front of him. “I want to hold you,” he told me and I saw no reason to refuse. I climbed in, relaxing against him in the warm water. He closed his arms around me, holding me close, pulling my hair over his shoulder to keep it out of the water.

We had been switching roles back and forth over the weeks of our courtship. Sometimes I controlled our play and sometimes he did. It appeared that this mor, he, he wanted to be in control. I was certainly willing to let him. After a few moments, he picked up the cloth, his hands stroking over my chest as he played at washing me, toying with my nipples, which tightened to aching buds as he teased them. And me. Oh, yes, I was quite willing to let him be in control. Then his hand slid down to fondle my swelling shaft. I gasped as he proved just what a fast learner he was. His eager hands gripped and shifted, caressing just the way I had shown him at the waterfall. He needed no guidance this time to have me shivering on the verge of release. I withstood his caresses as long as I could before snatching the cloth from his hand and turning it on him, running it over his chest, using it to gently abrade his taut nipples. He arched toward me eagerly, obviously enjoying the caress. I worked my way across his flat stomach, stopping to probe suggestively at his navel before seeking my real destination: the throbbing shaft that had been pressing into my back. That got his undivided attention as I washed him gently, sliding the cloth around his erection, then lower, between his legs to caress the cleft of his buttocks and the entrance that had opened so willingly for me last night. I caught an almost imperceptible flinch at my touch. He was not in outright pain as I had feared, but neither would he be able to me me again so soon. That meant revising my plans, easily enough done, especially when he reached out to stroke me as I was stroking him. There was more than one way to make love.

“We need to retire to the bed,” I told him hoarsely, pulling away from his grasp to stand.

“I do not think…” I knew what he was going to say. He did not think he could take me into him again so soon. That did not matter. I had other plans.

“Did you enjoy last night?” I interrupted.

“You know I did.”

“Then return the favor,” I proposed. His eyes goggled at my suggestion. I led him to the bed and handed him the bottle of oil.

The look on his face was priceless as he stared at the oil, then at me, then back at the oil. I took pity on him and retrieved the bottle from him, pushing him onto the bed playfully.

“We do not have to do this if you would rather not, melethronen. There are other ways of making love,” I reassured him.

“But… it would please you if we… if I…”

Aragorn was such a study in contrasts at that age. Bold one moment, shy the next. I loved him even more, if that was possible, because of it. I never knew exactly who I would be dealing with, the confidant Ranger or the timid stripling, though I suspected the shyness would disappear as he became accustomed to the nuances of our new relationship. In every other respect, he had no timidity left. We would learn each other’s preferences in time and the hesitation would fade. I never stopped loving the bold warrior who eventually won out, but I always missed the shy boy-man that was Estel when I first met him. I kissed him, halting his stumbling words.

“Everything we do together pleases me, pen-velui. Do I want to take you inside me as you took me so beautifully last night? Of course, I do, but only if you want it, too.”

“I…I think I do.” He was too delicious for words, lying there struggling with his desires and his fears. I kissed him again, passionately this time, my tongue mimicking the rhythm our bodies would soon be setting if I could just coax him over his shyness. He responded with the same ardor.

When he was shifting restlessly against me, I again offered him the oil. I could still sense his unease, but he took the vial and uncorked it, coating his fingers with the slippery substance and pushing nervously at my entrance. I would have to teach him subtlety later, but just then, even his untutored caress felt wonderful. I sighed with pleasure as I pushed back against his fingers, driving them deeper inside me, angling so they would hit my pleasure point.

When he had stretched me to the limits of my patience, I slicked his erection before straddling his hips and sliding slowly down onto him. His hands grasped my buttocks, holding me in place against him. I braced myself on his shoulders and settled in for a long, slow ride. Aragorn bucked beneath me impatiently, but I refused to quicken the pace. This experience was as important as the one from the night before if I was to succeed in establishing a relationship between equals.

Aragorn accepted my control for a while, but as his own desires built, he pressed his own demands more strenuously, finally using his hands on my aching erection to prod me to greater exertions.

I climaxed in his hand, feeling his own release flood into me immediately, triggered by my contractions around him. Our cries mingled in the morning stillness and I collapsed against his chest. He held me for a few moments before angling his head to mine, kissing me tenderly.

“Nín,” he said against my lips.

“As you are mine,” I replied. I retrieved the cloth from our bath, using it to wipe the traces of my passion from his hand and his stomach. When I was finished, he took the cloth and returned the favor, running it smoothly over my groin, even probing daringly at my entrance. We snuggled back together when we were clean, craving the tender contact that was as much a part of making love as the joining itself. There seemed absolutely no reason to leave the room. I had the man I loved in my arms. Nothing in Arda could have tempted me to leave our bed.