The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Melin chen – I love you
Maba nin – take me
Melethron – lover
Meluin – my sweet


Chapter 44


When we began to grow hungry again, we decided to leave our haven for the public rooms below.

“And if we have a repeat of yesterday?” I asked as Aragorn braided my hair.

Aragorn smiled. “Perhaps today I will be defending your honor,” he replied.

That was not an encouraging thought. “Maybe we should just have a tray brought.”

“Ala, Legolas. The innkeeper will want to tidy the rooms and I would like to walk through the town.” I reached up as he finished and touched the braids, immediately recognizing the complicated knots of lover’s braids. The villagers would probably not even see the difference, but the twins would understand immediately.

“And what do you expect to find in this tiny little town?” I inquired, not having seen anything of interest upon our arrival the previous day. I gestured for him to sit so I could fix his hair as well.

“Why should I have to find anything?” he countered. “I will enjoy just being outside.”

“Let us eat and then we can decide,” I hedged.

He agreed and we descended to the tavern. I gathered my pack, just in case. I kept a close eye on him as I followed him down the stairs, trying to ascertain if he still felt any lingering discomfort from our first encounter. I had been as gentle and as careful as I knew how, but the first time was almost invariably uncomfortable, in the aftermath if not in the act. I saw no hitch in his step that would indicate a need to worry, which reassured me. I already wanted to make love to him again.

The twins were not in evidence as we reached the tavern, though I did not know if that was good or bad. Seeing that the lunchtime clientele seemed less interested in the ale than they were in the food encouraged me. Since they were eating rather than drinking, I had hopes that we would pass unmolested. We found a table in a corner where we could sit and keep an eye on the entire room without having to watch our backs. Perhaps it was an unnecessary reflex, but as warriors, it was an ingrained one as well.

A barmaid came with our food. Aragorn ordered an ale and watched as the girl stared at me. When she finally turned away to go to the kitchens, Aragorn eyed me speculatively. “She liked what she saw,” he murmured in Elvish.

She was a pretty enough girl, but no threat to Aragorn, and so I told him. Whether he was still feeling insecure because of the lack of words between us or whether he was paying me back for the scene I had created the day before, I do not know, but when the maid returned with his ale, Aragorn’s hand settled possessively on mine. When she still lingered, Aragorn lifted my hand to his lips. I did not try to stop him as I had no desire to spend my time fending off a servant’s advances. I closed my eyes to better enjoy the confident caress – Aragorn had long since mastered the art of making love to my hands – so I did not see him turn his head to seek my wrist, left uncovered because we were in town. Which meant I had not braced myself for the caress. I had, if anything, become more, not less, sensitive to his touch on my wrists and so had gotten into the habit of preparing myself for his caress there. That day, I had no chance to prepare and the moan that escaped my lips could have left no doubt in anyone’s mind about the nature of our relationship. My eyes flew open as I reacted, just in time to see the reaction of those in the tavern. No one said anything to us, but I easily read disapproval on the faces turned our way. I lowered our clasped hands under the table. “Perhaps we should not make our relationship quite so explicit, melethron,” I murmured. “They do not look as if they understand and I do not want to be run out of town. Or worse. Were we in Imladris,” I continued, wanting to reassure him, “I would flaunt what we share for every Elf to see,” and indeed the braids in our hair would have already done so, “but Men are not so open-minded as Elves.”

Aragorn squeezed my hand under the table before running his hand up my thigh. He winked at me flirtatiously, then removes has hand and began to eat. I forced my attention away from the sudden wave of passion coursing through me. My lunch was a safer, if much less interesting, point of focus. We had already put on one show for the patrons of the tavern. Thinking about that questing hand on my thigh would only to to putting on another, something I had no real desire to do.

When we finished, Aragorn repeated his interest in wandering the town. I wanted nothing more than to drag him back upstairs to bed, but I gave in to his request. The bed would be waiting for us when we returned. As we left the inn, the watchful warrior replaced the flirtatious lover, as if a curtain had dropped to change the scene. If the lover was appealing for his openness, his vivacity, the warrior was equally, if not more appealing for his aloofness, his control. After all, it was the warrior who first caught my eye. I was considering how best to undermine that control when we heard shouting from the town square. We headed in that direction, trying to determine what was happening. Then, I heard the crack of a whip hitting flesh, a sickening sound that I have never forgotten. Someone was being publicly scourged. I laid a restraining hand on Aragorn’s arm, even though I was emptempted to interfere as he was. We were only two, with no standing or influence in the town. Any attempt on our part would undoubtedly be met with censure, if not worse. Had the twins been with us, resisting temptation would have been much harder, but they were nowhere in sight. As we drew closer, I recoed ted the man b pun punished as the man from the tavern who had bothered Aragorn.

“What was the crime?” I asked a man next to me.

“Lewd conduct,” came the reply, sending a chill through me. I did not ask for more explanation, but I could not help but think that it could have been Aragorn or me given the way we had been flaunting our relationship. “We might need to be a little more discreet,” I said softly to Aragorn, hoping the man did not speak Elvish. He looked at me sharply at hearing my voice, but no comprehension showed on his face. Staying at the inn a few more days suddenly lost its appeal. If we could have found the twins, I would even have suggested leaving immediately. Though I certainly had no desire to find myself the next one under the lash, I had even less desire to see Aragorn in that position. Especially since I was sure that he had given no thought to the reaction of Men when our relationship was beginning. I, at least, had known that Men were not so tolerant of a love such as we shared.

We could not leave the town without the twins, but I could not bear to stay and watch the punishment. I motioned for Aragorn to follow me as I slipped away from the crowd. When we were out of sight of the crowd, Aragorn turned to face me and I could see cracks in his controlled façade.

“Did you see?” he asked with a shudder. “That man…” He trailed off.

“We do not know what happened, Estel. Just because he spoke to you yesterday does not mean that his sentence had anything to do with us. Or with his suggestions to you. If we are discreet tonight, we can leave safely tomorrow. These villagers are not warriors, melethronen. They could not take us even if they tried, which they will not. They are afraid of Elves, not understanding that we are no threat to them. If we knew where your brothers were, I would suggest leaving now, but we will be fine until tomorrow.”

“Should we retuo tho the inn?” he suggested.

“We could. Or we could disappear into the woods for awhile.”

His eyes flew to my shoulders, finding the straps of my pack. “You are prepared today,” he commented.

“I was only unprepared yesterday because you dragged me out of the inn without warning. I would never have left without it otherwise,” I retorted. “Does that mean you prefer the woods to the inn?”

“Given the atmosphere in town today, it might be safer,” he agreed, and so we retraced our steps from the previous day, finding our way back to the waterfall. We settled on the grass, side by side. I could sense Aragorn’s preoccupation. I caressed his shoulder tenderly. He looked up toward me with a smile, but it was not his usual smile. This one was half-hearted at best.

“What is it, meluin?” I was never able to resist that uncertain look. Not then, not when he was beset by doubts about his ancestry and his future, not when he feared having lost everything, including Arwen.

“I…I am beginning to realize that I do not understand the ways of Men. They were…” he paused, searching for the right word, “enjoying the whipping, Legolas, like we would enjoy an evening of music. How is that possible?” He turned to face me, confusion written clearly on his face. Even as I tried to answer, one part of me was marveling that he trusted me enough to let me read him so easily.

“I have never understood Men. Not completely, but I do know two things. I know that they are often ruled by their passions rather than their logic, especially in groups. And I know that not all Men should be judged by what we saw today. There have been, and still are, great Men in Arda. Men who appreciate beauty and wisdom.” He still seemed unsure. I made a guess. “Do not compare yourself to them, Estel. They have none of your experience or education.” He started at my words, and rose to pace anxiously back and forth in front of me.

“Yet the same blood flows in my veins, does it not? How do I know that I will not sink to their level one day?”

I did not know how to answer him. I sensed a nobility in him, even at that age and without knowing of his heritage, that convinced me of the impossibility of such an event, but it was nothing that I could explain. “You were with them today,” I said finally, “and their madness did not overtake you. Is that not proof enough?” It seemed reasonabo meo me. He stopped pacing to look at me in frustration.

“I knew nothing of the situation, of the man involved. There was nothing to involve me, only to repulse me.” The pacing began again.

“What about in battle, then? You have not been overcome like they were when fighting Orcs, have you?” I countered.

“Though I hate Orcs for having destroyed my family, and though I am glad to see them dead, I have never lost control in battle. To do so would be to invite my own death.”

“See?” I asked. “You are comparing yourself to Men whose lives are totally different from your own. If you must compare yourself to Men, at least find warriors like yourself as fereference.” I wish sometimes that I had not said those words for they sent Aragorn to Rohan and to Gondor to serve in their armies before he finally exorcised this demon that was worrying his mind. He survived his exploits, but I shudder to think that I could have been the cause of the failure of all that came later, had he died because of my suggestion. None other could have united us as he did. None other could have brought us to the Black Gate to give the Ringbearer the time he needed. At other times, I wonder if I was the catalyst that gave him the experiences he needed to be able to lead us all on that day. Whatever his later motivations, though, he accepted my logic that day and settled back beside me on the grass. I ran a gentle hand through his beard, cradling his cheek. He tilted his head into my caress, eyes closing at the tenderness.

“We are here in the beautiful glade all alone,” I pointed out. “Can you thinknothnothing er ter to discuss than the frailties of Men?” I was not sure if he was ready to let go of his concerns, but I wanted to try.

He caught the change of mood in my voice immediately and smiled, a real smile this time. “We could discuss the strength of Elves.” He squeezed my leg appreciatively before reaching higher to caress my shaft. It was apparently his day to surprise me. First kissing my wrist in the tavern, then cupping my eron. on. I was no more prepared for the second than I had been for the first and my cry was just as heartfelt. I collapsed back on the grass, spreading my legs to give him uninhibited access to my body. He took the invitation, folding my tunic up over the belt and falling on my laces eagerly. In a saner moment, I might have protested the speed, but he was already freeing my erection from the confines of my leggings. His mouth captured mine, his tongue invading, and sanity fled before the warrior turned lover. Here was the confidence that I had seen in battle. Here, in my arms, was the Ranger, the Walker, the King of Gondor, though I knew none of that at the time. I had obviously succeeded in my hope of creating an equal relationship between us. Aragorn was certainly not waiting for me to take the lead. Not this time. I was helpless to resist the onslaught, hands and lips caressing, probing, arousing. He forgot all about practicalities, like boots, stripping my leggings down to my knees, trapping my legs as he did so, leaving me completely at his mercy. His hands explored me roughly, caught as he was between desire and fear. I had always been one for tender foreplay, but those rough caresses had a power all their own. I was soon straining against his hands, wanting more, wanting his domion aon as I had wanted his surrender. I struggled out of my tunic and shirt, giving up on suppressing the cries and moans he was wringing from me. Anyughtught of control had fled long ago. He took pity on me, then, and stripped my boots and leggings, leaving me bare beneath his hot gaze. I could almost feel the heat as his eyes raked me from head to toe, stopping to register again the differences between us. My hairless face, smooth chest, pale skin, slender form. He liked what he saw, his eyes darkening as they returned to mine. When he had finished his perusal, I reached for his clothes, helping him undress so we could lay skin on skin. It had only been hours since we had last made love, yet the need was there, as strong as if we had been apart for days. Now, I marvel at the constant desire I felt for him. Right then, I was too caught up in what we were doing to have thoughts of any kind. My whole being was bent on this one moment in time, this one act of love.

“The oil,” Aragorn requested as his hands sought me out again. I grabbed the vial from the outside pocket where I had secreted it before leaving the inn.

“Can you take me again?” Aragorn asked, reaching for the vial.

“Always and forever,” I murmured in reply. It was a promise I kept until the day he died, though he asked not for it. I would keep it still today, were he restored to me.

In his haste, he speared his fingers into me quickly, lea me me gasping from the mix of pain and pleasure. His fingers thrust again, stretching me roughly, dragging heavily against my pleasure point. I cried out again, writhing with the heady combination. A third thrust had me already on the brink of orgasm. Mercilessly, he drove me over, leaving me a trembling mass of nerves. For although I had come, the passion had not subsided. His fingers continued to stretch and probe, inciting me to even greater heights. Soon his fingers were not enough. I grabbed the oil, coating his erection, needing him inside me.

“Maba nin,” I pleaded, urging him to move over me. For one brief second, I saw hesitation amid the passion etching his face. I spread my legs wider, lifting my knees, tilting my hips to be able to receive him. I guided his erection to my entrance and waited. Understanding dawned and he slid home, smooth as silk, taking me as I had asked. My eyes closed in bliss. Melin chen, my heart cried, the words begging to be said. Even in the throes of passion, though, my control held and they did not slip out.

I opened my eyes, focusing on Aragorn’s face above me, desire hardening his features, his neck corded as he supported his weight on his arms. He was masculine beauty personified for me, despite his own insecurities. He shifted his weight slightly, freeing one hand to reach for my renewed arousal. His hand kept time with his hips as they spurred me on toward release. When my climax finally came, it wracked my whole body, triggering his own orgasm. For the second time in my life, I thought I could feel the touching of souls.

As I lay in his arms, beneath his hard body as he collapsed on top or me, waiting for our heartbeats to slow to normal, I struggled again with the words I so wanted to say. In the end, I remained silent, constrained by a promise I would do anything to keep.

I wonder now how things would have been if the words had slipped out, if I had told Aragorn of my love in that moment of passion. I am almost certain he would have returned my feelings then. And though telling him I loved him, even making love to him, were not binding in and of themselves, I would have considered them a bond. If we had formed that bond despite my better judgment, would he have still fallen in love with Arwen? Could my love have sustained him, as hers did, through all the trials to come? Could I have pushed him, as she did, to embrace his heritage rather than reject it? Or would he have rejected it to protect me from the reaction of Men? I cannot answer those questions now, any more than I could answer them the hundreds of other times I have asked them. I know only that I would have done anything for him had he chosen me instead.