Author's Note: This story starts in present day England in Chapter 1, followed by Year 2000 S.A. (Second Age) in Middle-earth.
If you're expecting a fluffy tale centered upon the Elves and Dwarves, then this is not the story for you. This fic deals with the Black Númenóreans of Umbar.
Warnings: language, violence, dark themes, and some graphic sexual situations. Please note that some of the chapters will have an "M" rating, but not all.
All things pertaining to Middle-earth belong to late, great J.R.R. Tolkien. All original characters are mine. Reviews are most humbly appreciated, and feed the muse!
To those of you that have read, reviewed, alerted, or favorited this story, I apologize for the repost. I was attempting to change the rating of some of the later chapters, and discovered that I had to delete the story in its entirety in order to accomplish that. I'm sure there's probably an easier way to do it, but unfortunately, I'm not computer literate! Sorry for the inconvience.
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Chapter One: Birthday Bliss
The pleasant, sunny summer morning greeted Brandon when he awoke from his slumber. He crawled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. After emptying his bladder, he climbed into claw foot tub, turned on the water and began to bathe. It was important to the young man that today of all days, be perfect; a word seldom used in his world of late.
Today, he and Gweneth would be celebrating her seventeenth birthday, even though it was still two days away. Brandon felt horrible that his father and her mother had intended to wed on that very day, neither one of them taking into consideration that it was Gwen's birthday. It pissed her off, but she kept quiet just the same.
The young man had planned a morning of four wheeling followed by a picnic lunch. It would be their last excursion before leaving for school the following week, him to university, her to boarding school. Brandon couldn't help but worry about his future stepsister. He could see that she was plummeting into an abyss of drugs and drink, and he feared that he wouldn't be there to save her, again.
After dressing, he descended the spiral staircase, and crossed through the sprawling manor to the kitchen. The young man double-checked with the chef that Gwen's special lunch would be ready by noon. Brandon had requested that the meal consist of typical American fare, since that's where the girl was from; she detested English cuisine.
It was half past ten when he found himself knocking on her bedroom door. "Are you awake?" he asked as he opened the door a crack and peeked in. "Gwen?" he queried. He could hear the sound of a hairdryer through the partially opened bathroom door. He crept inside, closing the door gently behind him. "Gwen?" called Brandon softly as he approached the inner chamber. He pushed the door wider and a vision of loveliness filled his eyes. Gwen was bent over, blow-drying her long golden hair, rear facing him, in nothing but her bra and panties. He quickly turned in attempt to suppress the inappropriate thoughts that had flashed through his mind. He banged loudly on the bathroom door before retreating to an overstuffed chair in her bedroom.
Only a moment later, she came out bathroom, brushing her hair. Brandon averted his eyes by picking up the latest issue of Teen Vogue that lay on the table beside the chair, haphazardly scanning through the pages.
"Good morning," she greeted cheerfully as she lit up a cigarette. "I see you're up and raring to go," she continued as she walked over to one of the wardrobes, inspecting its contents.
"I see that you're not," responded the young man, stealing a glance at the near naked beauty.
"Well, I'm not much of morning person now, am I?" snickered Gweneth.
"I wish you would hurry and dress already!" blurted out Brandon, averting his eyes once more. He didn't like the warm tingling feeling that was starting to coarse through his body. Damn you to hell, father, he thought to himself.
The statuesque blonde ambled over to Brandon once she had dressed in a pair of black sweat pants and a pink tank top (much to his relief.) Gwen snatched the magazine out of his hand and glanced at the opened pages.
"Pfft," she sounded. "It's not even of me!"
"Oh, are you in this issue?" he queried. She rolled her eyes as she flipped the magazine closed, holding the cover inches from his face. There on the cover was Gweneth in one of her playful, seductive poses.
"What are you - blind?" she asked, hardly attempting to conceal her sarcasm. The birthday girl tossed the issue onto his lap.
Brandon let the magazine fall to the floor as he got to his feet. "Happy birthday, Gwen," he said as he embraced her warmly.
"Thanks," she replied as she took a drag of her cigarette, tossing her golden locks over her shoulder. "Don't I get a present?" she asked, her hand held out expectantly.
"Of course," answered Brandon, pulling a small box out of his pocket. "I hope you like it." He nervously chewed on his bottom lip as she undid the small bow. Inside the box was a silver ring in the shaped of a coiled serpent with ruby eyes. "I found it at an antique shop in London," revealed the young man who waited impatiently for her reaction.
"It's so cool," remarked Gweneth as she slid it on her ring finger. "I love it!" She held her hand up, admiring the new trinket. "Thanks, again, Brand," she said sincerely as she hugged him and placed a kiss on his cheek. "So, you ready?"
"Yeah, let's go," instructed the dark-haired eighteen year old. He let out a heavy sigh when he saw that she was taking her purse with her. Brandon knew damn well what was concealed within it, but he knew that there was no point in arguing with her, it would only tick her off. He led her out of the room, and out of the fine home of his ancestors.
The spent the next hour and a half riding their four wheelers all over the 250 acre estate, enjoying the beauty that the English countryside had to offer. At twelve thirty, Brandon made her wait under a towering elm tree beside the lake. He returned thirty minutes later, instructing her to follow him. They rode over the rolling terrain through the woods to a spot that Gweneth had never been before.
"We'll have to go on foot from here," advised Brandon as he led the way up the stony path. There was no possible way they could have taken the four wheelers down it; it was too narrow. The path wound along the bottom of a rock wall for some distance before it curved away in the opposite direction. Instead of following the lane, the young man climbed up onto an outcropping on the side of the wall. He grabbed Gweneth's hand and pulled her upon the ridge. "We're almost there," he added as they walked along the uneven stone trail.
"Where the hell are we going?" she queried breathlessly. She wasn't expecting to go on a hike.
When they reached a fissure in the wall, he stopped. "Okay, we're here," informed Brandon excitedly. "I do have one request though," he began again, pulling a checkered bandana from the pocket of his khakis. "I want to blindfold you."
"Blindfold me?" she questioned suspiciously. "Why?"
"It's a surprise," he answered with a smile, revealing the dimple on his chin. Gwen stood there with her hands on her hips. "Amuse me, just this once, please?"
"Fine," she said reluctantly. "But don't let me fall."
"Never," chuckled the British gent as he wrapped the cloth around her head. "Careful," he said as he led her into the cave. Brandon had her wrap her arms around his waist as he led her deeper into the chamber. The warmth of her breath on his neck nearly drove him mad. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have her walk so closely behind him, her breasts rubbed against his back with each step. "We're here," he finally said, removing the blindfold.
"Wow!" exclaimed the birthday girl. "I'm impressed!" They stood in a large chamber that had been alit with hundreds of candles; the flickering flames seemed to make the entire room sparkle. He clicked the remote he had pulled from his pocket and a second later, Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen played on the boom box that sat just off the blanket that lay on the floor. Gweneth was still in awe as they sat down. A cooler and basket of goodies awaited them. "Man, you went all out," she said jubilantly. "I can't believe you went through so much effort for me." She became teary-eyed. "Thanks, Brand!"
"You're most certainly welcome," he said with a smile. He was quite pleased by her reaction. Brandon opened up the cooler and pulled out a bottle of champagne. "Dom Pérignon," he added before popping the cork.
"Yummy," replied the golden-haired young woman as she looked inside the cooler. "Four bottles? Are you trying to get me drunk?" she queried mischievously.
"Can't you tell?" he asked with a laugh. "Maybe we'll pass out and wake after the wed-."
"I don't want to even think about that, okay," she interrupted solemnly.
"Alright," he replied, pouring the bubbly into the antique crystal goblets he swiped from the cupboard. As Brandon handed her a glass, their hands touched and he felt that spark. The way that she had glanced at him and awkwardly withdrew her hand indicated that she felt it too.
Those poor young people found themselves in one hell of a predicament. They met for the first time over 15 months ago in East Hampton, Long Island (New York.) They had been neighbors for a few years although they never knew it. Their attraction was immediate and before long, they were inseparable. She was only fifteen at the time, and her modeling career had just kicked into overdrive after she had signed on with the Ford Modeling Agency in the city.
Their summer romance came crashing to a halt when their parents hooked up (their respective spouses had passed away years before.) Despite their protests, their parent's relationship continued and then they became engaged and now the wedding was only two days away. Their loving parents made sure that they kept the kids apart, fearing that they might secretly continue their relationship. Brandon was more than willing to, but Gwen didn't want her life to "resemble a V.C. Andrews novel."
After all these months, he watched her slowly descend into a world full of booze, drugs and sex. He was disgusted by the fact that she was dating a thirty-eight year old photographer who fostered that bad behavior. He worried that one day he'd get that phone call telling him that she was found dead in some ritzy hotel somewhere. Brandon wished he could whisk her away to some faraway land where she could sober up and be happy once again.
When they finished eating, she reached into her purse and pulled out a baggie of white powder. "Please don't," he pleaded. "Not today. For me."
She looked at him for a minute before replying. "Well, can I at least burn one, then?" she queried. He relented. Brandon didn't have a problem with smoking pot; he partook in the stuff himself, but coke was a different story. They smoked, talked, and drank. By nightfall, they were pretty blitzed.
They lay on the blanket, staring at the sparkling lights on the domed ceiling while listening to Baba O'Riley by The Who. Brandon then turned to her and asked, "Why don't we elope and fuck things up for the old farts?"
Gweneth turned and faced him. "Hmm, that's tempting," she answered with a laugh. "That would definitely fuck with them big time."
"I say we do it," proposed the young man as he placed his hand on stomach, caressing it softly.
"Don't," she said softly, pushing his hand gently away. Whenever he touched her like that, it made her yearn for more, and under the circumstances, that couldn't happen. Life was complicated enough and sex would only make matters much worse, for both of them.
"C'mon Gwen," begged Brandon as he propped himself up on his elbow. "I've never stopped loving you… and I know you still love me. It's not fair that the geezers screwed things up for us. We're the ones that are supposed to be together, not fucking them!"
"Fate says otherwise," she responded distantly.
Brandon had no intentions on giving up that easily. God only knows when he'd see her again. He snuggled closer and continued to stroke her affectionately. Her blue eyes were closed and her foot moved to the rhythm of the music. The young man buried his face in her thick hair; it smelled like apples. She let out a throaty moan as he softly brushed his lips against her neck. Gwen's skin felt so soft beneath his lips. He slid his hand under her top, delighted that she didn't resist.
The young man continued to get aroused as he fondled her breasts. He couldn't endure his torments any longer. Brandon placed his mouth over hers and kissed her hungrily. She reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders. They aggressively began undressing each other, eager to consummate their love once and for all. The alcohol had served its purpose; she surrendered herself to him completely, no longer caring about the consequences of their actions. After all those many months, Brandon had been granted his greatest desire: Gweneth.
When they found their release, they fell asleep in each other's arms, unaware that on the morrow they would find themselves in a whole new world…