Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: PG-13
Warning: AU
Summary: Events start to… unfold in the palace.
Notes: I'll be taking a break from this one to recharge my batteries. Will update in a week or two.
More notes: BTW... major thanks to those who leave feedback! Much appreciated... it really means a lot to me :P Due to the nature of the reviewing process, I can't reply to each and every review... but just know that i have read them all and am so happy that you like this story! If you want, you can e-mail me at nessa_tulcakelume@ yahoo.co.uk. Thanks again!
Secrets
Dinner seemed to be a pleasant affair. Aragorn sat at the head of the table dressed in rich robes and a crown was upon his head, sparkling in the torch-lit hall. He was in the company of the men he trusted with his life – amongst them was Eomer, brother to his wife, who was leaning eagerly towards the King as he gave an account of his encounter with the Elf in the woods.
"It is most marvellous, my Lord, that you should chance to meet something so rare in our forest," Eomer began to say, "Just think! For Gondor to have an Elf in its service – no one would dare dispute your lordship over the lands, sire."
"And yet," Faramir piped in, his fingers delicately tracing the rim of his wine goblet, eyes lowered in thought. "And yet the Elf does not belong here. It cannot be right that he be kept against his will within the walls of the city, my Lord."
A stern voice broke in the midst of the excited chatter, causing a sudden lull in the conversation that was taking place at the table.
"It is said that those who are young share not the kind of wisdom that are bestowed upon the old. Please pardon my son's lack of perception, sire," came the voice, silky and dripping with sarcasm. "Lord Eomer is right of course. It is a boon to have one of the Fair Folks amongst our people. Just think! With the creature coming to live within our great walls, we would be able to gain the alliance of the Elves. It would be a glorious time for us indeed!"
The silence lay unbroken as all eyes focused upon Denethor, father to Boromir and his brother. He was tall and noble in stature, yet age had not been kind to him, bent as he was over an invisible burden that he seemed to carry upon his shoulders. His dark eyes were cold and his lips stern. No one dared to dispute him for he was the King's very own Chief Advisor and had been in the service of the throne for almost three generations.
The King cast a quick glance at Faramir, noting his shuttered expression and the manner he displayed, suggesting that he was eager to just disappear from the table altogether. By his side, Boromir too looked away, his face flushing in silent anger at his father's attack of his brother.
"This is wrong," Boromir was thinking, seething deep in his heart, "Faramir is no less wise than Aragorn himself." But he too did not say a word, content with grasping Faramir's hand into his in a gesture of comfort under the cover of the table cloth.
"Perhaps you are right, Denethor," the King said slowly, trying to soothe over the suddenly tense situation that he had found himself in. "Perhaps the Elf may come to serve the kingdom. Yet I will not hold him captive like a common prisoner. Whether he chooses to stay or to leave, we must respect his wishes. But enough on that… nothing can be certain before we allow Gandalf to speak with him."
Thus, that marked the end of the conversation and the topic slowly drifted off to more mundane things while Denethor fixed a look upon the King, smouldering in silent resentment…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The King's Men had eaten their fill and slowly they drifted back to their homes, tired but contented. Only two men were left behind, one slouched over the table while the other stood before him, running a hand distractedly through his hair. Boromir looked upon his subdued brother, seemingly to be at a lost and grappling for the words to say that could put Faramir's heart at ease.
"You must not think ill of Father, Faramir," he began uncomfortably in the light of Faramir's persistent silence, "He had not been well ever since mother died. You must be patient with him."
"Aye, let me keep my patience while he tramples my good name to the ground," Faramir said, his voice bitter as his eyes were fixed stubbornly upon the wooden table before him, the grains of the wood blurring before his eyes as he fought against tears.
"He did not mean what he said," Boromir started to say but Faramir lifted a hand impatiently, effectively silencing his brother.
"Oh but he did. How can he not? Father may be ill but it does not affect the way he speaks his mind," he said, his voice strangely hoarse with emotions. With a shake of his head, he stood up and left the hall, his footsteps echoing angrily in the empty room leaving Boromir standing alone, looking after the retreating back in dismay.
There was a short silence for a while during which Boromir looked at the door that was slammed shut, his heart heavy. Faramir had always tolerated their father's abuse but that patience was clearly wearing thin. Ever since they were young, Denethor had preferred the older of the two for reasons that was not known to him.
Perhaps it was because, of the two, Faramir had always been quiet and sweet-tempered, always retreating to the library to read or listening with wonderment at Gandalf's tales. Perhaps it was because Boromir's military successes had overshadowed his brother's modest ones. Or perhaps it was because of Faramir that their mother met her untimely death…
And Boromir can still remember their mother with her fair hair, sweet voice and her pretty smiles. There were no other women in Gondor who could be as beautiful as her… except perhaps for the face that had emerged from the shadows, her eyes lowering shyly as she approached him.
"Lady Eowyn," he murmured in greeting giving a short bow as he did, embarrassed at having been caught so deep in thought.
"Boromir," she whispered back, her eyes shining with a strange light upon which Boromir regarded with unease.
"Do you not sleep, my lady?" he ventured carefully, untrained as he was in the refined speech of a gentleman. It was not in his blood to engage in a conversation with the fairer sex. Even if he *did*, the colour of his gold had always been attractive to them, and their conversation quickly escalating to other more… pleasurable activities.
Eowyn shook her head, her eyes sad and her face grave.
"Well, it is time that I take to bed then, Lady Eowyn," he said awkwardly. "Sleep well." With another short bow, he hastily took his leave. And all the time he was aware of those eyes upon his back and all night he remembered the look upon her face when she gazed into his eyes.
"She must not love me, for I have nothing to give her," he thought to himself before he drifted off into a troubled sleep…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Has the Elf been placed in his sleeping quarters?" the King asked, watching the man before him, his face flushed with too much wine. Grisworth nodded his head.
"Aye, lord. He is still sleeping as soundly as a babe," he said cheerfully, straightening his back importantly at having being directly addressed by the King. "I had the maidservants change his clothes and I myself have kept his weapons in your room, my lord."
"Very good," the King said with a smile as he looked at the glow that seemed to come across the man's face at being praised. "The long knife? And the bow and arrows too?"
Again his guard nodded his head, puffing his chest out in pride at having followed the King's instructions properly.
"Well done, Grisworth. And more importantly, had someone sent for Gandalf? I need his counsel tomorrow, the first thing in the morning," Aragorn said and once more his guard nodded his head so vehemently that he was in danger of losing his balance and falling over.
"Very good then. Here's some money for your troubles. Good night, Grisworth," he said, pressing some gold into Grisworth's hand before heading over down the hall to his mother's sleeping chamber leaving the guard tottering off, bumping into walls as he did.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The air was still and yet sweet as he entered his mother's room. Queen Gilrean was lying upon her bed with her back propped up against the pillows, sickness robbing her of the strength to stand or even move. And yet, Aragorn thought his mother beautiful and her white hair fell like the purest snow upon her shoulders.
"Mother," he whispered as he came to knees by her bedside. The Queen Mother smiled, her eyes still sparkling with such brilliance that neither sickness nor time could take away.
"My son," she said, her voice husky with sleep that she had just awoken from, "When did you return?"
"Only just," he replied, taking her wizened hand into his to press a tender kiss upon the palm.
"You left with only two men," she said, her voice filled with gentle reproach although the smile still lingered upon her face, "You should have brought along more, if only for safety sake."
The King smiled fondly at his mother, kissing her hand again. "I will never be in danger with Boromir and Faramir by my side."
"Well that is different then," she murmured back before falling silent. They were quiet for a while, the King content to hold her hand as he fell deeply into thought.
"Mother," he began again, "I've met someone in the woods and brought him back with me. He is an Elf."
Silence.
Aragorn peered into his mother's face. She was fast asleep. With that, he pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead and turned away towards the door.
"You should not have brought him here," said the soft voice from the bed. Aragorn paused, his hand resting upon the knob of the door. Nothing more was said and so the King went away, closing the door firmly behind him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Eowyn sat upon her bed, dressed in the sheerest night gown, the soft material clinging to every contours of her slender body. The moonlight crept through the window like a thief in the night, casting shadows in the room while it caressed the lady's skin – the white glow making her even more beautiful to the eyes of Men. She was the very picture of innocence ripe for taking; her breast was firm and the fine material of her clothe gave a tantalizing view of her long, shapely legs, hinting at the treasure situated between her thighs.
Absently, she brushed her hair, her hand mechanically running the brush through her golden tresses while her mind was far away in the world of dreams and make–belief. The sudden movement at the door halted her motion and her eyes turned towards the King as he entered the room.
"How do you fare?" he asked, his voice soft and face gravely regarding hers.
"The same as always, my lord," she said, her eyes steadfastly fixed upon the brush in her hand. Another pair of hand clasped hers and she raised her eyes to look into those of her husband.
"You look sad," he observed, still looking into her face. Eowyn shook her head and offered a smile although in her heart, she felt like weeping.
"No. All is well, my lord. I am merely tired and wish to go to bed," she said. The King smiled in response before leaning forward to kiss her softly on her cheek.
"Sleep well then," he murmured against her hair and with a parting smile, he left the room to retire to his own sleeping quarters leaving Eowyn to dwell upon her broken dreams and the secrets that she kept in her heart.
to be continued…
Rating: PG-13
Warning: AU
Summary: Events start to… unfold in the palace.
Notes: I'll be taking a break from this one to recharge my batteries. Will update in a week or two.
More notes: BTW... major thanks to those who leave feedback! Much appreciated... it really means a lot to me :P Due to the nature of the reviewing process, I can't reply to each and every review... but just know that i have read them all and am so happy that you like this story! If you want, you can e-mail me at nessa_tulcakelume@ yahoo.co.uk. Thanks again!
Secrets
Dinner seemed to be a pleasant affair. Aragorn sat at the head of the table dressed in rich robes and a crown was upon his head, sparkling in the torch-lit hall. He was in the company of the men he trusted with his life – amongst them was Eomer, brother to his wife, who was leaning eagerly towards the King as he gave an account of his encounter with the Elf in the woods.
"It is most marvellous, my Lord, that you should chance to meet something so rare in our forest," Eomer began to say, "Just think! For Gondor to have an Elf in its service – no one would dare dispute your lordship over the lands, sire."
"And yet," Faramir piped in, his fingers delicately tracing the rim of his wine goblet, eyes lowered in thought. "And yet the Elf does not belong here. It cannot be right that he be kept against his will within the walls of the city, my Lord."
A stern voice broke in the midst of the excited chatter, causing a sudden lull in the conversation that was taking place at the table.
"It is said that those who are young share not the kind of wisdom that are bestowed upon the old. Please pardon my son's lack of perception, sire," came the voice, silky and dripping with sarcasm. "Lord Eomer is right of course. It is a boon to have one of the Fair Folks amongst our people. Just think! With the creature coming to live within our great walls, we would be able to gain the alliance of the Elves. It would be a glorious time for us indeed!"
The silence lay unbroken as all eyes focused upon Denethor, father to Boromir and his brother. He was tall and noble in stature, yet age had not been kind to him, bent as he was over an invisible burden that he seemed to carry upon his shoulders. His dark eyes were cold and his lips stern. No one dared to dispute him for he was the King's very own Chief Advisor and had been in the service of the throne for almost three generations.
The King cast a quick glance at Faramir, noting his shuttered expression and the manner he displayed, suggesting that he was eager to just disappear from the table altogether. By his side, Boromir too looked away, his face flushing in silent anger at his father's attack of his brother.
"This is wrong," Boromir was thinking, seething deep in his heart, "Faramir is no less wise than Aragorn himself." But he too did not say a word, content with grasping Faramir's hand into his in a gesture of comfort under the cover of the table cloth.
"Perhaps you are right, Denethor," the King said slowly, trying to soothe over the suddenly tense situation that he had found himself in. "Perhaps the Elf may come to serve the kingdom. Yet I will not hold him captive like a common prisoner. Whether he chooses to stay or to leave, we must respect his wishes. But enough on that… nothing can be certain before we allow Gandalf to speak with him."
Thus, that marked the end of the conversation and the topic slowly drifted off to more mundane things while Denethor fixed a look upon the King, smouldering in silent resentment…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The King's Men had eaten their fill and slowly they drifted back to their homes, tired but contented. Only two men were left behind, one slouched over the table while the other stood before him, running a hand distractedly through his hair. Boromir looked upon his subdued brother, seemingly to be at a lost and grappling for the words to say that could put Faramir's heart at ease.
"You must not think ill of Father, Faramir," he began uncomfortably in the light of Faramir's persistent silence, "He had not been well ever since mother died. You must be patient with him."
"Aye, let me keep my patience while he tramples my good name to the ground," Faramir said, his voice bitter as his eyes were fixed stubbornly upon the wooden table before him, the grains of the wood blurring before his eyes as he fought against tears.
"He did not mean what he said," Boromir started to say but Faramir lifted a hand impatiently, effectively silencing his brother.
"Oh but he did. How can he not? Father may be ill but it does not affect the way he speaks his mind," he said, his voice strangely hoarse with emotions. With a shake of his head, he stood up and left the hall, his footsteps echoing angrily in the empty room leaving Boromir standing alone, looking after the retreating back in dismay.
There was a short silence for a while during which Boromir looked at the door that was slammed shut, his heart heavy. Faramir had always tolerated their father's abuse but that patience was clearly wearing thin. Ever since they were young, Denethor had preferred the older of the two for reasons that was not known to him.
Perhaps it was because, of the two, Faramir had always been quiet and sweet-tempered, always retreating to the library to read or listening with wonderment at Gandalf's tales. Perhaps it was because Boromir's military successes had overshadowed his brother's modest ones. Or perhaps it was because of Faramir that their mother met her untimely death…
And Boromir can still remember their mother with her fair hair, sweet voice and her pretty smiles. There were no other women in Gondor who could be as beautiful as her… except perhaps for the face that had emerged from the shadows, her eyes lowering shyly as she approached him.
"Lady Eowyn," he murmured in greeting giving a short bow as he did, embarrassed at having been caught so deep in thought.
"Boromir," she whispered back, her eyes shining with a strange light upon which Boromir regarded with unease.
"Do you not sleep, my lady?" he ventured carefully, untrained as he was in the refined speech of a gentleman. It was not in his blood to engage in a conversation with the fairer sex. Even if he *did*, the colour of his gold had always been attractive to them, and their conversation quickly escalating to other more… pleasurable activities.
Eowyn shook her head, her eyes sad and her face grave.
"Well, it is time that I take to bed then, Lady Eowyn," he said awkwardly. "Sleep well." With another short bow, he hastily took his leave. And all the time he was aware of those eyes upon his back and all night he remembered the look upon her face when she gazed into his eyes.
"She must not love me, for I have nothing to give her," he thought to himself before he drifted off into a troubled sleep…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Has the Elf been placed in his sleeping quarters?" the King asked, watching the man before him, his face flushed with too much wine. Grisworth nodded his head.
"Aye, lord. He is still sleeping as soundly as a babe," he said cheerfully, straightening his back importantly at having being directly addressed by the King. "I had the maidservants change his clothes and I myself have kept his weapons in your room, my lord."
"Very good," the King said with a smile as he looked at the glow that seemed to come across the man's face at being praised. "The long knife? And the bow and arrows too?"
Again his guard nodded his head, puffing his chest out in pride at having followed the King's instructions properly.
"Well done, Grisworth. And more importantly, had someone sent for Gandalf? I need his counsel tomorrow, the first thing in the morning," Aragorn said and once more his guard nodded his head so vehemently that he was in danger of losing his balance and falling over.
"Very good then. Here's some money for your troubles. Good night, Grisworth," he said, pressing some gold into Grisworth's hand before heading over down the hall to his mother's sleeping chamber leaving the guard tottering off, bumping into walls as he did.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The air was still and yet sweet as he entered his mother's room. Queen Gilrean was lying upon her bed with her back propped up against the pillows, sickness robbing her of the strength to stand or even move. And yet, Aragorn thought his mother beautiful and her white hair fell like the purest snow upon her shoulders.
"Mother," he whispered as he came to knees by her bedside. The Queen Mother smiled, her eyes still sparkling with such brilliance that neither sickness nor time could take away.
"My son," she said, her voice husky with sleep that she had just awoken from, "When did you return?"
"Only just," he replied, taking her wizened hand into his to press a tender kiss upon the palm.
"You left with only two men," she said, her voice filled with gentle reproach although the smile still lingered upon her face, "You should have brought along more, if only for safety sake."
The King smiled fondly at his mother, kissing her hand again. "I will never be in danger with Boromir and Faramir by my side."
"Well that is different then," she murmured back before falling silent. They were quiet for a while, the King content to hold her hand as he fell deeply into thought.
"Mother," he began again, "I've met someone in the woods and brought him back with me. He is an Elf."
Silence.
Aragorn peered into his mother's face. She was fast asleep. With that, he pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead and turned away towards the door.
"You should not have brought him here," said the soft voice from the bed. Aragorn paused, his hand resting upon the knob of the door. Nothing more was said and so the King went away, closing the door firmly behind him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Eowyn sat upon her bed, dressed in the sheerest night gown, the soft material clinging to every contours of her slender body. The moonlight crept through the window like a thief in the night, casting shadows in the room while it caressed the lady's skin – the white glow making her even more beautiful to the eyes of Men. She was the very picture of innocence ripe for taking; her breast was firm and the fine material of her clothe gave a tantalizing view of her long, shapely legs, hinting at the treasure situated between her thighs.
Absently, she brushed her hair, her hand mechanically running the brush through her golden tresses while her mind was far away in the world of dreams and make–belief. The sudden movement at the door halted her motion and her eyes turned towards the King as he entered the room.
"How do you fare?" he asked, his voice soft and face gravely regarding hers.
"The same as always, my lord," she said, her eyes steadfastly fixed upon the brush in her hand. Another pair of hand clasped hers and she raised her eyes to look into those of her husband.
"You look sad," he observed, still looking into her face. Eowyn shook her head and offered a smile although in her heart, she felt like weeping.
"No. All is well, my lord. I am merely tired and wish to go to bed," she said. The King smiled in response before leaning forward to kiss her softly on her cheek.
"Sleep well then," he murmured against her hair and with a parting smile, he left the room to retire to his own sleeping quarters leaving Eowyn to dwell upon her broken dreams and the secrets that she kept in her heart.
to be continued…