The Seduction of the King

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Eldarion wandered long through the Citadel. He met no one but the regular night sentries, and he thought that he wandered aimlessly. Eventually however, wishing only to speak with her away from all distractions, his steps brought him to the chambers of the Lady Fala. Long stood he outside absentmindedly examining the hilt of his sword; then, summoning his courage, he knocked upon her door

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door and entered. The Lady Fala, dressed in a sea-green dressing gown, was seated at her table combing her unbound hair. She rose, comb still in hand, when she saw him.

"I -- I had thought you were the servant!" she stammered. Her eyes were wide.

"Forgive me, lady. Do not be frightened. I only wish to speak with you." His hands clenched into fists at his sides: his palms were sweating.

Slowly, she put down her comb. Her breathing had quickened, and she cast her eyes down.

Words failed him when he gazed at her, undressed and with her hair loose about her shoulders, ready to surrender to her liege lord. "Do you wish me to go?" he asked in a gentle voice. "For I will, if you say the word. Tell me to go."

"No," she answered looking up at him again.

There was a long moment without speech or movement. Then, he came to her hesitantly, both uncertain and eager. He took her face in his hands and kissed her tentatively, his lips barely touching hers. He then lifted his head and gazed down at her.

"This is your last chance to say me nay," he murmured.

"I will not," she breathed.

Emboldened by this response, he took her in his arms to kiss her again. The lady's arms slipped around his neck; however, she quickly pushed him back with surprising strength. "Wait. You are hurting me." She gestured impatiently at the hilt of his sword digging into her ribs.

"I am sorry," he said miserably as he forced his fingers to quickly undo the heavy buckle of his sword belt. "I forgot."

She burst into laughter. "Do the men of Gondor go armed to court a lady? And then make love at swordpoint?"

"I am sorry," he repeated then realized that she was teasing him. The tension of the moment was broken; the lady was laughing at him. Gone was her apprehension. She gazed at him with humor in her eyes. Humor and something else. An invitation.

In the light of dawn, she sat upon the chair with her feet up on the foot of the bed. She was drinking red wine, rubbing her aching scalp now free of the tight coiffure, and regarding her royal prize that lay sleeping amongst the scented sheets.

He had made her wait long enough -- half the night she had waited for him. Easy and ridiculous had it been. Ridiculous -- she grinned as she recalled the bumbling scene with the sword. Excuses could be made in tense situations, but this was classic. She committed it to memory although she knew that there was no one to whom she could relate the tale, no one to tell who would laugh and comment on her madcap adventures. Easy -- for the most difficult part had been in the past: the seeds of the seduction had been long sown. The spirit had indulged her with a look at the king in the Seeing Stone, and while he had been distracted by his thoughts, she had used the delicate charm necessary to influence Men to reach the king through the connection. The spirit had not noticed; what he would have done had he noticed, she did not know. Perhaps attempt to deny her her sport. What a miserable and humorless creature he was!

This city of Minas Anor would provide some distraction, although the noise of the water in all the fountains was maddening. She wondered how long it took one to become accustomed to it. Despite that, she liked the dark king with elegant manner and extraordinary handsomeness. She had been very careful not to draw suspicion to herself. She felt some power here without reaching for it, but it was not concerned with her. and she had avoided whatever nets and traps they had set, if any. Because she wished him no ill, none of their sorcerers had detected her.

The damage was done, though, and she held influence over the king of men. Nothing could break the enchantment unless she released him, for he had given himself willingly. How weak were these males when it came to the physical, and how easily ensnared in their own folly. Even though, influence over a mortal Man was not as strong or easy to maintain as influence over an Elf, for she did not understand their wills and could not always judge the strength of their emotions. He was not, however, of full mortal blood, and the limits of her influence would have to be tested.

You are lucky it is I who holds your strings, my pretty mortal princeling, and not that creature of darkness.

In the silvery moonlight, the young king looked as beautiful as any mortal man she had ever seen. The sweet brotherly love and concern for his sisters and his people was a balm on her frayed emotions. The troubles of the Atani were no less grievous that her own; however, they alone had received the Gift from the One, the ability to escape the Circles of the World. Although she knew not the final fate of Men, she envied them, for her own hurt would outlast the world and would never be healed. How attractive death was! Even the blissful maw of nothingness was better than the long slow, days of grief.

With her left hand, she grasped one of his wrists and lifted his hand to her. Into his palm, she pressed a small object before closing his fingers about it and letting go.

Curious, Eldarion held up the pretty bracelet with the blue crystals on it. A vulnerable, haunted look came into his eyes, and Legrace waited, almost welcoming the storm to come.

"My lady." He stared at her. "You know Fala? Have you seen her? Did she speak of me?" A long pause followed as he looked again at the bracelet. "She is not coming back, is she?"

This was not what she had expected. Tears sprang from her eyes. "It is not possible for her to dwell in your city in contentment," she told him quietly. "Even as Queen."

Dumbly, miserably, he nodded, continuing to stare at the cunning little carved horse.

"It is too foreign for her to adjust," she added as tears slipped down her face.

"Did she--- ? Does she-- ?" He swallowed and looked helplessly at her.

"She loves all her prey," she whispered. "Yes, she loved you." Raging, screaming, her own black emotions scraped her raw from the inside. She had to forget, to thrust away memory and pain, to lose herself in the physical.

The pretty king was hers for the taking on this velvety moonlit night, and she embraced him, drew him to her, kissed him. His response was normal: he held her and kissed her back, also wanting to forget the moment. How easy it would be to draw him down on the ground, to urge him to that blissful physical union with which he had thrilled her in the past...

No, this was not what she wanted. Breaking off the kiss, she buried her face against his shoulder and found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Not to forget for a time, not to lose herself for an hour or two, she wanted it GONE. Wherever her feelings resided, she was willing to take a blade and cut them out of herself if only she could have peace

When her weeping lessened and awareness returned, she felt Eldarion holding her and stroking her hair. The comfort of the contact and the feeling of safety consoled, a little, her parched soul, and she drank it in, sponge-like. Gripping his shoulders tightly, she pressed closer, wounded and needing something but what she did not know. In response, his arms held her tighter and he gently kissed her temple and cheekbone. By the Flame, he was strong! She could feel her own trembling, and all she wanted was to have the moment continue, for even the slight assuaging of her torment was blessed.

"Lady," he murmured to her. "You must not walk alone in the evenings. You must sit with us and allow yourself to be diverted, for even the heavy talk you despise is better than this."

At his words, a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she raised her head to look at him. His hold on her loosened, but he did not let go. "You are obviously used to giving orders," she managed in a wavering voice.

With a dark frown of concern, he reached to brush his finger under her wet eyes. "My dear lady, let me send for Elrohir. Better, come, and I shall take you to him."

As he began to lead her, holding her supportively, she sighed. "If you can get a message to them, tell your sisters to get away"

The reply was a long time in coming. "I shall, lady," he said, continuing to escort her to his uncle. "Why? Are these reanimated warriors unbeatable?"

"No, but no matter what magic has done this, they are still dead. Nothing has the power to restore life." He still seemed unable to comprehend what she was saying. "Their bodies have been repaired, but decay is inevitable. If you wait long enough, their flesh will fall away and become useless. In that way, they become less and less effective."

The young man embraced her quickly again before continuing on.