"You've grown again!" Andrahar complained later that evening, flopping down upon the couch in Imrahil's bedchamber. "It would seem there is no justice in Dol Amroth after all."

The young prince, who had unpacked, bathed and enjoyed an evening meal with his sister before retiring to his room, grinned at Andrahar from the bed, where he lounged bare-legged in naught but his shirt and breeches. A cool early autumn breeze blowing through the windows made the room quite pleasant.

"Come now, it is not so bad as all that! Just another inch or so. And who cares if your head fits under my chin anyway? It's rather sweet." One of the sofa pillows was promptly and accurately lobbed into Imrahil's face.

"My head does not come up to your chin! To your nose, yes," Andrahar conceded, "and perhaps a bit beyond. But your chin, no."

Imrahil set the pillow beneath his elbow. "Well, perhaps you'll grow a bit more yourself before all is said and done."

"Possible, but not likely. Neither Mother nor Father were people of great stature."

"Then I shall have to try to restrict my upward progress."

"Just bear in mind that the high ground does not always guarantee the victory."

"It is a victory of sorts. I now have a perfectly good excuse to replenish my wardrobe again."

Andrahar groaned. "Not more endless afternoons at the tailor's shop, Imri!"

"I thought I would go tomorrow. I cannot be seen in the White City looking like a vagabond."

"Surely some of what you have can be altered!"

"Of course. But things look ever so much better if they are made to measure." He flexed an arm and took a deep breath, sticking his chest out with a grin. "And a year of hauling lines has filled me out quite nicely. So it's not just the arms and legs, you see, but the shoulders and chest as well."

Andrahar, who had in fact noticed the way the prince had filled out, and was trying to seem as if he had not, made a noncommittal grunt. Imrahil cocked an eyebrow, and sobered a bit.

"Andra, a year ago, I made you an offer for the wrong reasons, and you were quite rightly offended. I am not seeking to cozen you into anything now, but I will ask you--is there any way I can make that offer again that will not offend you?"

Andrahar's jaw dropped in shock, and he paled to a grey-bronze color. "Why would you wish to?" The question came out in a slightly strangled tone.

"Because you wish to. Because it stands between us, and always will, until we face it. I've been thinking about this a lot lately." Imrahil seemed totally calm and at ease. The knight-probationer took a deep breath and sought to collect himself as well, clenching his hands till the knuckles showed white beneath bronzed skin..

"Imri, I do not know if we should even try. What purpose would it serve? You are the Heir to Dol Amroth, and needs must marry and produce sons. This would only…confuse the issue."

"Would it? I may very well have to make a political marriage, one of convenience. And if that is the case, I will try to deal as fairly with the woman as I can. But am I not entitled to some love as well?"

The Haradrim shook himself, and forced himself to unclench his hands, resting them upon his knees instead. Kedara and Asinyal, he thought a bit self-deprecatingly. The story I have always liked best. But which of us is which? Aloud, he said, "I do not think that I wish to become your mistress, my lord."

Imrahil snorted. "It would hardly be that, Andra! But I might equally say in my turn that I do not wish you to languish for the rest of your life, pining for the unobtainable. Am I a man for men? I do not think so, but having had no experience at all, it is possible that I could be mistaken. You are my friend. I love you, and I trust you. And I am willing to try this with you, if that is your wish, so that we may see where it might lead us." He rolled off the bed and strode to the door. The sound of the bolt shooting home made Andrahar jump.

"Right now?" he asked in a choked voice.

The young prince grinned, that rakehell grin that usually preceeded a night's forbidden adventures. "Unless you had some better idea about how to pass the evening. Did you?" Andrahar shook his head mutely. Imrahil came back to stand beside the bed, and sublimely unselfconscious, shucked his shirt and smalls and breeches, draping them neatly over a bedside chair. He let Andrahar look his fill for a moment, then yanked down the coverlet and hopped up onto the bed. "Off with that uniform, sir!" he commanded, still grinning. "I wish to see how you've filled out!"

Cheeks suddenly flushed, Andrahar began to remove his clothing, cursing inwardly as he did so. The prince's self-assurance and confident command in a situation where Andrahar should rightly have been taking the lead were almost annoying. And at least one part of him had filled out quite swiftly while watching Imrahil strip, which was rather humiliating. But though the Heir could not have helped but notice, he said nothing, merely holding the covers open so that Andrahar could slide in. Once the Haradrim had done so, the young prince slid his arms about him, and pulled him close, till they were resting with their brows touching.

"So, how have you been since I've been gone?" Andrahar pulled back slightly, to stare at Imrahil in astonishment.

"You make me get into bed with you naked, and now you want to talk? That's perverse and cruel, Imri!"

"But I've not seen you in the longest time! I promise we'll move onto other things soon." His hands seemed to confirm that promise--they were gently stroking Andrahar's back and shoulders. "You're tense. Relax."

Andrahar was tense because his body was arched slightly away from Imrahil's, so as to avoid pressing his aching member against his friend and frightening him.

"I'm relaxed enough." Imrahil smiled.

"I don't think so." And one of his hands slid down over Andrahar's buttocks, to pull him up snug against the prince's body. The Haradrim groaned as he felt himself pressed against the warmth of Imrahil's belly. The other hand stroked blue-black hair away from Andrahar's face.

"I expected to come back and find you'd won your white belt already. What happened?" The prince seemed unconcerned about Andrahar's state. He was not excited himself yet, though the knight-probationer could feel him starting to stir, and his eyes were beginning to darken to that storm-grey they got when he was aroused.

"Your sister happened!" Andrahar declared, suddenly relaxing in Imrahil's arms and surrendering to the prince's desire to converse. He had just recollected that Imrahil often fell back upon his conversational abilities when he was nervous or out of his depth, and the knowledge that the prince was probably nowhere near as confident as he seemed heartened Andrahar considerably. I shall chat him up like a woman if I must, if that is what he needs. He began to stroke the prince's back as well. "She got the idea that she should look after me while you were gone. So instead of winning my white belt in border skirmishes, I've been attending her while she shops and takes tea with her friends, and rides forth with Lord Denethor. For whom I've been an unending source of entertainment, as he speculates on who my contacts in Harad are, and how much information I'm passing to them."

"Lord Denethor thinks you're a spy?" The Heir's back flexed beneath Andrahar's hands. "Oh, right there, if you please. There's a sore spot."

Andrahar rubbed the offending area. "He is certain of it. But he dares not do anything, because he knows I am high in your father's favor, and he does not want to offend Prince Adrahil. It doesn't help that I am teaching Captain Thorongil the Umbarian dialect in the evenings."

"The mysterious Captain Eagle of the Star, huh? What is he like?"

"He was here sparring with me when you came in. Did you not see him?"

"No. I was concentrating on other things." The Haradrim rubbed the back spasm harder, by way of reward. Imrahil grinned, his eyes twinkling. "What is he like?" he asked again. "Should I be jealous?"

Andrahar rolled his own eyes at the inference. "I do not think he is a lover of men, though I thought once that he might be. There is much more to him than he lets on. He claims to come from Rohan, but that's not where he learned his blade work. He is the best I've ever seen with a sword, Imri, and that is the truth."

"Well! That is saying something indeed, coming from you! Is he teaching you some of his tricks?"

"Some. But he will not speak of who taught him swordplay. I find it odd--my people are proud of their swordsmanship schools. An excellent pupil lends credit to his master, and should acknowledge his master publicly. There is a great deal that is strange about that man. Like a mountain in the sea he is--the little peak showing, the rest of it buried below the waves."

Imrahil chuckled at this rare display of poesy from his usually blunt friend, and slid his hand down over Andrahar's hips and buttocks once more, letting it drift with a random quality that was tantalizing in the extreme. Andrahar closed his eyes and groaned softly.

"You are killing me here, Imri!"

"'Tis not my intention, I assure you. But it has been a long time for you, has it not? Unless you've been busy in other ways besides winning your belt since I've been gone." Andrahar shook his head, and the young prince smiled. "No? Then perhaps we should ease this tension of yours, so that you may better concentrate upon matters." And with that, he slipped his wandering hand between the two of them and closed it gently upon the source of Andrahar's discomfort. The knight-probationer jerked, but Imrahil's other arm was snug about his shoulders, preventing escape.

Andrahar had seen those slender, clever hands in action upon many occasions, for though he never intruded upon Imrahil's actual couplings, he'd witnessed the prologues often enough. And he'd often fantasized about how they would feel upon his own flesh. The reality was not a disappointment--the young prince seemed to instinctively know what combination of speed and pressure would be most officious, and in but a few quick strokes brought Andrahar shuddering to his release.

Panting, the Haradrim relaxed and let his head sink onto the pillow. Imrahil dropped a fond kiss onto his brow and rolled out of the bed to fetch a damp towel from the washstand, which he used to clean his friend up. Andrahar protested.

"Imri, 'tis not seemly. Let me do that myself!"

"Hush, 'tis something I want to do for you." Ablutions swiftly completed, he slid back into the bed. "There now, feeling a bit more relaxed?"

"Yes, my lord. Thank you." A bit of worry entered Andrahar's mind then, for despite the amorous nature of Imrahil's attentions to him, the prince was still not aroused, seemingly stalled in a half-way state. "Has it been a long while for you as well?" he asked his friend curiously.

Imrahil chuckled. "What, are you accusing me of playing the cabin boy?" When Andrahar did not answer, the Heir slid his fingers back into the Haradrim's blue-black hair and began smoothing it once more. "The Asfallin only puts into port in Dol Amroth, which I understand was Father's way of leashing me. But to do him credit, he did not cancel my account at the Fairweather, and I used it every time I was ashore. Hit the Drunkard's Dream as well, on the way up the River." That was somewhat reassuring to Andrahar. Hot-blooded as he is, it may be that Imri has simply become used to going without for a longer time. And he did sate himself on the way here.

"Why are you here?" the knight-probationer inquired aloud.

"Because I heard that you were. And I wanted to see Fin as well, and she's never home any more. Father said I may stay for a time, and train with Uncle Aerandir, though he also says that Uncle has done nothing to deserve me." Andrahar snorted.

"That much is certainly true!"

"I did like my time at sea, though," Imrahil said almost wistfully. "It would be nice to command a ship of my own one day. How do you feel about it?"

"The sea? It's an overlarge, treacherous body of water that's no good for anything. Why?" The Heir's face fell.

"Ah well then, I suppose that getting my white belt will keep me busy enough in any event." Andrahar cocked his heavy eyebrow.

"Imrahil, you asked me how I felt about the sea, not whether I would follow you onto it. If you go to sea, then I will go with you, if that is your wish. I daresay you'll get into just as much trouble there as on land."

The reward for his sacrifice was one of Imrahil's most melting smiles. "Thank you, Andra," he breathed, then rolled over onto his back, spreading his thighs slightly. "Come here." Andrahar moved closer, only to be grasped by the arms and pulled atop his liege. "Are you ready to start now? Here I am. Do with me what you will."

Andrahar looked down at him in confusion, and tried to draw away.

"Imrahil, that would not be seemly! You are the prince, and of greater rank. It is my place to submit to you."

The prince tightened his grasp upon his friend, holding him in place. "Such overweening concern about what is seemly, Andra! You are the one who knows the way of this, so you should be the superior partner. And besides," and here he sobered a bit, "I know that because of your past you do not enjoy submission. 'Tis better done this way."

"I would yield to you willingly, and take pleasure from it!" Andrahar protested, matching actions to words and ceasing his resistance. He relaxed onto Imrahil's chest and dropped his head onto the prince's shoulder.

"I know that," Imrahil murmured in his ear while rubbing his shoulders in gentle circles, "but I do not require it of you. I would feel more comfortable if we did it this way for now. Humor me please, Andra?"

The Haradrim raised his head then, and looked down into the grey eyes alight with affection and trust. And Captain Thorongil wonders why I love you so…"If that is your preference, my lord prince," he said, uncharacteristic softness in his deep voice, "then all shall be done as you desire." He bent his head, and pressed his lips gently to Imrahil's, and when the prince let his mouth obligingly fall open so that Andrahar could do as he wished, the knight probationer deepened the kiss.

For a while simple kissing sufficed, for it was a pleasure that Andrahar had never been able to indulge in, other than giving or receiving a brotherly peck upon brow or cheek. Imrahil's mouth tasted of the brandy he'd drunk at dinner, as eyes closed, he reciprocated as best he could. And Imrahil's best, the Haradrim reflected as he experienced it for the first time, was actually very good indeed. When Andrahar finally drew back to take a breath, the young prince opened his eyes and grinned.

"I forgive you for being able to grow a beard."

"Did I scratch you?" the Haradrim asked, concerned. "I shaved this morning."

"That's right, rub it in! No, no scratching. But it does feel different." He closed his eyes once more. "Do go on." Thus encouraged, Andrahar did so, widening his area of exploration. Imrahil, he discovered, had a terribly ticklish spot on the side of his neck, jerking convulsively when Andrahar nibbled it.

"Evil, torturing Southron!" he gasped. Andrahar laughed.

"Evil indeed, and the torture has just begun!" He deftly applied tongue and lips and teeth to the spot till the Heir was squirming and begging for mercy, then began wandering even further, over chest and shoulders, arms and belly. After years of having to alter the instinctive placement of a hand, of abbreviating touches lest his secret be discerned, it was pure delight to be able to handle Imrahil in any way he wished. The Prince had always been beautiful, and his year at sea had only served to improve him. Andrahar, skating hands lightly over taut muscles, licking and tasting and nibbling his way down Imrahil's torso, enjoyed the new bronze color there, though even at his darkest Imrahil was still a little paler than his friend. Fingers bemusedly tracing the line between bronze and the white skin of the Heir's lower belly, the Haradrim was pleased to see the young prince finally becoming aroused. He slid down even further, and was lowering his head when Imrahil raised his, eyes wide.

"Andra, you don't have to…"

Andrahar smiled sweetly, and quoted the prince back to himself. "Hush, 'tis something I want to do for you." And bent his head and took him in.

So very different this is when done as an act of love, the knight-probationer reflected. It was an act that Andrahar was particularly skilled at, having discovered early on that sometimes, if he was adept enough with this as a preliminary, he need not do anything further to satisfy a customer. But more often than not it had merely been the prelude to an uncomfortable evening, performed on aching knees in an alley or squalid rented room, hard hands holding him in place, forcing him down into what his society deemed was his rightful place. Bastard. Slave. Dirt. Whore. Catamite.

And in truth, his hard-won proficiency had served another purpose besides that of survival, garnering for him some small sense of control in a world which held little. For while it would be unwise for him to withhold pleasure, the knowledge that he could if he wished, or alternatively that he could prolong or hasten it, was a comfort.

Now, on lavender-scented linen, with a prince supine beneath him in total submission, that control was unnecessary, and all he felt was a desire to give pleasure and joy to his partner. And a bit of a rueful realization--that a good many of his fantasies about Imrahil had taken this exact form, with himself in the superior role.

I called him thoughtless once, but in truth there are times when he knows me better than I do myself! Placing his broad brown hands over the Heir's jutting hipbones, he pressed him down into the mattress and set to work in earnest. Imrahil did not grab him by the head or hair or worse yet, ears, but knotted his fingers into the sheets instead, his body arching like a bow against Andrahar's restraint, his head thrown back.

"Valar, Andra!" he gasped, and followed that exclamation with other appreciative noises as the young knight used every trick in his extensive repertoire to bring him to fulfillment. It did not take very long at all before the prince shuddered and cried out, then relaxed limply. Andrahar let him slip from his mouth with a grin.

"There's brandy in a flask in my wardrobe, should you need it," Imrahil panted after a moment, an arm thrown over his eyes, "and some salve there that might serve as well."

"Salve, is it? And brandy in the wardrobe? You were prepared. Though you drink too much, Imri."

The Heir dropped the arm and pushed himself a bit shakily up onto an elbow. "Personally, I don't think the problem is that I drink too much, it's that you don't drink enough." He watched as Andrahar slid off the bed and sauntered over to the wardrobe, to root carefully through the shelves of neatly folded garments. After some searching, the Haradrim found the flask.

"Buried it back there, did you not? Afraid your sister would think you drank too much as well?" The young prince snorted.

"Afraid the chambermaid would take a tipple, if you must know. Ordinarily, I wouldn't begrudge her, but that's from Great-grandfather's reserve, and it was hard come by!" Andrahar regarded the container with new respect, then resumed looking for the jar of salve, which was more easily found. Tossing the salve to Imrahil, he went in search of cups, found a couple upon the sideboard close to the water pitcher and poured for the both of them.

"Goodness, but we're getting high-class here," the prince commented, as the knight-probationer returned to the bed with his booty. "We could have simply shared the flask, you know."

"Do you want to taste the brandy, or yourself?" Andrahar retorted, and astonished, saw the his liege actually blush a bit in response. He would have thought it impossible for a man of Imrahil's experience to be flustered by such a remark. "We won't go any further with this than you want to, Imri," he added more gently, as he dexterously climbed back up onto the bed without spilling anything and handed the prince his cup. "I would not hurt or frighten you for the world."

Imrahil sat up, took it, and bent his head over the brandy. "No, it's all right, Andra. I started this fully intending to finish it." He looked up at Andrahar from beneath his lashes. "You needn't worry that I don't understand what comes next. I've spent too much time around brothels not to know. And while I was at the Drunkard's Dream, besides my usual evening's entertainment, I hired a couple of gentlemen to give me a demonstration, just in case there was anything I'd missed."

Andrahar's jaw dropped. "You did WHAT?"

"I said that I hired a couple of the gentlemen who worked there to give me a demonstration," Imrahil said evenly. "They…performed for me. I watched, and asked some questions, which they readily answered. All in all, it was a very informative evening." Seeing Andrahar's look of disbelief, the prince became slightly defensive. "Surely, Andra, someone with your background realizes that there are people who prefer watching others to participating themselves? I am not one of those people, but I knew that the request would be considered nothing unusual. Which in fact, it was not. The gentlemen in question were happy to oblige, for they are rather attached to each other, and the opportunity to do for profit what they would have been pleased to do for pleasure's sake alone was very much to their taste. They were very obliging. You needn't fear that they were forced into it."

"Just how obliging were they?" the Haradrim asked flatly, his mind awhirl. He was trying to decide if the idea of Imrahil paying two men to make love while he observed them was the most appalling thing he'd ever heard, or the most exciting. Or both.

A grin lighted the young prince's face then. "They did offer, actually. Said I'd paid enough to have the privilege. But I didn't take them up on it. That was not why I was there." He sobered again. "I told you I had been thinking about this for a long time. And I wanted to make sure before I made the offer that I knew exactly what I was getting into, and that I wouldn't back out. That was why I did it."

Andrahar took a careless gulp of the brandy, and nearly choked as the heat of it exploded in his throat. He blinked furiously to clear his watering eyes.

"How…how did you feel while you were watching them?" he managed to ask at last. Imrahil cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you mean did I feel excited? Not particularly. Mostly, I was admiring how limber they were. You know that chapter in The Garden of Love? They could actually do some of that without harming themselves! Most impressive, though I fear they set a standard I can never attain." At Andrahar's crestfallen look, he temporized a bit. "They were strangers, Andra. 'Tis not so surprising I would not find them exciting."

"So are your prostitutes, the first time you take them. I can't see that being strangers slows you down much with them."

"Are you going to declare this a failure before we even make the attempt? That is hardly fair--or very much like you! You're usually much more resolute about things. You've pleasured me once already--why are you afraid you will not be able to do so again?" Imrahil quaffed some of his own brandy in a much more competent manner, then reached over to set the cup on the bedside table and fell back upon the pillows once more, grinning up at his friend. Andrahar took another draught of brandy as well, then set his cup beside Imrahil's and joined him.

He does make a valid point, the knight-probationer thought, though mouth-play is a bit different. Imrahil came willingly into his arms, and they began kissing once more. Then the Heir made a small, protesting noise, and groped beneath himself to draw forth the jar of salve and hand it to Andrahar. "You might need that in a bit," he said with a grin, breaking off their kiss briefly, "and I will certainly find this more enjoyable without it digging into my ribs!" Andrahar laid it behind him, out of their way, and resumed kissing and caressing. Eventually, Imrahil gave him a questioning look.

"How would you like to do this, Andra? Shall I get up on my knees?" Andrahar looked down and found the prince not interested yet, though he himself was more than ready.

"I can wait a bit more if I must."

A rueful smile. "I think you may have done too good a job here. And you've waited long enough already. Perhaps if we proceed with things, I'll rise to the challenge once more." With no further ado, Imrahil rolled over up onto his knees and laid his head upon folded arms. Andrahar sucked in a breath at the sight.

"Very well, my lord prince." He laid a gentle hand upon Imrahil's hip. "I will take as long with this as you need, Imri." A silent nod answered him.

Andrahar knew all too well what it was like to be taken by a partner with no regard for his comfort or safety. And as some of those occasions had occurred when he was little more than a child, it was perhaps pure good fortune that he was even still alive. He was determined that any discomfort Imrahil felt would be both slight and transitory.

Unstopping the jar, he began to ready the Heir for further intimacies, interspersing the preparations with encouraging murmurs and soothing stroking. The young prince held perfectly still throughout, breathing slowly and evenly, and trying to stay relaxed, though Andrahar could see the tension in his shoulders. There was a slight response to the Haradrim's explorations, though it was not all that Andrahar would have hoped for. Eventually, Imrahil was as ready as he could be, and Andrahar laid hands upon his hips.

"Imri, may I?" Another wordless nod. The young knight hesitated a moment longer, then claimed what he had dreamed of all the years he had known Imrahil. The Heir tensed and gasped, but stayed steady beneath him. Fully within the prince, the feeling was every bit as wonderful as he had imagined it would be, and it took all the discipline he possessed not to simply finish things by taking Imrahil with fierce swiftness. But when he reached beneath the two of them and found that what little enthusiasm his friend had begun to display was gone, the knowledge tempered his own desire.

"Imrahil, are you all right?" The prince twisted his head up from the pillow a bit, and opened his eyes to look back at Andrahar.

"I am well, Andra. You may proceed, if you like."

Hardly the most romantic of invitations! the Haradrim thought to himself, but leaned over his liege and rubbed Imrahil's shoulders for a moment. "Very well. You need to try to relax more."

"I will do what I can."

But despite his words, he remained tense beneath Andrahar when the knight-probationer began to move. Andrahar was able to temper matters for a while, and spent some time trying to find an angle or speed or level of pressure that would please his friend, but nothing seemed to avail. Finally, it became difficult to hold back, and afraid of hurting Imrahil, he began to withdraw.

"Andra, what are you doing?"

"This is not working for you."

Imrahil spread his legs a little wider and taking a deep breath, pushed back against his friend in an effort to keep him inside.

"I am trying, really I am. We've come this far, you may as well finish. Please, I want you to." Giving in to the plea, Andrahar finally let himself thrust in earnest, and it did not take long before he came to completion with a gasped cry of "Imri!" Sagging heavily upon Imrahil, almost faint with the force of his climax, it took a moment for him to come back to himself and realize that the prince's thighs were shaking. Withdrawing, he moved to the side and lay back upon the bed, drawing Imrahil down to join him. The Heir's face was sweaty and troubled, all his earlier good humor gone, and his black lashes were suspiciously damp. Andrahar was prepared to finish matters with his hand if necessary, but a light touch showed that Imrahil had never again achieved any sort of arousal.

The Haradrim closed his eyes for a moment in an effort to suppress the pain. It is not as I had hoped, but it is as he said--this stood between us. And now that I know with certainty that it will never be, I need to move beyond it…

"'Tis a gift beyond price you have given me this night, Imrahil of Dol Amroth," he said aloud in a gentle voice he almost did not recognize as his own, stroking the prince's damp hair away from his eyes, "but I shall not ask it of you again. I have seen you with your ladies, and I have watched you this evening. You are not a man for men. We ventured this to discover whether you were or no, and I have received my answer."

"T'was only the first time, Andra!" Imrahil protested. "With time and practice, I am sure that I would enjoy it more. You pleasured me well enough earlier."

"That was mouth-play, and as you know, mouth-play, no matter who is doing it, would rouse even the dead!" came the dry rejoinder. "I had thought that, because of your attraction to Lord Gildor and Falastir, you might be a man who could perform with both men and women--such do exist, but you are not such a one. By your own admission, you were unmoved by the men you hired. Can you look me in the face and honestly tell me that you have ever been excited by the thought of going to bed with me?"

The prince's grey eyes were dark with misery. "No, Andra," he admitted softly, "though I have always thought you handsome."

"That is not the same thing, and you know it." Imrahil squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if he were experiencing something of the same sort of pain that Andrahar was. The Haradrim ventured one last gentle kiss upon his lips. "I thank you for your generosity." Getting up swiftly, before his resolve faltered, he moved to the washbasin to cleanse himself.

"You need not go. I would wish for you to stay here," came the somewhat muffled murmur.

"'Tis better if I do not. You do not need Finduilas writing your father about us. And I have escort duty in the morning in any event. She is going riding with Lord Denethor." He scrubbed himself almost savagely with the cloth, dried off, returned to the chair holding his clothes and commenced dressing, aware the whole time of Imrahil's tragic gaze battened upon him.

"I did not mean to hurt you, Andra," he said with a sad sincerity that could not be doubted.

Briskness, Andrahar had found in the past, could serve at times to hide a breaking heart, and he employed it now. "You did not hurt me," he lied. "We needed to know, so we tried. We failed, but now we have the answer to the question, so in fact, the failure served a purpose. We can move on past this now." Pulling his boots on with swift efficiency, he stood and looked over at Imrahil. "I will see you tomorrow evening, my lord."

Imrahil, who was slowly easing himself under the covers, the night having grown cooler than was comfortable, nodded silently. Andrahar went to the door, opened it a crack, and when he discovered no one in the hall, slipped swiftly out, closing it softly behind him. He made his way to his rooms easily enough, encountering no one, and once within, stripped out of his clothes and cleansed himself once more before seeking his rest. Sated in body, but uneasy in mind, it did not come swiftly.

As for Imrahil, after the door closed, the Prince drained the cup of brandy he'd left upon the bed table, then drank the remnants of Andrahar's, then set to work upon the flask itself. The potency of his great-grandfather's best served to calm him enough that he was able to lapse into a semi-drunken slumber eventually. The setting moon as dawn approached picked out the silver tracks upon his cheeks.