Title: Fairy's Lullaby 
Author: Warlady (warladykat@yahoo.com) 
Rating: NC-17  
Disclaimer: All the characters from the "Lord of the Ring" trilogy 
belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. The Fairy Folk belongs to Celtic and Gaelic 
Mythology. I'm not profiting with this writing and do it just for the 
love to Mr. Tolkien's books (and for my personal and your delight, of 
course!).  
Special Warnings: Slash with a sweet plot (Awww!). If you dislike 
things like male/male romantic and sexual relationship don't go any 
further. If you like it and have the correct age (over 17) go ahead and 
enjoy.  
Beta: Hedda and Lin (Love you, girls!) 
Cast: The Nine companions of the Fellowship of The Ring, Queen 
Mab, Robin GoodFellow, Prince Oberon and brief appearance of 
Lord Elrond, Glorfindel, Haldir, Rumil and Orophin.  
Timeline: All the action has its scenario during the time of "The 
Fellowship of the Ring" and "The Two Towers"  
Author's Note: Single quotations around sentences indicate internal 
thoughts. Since
Oberon, Prince of the Fairy Folk denied firmly to take part in this part of 
the plot; I had to ask somebody else to help. So, Epona, goddess of the 
horse riders accepted. I think it has something to do with the fact that she 
could take part in a battle and see the lands of the Rohirrim…and the Men 
from Rohan, of course. For those who watched the movie "The Two 
Towers" and didn't read the book, Gimli never talked about Dwarven 
maidens. The words, put in his lips by the writer of the script for the 
movie, belong to one of the many appendixes included in J.R.R. Tolkien' s 
books. Sorry, I have not idea which one. But, indeed, it explained that 
Dwarven ladies are so alike to their male counterparts as to not be 
recognized as females by the strangers. If they had beards or not, well, I 
could not say it for sure, since nobody ever told that all dwarves had 
beards. For me, Dwarven ladies were so precious for their people as to be 
disguised as males during travels. This strategy was often used by women 
during the Middle Age, to prevent the loss of their virtue if they were 
attacked by bandits. By the way, Haldir never fought in Helm's Deep's 
Battle, he stayed in his land, Lothlórien, comfortably hunting orcs, and he 
stayed there possibly until the final travel of his people to the Undying 
Lands.
Spoilers: Some events of the "Two Towers" book. 
Summary: A mysterious lullaby awakens the deepest feelings of the 
Fellowship's companions and guides them to unsuspected situations. 
Archive: Emerald Ink Well
 

Chapter One 

The nocturnal wind was blowing through the trees of the forest near 
Imladris, and its sound was like a lament for the destiny of the nine 
companions of the Fellowship. 

Since the Moon was new, the night was specially beautiful to watch the 
stars. But most of the Elves preferred to seclude themselves from the 
unnerving howl that had plagued the air . 

Only Lord Elrond had the courage to stand on his terrace along with 
Glorfindel. The latter was uneasy, but he had dared to accompany Elrond, 
more for loyalty than for another reason. 

"The voice of the wind is strange tonight," stated Glorfindel, a sudden 
chilling sensation of fear running up his spine. 

"Indeed my friend, a horrid sound of mourning like this has never been 
heard here at Imladris. But I have heard it, a long time ago. It was the 
night we camped at the limits of Mordor, a day before the great battle. Gil-
galad told us it was the cry of the Banshee, an errant spirit, earth bound, its 
song is the Death's chant. I did not die, as you can see, but many of our 
people went to the Halls of Mandos that day. I cannot forget how that 
sound accompanied us, all that night; it was like it talked to us of 
something that was inexorable. The Edain* did not seem to be affected, 
maybe because they have lived knowing their destiny was to die. But for 
us, the Eldar*, the mourning of the Banshee was terrible like nothing we 
had known before." 

"Yes, I can remember now," Glorfindel sighed, getting paler with the 
renewed memories of the horrible battle. Suddenly, he looked to the Lord 
of Imladris in realization. "Do you think it sings for the Fellowship?" 
asked Glorfindel, grabbing the wooden veranda hard and looking with 
wide eyes into the dark moonless night. 

"I hope not, sincerely, I hope not," said Elrond, walking away from his old 
friend. He could not do anything but hope for the safety of the Fellowship, 
while his mind was filled with the memories of the battlefields of Mordor, 
washed in Elven and Human blood. 

Glorfindel followed him, he could not stand the mournful song any longer. 

*~*

The soft steps of Queen Mab did not leave marks on the velvety grass of 
the forest glade. Her black dress was vaporous, and its dark pleats melted 
with the pure darkness of the night. A lone jewel adorned her forehead; it 
was as bright as Eärendil*, lighting up the perfection of her delicate 
features. 

She walked towards her daughter, who was dancing in a trance. Her 
gloomy voice drowned out all other sounds, soaking everything in 
sadness. Her lithe and slender body was dressed in rags of white linen. 
The red mane of her hair was tousled horribly, falling in long and 
disheveled locks over her face. 

"Banshee, my beloved child, stop this, please." The mellow voice of the 
Queen of All Fairies contrasted with the undulating sound of her 
daughter's cries. 

Banshee looked to her mother. Her cold lifeless green eyes met the clear 
and warm blue ones of her mother. She ceased her song, but the wind 
echoed it back for a long while. "Why, Mother? I must announce the death 
of the Fellowship, it's my duty. I know for certain they will die, all of 
them, all the Nine. There is no trust between them, there's treason, 
suspicion and even hate…their fate is already written, Mother." 

"I believe you, my dear, but, your cry is so sad because it proclaims not 
only their death, but the death of us all." 

"I know it quite well, Mother, but it's none of my concern, because I'm 
already dead inside. Nor can I do anything to prevent it from happening. I 
only sing the truth of it." 

Mab's eyes filled with sorrow. It was true, her daughter's soul was only a 
shadow of what it had been. 

Queen Mab sighed. The song of Banshee would make it all the worse for 
the Fellowship. She turned around and walked away from her daughter, 
her stride imperious and sure; the sad chant renewed at her back. 
She made her way deeper into the woods, where the soft grass changed 
into ferns that brushed against her dress. A sudden melody caught her 
attention. It was a flute tune, enthusiastic and joyful. Only one creature in 
the entire world could be the one playing such music in these terrible 
times. She followed the sound and came to a clear spot between the trees. 
In the middle of the meadow was another of her children. He had a slender 
body like the Fairies, his long silver hair floated around him while he 
danced lightly over the grass; a fine aura of greenish light seemed to 
accompany his movements. She recognized immediately his garments. 
The boots, breeches and long vest of green and brown in different shades. 

"Robin, my dearest and graceful son, only you could try to fight the song 
of Banshee." 

The changeling stopped his dance and gave an impish big grin to the 
Queen. Moving gracefully to meet her, he bowed in respect. "Oh, my 
almighty Queen, it's not my intent to harass that bitter witch, I was only 
practicing around here casually. But if my tunes can torment her, so be it, I 
have killed two birds with a single stone." He laughed heartily, winking. 

The Fairy Queen smiled, her son knew how to make her forget her 
sorrows. "Alas, my child, you know very well her song presages a 
disaster, the end of the light in Middle Earth. And, in this moment, all my 
magic cannot ease this catastrophe." She sighed, the pain in her chest 
piercing like a dagger. 

Robin Goodfellow, came to her and placed a finger on his smirking lips in 
a sign of silence. Then he took her hand and kissed the palm softly. "But 
we can, your Highness. Who says that Banshee is the only one that can 
sing for the Nine?" The glittering eyes of Robin fixed on the pupils of 
Mab and she understood his message. The trickster put the pipe to his lips 
and started to play a lovely melody, the Queen of All Magic chanted a 
love song with all the might of her beautiful voice and put all the power of 
her magic in it. 

*~* 

Frodo Baggins stirred on his bed. Earlier that evening, he had trouble 
sleeping. Lord Elrond had provided him a big bed, soft and comfortable. 
But the humming of the wind carried a weird sense of sadness that filled 
his soul with grief. Then, the howling was silenced for something like a 
song. He had been awakened from his uneasy sleep by the sweetest voice. 

"There's a voice in the wind" came the words of Gandalf, the grey Istari. 
He was sitting on a chair next to the veranda. He had been guarding the 
sleep of the Hobbit. 

"It is a voice? When I was asleep I thought so, but now that I'm awake I'm 
not sure." 

"I understand, Frodo. It's something rare, indeed, the voice of a Fairy. Not 
many have the luck to hear them, they hide from the outside world, even 
from the Elves." 

Frodo listened more carefully and discovered a couple of verses in the 
language of the Elves, blurred a little from the distance. The sound made 
his heart jump for joy, like everything else had disappeared, the One Ring, 
the Dark Lord. He saw his old friend paying attention to the melody, his 
eyelids closed, his head bowed in respect. A strange feeling, like an inner 
heat, started to grow inside his body. It was not unpleasant at all, in fact, it 
was very pleasurable. `It feels a little like…' he blushed, it was 
embarrassing to feel something like that for a friend, especially a friend 
like Gandalf. 

"Frodo" the tired voice of Gandalf brought him back from his thoughts. 

He looked at the wizard. Maybe it was his imagination, but it was like he 
was looking at him for the very first time; this Gandalf was not merely the 
old man he once knew, he could see his pure essence. 

"Yes, Gandalf," his voice came out in a whisper. 

"I'm sorry, I never intended to push you into this adventure. Believe me, 
dear Frodo, because this is nothing like the quest for the treasure of the 
Lonely Mountain. That time I knew almost exactly what would happen, 
but this time, I'm afraid nothing is guaranteed." 

The wizard suddenly looked really old, like the thousands of years of his 
life had fallen on his shoulders in that very moment. 

Frodo saw him suffering; weird as it felt to him, he could see beyond the 
human body of Gandalf, the creature of light that was bounded to that 
body of flesh. He loved that being, the Maia*, Mithrandir*, Olórin*, 
Gandalf, what ever was his name. He truly loved him, always had and 
always would. Compelled by the demands of his soul and his body, Frodo 
lifted from his bed and caught the lips of the old man with his own. 

Gandalf widened his eyes in surprise, but didn't stop the Hobbit. In all his 
long years of using the human guise, he had never been kissed, and the 
soft lips of Frodo felt like heaven. The young Hobbit kissed him, deeply, 
slowly, while his tongue tempted him with soft licks, intending to enter his 
mouth. The Istari opened his mouth and felt the warm and hot invasion. 
Frodo's tongue explored all around, while his arms embraced tenderly the 
neck of the taller man. Before Gandalf realized it, his own tongue had 
joined the action and he was tasting the luscious mouth of Frodo. 

Gandalf parted from Frodo and breathed deeply. His blue eyes met the 
Hobbit's and he saw them darken with passion. He drank in that vision 
eagerly, the soft pale cheeks were now blushed pink, his breath was 
ragged, and the lips of pure crimson wet and parted. 

"Frodo, this is not…" he tried to say, but the Hobbit silenced him with 
another passionate kiss. The objections of the wizard were drowned in a 
sea of desire, a desire that had never been quenched in thousands of years. 
The large hands of Gandalf embraced the small body of Frodo, caressing 
softly his back, his neck and traveling down to cup his rear. 

The Hobbit pulled the wizard to him and tumbled on the bed. The larger 
man was atop him, supporting his own weight on his elbows and knees. At 
last, the old Istari broke the kiss to take some fresh air. 

"Is this what you want, Frodo?" He said, tracing the line of Frodo's jaw 
with his fingers, admiring again the soft and flushed skin of the young 
Hobbit. 

"Oh, yes, Gandalf! This and no other thing, since I saw you the first time." 

His voice came out in a whisper, full of passion and truth. Gandalf kissed 
him painfully slow, while his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. 

Perhaps the wizard's hands were skilful or perhaps he used magic, because 
the Hobbit found himself naked from the waist up. He didn't remember 
having to remove his arms from the sleeves of his shirt. 

The old man's hands touched the taut and soft skin of Frodo's chest with 
sacred reverence; as if the small frame was the most precious jewel his 
ancient eyes had seen. 

Frodo closed his eyes and felt the fevered palms roaming his torso. He 
sighed deeply in pleasure. No one in the Shire, male or female, had 
touched him in such a clever way, firm yet smooth. When Gandalf passed 
his thumbs over his rosy nipples, tracing slow circles, the young one 
moaned and arched his back to meet the touch. 

"Eager are we?" chuckled the wizard and added "Patience, my dear boy, 
we have all the night." 

"But, Gandalf, don't you think you are overdressed?" grinned Frodo, 
playing with the sash at the wizard's tunic waist. 

Gandalf's eyes filled with grief; suddenly he remembered that his body 
was not exactly the perfect match for Frodo's lovely one. "I prefer to stay 
like this, my boy. I couldn't stand your rejection. But don't worry, I'll 
please you in every way you want" He smiled, but his eyes couldn't hide 
his pain. 

"Nonsense, I want you, all of you, naked, now" sulked Frodo, taking away 
the sash and attacking the hem of the grey tunic. He had not magic, but in 
seconds he had undressed the astonished wizard's upper body, the only 
remains of his garment were a pair of grey pants. 

Gandalf looked at him in awe, while his arms tried to cover his body. 
The Hobbit observed him appreciatively, `not so slim, not so fat, and 
strong in frame because of the unending journeys, not bad at all for a man 
of his age' he thought smiling at the wizard. 

"I told you, I want all of you!" Frodo smiled impishly, circling the neck of 
Gandalf again. He planted a searing kiss on his lips and straddled his lap. 
The Hobbit rubbed his butt against the swollen manhood of the wizard and 
he moaned against his lips in response. 

The Istari was having the most incredible experience of his life, and it was 
making him grow harder with every minute. The sensation of the soft lips 
crushing against his mouth, the hard bulge of Frodo's arousal against his 
stomach, and the promise of something unknown and secretively wanted; 
all those things were making his body burn with a fire he had not known 
before. 

Without breaking the kiss, the wizard's hands went to Frodo's breeches 
and swiftly undid the laces that kept his sex concealed. He took the 
garment away in one movement and caressed the hard testimony of 
Frodo's arousal. 

The Hobbit gasped and closed his eyes, while the long fingers of Gandalf 
enclosed his flesh, stroking in a rhythmical way. 

"Oh, Gandalf, yes, yes!" he whispered, his swollen shaft throbbing with 
each pump of the wizard's hand. 

The Istari looked at the young Hobbit's joy and smiled inwardly, he would 
do anything for him, Frodo, his dear Frodo. Increasing his pace, Gandalf 
made Frodo whimper and moan again and again. 

Suddenly, the Hobbit's body tensed and arched, while a single word 
escaped his panting lips: "Gandalf!" 

Frodo's seed, warm and slick, coated the palm of the wizard's hand, while 
he collapsed down on the mattress, breathing heavily, semiconscious, the 
waves of ecstasy still washing over his body. 

Gandalf lifted from the bed and rinsed his hand with some water from the 
jar on the night table. After drying it with the hem of his tunic, he waited 
for Frodo to recover. In the meantime, he caressed Frodo's face again, his 
lips, the fine line of the nose, the small and perfect chin. 

"Gandalf, that was wonderful!" sighed Frodo, his eyelids half closed, the 
thick and black eyelashes keeping perfect guard over his deep blue eyes. 
He was beautiful, and Gandalf leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips. 

"Gandalf, it's your turn, let me please you," said the Hobbit, touching 
boldly the chest of the wizard, the small hand tracing his way down to the 
waist of Gandalf's pants. As swiftly as before, when he removed the tunic 
of the wizard, Frodo loosened the trousers laces and slid his hand inside. 
With wide eyes he touched Gandalf and held his breath at the recognition 
of the old man's superiority in size. He was well endowed, even for a man. 
Gandalf grunted in the back of his throat and inhaled deeply, feeling the 
warm intrusion of that small hand like a torch of pure pleasure, burning 
him. 

Frodo felt the efforts of his friend not be so vocal and he chuckled. "Oh, 
come on, give me the pleasure to hear you moan" he grinned and pulled 
the wizard's last piece of clothing all the way off. Gandalf's manhood 
sprang free and the Hobbit looked at it, smiling widely; crawling on the 
bed he straddled his thighs and grabbed Gandalf's shaft with both hands. 

The wizard shut his eyes and panted hard when Frodo started to stroke 
him slowly. Throughout all his life he had kept his mind and body away 
from all the sexual rewards of the flesh, and in that moment he wondered 
why. He fought bravely his desire to cry out, but lost miserably, and 
finally moaned, panted and even whimpered under Frodo's ministrations. 

Frodo stopped suddenly, and the wizard looked down to see what had 
happened. The vision of the small mouth of the young one opening over 
his shaft hit him and he could barely breathe before a wet and burning 
cave enclosed his flesh. He writhed, and moaned louder this time, while 
the sweet lips of Frodo sent him into paradise. The Hobbit was giving him 
such intense sensations, that he could swear his life was going to end at 
any moment. His climax was so close that it hurt. Then all of a sudden, 
Frodo stopped again. 

The wizard looked at him, half angry half frustrated. "Why did you stop?" 
He said between gasps. 

"It's time for the main course, Gandalf," the Hobbit said, licking his lips. 

Descending from the bed, he looked inside his travel bag that was placed 
over one chair. He extracted a phial from the bag and handed it to the 
wizard, who took it, with a face of total puzzlement. Frodo climbed 
swiftly to the bed. "Open it" he said to the confused wizard. 

The old man obeyed. A sweet smell of mint came out from the flask. The 
Istari put a little of the liquid on his palm and realized it was perfumed oil. 
He was about to ask the use of such a thing in that moment when the idea 
hit him. 

"I don't know if I can, Frodo, I mean…" He looked down at his still 
pulsating shaft and then looked at the small frame of his friend. 

"Don't worry, Gandalf, I trust in you. And I'm dying to feel you inside of 
me" he said to the wizard. 

Gandalf realized his eyes were dark with lust and longing. Oh, such a 
vision of paradise was that, his dear Frodo wanting to be one with him! 

The young Hobbit spread and lifted his knees, then grabbed his legs with 
his hands to make it easier to access his opening. 

The wizard looked at the little pink hole with doubt, but the sight of Frodo 
in such a position encouraged him. He spread some of the oil over one 
finger and placed its tip against the tight entrance, slowly sliding it inside 
while staying alert to Frodo's response. The Hobbit gasped and sighed. He 
moved his slick finger out and reinserted it again, and a soft whimper 
escaped Frodo's lips. Gandalf repeated the motion for a while, obtaining a 
series of moans and gasps from the Hobbit. 

"Oh, please, Gandalf, give me another finger!" He pleaded. 

The wizard did it with pleasure. The second finger entered the puckered 
entrance and he waited till the Hobbit became used to it, then started 
scissoring his fingers to stretch him. In the meantime, he had discovered a 
little spot inside Frodo that made him cry in bliss anytime it was hit. So, 
the wizard made sure to touch him there at every movement. Some time 
later he had a very aroused Hobbit under him. 

"Now…Gan...dalf…I…want you…inside of me!" He cried out, breathless. 

Gandalf spread oil on his palms and covered his big shaft with it. Taking 
Frodo's calves in his hands he positioned the head of his manhood at the 
Hobbit's tight opening and pushed softly.

Frodo gasped and bit his lower lip, the first movement in was agonizingly 
painful and he knew it, but he didn't make a single sound of protest. 

Suddenly, Gandalf pushed harder and he was entirely inside. 

The sensations hit Gandalf and Frodo so abruptly that both of them were 
without words, and limited to gasps and sighs while their systems adjusted 
to the load of feelings. 

Frodo had felt his body tear apart, but the friction of Gandalf's shaft 
against his gland had been amazingly delicious. 

The wizard felt himself sheathed in a hot envelope of pulsating flesh and 
he barely could restrain the impulse to come at that moment. 

"Are… you… Ok?" He managed to ask to the Hobbit, who had his eyes 
closed and his lips pressed tightly together. 

"Yes, just wait a moment" he whispered, while his small body got used to 
the huge invasion. Frodo relaxed, second after second, till he finally could 
feel nothing but a sensation of fulfillment. "Now, Gandalf, slowly at the 
beginning, Ok?" he said. 

The wizard pulled a few inches out and then thrust back slowly, then 
repeated, till he built up a tempo. He looked worriedly at the face of 
Frodo, but he calmed down when the latter shuddered and shifted his hips 
to meet his thrusts. 

The Hobbit moved faster and encouraged him to increase the pace. After 
some minutes they were making love in perfect unison, their bodies 
sweating, their moans and sighs mixing in the air. 

"Oh…Gandalf…faster…faster" Frodo called and the wizard pumped 
almost savagely against him. "Yes, yes, that's it, oh, Gandalf, oh, I'm 
almost there…!" Frodo cried and in a split second his eyes widened like 
deep blue pools of lust then closed again and his loud cry filled the room. 
His spasms of release sent the wizard to the edge and he groaned while the 
climax washed over him like a giant wave, his body trembling and his 
seed filling Frodo's body. 

Gandalf rolled off of the young Hobbit and stayed silent for a while. Their 
breathing was the only sound, besides the Fairy's sweet voice; it still 
floated in the air, soft and soothing. Frodo curled against the wizard's 
body. 

"I love you, Gandalf" he whispered and kissed him briefly. 

"I'm afraid I love you as well, my dear Frodo," the Istari pulled the small 
Hobbit closer to him in a tight embrace. 

The drowsiness that often follows orgasms engulfed them slowly, and 
finally they fell asleep. The Fairy's lullaby continued, guarding their 
dreams cradling them in the silky arms of unconsciousness. 

*~* 

The next morning, Frodo and Gandalf woke up early. After sharing a very 
needed bath, they dressed and were almost ready to take their last 
breakfast at Imladris when Frodo suddenly looked at the Istari with doubt. 

"Gandalf?" said the Hobbit quietly. 

"Yes, Frodo" 

"It's about the song of the Fairy. Did I tell you that I could recognize a 
couple verses in Elvish?" 

The Istari looked at his lover and widened his eyes. He had heard the 
same, the wind carried those verses on its wings more clearly than the rest 
of the chant. He was about to answer when the soft voice of Frodo sang in 
Elvish: 

"Stronger than bonds of loyalty and friendship, are the ties of love. And if 
the Nine join in love, nothing could defeat them, ever." 

Gandalf smiled, his eyes were sparkling in a very familiar way. 

"Yes, those were the words. It seems the Fairies had caught us in their 
charm." 

Frodo's eyes filled with pain. "It means this is no more than a magic spell? 
I can't accept that, Gandalf, I know this is real!" He almost screamed his 
statement. 

"Hush, my love. Don't worry, I know it. Our feelings are not a product of 
witchery, cause feelings can't be bent by any kind of magic. But the way 
in which they conquered our bodies, that's a different story altogether." 
Frodo smiled, and admitted to himself that his acts of the night before had 
been really out of his common nature. Most of his past lovers had pursued 
him, he had never took the initiative before. He blushed remembering the 
great performance of Gandalf, and the way the wizard had took him to the 
highest peak of his life. Frodo knew that the Istari loved him, cause only 
real love could give somebody the perfect feeling of fulfillment that 
lingered in his mind as well as in his soul. 

"That means that we probably were not the only ones affected by the 
magic." Said Gandalf chuckled. 

"You mean…the other members of the Fellowship?" Frodo looked to 
Gandalf in awe. 

"Yes, the spell was meant for us, The Nine, I'm certain now. If there were 
sleeping feelings of love inside the other's hearts they are probably wide 
awake now." 

"And if there were not?" 

"There is a long journey before us. Time will gave us that answer" 

"Time? But the song is over now" 

"Dear Frodo, the Fairies are what one can call persevering creatures. They 
won't give up easily" 

"Then…" Frodo's sentence died on his lips. The eyes of Gandalf said more 
than words could possible describe. He knew very well how his cousin 
Pippin had always had a special feeling about Merry. 

"Let's have breakfast, Frodo. This riddle is going to resolve in time," said 
the wizard and bent down to plant a chaste kiss on the Hobbit's lips. 

End Chapter One

Edain: Elvish word (Sindarin), it means "The second ones", refers to Men 
of the Three Houses of the Elf-friends.  

Eldar: Elvish word (Quenya), it means "People of the Stars", refers to the 
race of the Elves.  

Eärendil: Elvish word (Quenya) means Sea-lover. As a star, Eärendil 
corresponds with Venus.  

Maia: One of the lesser Ainur, of lower status than the Valar. In 
correspondence with Angelic Mythology he could be an Guardian Angel. 
(Authors note)  

Mithrandir: Elvish Word (Sindarin) means "Gray Pilgrim". Name used by 
the Elves for Gandalf .  

Olórin: Another of Gandalf's names, this one is probably his real name. 



Chapter Two 
 

Robin Goodfellow was flying through the canopy. His appearance was 
breathtaking. Long silver wings that melted with the colors of Lothlórien, 
his face, ordinarily pale, was now even clearer, radiant with unnatural 
light. His silvery hair floated around him catching sparkles of sun and 
reflecting it back like diamond dust. Prince Oberon, Queen Mab's Heir, 
was flying at his side. 

"Tell me again, my obnoxious brother, why in the name of Avalon do we 
have to use these guises?" Robin complained, floating around the Prince. 
The handsome and serene face of Oberon was enigmatic. He just looked at 
his younger brother and sighed. His attire, plain and elegant at the same 
time, was a total contrast with Robin's. From his black breeches to his dark 
blue short tunic, they showed the demeanor of the owner. His wings, as 
well as his long hair, were the deepest shades of black and blue. 

"My irresponsible brother, we have to use this form to avoid the curious 
and sharp eyes of the Elves," said Oberon. He had explained it over and 
over again to Robin, yet he kept on complaining. 

"But, why don't we just use Elvish clothes and guise?" argued Robin. 

"Because we are not Elves, that's why. I could see it, you and I, using 
Elvish clothes; the Guardians of Lothlórien would certainly shoot us with 
their bows before asking who we are. Remember how they pointed their 
arrows at the Fellowship, even when they knew of their mission. Now, 
imagine what they would > do, since they don't know us!" 

"Oh, dear, speak for yourself, there are three Lothlórien's Marchwardens 
who know me very well!" Robin used his most impish grin and Oberon 
rolled his eyes. So, the rumor was true. For Avalon's sake, his brother was 
a disgrace! 

Oberon landed on a high branch. 

Robin did the same and looked down. In the meadow he saw the most 
amazing caravan, eight travelers wearing blindfolds and three Elves 
guiding them through the forest. 

"Such a ludicrous sight, don't you think?" laughed Robin and almost fell 
from his perch. 

"Shut up, you idiot, or they will hear us!" Oberon's voice cut like cold 
steel. 

"All right, your Highness, don't kill me, I will be a good Fairy," said 
Robin, mockingly and put on a facade of innocence. 

The caravan passed and Oberon sat on the branch. His eyes were as 
beautiful as his Mother's, but were less warm, more calculating. He looked 
at the now empty path. "Why is our Queen so interested in such 
foolishness, Robin? I mean, the Ring Bearer's heart is shattered in pieces 
because he lost his love at Khazad-dûm. And if she hadn't sung to them 
that night maybe they would never have ended up so in love. 

Robin sat at his side and wrapped his slender arm around his shoulders. 

"Oberon, don't be silly. If our wise Mother had not done what she did, they 
would be dead long ago. The love of Gandalf was Frodo's anchor and 
strength." 

"Yes, I know, but now that he has lost him…" Oberon bit his lip. 

"Oh, come on, brother, bury your worries, we are here to finish what our 
Queen began," Robin stated, his face were glowing with joy. How he 
loved the schemes of his Mother! 

"And what we are supposed to do? Find a new lover for Frodo?" 

"We don't need to do such a thing. What the Ring Bearer needs now is not 
a lover, but a true friend, and Sam Gamgee already loves him enough to 
throw himself into the flames of Mount Doom. His loyalty would be 
enough, you will see!" 

"Then, what is our mission here?" asked Oberon. He felt a little hurt 
because his mother had given the details to Robin, and left him out of the 
plot till their arrival at Lothlórien. 

Robin smiled widely; taking out his pipe he played some notes. Then, he 
opened a leather bag that was hanging from his belt and drew from it 
another pipe. He handed it to his brother. "You have not forgotten how to 
play it, have you?" The Fairy teased with a smirk on his lips. 

Oberon put the pipe to his lips and mimicked perfectly the notes his 
brother had played. 

"Right, then, my Prince, we have work to do!" said Robin. He jumped 
from his perch and glided on the wind, heading towards Caras Galadon. 

*~* 

"Mithrandir, Mithrandir" sang the Elvish voices; a lament for the Grey 
Istari filled the city of Caras Galadon. 

Frodo was devastated, his battered body was not as hurt as his poor soul. 
He curled painfully on his bedroll, shuddering. 

Sam Gamgee was attending him the best he could; he knew very well how 
much his master loved Gandalf. Now that the wizard was dead, he was 
worried about Frodo's health. It was like the wound in his shoulder had 
opened again. 

But there was something else, the eyes of Galadriel. Those disturbing 
thoughts that had surged in Sam's mind when the she-elf had turned her 
eyes on him were plaguing him even now. If he, a poor servant, had been 
tempted in that way, how had it been for The Ring Bearer? He placed 
another blanket over Frodo and lay at his side to warm him with his own 
body. 

Sam was not the only one who was distressed, so were his companions. 
Boromir was the worst of all. 

The Son of Gondor was roaming through the Golden Forest. Earlier that 
day he had shared his fears with Aragorn. Now he was regretting his 
weakness. He had betrayed his Father, opening his heart like that to the 
heir of Isildur. He had talked about the White City, and the Tower of 
Ectelion. He had practically given his loyalty to this unknown man who 
was about to steal his Father's Kingdom. `It's not my Father's Kingdom, 
it's his, it's Aragorn's right by blood' he was repeating to himself again and 
again. 

He leaned against a tree and sighed. `Why have I done it?' He bit his lip 
and the terrible answer came to his mind. `I've done it because I love him, 
because I desire him. And I would throw my love at his feet like I was the 
cheapest whore of Gondor if I only knew he would love me the same'. The 
realization was unbearable and his eyes flooded with tears. The sudden 
melody of a bird brought him back to reality. It was a strange sound. Even 
though he had been in these woods for some days, he had never heard it 
before. It was like all the other birds had ceased to sing to let the clear 
tones of this tune fill the air. 

"Oh, it is a robin!" the voice of Haldir startled Boromir. The insufferable 
Elf had approached him in total silence. 

The Elves made Boromir feel very uneasy, the silence of their stride, and 
the elegance of their movements. He felt secretly relieved when he 
discovered that only Galadriel could read minds. 

Haldir looked up to the canopy and smiled, his face radiant. "It is a shame 
I cannot follow his melody, since I have to part to the east border to keep 
my watch" 

"Why should someone want to follow a robin's chirp?" asked Boromir 
nonchalantly. 

"Oh, because the song of the robin could guide you to a rewarding 
experience" replied Haldir, a sultry smile drawn on his luscious and full 
lips. "I surely recommend that you, Son of Gondor, follow its song. I can 
speak from experience about these things." The Elf turned around and 
walked away from Boromir. 

Boromir watched Haldir as he disappeared into the forest. `And I surely 
doubt your sanity, Elf' he remarked inwardly. However, having nothing 
better to do, he found himself following the advice of Haldir. 

His steps were slow, but he realized that the walking was making him feel 
better. The melody of the bird reminded him of something. Now that he 
paid more attention to it, it sounded like the song he had heard the night 
before their departure from Rivendell. He laughed at his own silliness, 
`Boromir, you are hallucinating. Birds don't sing, they just chirp. And if 
you keep on taking advice from the Elves, you will probably end up 
sleeping with your eyes open, just like them'. He halted and let himself 
drop to the ground beneath a tree, the bird was now singing louder, and it 
seemed that it was perched right above his head. 

Weird as it sounded to him, the melody was quite similar to the lullaby 
that had made him sleep so well the last night at Rivendell. He closed his 
eyes and remembered that night. He had dreamed of Aragorn, his eyes 
fixed on him, his hands on his skin. It had been one of his most lustful 
dreams…and he had liked it. A smile curved his lips. Yes, he had desired 
the Heir of Isildur since the first time he saw him. 

Those feelings were not alien to him, living among soldiers he had shared 
his bed and his heart with men. `Oh, wouldn't it be just great, Boromir, to 
be loved by the future King?' he thought and leaning comfortably against 
the tree he dozed. 

*~* 

Aragorn was walking through the woods, his soul filled with many 
different feelings. Suddenly the burden of leadership had fallen on his 
shoulders, and he found it was a heavy burden, indeed. Since they had lost 
Gandalf everything had just gone down hill. Frodo was fading; he couldn't 
imagine how the little one could carry the One Ring to Mordor. 

The eyes of Galadriel had pierced him and had planted the seed of the 
doubt in his heart. Could he possibly accomplish this mission? The voice 
of the Ring was like a vine growing around his self-control, with its soft 
invisible tongue it whispered words of deceit to him. Oh, yes, its words 
were false promises of power. But, how inviting were those lies! 

He knew he was not the only one. Boromir had been seduced by the call of 
the One Ring since the first time he laid his eyes on it. Could he blame the 
Son of Gondor? No, he couldn't, nor the others. The damn thing spoke 
with honeyed words to them. Even Legolas had looked upon the One Ring 
with desire. 

Oh, Boromir! He just wanted to save Gondor. How could somebody 
condemn him? The One Ring meant to him the salvation of his people. He 
was wrong, but no words would dissuade him. His long strides had led 
him deep into the woods. True, he was a Ranger, but for some weird 
reason the forest of Lothlórien tended to confuse him. He was startled by 
the sudden song of a bird. He was sure from its song that it was a robin. 
He looked up and couldn't see the bird, it sounded like the winged creature 
was jumping from one tree to the other. His attention was so focused on 
the bird's melody that he did not realize he was being approached by two 
grinning Elves. 

"Oh, you heard the tune of the robin as well?" said Orophin. The ranger 
almost jumped out of his skin. The blond Elf laughed softly and winked at 
his brother. 

Rúmil smiled at the Ranger and fixed his beautiful eyes on the canopy. 

"An elusive creature, this one, we cannot see it." 

Aragorn looked at them amazed. They could not see the robin? That was 
something remarkable; the Elves acute senses were well known to him. 
Orophin sighed deeply "It is such a lovely melody, pity we cannot stay 
and follow the bird." 

Rúmil saw the doubt in Aragorn's eyes and quickly explained. "It is a fact 
that the song of the robin guides people to unknown and pleasant places. 
Our brother, Haldir, and us used to follow the melodies; those were more 
peaceful times, of course." 

"And what did you find?" asked Aragorn, raising an eyebrow. 

Rúmil and Orophin laughed, a sound as delightful as crystal bells ringing. 

"You could discover it, just let it show you the way." The Elves made their 
way to the East and left Aragorn alone in the meadow. The ranger listened 
in wonder to the song of the robin and shrugging, started to follow the 
sound. 

`Pleasant places,' he thought, `well, that is exactly what I need now' 

A soft blanket of grass and flowers covered the ground of Lothlórien' s 
forest, there were no shrubs or high plants here. His long strides carried 
him confidently; he imagined the city of Gondor with gardens covered in 
the same grass and flowers, a sign of prosperity and peace. He knew it was 
only a fantasy, since the war probably let no time for such simple tasks as 
taking care of a garden. Aragorn sighed deeply, he would love to bring all 
these things back to the people of Gondor, his people. 

The Heir of Isildur was confused. His thoughts were divided between the 
love for the people he didn't know and the love for his companion, 
Boromir. Yes, he loved him. He loved his high and noble demeanor, his 
courage, and his skill with the sword. Aragorn had loved him since their 
first encounter, when their eyes had met, two pair of eyes filled with the 
same ancient fire. 

Never had a woman elicited these kinds of feelings in him. He loved 
Arwen, but that was another kind of love, a love as calm and soft as her. 
She had brought serenity to his soul and body; she was his refuge from the 
uproar of his existence. 

Boromir, oh, Boromir. He had awakened his desires, his passion. The 
movements of the Son of Gondor in the battle were his own movements. 
The arrogant ways of Boromir were his ways as well. And he had 
discovered, from his own lips, that they shared the same fears, the same 
worry for their peoples' destiny. 

Boromir had told him of the White City, the Tower of Ectelion, the silver 
trumpets calling them to their home. In that moment, Aragorn's heart had 
being shattered, because he recognized in Boromir's eyes a deep and 
terrible pain. And, in that moment, he had discovered the immense 
devotion of Boromir for his kin. Did he have the same devotion, or was it 
simple arrogance in recovering what he considered was his birthright? 
Who was he to take a kingdom from those who had kept it safe and strong 
for so long? Aragorn was finally brought back to reality when the melody 
of the bird ceased suddenly. He looked around and his eyes met the same 
familiar surroundings of the Golden Forest, nothing had changed, silver 
trees, green canopy and soft grass. `Maybe their Elven eyes could see 
some difference, but this is no more pleasant than the rest of the forest. 
Well, obviously they were playing a joke on me'. 

He cursed mentally his foolishness for taking advice from Elves when he 
saw with the corner of his eye, something that broke the symmetry of the 
place. His face flushed and his heart jumped inside his chest, because he 
had discovered the object of his love dozing under the shade of the trees. 
He walked silently towards Boromir. He knew that the Son of Gondor was 
a light sleeper, just as he was. They were warriors, and no warrior could 
have the luxury of a deep sleep that could cost him his life. When he 
reached his side he dropped silently to a crouching position and looked at 
him. 

Aragorn smiled. He had never seen him in such peace. Sleep had softened 
his arrogant features and his brow was not furrowed. Even now, when he 
was in the most calmed sleep, the power of his soul showed on his face. 
This was the face of a king, a king from Oesternesse, indeed. He was in 
trance, this sight had a rare quality and he couldn't move, afraid that if he 
looked away the vision would disappear. 

He noted Boromir's relaxed mouth, his lips barely parted. It was a vision 
from Aman. His lips were not too full, not too thin; they were perfect, just 
perfect. Compelled by a burning desire he leaned closer to him, resting his 
hand against the tree for support. Aragorn's mind was clouded, and he 
barely realized what he was doing. When he finally placed his mouth over 
Boromir's lips his thoughts vanished completely. 

Boromir woke up with a start, his hand reaching for the handle of his 
sword, moving by instinct. 

The abrupt motion brought Aragorn back from heaven and he drew back, 
surprised by his own audacity. 

"Aragorn?" was the only reply that came out from Boromir's mouth. He 
was wide-awake now, his brow was furrowed again, but his eyes were 
open in pure shock. 

"I…I…am…sorry," whispered Aragorn, blushing furiously, his eyes fixed 
on the ground. 

Boromir looked at him. Aragorn had kissed him! He was so confused. 
Mainly because he had been dreaming about this…and beyond this. 

"Tell me, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is it your custom to awake people 
with a kiss or is just another weird custom you have learned from the 
Elves?" he surprised himself with the remark, but he could think of 
nothing else to say. He realized that Aragorn was scared and was going to 
flee at any moment, so he reached for his wrist and grabbed it softly. 

"No, don't you dare leave me here like this, at least explain yourself!" 

Aragorn felt the strong hand of Boromir closing around his wrist. An 
explanation, that was all that he was asked for, but for some reason the `I 
did it because I love you' that came to his mind didn't sound too fitting at 
the moment. How could he explain his feelings to him? He was a warrior, 
his companion, a man. Yes, it was awkward, but it was true. He pulled 
together all his courage, raised his face and looked Boromir in the eyes. 
Boromir shook his head; the fear on Aragorn's face was pathetic to see. 
So, he decided to put him out of his misery. He moved swiftly and claimed 
the Ranger's mouth for a kiss. While he moved his lips sensuously against 
Aragorn's mouth he thought `Either he will go with the flow or we will 
end up killing each other'. 

Aragorn was astonished and confused; nonetheless he was enjoying it. He 
opened his mouth and felt Boromir's tongue delving inside in the most 
dominating way. His doubts melted away in the fire of the moment and he 
started to respond to the kiss eagerly. 

`Go with the flow then' thought Boromir and put even more passion in his 
actions. He raised his hands to Aragorn's face and pulled it closer. He 
trailed his fingers through his dark hair, feeling the rough rasp of his beard 
against his face. 

Aragorn lost his balance and fell over Boromir; the Son of Gondor moved 
softly backwards and lay on the ground. 

Pulling his hands down, Boromir encircled the waist of the Ranger. He felt 
the evidence of Aragorn's arousal pressed against his and smiled. 

Aragorn felt it too, he gasped, breaking the kiss. He looked at Boromir, 
under him; the Son of Gondor was flushed and breathless, with a big grin 
on his face. 

"So, Son of Arathorn, did you draw back in cowardice?" teased Boromir, 
trailing his palm slowly over Aragorn's rear. 

Aragorn shuddered and moaned. Boromir had said cowardice, but it was 
more like a little of fear. Leaning towards Boromir again he kissed him, 
roughly, passionately. 

Boromir rolled over with Aragorn in his arms. He ground his hips against 
the Ranger's and felt the satisfying tremor of Aragorn's moan against his 
lips. With skilled fingers he attacked the buttons of Aragorn's shirt and slid 
a gloved hand under the fabric. 

"Take off your gloves," said the Ranger, breaking the kiss. 

Boromir did as he was asked, and removed his cape, the layers of fabric 
and leather that covered his upper body and the heavy coat of mail. He had 
never hated his garments as much as he did at that moment. 

Aragorn followed Boromir's example and did the same, but never looked 
away from him. When he looked at his chest, covered in soft reddish hair, 
he couldn't suppress a sigh of longing. Boromir had not the effeminate 
Elvish beauty, he was tough and strong, his body was muscular, pure male 
in every sense. 

Boromir was naked from the waist up, and was about to take off his 
breeches when he noted the Ranger's craving look. So, he changed his 
mind and took off his boots, one by one, slowly. From the corner of his 
eye he watched how Aragorn's face changed from desire to impatience. 

"Oh, Aragorn, don't be angry, a King has to learn patience. How do you 
think you could show serenity to your people, if you can't show serenity in 
this moment? Don't rush, in this realm time belong to us." He ended his 
task and crawled to the Ranger. He reached over and trailed his fingers up 
Aragorn's thighs until he brushed his arousal softly with the tips of his 
fingers. Then reached down and began to slowly pull off Aragorn's boots.

"Boromir, please," Aragorn's voice coming out in a trembling whisper. 

"No, no, Aragorn, a King never supplicates, he knows his request are 
always fair, so he demands," teased Boromir, his eyes fixed on the 
Ranger's lustful face. 

"Then, Boromir, go faster, I can't wait." 

"That's it, my brother, commanding and confident, that's the proper way 
for a King to speak." Boromir's eyes were dark with desire. He moved up 
to Aragorn and planted a bruising kiss on his mouth. His big hands 
lowered to the Ranger's breeches and peeled them off in one swift motion. 
The sudden rush of cold air on his hardness made Aragorn gasp. He lay in 
the meadow, naked, under the approving gaze of Boromir. 

"These are what I would call royal jewels, my dear King," said Boromir, 
brushing the Ranger's manhood and testicles with his palm. With 
incredible care he took the pulsating shaft in his hand and stroked it softly. 
Aragorn arched his body, his hips moving of their own volition against the 
hand torturing him. 

Boromir smirked and took the hint, increasing his pace. 

This elicited a deep moan from Aragorn. It seemed like Boromir knew 
exactly what to do to make him feel afire. Aragorn was writhing and 
groaning, his mind lost in a whirlwind of passion. 

When the first drops of Aragorn's desire flowed from him, the Son of 
Gondor ceased his movements. 

"Why did you stop?" 

"It's time for you to take me, you won't last much longer. A real King has 
to know his own limits," explained Boromir, taking off his pants. 

Aragorn's eyes widened, the arousal of Boromir was really a sight. Just 
below the dark reddish pubic hair the testimony of Boromir's virility stood 
like a stake of ivory, and glistening pearls flowed from its tip. 

"This, Boromir, is more lovely to me than the tower of Ectelion," said 
Aragorn, reaching forward he lowered his head to the shaft and closed his 
mouth around the firm flesh. 

It was Boromir's turn to groan, he felt Aragorn's burning tongue circling 
and sliding down his manhood. Boromir could tell that the Ranger was not 
an expert, but just the thought of being pleased by the future King of 
Gondor was making him grow harder. He felt his knees go weak and his 
body began to burn. Suddenly, he felt he could not take it any longer and 
grabbing Aragorn shoulders he pushed him away from him. 

"Now, Aragorn, use your hand," he said between labored gasps. 

The Ranger did as he was asked and taking the pulsating flesh in his hand, 
he stroked it firmly and fast. He watched Boromir's face intently, his 
expressions of pleasure increasing his own need. 

It wasn't long before Boromir's body tensed and he groaned his release, his 
seed covering Aragorn's hand. Still panting from the overwhelming 
climax, Boromir got on all fours. He looked at Aragorn, who was looking 
at his palm, coated in the glistening fluid. 

"What are you waiting for, brother? Use it to make your entrance easier." 

Aragorn was struck by the meaning of his words. He had never made love 
to a man before, even though it was commonplace between the Rangers. 

Hesitantly, he positioned himself behind Boromir and started to spread the 
fluid between his buttocks, using the tip of his fingers. 

Boromir gasped, feeling the hesitant movements like a torture to his 
senses. He knew that Aragorn would need some guidance. 

"Now, use your fingers to stretch me." Boromir's voice was husky. 

Aragorn slid one of his fingers slowly inside Boromir's opening. He was 
surprised when a soft gasp came from the Son of Gondor. Remembering 
one of his companion's conversations about making love he pulled out the 
appendage an inch and moved it inside again, then did it repeatedly. 

Changing the angle of his thrusting he touched Boromir's prostate, and the 
latter cried out in bliss. Aragorn felt relieved and dared to add another 
finger, speeding his motions and scissoring his fingers to widen the 
entrance. 

Boromir was in heaven, his manhood stirred again. He had never expected 
this skill from Aragorn, but he was not complaining either. 

"Oh, Aragorn, no more of this, I want you! Conquer me, my King!" Cried 
out Boromir. 

Aragorn pressed the head of his shaft against Boromir's opening and slid it 
inside, inch-by-inch, feeling the tight and hot flesh closing around him. 
Luckily, he could not see Boromir's face, who was clenching his teeth to 
restrain a cry of pain. 

"Now give me some time, a real King has to show mercy to those he has 
conquered, " said the Son of Gondor between gasps. He relaxed his 
muscles as much as he could, breathing deeply to regain some of his 
composure; though it was difficult, since the Ranger's size was more than 
he had ever taken before from a man. It took him a long time to get used to 
the invasion, but finally he relaxed. 

"Bo…ro…mir?" asked Aragorn feeling his self-control failing. 

"Go ahead, Aragorn, but try to move slowly." 

Aragorn started to thrust, his body urging him to slam into his lover, while 
his mind told him not to do it. He didn't want to hurt Boromir; he really 
wanted to make it good for both of them. A sudden inspiration made him 
change the angle of his thrust; he felt his cock rub Boromir's sweet spot. 
Boromir gasped in delight and moved his hips to meet the thrusts. He was 
divided between pain and pleasure, but slowly the pleasure faded away the 
ache. 

"Oh, yes, yes, Aragorn, harder, harder," pleaded Boromir. 

The Ranger increased his pace, and slammed wildly against Boromir, 
grabbing the hips of the latter. That was pure heaven for him, rough love 
making, in a way he could never do with a woman. 

Boromir's body was shaking, while he moaned uncontrollably. Finally, the 
King of Gondor was loving him; he was pleasing him, riding him, filling 
him. His manhood was hard as steel, pulsing with need. 

Aragorn reached around his lover and took his hard flesh in his hand, 
stroking in tempo with his thrusts. 

Both man were sweating, while their lustful groans echoed through the 
peaceful forest. 

Boromir was the first to reach climax, and he cried out to the sky, his body 
tensing and trembling. 

Aragorn's release came just a second later, he groaned gutturally, while 
spending his seed inside Boromir. Both fell to the floor, the Ranger over 
the Steward's son, panting and feeling the after shocks washing through 
their bodies, legs entwined, hearts beating in total disorder. 

After many long minutes, Aragorn pulled his spent member from Boromir 
and tried to stand. His body didn't respond and he just lay beside Boromir, 
breathing hard. 

"Oh, Boromir!" he said closing his eyes. 

Boromir rolled, he winced, the pain in his tender rear more evident now 
that the ecstasy had passed. 

"My dear King, it seems you are more well endowed than I had 
supposed," he chuckled, changing his position to lie on his side. He 
suspected that he would pass the following nights sleeping this way. 

Aragorn opened his eyes, and looked at Boromir full of concern. 

"I didn't intend to hurt you, if I had known…" 

"If you had known you probably would not have done it, and that would 
have been a terrible shame. Remember, Aragorn, a real King has to know 
when a minor loss can bring a major victory". Boromir smiled and 
caressed Aragorn's face with his hand. 

Aragorn leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. 

"Who taught you about the things that a real King has to know?" asked 
Aragorn, purring softly. 

"My Father told me, he never imagined the real King of Gondor would 
return. But, now that I don't need those lessons, I am teaching you, so you 
can do right by our people," Boromir smiled. 

"This means you accept me as your King?" 

"I thought that was very clear by now," Boromir said, kissing Aragorn's 
lips softly, then added "Maybe this is none of my concern, Aragorn, but, I 
have to ask you, was it lust, love or both?" 

Aragorn blinked, he had never expected such a direct question. He smiled, 
sure of his answer. 

"This is your concern, my dear Boromir, and it was both." 

"Good, because, it's the same with me," replied Boromir, smirking.

"You are not very romantic, are you?" said Aragorn rising a questioning 
eyebrow. 

"No, and I'm sure you have enough of that with Elrond's daughter" 

That reply should have made Aragorn angry. But, for some weird reason, 
it didn't. 

"And, now that I mention it, what are we going to do about it. I mean…" 

"Don't worry, we will live quite close to each other in Gondor; and since 
you are the son of the Steward, I'm sure we can pass enough time together, 
attending the Kingdom's business, of course." Aragorn smiled widely and 
kissed Boromir briefly. 

Both men laughed loudly and then stood. They collected their discarded 
garments and dressed in silence. 

"Aragorn, remind me to thank that insufferable Marchwarden, he surely 
knew what he was talking about." 

"So, you followed the robin, too," replied Aragorn surprised. 

"Yes, and it looks like you did the same. Well, bless the bird, I really 
thank the little beast." 

"So do I, Boromir." 

As if both of them had had the same idea, they looked up to the canopy 
and shouted. 

"Thank you, robin!" 

"You're welcome, my friends," whispered Robin Goodfellow from a high 
branch. 

*~* 

"So, they finished their…transaction?" asked Oberon, frowning. His 
slender and dark figure contrasting with the silver branch of the tree where 
he was perched. 

"Yes, brother. They made love in such a way! And you would be as 
envious as I am, if only you wouldn't fly away like a coward." 

"My mission was to take the Ranger to your trap, not to stay and look how 
they mated like wargs in heat." 

"I will never understand you, Oberon, it is such a delight to watch the 
success of Mother's plans." Robin's face was flushed and his pupils were 
dilated, darkening his normally light eyes. 

"Sorry, Robin, but I don't like to watch as much as you do, especially if it's 
that kind of love making," replied Oberon wincing in disapproval, then 
added. "I suppose it is time to return to Avalon and inform the Queen or 
our progress." 

"Not yet, my dear Prince, I have some debts to pay," Robin's face was 
adorned with a wide grin. 

"Debts?" 

"Yes, and I think the collectors had just arrived," said Robin, looking 
down to the meadow, where Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil were standing. He 
jumped from the branch and, gliding on the breeze, landed gracefully at 
their side. His form changed to his normal self, inches shorter than the 
Elves, and as beautiful as them. 

Oberon's eyes widened. His brother was greeting the Elves! He jumped 
too and landed at Robin's side, a dark frown of rage contorting his face, 
before he had time to reprimand his brother, the impish Fairy took his 
hand and introduced him to the Elves. 

"This is my brother, Prince Oberon, and they are Haldir, Rúmil and 
Orophin. They helped us with our little scheme." 

"So, it worked?" Rúmil looked at Haldir, "you owe Orophin and I for you 
chose to bet against us." He looked back at Robin, "we betted on your 
side, Robin." 

"Yes, yes, I know it, but I will pay you as soon as Robin pay us," replied 
Haldir with a sultry smile. 

"You offered them money, Robin?" shouted Oberon. 

"No, no, Oberon, my debt with them is not for money, precisely. Will you 
follow me?" Robin winked at his brother and smirked. 
Oberon grew pale and frowned even more, losing the little patience he still 
had. 

"Will you help him with the payment, Prince Oberon?" asked Orophin, his 
clear eyes narrowed with lust as a smile formed on his lips. 

"NO!" shouted the Prince of the Fairies and he flew away, his body 
trembling with wrath and embarrassment. 

"He is not too polite, is he?" asked Rúmil, shrugging. 

"Sorry, fellows, he didn't expect this. But don't worry, I can deal with the 
three of you." 

"Oh, you are so confident! But, it is true, you have done it before," said 
Haldir, planting a kiss on Robin's thin lips. Rúmil and Orophin embraced 
him and nuzzled his neck. 

"Mmm, so eager as always. It seems it's your time to follow the Robin, 
boys, come, I know the perfect place." 

"Pity your brother is not like you, he is beautiful!" lamented Haldir. 

"Yes, he is, but luckily for me, in the next part of my mission I won't have 
such an obnoxious partner." 

"Next part? Can we help?" asked Rúmil, sliding his hand under Robin's 
green tunic. 

"Uuuhmmm, I'm afraid no, Rúmil, besides, it's far away from here," said 
the Fairy his eyes darkening with lust. He pulled Rúmil to him and kissed 
him deeply. 

"It's always a pleasure to pay a visit to Lothlórien, especially when times 
are turning so dark," Robin sighed and walked with the Elves to the place 
that had served as bedchamber to Aragorn and Boromir.

End Chapter Two


Chapter Three

A dark tall figure walked through Helm's Deep Citadel; a long black cape 
covered it from neck to ankles. Blonde hair showed under the steel helmet, 
but the face was totally concealed.

"Hey, Epona!"

The whisper, coming from an alley's dark corner, made the figure stop its 
walk. It turned its head from side to side; to be sure that no one was 
looking. Then, it moved forward to the shadows. Its user removed the 
helmet, and the beautiful face of Epona was revealed.

Her blonde hair stuck to her face by sweat, and her cheeks were deeply 
flushed.

"Robin, is good to see you alive!" said the Fairy, embracing her cousin in 
a bear hug.

"Stop it, girl, you are going to crush my ribs!" the Trickster Fay 
complained mockingly. He was wearing a peasant's outfit, and a short grey 
cape. His silver hair was pulled behind into a ponytail; his head was 
adorned with a dark green pointy hat, hanging from his belt was a leather 
pouch.

"Cute disguise, cousin, you almost look human," Epona released Robin 
from her strong arms.

"What do you mean with almost? Does my inner charm show through this 
costume?"

"No, but your pointy ears betray you," she giggled softly.

"By the Valar, I forgot them!" With a pass of his hands at the sides of his 
head, the fairy ears changed into human ones. "I only hope nobody has 
noticed them!"

"I don't think that, in the middle of the battle, anyone had time to pay 
attention to such trivialities as your ears. Although, you were not at the 
battle, were you?"

"Well, my dear Epona, you know I hate violence; I'm a lover not a 
fighter."

"Chicken!"

"Yes, maybe; but, I prefer to keep my head fixed to my neck. You enjoy 
the battles and the riding, I don't. Besides, I'm better as healer, and now 
I'm going to offer my help to the injured Dwarf."

"Don't you think it is about time to tell me, why you brought me here with 
you? Not that I did not enjoy the fight and the sensation of the muscular 
beasts breathing hard under me…" Epona closed her eyes in delight.

"How so? Did you already conquer your first Rohirrim?"

"Ha, ha, very funny! You know I was talking about the horses. Though, 
there are a couple of these Rohirrim who surely have my attention. But, 
back to the business; tell me, dear jester, what are you planning?"

"Simple. A normal peasant cannot be admitted to the chambers where the 
companions of the Fellowship are staying. But, if a beautiful lady told 
them about this certain healer, juggler and musician who can attend their 
injuries, and offer them a balm for their weariness with his music..."

"Oh, and this magic creature happens to be you?" Epona's green eyes were 
sparkling with irony.

"Now, now, my bonny cousin, are you jesting? All the male pheromones 
in the air are bad for your health! And, in answer to your question, yes, I 
happen to be this magic creature."

"Right, but don't blame me if the Dwarf cuts your head off." She 
admonished and added, "I don't see the point of this; if what you needed 
was a fair woman, why didn't you ask another? Titania could play this role 
better than I."

"Epona, I want them willing, not spell bounded. Besides, Oberon would 
never agree to it, after what happened in Lorien," he smirked impishly. 
"And, you look like a woman from this land, the other Fairies are too 
small."

"Well, let's go. Again, be careful, the Elven archer is in the same chamber 
as the Dwarf, and he is very protective of him."

"Then, this is going to be a piece of cake!" Robin exclaimed.

*~*

Gimli, son of Glóin, was not the incarnation of patience. He grunted, 
moved and protested under Aragon's healing hands.

The Ranger surrendered.  He had tried to attend Gimli injury, but it was 
hopeless. Finally, he left the room; there were many wounded soldiers in 
the Rohirrim files who surely needed him.

The Elf was making new arrows and fixing the old ones that he had 
retrieved from the corpses at the battlefield. From his position, sitting on 
his roll bed, he shook his head in reprove when he saw Aragorn's 
departure.

"Master Dwarf, it seems to me that your refusal was quite rude. You know 
Aragorn just wanted to help. After what happened to Boromir, he wants to 
prevent more dead in our company." Legolas concern for Aragorn was 
deeper than what he let slip out in his speech. He was an Elf, perceptive 
and sharp; maybe the Men's affair had passed unnoticed to the others, but 
not to him. He knew that the loss of Boromir was not only the loss of a 
friend for Aragorn; it was the death of a beloved.

"Aye, maybe you are right. But this is a simple scratch."

Legolas looked at the Dwarf, who was sitting on the only bed in the 
chamber, and smiled inwardly. He was so happy that he had survived. He 
would never forgive himself if something bad had happened to Gimli. 
Legolas had discovered at Lothlórien, that his feelings for the Dwarf were 
more than simple concern. After the battle, when he had seen that Gimli 
was alive, his heart had beat with joy.

In Imladris, when he attended Elrond's Council, he had met Gimli for the 
first time. In that moment, he noted that many of the stories, if not all, 
about Dwarves were lies. They were different, certainly, but not 
unpleasant to the eye. They had harmony in their shape, strength and 
endurance. They were not filthy or untidy; Gimli and his father kept their 
long hair and beards well brushed and braided; their clothes were clean 
and their bodies didn't emanate the foul smell that was so characteristic of 
Men.

The last night at Imladris, lulled by a mysterious melody, he had dreamed. 
There was steam and water, and the clear sensation of calloused hands 
roaming up his back; then, a hard hot rod up his entrance, and a deep 
guttural grunt. It had not been a moan or a sigh, like the soft sounds of 
Elven males making love, it had been a grunt. He liked to imagine that 
maybe Gimli sounded like that. This last train of thought sent a fiery jolt 
up his spine.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Who is there?"

"I am Elora, a servant, my Lord, I brought a healer to attend your injuries," 
came the mellow voice of a woman.

Legolas got up and opened the door. Luckily, the lustful images had not 
caused an evident effect on his body. He looked at the tall blond woman 
and her companion. The Elf had a strange sensation about them, but his 
senses couldn't point out exactly what was wrong with them.

"Greetings, brave warriors, I am Robin, your humble servant. My dear 
cousin, Elora, told me that Master Gimli has been wounded during the 
battle, and I come to offer you my help," said the Fairy, bowing deeply to 
them.

Legolas smiled. Gimli could not deny to such offering, especially coming 
from a lady, a blonde one for that matter. He had noted how the Dwarf had 
a weakness for females with golden hair. `If only that weakness involved 
males as well' he thought sadly.

Gimli grunted, he obviously wasn't going to reject the offering; though he 
was not going to be easy prey for the healer. Dwarves despised doctors, 
even Dwarven ones; being attended by a healer was a sign of 
vulnerability.

"Let me see that," said Robin, coming closer to Gimli. He removed the 
band of linen that covered the Dwarf's head and looked intently at the cut. 
It was not bad, the blood had coagulated, and the gash was not deep. But, 
it could become infected, if it was not
cleaned properly.

Gimli was grunting, evidently angry.

Legolas moved closer to the bed and carefully watched the movements of 
the healer. He planned to stab the man with his knifes at the first wrong 
move.

Robin continued his examination, pretending obliviousness to the annoyed 
Dwarf and well aware of the Elf's intentions. He raised a meaningful 
eyebrow to Epona. She sat at Gimli's side and took one of his rough hands 
between hers. "Don't be angry, my Lord, this is for your own good. My 
cousin is a respectable healer, and a talented musician, too." Epona tried 
not to cringe at her own words. She had been instructed to speak as if she 
was a fragile woman, something totally foreign to her.

"Musician?" asked Legolas in surprise and hope. His eyes sparkled and his 
heart skipped a beat. It had been so long since he had heard music.

Robin didn't miss the Elf's expression. In fact, he had been expecting it.

"Well, she is exaggerating. But, I have to admit that I'm quite skilled at 
playing the pipe." Robin had finished his examination and said the latter 
nonchalantly. Of course, he knew very well how the Sylvan Elves loved 
the sound of pipes.

"Ai, I would love to hear some melody!" exclaimed Legolas, suddenly 
forgetting Gimli's wound, the recent battle and even the coming of the end 
of Middle Earth.

"I would be honoured to play for you two, Masters, but first I have to 
finish my work." The Fairy was delighted, the plan was going as he had 
expected. "The injury is not dangerous at the moment. It seems that your 
people are not only brave but strong as mountains."

At this remark Gimli's face softened; another Dwarven weakness was their 
pride. They didn't like extravagant tributes; but a simple compliment, 
stating the obvious, helped to melt the ice.

The Fairy continued, "This wound has to be cleansed thoroughly. How 
would you like a warm bath?"

At this statement, Gimli and Legolas gave a hopeful sigh. It been a long 
time since they had touched water, and hot water was something that 
sounded like paradise at the moment.

Suddenly, Legolas felt filthy. Elves had a remarkable reputation as being 
annoyingly clean creatures. Since his senses were so sharp, his own odour 
was unbearable to him, even when others would think he had not even 
sweated a drop.

Gimli was looking forward to a bath. He had even dreamed of them during 
their travels. Dwarves had strong constitutions, so they rarely sweated, but 
he needed a bath badly.

"Would you be so kind, Elora? Bring some water to fill the tub." Robin 
said, smiling like a cherub to Epona.

Epona glanced menacingly at her cousin, but said nothing. `I would be 
sure to make him pay a high price' she thought, while leaving the room.

"In the mean time, Masters, would you like to hear some music?" the 
Fairy drew out his pipe from nowhere, using his magic; he noticed his 
failure too late.

"Oh, you are a magician, too!" exclaimed Gimli, delighted with the 
display. Legolas looked at this display of magic with suspicion, the 
sensation of strangeness accentuated. Elven senses were not easily 
deceived, but nevertheless he had never seen human magic tricks before, 
so he could not be sure. He sat on the bed, close to Gimli, just in case the 
healer was planning anything against his friend.

"Aye, Master Gimli, such little tricks help to feed my children," explained 
the Fairy, and put on a facade of calmness, even when he was kicking 
himself inwardly for such a lack of care. "Some request?" he added, 
placing the pipe to his lips.

"Do you know a tune that goes like this?" asked Legolas, humming softly 
the lullaby he had heard back at Imladris. He had secretly hoped to hear it 
again. He had wondered who had performed that night.

Gimli froze, the melody brought back memories that he thought were 
buried deep inside his brain, memories of the dream that he had the last 
night at Rivendell. A soft kiss over his mouth, silken skin under his palms, 
melodious moans and sighs. It had been a disturbing dream, but so 
pleasant and lustful.

"Ah, of course, Master, you have such a refined taste in music. I should 
have known." Robin smirked and played the lullaby. He knew it by heart; 
in fact, he had composed it.

Legolas listened enthralled. It flowed, note by note, like a luscious river of 
honey. It carried Lorien's light, Imladris' warmth and birds' songs from his 
home in Mirkwood. But it was not so sweet as to sicken the senses; it had 
some hints of an unknown flavour, something mysterious, dark and 
alluring.

Gimli listened as well, but it sounded different to him. The tune reminded 
him of the warm and welcoming fires of the halls in Lonely Mountain, the 
sparkling brightness of the Glittering Caves and the magnificence of 
Khazad-dûm. Though he heard something different, bright and fresh, 
charming in a way he didn't understand.

Robin's tune was stopped abruptly by knocking at the door. He cursed 
inwardly. The spell had been broken; he could only hope that the dose of 
music had been enough to awake the seed of desire that had been planted 
long ago.

Legolas stood abruptly. His face was flushed and his breathing had 
quickened. He almost ran to the door and opened it. He was amazed by the 
scene before him. Epona stood at the entrance. She was carrying two large 
poles across her shoulders; big buckets of steaming water were hung from 
each end of the poles.

Robin looked at Epona, he almost fainted. He had instructed her to play 
the role of fragile woman, and no fragile woman could deal with such 
amount of weight. "Let me aid you with that," Legolas offered, politely.

"Thank you my Lord, but don't worry, I'm accustomed to this. Be careful, 
the water is hot." She stepped inside the chamber and moved towards the 
bathroom.

"May I ask your permission, Masters, I have to give some instructions to 
my cousin," Robin bowed and followed Epona.

When she was decanting the first bucket of water in the tub he entered. He 
looked with wide eyes at her.

"A couple of words with you, Elora," he hissed, nervously tapping his foot 
against the stony floor.

She looked at him questioningly. She became worried when he grabbed 
her wrist and pulled her to one of the bathroom's corners, close to a 
window and far away from the chamber.

"What do you think you are doing?" he asked in a soft whisper, hoping the 
Elf couldn't hear him.

"Let my wrist go, Robin, or you will be the only Fairy without ears," she 
whispered as well, menacingly.

He obeyed and fixed his clear eyes on hers. "Listen to me, Epona, you are 
a fragile woman! You are not supposed to be carrying these huge buckets 
of water like you were an ox."

"But you asked for it! Remember?"

"Yes, I remember it, but, can you use smaller containers?" he pleaded.

"But it will take me more time to fill that tub. Robin, you are going too far 
with this, can you just tell them to get together, something like `Hey guys, 
you are the cutest couple I have ever seen' would do it." She smirked.

"One doesn't just tell an Elf to get laid with a Dwarf. Come on, Epona, use 
smaller buckets, or I will tell the Morrigan who exerted their horses to 
death."

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, yes I would!"

While they were having this discussion, Legolas was daydreaming about 
warm water. Earlier that day, he roamed around the chamber and 
discovered the bathroom, a smaller chamber, its floor was made of 
polished stones, and there was a drain close to the external wall. There 
was a huge tube, enough for two people to fit in. He had been temped to 
ask that hot water be brought up to the room. Then he remembered the 
situation and dropped the idea.

Finally, Epona and Robin left the bathroom. Robin wearing his most 
charming smile and Epona trying hard not to sulk. Epona left the chamber 
again, and returned shortly, carrying another four buckets, smaller ones 
this time. Soon, the bathtub was filled with steaming water. Not as soon as 
she had desired, though. Meanwhile, Robin was instructing the Dwarf 
about the correct way to clean his wound. He stole looks at Epona's 
actions from time to time; just to be sure she  wasn't making any other 
mistakes.

"I strongly recommend, Master, that you apply this to your head, after you 
wash the wound," said Robin, taking out a small flask from his pouch and 
handing it to Gimli. It contained a blue substance.

Legolas snatched the phial from the Fairy, before Gimli could take it. He 
took off the cork carefully. A fragrant smell filled the air. He knew the 
oil's scent, it was used to ease the pain and disinfect injuries. It was made 
with Athelas. 

"I understand your distrust, my Lord; after all, I'm a stranger, but this oil is 
an old recipe, used often by the Rangers. I made it myself, and I assure 
you it's not dangerous," explained the Fairy, respectfully; he had sensed 
the Elf's uneasiness since their arrival to the chamber. Elves from 
Mirkwood were cautious by nature, and very dangerous if someone meant 
menace to them.

Legolas, poured some drops on his palm; he blushed suddenly, as he 
remembered that such oil had another uses between the Elves; less 
therapeutic, but far more pleasurable.

"The bath is ready, my Lords," came the soft voice of Epona. She handed 
them a pile of linen towels, two little buckets, and a green bar of soap. 
"I'm afraid you will have to share the tub, I hope this doesn't mean a 
trouble for you?"

"Don't worry about it, Gimli can use the bath, I will be fine," the Elf 
replied. He was not enthusiastic about the idea of appearing naked before 
the Dwarf, especially now that his body was betraying him. He would love 
to sink in the warm water, but he didn't want to explain to Gimli that his 
erection was because of him.

"Oh, don't be silly, Legolas, your noble arse's dignity won't diminish if it's 
bathed in the same water as mine," chuckled Gimli.

"But…"

"Nay, Master Elf; maybe I don't have Elvish ears, but I heard your sigh 
when the bath was mentioned." The Dwarf walked towards the bathroom, 
taking off his gloves.

Legolas sighed, and cursed in Elvish the Dwarf's stiff neck and 
stubbornness. Both Fairies hid their sudden smiles; they understood the 
Elven profanities clearly.

"Well, it seems that our services are not required here, anymore. So, we 
are leaving. Masters, please, enjoy your bath," Robin bowed, taking off his 
hat; then he turned around and exited the chamber. Epona made a curtsey 
and followed her cousin.

The Elf picked up the towels, and the other things, as well as the bottle of 
oil and followed the Dwarf.

*~*

"So, did it work?" said Epona, her attire changed magically into the heavy 
armour of a Rohirrim warrior.

"Patience, my dear. But, I bet a barrel of ale it will!"

"And I accept your bet, cause I didn't see anything to indicates love or 
desire between them."

"It seems that your eyes are failing you."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't notice that their breeches became very tight 
suddenly."

"Damn!"

*~*

Legolas entered the bathroom and saw Gimli already inside the tub. The 
Dwarf's sturdy frame was really an impressive sight to him. Never had he 
contemplated such big muscles, not even among Men. He understood why 
it was said that Dwarves were made to endure hard work and long 
journeys; Gimli looked like he could carry a big boulder of pure rock over 
his wide back.

"What are you looking at, Elf? The water won't stay hot the whole day."

"Oh," Legolas replied. He cursed inwardly; the vision of his beloved 
friend had left him speechless. He peeled off the layers of fabric that 
covered his body, trying to control his body natural reactions. He did not 
succeed.

"I see that Elves are not so indifferent to the beauty of other races," 
remarked Gimli, looking intently at the evident arousal of Mirkwood's 
Prince.

Legolas' eyes widened, his pale face turning crimson. He tried to cover his 
maleness with both hands, but he could not conceal much. `How it is 
possible that he is taking this so calmly?'

"Don't be naive, Legolas, you were devouring the young maiden with your 
eyes, I saw your expression when she entered the room with the buckets 
on her shoulders," stated Gimli.

`So, Gimli thinks this is about the woman? I will not be the one correct his 
mistake'. Legolas' embarrassment diminished remarkably, but his 
disappointment grew. `Obviously he is traditional in his ways of love, I 
have not chance with him'

The Elf stepped into the tub and slowly sat down. He sighed, closing his 
eyes in pure bliss, finally, hot water and soap. He would have traded his 
rights of inheritance for this moment.

"Well, I don't blame you, Master Elf, that lass was a pretty sight. You 
probably knew that I have a weakness for golden hair. And the way in 
which she carried all that weight! There's nothing more precious to the 
Dwarves than a strong female. Our maidens are as strong as us, even when 
they are slim as your kin." The dwarf continued his dissertation about 
females, oblivious to the Elf's furtive glances. He submerged his head 
under water and came out after some seconds, his long hair hanging in 
damp curls. He reached for the soap that was beside the tub; then left the 
water and started to rub the green bar on his skin and hair, thoroughly.

Legolas was in pain. He realized that the Dwarf's solid constitution not 
only was related to his frame but to his maleness as well. He noted that 
Gimli had been very impressed by the girl, since his erection stood as 
strong and solid as himself. Trying to take his eyes from the delightful 
vision he picked up the thread of the conversation.

"I always thought that Dwarven maidens were very alike in their 
appearance to the males of your kin, even having beards." That was an 
image that had always disturbed his thoughts. His father and other Elves 
had reinforced this idea; but he wanted to hear it from the lips of a Dwarf.

"Nay, that's a lie! They are strong, of course, and skilled in the carving of 
stone like the males. But that's all. Our females are voluptuous, with wide 
hips, big rounded breasts and thin waists. Their faces are not as pale as 
your kin's ladies, but are soft and clear, and they don't have beards. I want 
to find the one that spread that deceit and cut his tongue!" Gimli was 
infuriated, taking one of the smaller buckets he rinsed the soap from his 
body and returned to the tub.

"Do not be angry, Gimli, I meant not offence. I will be sure to make this 
fact clear to my people."

It was Legolas' turn to use the soap, he left the water and started to cover 
his lean and gracious body with a thick lather; then washed it away. He 
noted with relief that his hardness had diminished. He returned to the tub 
and sat down again. Suddenly, a look of confusion crossed his face.

"Gimli, there's something that has been troubling me. Once I heard from 
my father that when my kin and yours fought in the Battle of the Five 
Armies, he saw a couple of Dwarves, kissing passionately. He told me he 
could not see the difference between them. I am sure he was not lying, he 
can be an ambitious and cunning Elf, but he is not a liar," he leaned his 
head against the edge of the tub, but the abrupt explosion of Gimli's 
laughter brought him back from his reflections.

"What is so funny?"

After a minute, or so, gasping for air and wiping away tears from his eyes, 
Gimli
explained "It's impossible that your father could have seen a Dwarven lady 
in the Battle of the Five Armies, because our females, like yours, don't go 
to the battlefields. Obviously he saw the love between male Dwarves."

Legolas' eyes widened in awe. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. 
Love between male Dwarves?

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Master Elf! I know of your people's ways, 
and the practice I mentioned is not unknown to Elves. Indeed, when we 
stayed at Lothlórien, I saw Elves, both male and female, looking at you 
with desire." Gimli chuckled, narrowing his eyes.

Legolas' face grew red in embarrassment. He had noted it too, and had 
been tormented by the constant offerings from Haldir. The Marchwarden 
was not unpleasant; in fact he was far more beautiful than the other 
Galadrim(*). But he had declined politely, at the
beginning, and firmly later. The persistent mockery about his Dwarven 
companion was
the drop that flooded his patience.

"What's wrong, Master Elf? It seems that the realization hit you hard. 
Maybe it is different with the Elves of your land; if it is, please forgive my 
boldness on the subject," the voice of Gimli was filled with concern. He 
felt that perhaps he had gone too far.

"No, no, you misunderstand, it is just I never imagined that. Your people 
are not so different from mine," Legolas replied quickly.

"Well, it's not an uncommon practice. The females are sacred creatures to 
us; they fill our need for beauty, and, of course, they guarantee the 
continuity of our race. But the bond between males is different, sometimes 
is deeper, because a male can only be totally understood by another male. 
Even I had shared such a bond, long time ago, with my cousin Balin," a 
shadow darkened the face of Gimli. Suddenly, Legolas remembered the 
bitter tears of Gimli at the sight of his cousin's grave. "But that was long 
ago, we were younger, and ambition had not conquered his heart. Poor 
Balin, his passion for power became his doom," he stated sadly, but the 
shadow had passed. He looked at his friend and smiled.

The Elf looked uneasy. His heart belonged to Gimli, but he couldn't find 
the right way to approach to him. Maybe he was not what the Dwarf 
wanted? What if Gimli rejected him?

He made his decision: better to try and fail than never try.

"Would you bond your life with another male's someday?" asked the Elf, 
hopefully.

"Maybe, if I found someone that wants to share his joy as well as his grief 
with me."

Legolas saw his chance, clear as Elbereth's stars. He collected his courage 
"What if I tell you that I am that one?"

"I thought you would never ask," Gimli replied, and reaching out his 
strong arms he pulled Legolas' face to his. His mouth covered the delicate 
lips of the Elf and kissed him in a mind blowing way. Legolas was 
surprised, but his disbelief swiftly receded. The strength of Gimli's 
exploration was new and fiery to him. The sensation of the beard against 
his soft skin, the heated tongue making its way forcefully inside his 
mouth, the iron grip on his neck… he could stay like that forever. The lack 
of air was making his head dizzy. Just when he felt that he would faint, the 
assault ended suddenly. He looked at the Dwarf, his face flushed; his 
breath came in short gasps and his eyelids heavy with desire.

"Humph, Master Elf, it seems that you are not so strong. I don't know if 
you can stand a Dwarven lover," he smirked broadly.

"Yes, yes, I can stand it, Gimli!" The Elf answered eagerly.

"Well, maybe I can be less aggressive, modify my ways to…"

"No, please, I want to feel you, just like this. Ai, Gimli, do you know how 
long I have desired you?" He embraced the Dwarf tightly, nuzzling against 
his neck, deeply inhaling the herbal smell of the soap, mixed with the 
unmistakable scent of his body. He curled his long pale fingers in his 
beard, tracing paths down the hair of his chest. He kissed the skin of his 
neck, eliciting a deep moan from Gimli.

"You are evil, Elf. How you dare to make me moan like a lass? I will 
make you suffer for this." The Dwarf grabbed Legolas' chin and kissed 
him again; this time he explored deeper, tasting the sweet honey of the soft 
lips, nipping them viciously. He shifted his position, never breaking the 
kiss, and gently leaned Legolas' neck against the edge of the tub, 
straddling his hips. Their hard shafts rubbed together and both gasped 
against each other mouths. Soon they were breathless, and broke the kiss. 
They locked eyes. Gimli's hazel eyes were dark pools of want, while 
Legolas' pupils were so dilated that his irises were just thin blue rings.

"You are so beautiful, Legolas," said Gimli, his calloused hands running 
up and down the bare chest.

"Nay, Gimli, you are." The Elf softly touched the hard muscular 
shoulders, the broad chest, the firm abdomen, his hands reached down and 
was about to grab Gimli's hard maleness when the latter caught his wrists.

Gimli pinned Legolas' arms against the sides of the tub. He ground his 
own swollen flesh hard against the Elf's, while marking the sensitive skin 
of his shoulders with his teeth. Legolas squirmed, a soft moan escaping 
from his lips. His hips moved on their own volition, making the friction 
almost unbearable for them. For each moan he produced, a deep grunt 
came from Gimli's lips. Yes, guttural grunts, deep, masculine, delicious 
grunts, as he had dreamed.

Gimli moved his head lower, licking hard on one erect and rosy nipple. 
Then he grazed it with his teeth. His ministrations were rewarded with a 
loud moan that sent a shiver up his spine. He repeated the action with the 
other nub, tracing wet circles with his tongue, eliciting a series of moans, 
mixed with whimpers from Legolas' lips.

"Please, release my hands, please, Gimli, oh please!" The Elf pleaded, 
feeling his hardness throb with need.

"Not until you promise not to grab my cock; because if you do it, 
everything will end up for me," the Dwarf whispered softly in his pointy 
ear and then licked it slowly, feeling the defenseless Elf shudder in 
pleasure.

"I promise, I promise what ever you want; I want to hold you so badly," 
came the impatient reply.

Gimli released Legolas' arms and promptly circled his waist, pulling his 
pale body to him. Legolas hugged his lover's shoulders tightly and pressed 
his lips gently against the Dwarf's. He kissed Gimli in the Elven way, 
sensually moving his mouth against Gimli's, his velvety tongue slowly 
licking his lower lip, asking for entrance, an immortal kiss, without hurry. 
He deepened the kiss with agonizing slowness, sliding his tongue 
smoothly, taking his time to explore every millimetre. He smiled when the 
first groan from Gimli rumbled against his mouth. The Elf's hands 
wandered over his muscular back, tracing every inch of skin, feeling every 
curve, every line, moving lower, following the line of the spine.

The Dwarf writhed and gasped for air, breaking the kiss.

"Legolas, this kind of loving is so perfect; but I'm afraid I could not wait 
longer, I am not immortal, and neither of us have much time before we 
part for Isengard," Gimli' s whisper was filled with anxiety.

"You are right, Gimli, we do not have much time. I would love to show 
you more of the ways of my people, but at this moment, it would be better 
to do it your way."

"Tell me, my love, would you want to take or to give?" asked Gimli, his 
thumb softly
caressing the Elf's chin.

Legolas blushed; nobody had ever asked that before, it was not the Elven 
way. He had played both roles; but at this moment he wanted to be taken 
by Gimli.

"I want you to take me, make me yours," he whispered, his face flushed 
and his eyes dark with desire. Before the Dwarf could react, Legolas 
pushed him away gently, rolled over and took hold of the border of the 
tub, presenting his rear to Gimli.

"By the beard of Durin, Legolas, you are gorgeous!" the Dwarf exclaimed, 
caressing the soft skin. He moved his head forward and licked the pink 
hole ardently. The reaction was a loud whimper and a succession of 
strangled Elvish words. Legolas' knees were weak, his mind clouded. 
Suddenly the assault ended and he moaned in complaint. He was about to 
protest when his nostrils caught the scent of Athelas in the air; he felt two 
fingers delving inside his body. He gasped; obviously Gimli was using the 
healer's oil to stretch him. The thick fingers thrust inside him again and 
again, moving around, touching and probing, trying different angles. Then 
he felt it, a jolt of fire running through his body. Legolas shuddered and 
cried out in bliss, his sweet spot being massaged with each thrust.

Gimli withdrew his fingers from the Elf's body and coated his hardness 
with the oil. "I'll try not to hurt you…much," he said, and pressed the head 
of his shaft against the opening. With a little push of his hips he put an 
inch of his flesh inside Legolas, he groaned at the burning tight sensation 
around his member. The Elf became too silent and he got worried. In fact, 
it had been too long time since Legolas' last coupling and he was having 
trouble with the Dwarf's impressive maleness. He relaxed as much as he 
could; nonetheless, it was hurting like his first time. Then, he felt a soft 
caress over his buttocks, Gimli had grabbed his hips and was tracing slow 
circles with his thumbs, starting at the sides following a delicious, 
soothing path up to his hip bones and then down his cheeks. The Elf found 
himself enthralled by the movement, and barely felt the gradual progress 
of Gimli's invasion.

The Dwarf sighed deeply when he felt himself sheathed to the hilt. The 
caress he had used on Legolas was an old Dwarven technique, and it never 
failed. He withdrew partway and, stopping the soothing movement of his 
thumbs, he pushed in again, taking good care to hit the Elf's prostate.

Legolas went from relaxation to joy in a split second, and he yelled out his 
pleasure loudly as if he wanted all of Middle Earth to hear it. Gimli 
groaned in pleasure, and started to move against his lover. He closed his 
eyes, feeling the Elven flesh pulsing around his own. His hand roamed up 
and down the silky skin of Legolas' back; yes, it was like in his dream, 
skin as soft the petals of a rose, delightful moans and whimpers. He 
opened his eyes and watched the Elf's body moving backwards to meet his 
thrusting; the long mane of golden hair hanging in disorder, the pale skin 
coated in sweat.

"Ai, Gimli, it is so good, it is so good. More, more, more," Legolas cried 
out eagerly, feeling his climax coming closer with each thrust.

Those words were like dry wood to Gimli's fire, and he started to ram 
violently against the trembling Elf. He, too, was close to his peak. But, 
even with his head in the clouds and his body afire he did not want to lose 
this battle against the Elf. Reaching around the lean body of his lover, he 
enclosed the pulsing Elven flesh and stroked it rhythmically, once, 
twice…

"Ai, Gimli, Gimli, Giml…" Legolas' body arched, and he threw his head 
back, while a long loud cry left his mouth. He trembled as his orgasm hit 
him; wave after wave of pure pleasure.

The Dwarf felt the sudden tremors of Legolas' completion, and with two 
powerful pushes reached his peak. His groan rumbled deep in his throat, 
and he disentangled from the Elf, sitting again in the now cold water.

"Legolas?" asked the Dwarf between heavy pants, after a couple of 
minutes.

"Hmm?" answered the Elf, his eyes half closed, his body trembling from 
time to time, only supported by the rim of the tub.

"Let's get out of this cold water."

They dried themselves with the towels, left the bathroom, and lay down on 
the bed. Gimli embraced Legolas protectively. The Elf placed his head 
against the broad chest of his lover and curled his fingers in the hair of his 
beard.

"You like my beard, don't you?" asked the Dwarf.

"Hu-hmm, but it is not the only thing I like about you. I have never been 
loved like that,
you were amazing"

"Thank you, Master Elf, I'll be waiting for your lessons in the Elven love 
ways."

"Pity, we have to rest now, Master Dwarf, if not, I would make you moan 
like a lass
again," Legolas purred and smirked.

"Wicked Elf," said Gimli and kissed Legolas softly on the forehead.

"Gimli?"

"Hmm?"

"You forget to spread the oil over your wound."

"Shut up and sleep!"

"Elves don't sleep, Gimli, we drift into reverie to rest."

"Aye, I forgot that scary thing you do instead sleep. The good point of it is 
that you don't snore" Gimli dozed swiftly, while Legolas lay at his side, 
eyes open, his mind reviewing again and again the sweet moments they 
had shared.

*~*

"You cheated!" complained Epona, drinking beer from a mug, sitting in 
the darkest corner of an improvised bar at Helm's Deep. She had removed 
her helmet but was using the hood of her cape to cover her face. His 
cousin laughed softly.

"You are a bad loser, that's all! Thank your lucky star that you didn't 
gambled on something more valuable, like your virtue, for example," he 
smirked and winked impishly.

"Then I would be safe, Robin, because my "virtue" has been gone for such 
a long time, and because I know of your inclinations."

"Really? Don't be so sure, I still want to know what it feels to be ridden by 
an Amazon," he retorted.

"Turn your self into a stallion and maybe you would find out!" she 
mocked.

"Now, now, don't be sour, cousin!"
"And now, what?" she asked.

"Oh, my next task is quite easy. I have to fly to Isengard; you can go back 
to Avalon anytime you want. I will be looking for my barrel of ale when 
we met again."

"Nay, I would ride with the Rohirrim, I still feel the urgent call of the 
fight. They will need all the help they can get, if you know what I mean."

"Right, just try to keep your head joined to your neck."

"Oh, how sweet, you are worried about me!"

"Of course not, I only want to be sure about my ale!"

She laughed and raised her mug. "For Middle Earth," she said.

Robin did the same "For Queen Mab," he added.

"Cheers!"


End Chapter Three

(*) Galadrim: "People of the Trees". That was the name for the Elves of 
Lothlórien, because their custom of living in wooden platforms > called 
"talans" built among the higher branches of the trees.