Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ Of love and immortality ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Queen-of-Blades138 
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.06.2008 | Pages: 4 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 218 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.06.2008 | Pages: 4 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 218 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter 3.
Days of the king,
A/N:Sorry,I haven't been feeling well the last few months.....so excuse the delay
in updating...
Aragorn had hoped the council would have ended sooner. This particular
group had the most diverse opinions, and of course, most stubbornly adhered
to their own views. Little had been accomplished today, except to underscore
the intractability of the participants.
As the council chamber emptied, he passed his hand wearily over his brow.
Almost before he could loose a sigh, a page appeared before him, waiting
to be acknowledged.
"From her Majesty, my lord. She bade me give this to you the moment the
council ended", he said, a bit breathlessly.
The youth handed Aragorn an envelope, bowed and left. It was of the palest
blue in color and embossed with a design he recognized instantly.
He tore it open curiously. Why was Arwen sending him a letter?
In beautiful, flowing Elvish script, it read:
"Dusk draws near, and you have promised your evening to me. Go to our
chambers; on our bed I have laid appropriate apparel. I await in the
high Tower. Hurry."
Aragorn smiled. What delights she had planned for him, he did not know,
but to please her was always his pleasure.
Braethan was in attendance outside their chamber door. He helped Aragorn
to remove the most cumbersome pieces of his dress armor. A thought suddenly
occured to him.
"Why are you still here, Braethan? Usually old Wenrick does night duty, and
should be here by now."
"The Lady Arwen gave me strict instructions to let no one pass the upper
hall between your chambers and the uppermost guard tower tonight, my Lord.
Please assure the queen that this duty will be carried out exactly as she
has commanded".
A wry smile played on the king's lips. "And what exactly does that mean,
Braethan?"
The young man blushed quite red, and then went a little pale.
"My Lady wishes that you not be disturbed for any reason, and if an
emergency of the Realm should arise, that the generals under Faramir
should be notified."
"Very good, Braethan. I leave the rousing of the guard for the defense
of the Realm in your hands tonight!" With a wave of his hand, Aragorn
dismissed him.
The lad's color normalized, and he snapped a perfect salute to his King
and resumed his usual post outside the door to their chambers.
Aragorn changed into the garments Arwen had selected for him. They were
unlike her usual choices. They were a silken tunic and trousers, but of
an almost lurid red. They were adorned with runes that appeared to be so
ancient, he could not decipher them completely.
But time was against a further inspection of the runes; she was
waiting.
_______________________________________________________________
He approached the tower room door. Before he could knock, Arwen's voice
bid him enter. He did, and shut the door behind him.
The tower room was roughly circular,and not overly large. The walls were
mostly windows, though tonight they were covered with thick draperies.
The walls between the windows were adorned with symbols, runes that seemed
as old and mysterious as those on Aragorn's tunic. The floor was
covered with furs, and the candles in the sconces provided a warm though
slightly eerie glow. All of the candles were red. The air was scented,
a heady incense or perfume that had already started to make Aragorn feel
a bit dizzy.
But most ununual was Arwen herself.
Gracefully, she rose from the furs.
She, too, wore scarlet silk, a robe that barely wrapped around her supple
body, and revealed more than it concealed. She had painted her face and
the exposed parts of her body; whether for cosmetic effect or magical
potency he could not yet tell. But this room had been magicked, and he
could feel the tingle of sorcery in every pore.
"Do you trust me, my love?"
Arwen walked over to him. As he saw her more clearly, he saw that scarlet
paint covered her lips and a dark color on her eyelids made her grey eyes
seem almost colorless. Small designs were indeed drawn on her cheeks,
forehead, throat, breasts, and arms.
Wordlessly, she drank from a large ornate goblet, several deep draughts.
She then offered it to her husband.
He had not yet answered her.
"For all my years among your people, Arwen, I have never seen magic of
this kind. Please tell me what this" he motioned to the room, and the
sweep of his hands encompassed her "is...and where it is from. I trust
you", he added swiftly, grasping and kissing her hand,"but in truth I
am uneasy in this place."
She smiled, though he thought he saw some unease in her manner,
inconsistant with her assurances.
"Have you ever thought of how the Elves decide to have their children?
We live very long lives. Virtually immortal. If Elves had children as
easily as do Men, the world would be choked with our kind; their would
be no room for any other thing. My father has lived for over 5,000 years
and I am his only child. Conception was never frequent with us, but as
the histories tell us, it became even rarer as our power waned, and our
blood", she hesitated,and looked away from him,"my blood, becomes ever
thinner".
"I had hoped we wouldn't need to resort to the ritual to conceive,
but it has been long enough. We must try it".
"Why have I never heard of this ritual?"
Arwen looked at him with a mixture of amusement and embarassment.
"Elessar is almost Elven-kind, but not an Elf. If you had been, you
would have known of it. But it is hardly the type of thing that you
would have been told of. It is deeply private, and usually one of the
elders prepares the place, mixes the herbs with the wine, draws the
runes and speaks the words. But we are alone in this, my husband. The
Elders of my kind are gone across the seas. I would like to try this
before I truly despair of giving you a child and heir".
At this, she allowed her face to show him what she had hidden for these
long, painful years. He blanched at the longing and hurt that seemed to
just appear on his beloved's face.
"I will do anything you ask of me Arwen. What do you want me to do?"
"Take the cup, and drink from it as I have.You have nothing to fear
from this, or me".
Arwen passed a hand over her face to compose herself and to try and
stop the flood of unshed tears from surfacing now.
She looked at him with glittering eyes. "Just know that I would never
do anything to hurt or dishonor you."
He took the offered drink, a wine spiced with herbs, a bitterness
somewhat masked by added sugar. A heady, aromatic brew. He drained
the cup.
She drew him over to the center of the room, and began to remove his
clothing, until he stood naked before her.
"As part of the ritual I must protect you with certain symbols, written
in oils and herbs upon your body - just as I have done to mine."
She dropped her robe, and she had runes written upon every limb.
At her feet she had several stoppered jars. Carefully and ceremoneously
she uncorked one after the other, pouring a small bit of each mixture
of oil and herbs into her palm, dipping in her fingers, and drawing upon
his body. Two runes - one on each of his shoulders. Three runes on his
stomach. One rune on his throat. One rune each on his feet. Several on
his forehead.
Arwen moved all of the jars to a window ledge. The areas of his body that
she had anointed began to throb with a warmth that was pleasant, but
strange, like the flush of strong drink but with a nervous tingling.
"This is the last of the runes to be drawn."
She drew her oil-dipped fingers along his phallus, back to front.
He grew even warmer, and opened his mouth to speak, but she motioned
him for quiet.
Arwen placed her hands together, and spoke in Elvish - but again,
a more archaic version of the ancient language than he had ever
heard. It was a chant.
It was over soon, just a minute or two of the old tongue. Then she
closed her eyes, and spread her hands apart. Her clap was as thunder
an a spot of blinding white, like lightning appeared in Aragorn's
mind and eyes and he knew no more...
He felt, rather than saw the dawn. Aragorn stretch langorously. The
furs were an unaccustomed sensuality and he felt...hard and wet.
Arwen had straddled him, and moved him with her gentle rhythm.
"Good morning, my love. You wake me most pleasantly!"
"With the dawn comes the end of our ritual. As we sought the help
of the moon last night, so we ask assistance of the sun today. May
they bless us with conception!"
The words rang of formula, and Aragorn realized this might be a
continuance of this strange tryst with his wife. He reached his
climax in the middle of his thoughts, and grasped her hips to his.
She shuddered and her movement stopped. Aragorn sat up to clasp her,
burying his face in her hair. He swept it aside to kiss her neck.
He was horrified to see a great red welt, already turning to a livid
purplish bruise.
"What is this?!" Aragorn exclaimed.
Arwen rose from him, and sought to close her open robe quickly.
He sprang to his feet and took her arm.
"I do not recall the night, Arwen. Tell me what happened!"
His voice had risen, and he was shocked to see her flinch from
him. He dropped her arm as if she was fire, and it had scorched
him.
"It is nothing, my love. Do not be concerned. I am well."
"You are not well! You shrink from me as if you fear me - Arwen!"
She had kept herself turned from him, so he saw only her back,
and the fall of her blue-black hair.
"Arwen - come to me. Now."
Reluctantly, she turned toward him now, though with her face still
downcast. "Please Aragorn. Do not see me now. To do so will bring
only pain to us both."
He ignored this, and gently lifted her head to face him. Her face
was as still as a portrait or statue. No emotion could be read there.
Aragorn could not understand her reluctance to be seen by him, her
husband, especially not now. He removed her robe. She stood, making
no protest, limp as a doll in his hands.As he examined his wife,
a dawning horror began to overtake him.
She was covered in bruises, bites, welts, and hand prints from
rough treatment. There were hand prints on her arms and throat.
She had blood on the inside of her thighs. He had seen women
ravished by raiding parties, most of them dead - but the living
had this same lack of responsiveness.
As if mesmerized, he placed his hand on her neck, and, of course
the thumb-print bruise matched his handspan exactly.
Aragorn picked up her robe, and dressed her. Still in silence,
picked up a fur and wrapped her in it gently. He picked her up;
she lay her head on his shoulder, and he then felt her shiver.
"Let us go away from this room. When we get to our chambers, I
wish you to tell me what happened last night. Please."
Days of the king,
A/N:Sorry,I haven't been feeling well the last few months.....so excuse the delay
in updating...
Aragorn had hoped the council would have ended sooner. This particular
group had the most diverse opinions, and of course, most stubbornly adhered
to their own views. Little had been accomplished today, except to underscore
the intractability of the participants.
As the council chamber emptied, he passed his hand wearily over his brow.
Almost before he could loose a sigh, a page appeared before him, waiting
to be acknowledged.
"From her Majesty, my lord. She bade me give this to you the moment the
council ended", he said, a bit breathlessly.
The youth handed Aragorn an envelope, bowed and left. It was of the palest
blue in color and embossed with a design he recognized instantly.
He tore it open curiously. Why was Arwen sending him a letter?
In beautiful, flowing Elvish script, it read:
"Dusk draws near, and you have promised your evening to me. Go to our
chambers; on our bed I have laid appropriate apparel. I await in the
high Tower. Hurry."
Aragorn smiled. What delights she had planned for him, he did not know,
but to please her was always his pleasure.
Braethan was in attendance outside their chamber door. He helped Aragorn
to remove the most cumbersome pieces of his dress armor. A thought suddenly
occured to him.
"Why are you still here, Braethan? Usually old Wenrick does night duty, and
should be here by now."
"The Lady Arwen gave me strict instructions to let no one pass the upper
hall between your chambers and the uppermost guard tower tonight, my Lord.
Please assure the queen that this duty will be carried out exactly as she
has commanded".
A wry smile played on the king's lips. "And what exactly does that mean,
Braethan?"
The young man blushed quite red, and then went a little pale.
"My Lady wishes that you not be disturbed for any reason, and if an
emergency of the Realm should arise, that the generals under Faramir
should be notified."
"Very good, Braethan. I leave the rousing of the guard for the defense
of the Realm in your hands tonight!" With a wave of his hand, Aragorn
dismissed him.
The lad's color normalized, and he snapped a perfect salute to his King
and resumed his usual post outside the door to their chambers.
Aragorn changed into the garments Arwen had selected for him. They were
unlike her usual choices. They were a silken tunic and trousers, but of
an almost lurid red. They were adorned with runes that appeared to be so
ancient, he could not decipher them completely.
But time was against a further inspection of the runes; she was
waiting.
_______________________________________________________________
He approached the tower room door. Before he could knock, Arwen's voice
bid him enter. He did, and shut the door behind him.
The tower room was roughly circular,and not overly large. The walls were
mostly windows, though tonight they were covered with thick draperies.
The walls between the windows were adorned with symbols, runes that seemed
as old and mysterious as those on Aragorn's tunic. The floor was
covered with furs, and the candles in the sconces provided a warm though
slightly eerie glow. All of the candles were red. The air was scented,
a heady incense or perfume that had already started to make Aragorn feel
a bit dizzy.
But most ununual was Arwen herself.
Gracefully, she rose from the furs.
She, too, wore scarlet silk, a robe that barely wrapped around her supple
body, and revealed more than it concealed. She had painted her face and
the exposed parts of her body; whether for cosmetic effect or magical
potency he could not yet tell. But this room had been magicked, and he
could feel the tingle of sorcery in every pore.
"Do you trust me, my love?"
Arwen walked over to him. As he saw her more clearly, he saw that scarlet
paint covered her lips and a dark color on her eyelids made her grey eyes
seem almost colorless. Small designs were indeed drawn on her cheeks,
forehead, throat, breasts, and arms.
Wordlessly, she drank from a large ornate goblet, several deep draughts.
She then offered it to her husband.
He had not yet answered her.
"For all my years among your people, Arwen, I have never seen magic of
this kind. Please tell me what this" he motioned to the room, and the
sweep of his hands encompassed her "is...and where it is from. I trust
you", he added swiftly, grasping and kissing her hand,"but in truth I
am uneasy in this place."
She smiled, though he thought he saw some unease in her manner,
inconsistant with her assurances.
"Have you ever thought of how the Elves decide to have their children?
We live very long lives. Virtually immortal. If Elves had children as
easily as do Men, the world would be choked with our kind; their would
be no room for any other thing. My father has lived for over 5,000 years
and I am his only child. Conception was never frequent with us, but as
the histories tell us, it became even rarer as our power waned, and our
blood", she hesitated,and looked away from him,"my blood, becomes ever
thinner".
"I had hoped we wouldn't need to resort to the ritual to conceive,
but it has been long enough. We must try it".
"Why have I never heard of this ritual?"
Arwen looked at him with a mixture of amusement and embarassment.
"Elessar is almost Elven-kind, but not an Elf. If you had been, you
would have known of it. But it is hardly the type of thing that you
would have been told of. It is deeply private, and usually one of the
elders prepares the place, mixes the herbs with the wine, draws the
runes and speaks the words. But we are alone in this, my husband. The
Elders of my kind are gone across the seas. I would like to try this
before I truly despair of giving you a child and heir".
At this, she allowed her face to show him what she had hidden for these
long, painful years. He blanched at the longing and hurt that seemed to
just appear on his beloved's face.
"I will do anything you ask of me Arwen. What do you want me to do?"
"Take the cup, and drink from it as I have.You have nothing to fear
from this, or me".
Arwen passed a hand over her face to compose herself and to try and
stop the flood of unshed tears from surfacing now.
She looked at him with glittering eyes. "Just know that I would never
do anything to hurt or dishonor you."
He took the offered drink, a wine spiced with herbs, a bitterness
somewhat masked by added sugar. A heady, aromatic brew. He drained
the cup.
She drew him over to the center of the room, and began to remove his
clothing, until he stood naked before her.
"As part of the ritual I must protect you with certain symbols, written
in oils and herbs upon your body - just as I have done to mine."
She dropped her robe, and she had runes written upon every limb.
At her feet she had several stoppered jars. Carefully and ceremoneously
she uncorked one after the other, pouring a small bit of each mixture
of oil and herbs into her palm, dipping in her fingers, and drawing upon
his body. Two runes - one on each of his shoulders. Three runes on his
stomach. One rune on his throat. One rune each on his feet. Several on
his forehead.
Arwen moved all of the jars to a window ledge. The areas of his body that
she had anointed began to throb with a warmth that was pleasant, but
strange, like the flush of strong drink but with a nervous tingling.
"This is the last of the runes to be drawn."
She drew her oil-dipped fingers along his phallus, back to front.
He grew even warmer, and opened his mouth to speak, but she motioned
him for quiet.
Arwen placed her hands together, and spoke in Elvish - but again,
a more archaic version of the ancient language than he had ever
heard. It was a chant.
It was over soon, just a minute or two of the old tongue. Then she
closed her eyes, and spread her hands apart. Her clap was as thunder
an a spot of blinding white, like lightning appeared in Aragorn's
mind and eyes and he knew no more...
He felt, rather than saw the dawn. Aragorn stretch langorously. The
furs were an unaccustomed sensuality and he felt...hard and wet.
Arwen had straddled him, and moved him with her gentle rhythm.
"Good morning, my love. You wake me most pleasantly!"
"With the dawn comes the end of our ritual. As we sought the help
of the moon last night, so we ask assistance of the sun today. May
they bless us with conception!"
The words rang of formula, and Aragorn realized this might be a
continuance of this strange tryst with his wife. He reached his
climax in the middle of his thoughts, and grasped her hips to his.
She shuddered and her movement stopped. Aragorn sat up to clasp her,
burying his face in her hair. He swept it aside to kiss her neck.
He was horrified to see a great red welt, already turning to a livid
purplish bruise.
"What is this?!" Aragorn exclaimed.
Arwen rose from him, and sought to close her open robe quickly.
He sprang to his feet and took her arm.
"I do not recall the night, Arwen. Tell me what happened!"
His voice had risen, and he was shocked to see her flinch from
him. He dropped her arm as if she was fire, and it had scorched
him.
"It is nothing, my love. Do not be concerned. I am well."
"You are not well! You shrink from me as if you fear me - Arwen!"
She had kept herself turned from him, so he saw only her back,
and the fall of her blue-black hair.
"Arwen - come to me. Now."
Reluctantly, she turned toward him now, though with her face still
downcast. "Please Aragorn. Do not see me now. To do so will bring
only pain to us both."
He ignored this, and gently lifted her head to face him. Her face
was as still as a portrait or statue. No emotion could be read there.
Aragorn could not understand her reluctance to be seen by him, her
husband, especially not now. He removed her robe. She stood, making
no protest, limp as a doll in his hands.As he examined his wife,
a dawning horror began to overtake him.
She was covered in bruises, bites, welts, and hand prints from
rough treatment. There were hand prints on her arms and throat.
She had blood on the inside of her thighs. He had seen women
ravished by raiding parties, most of them dead - but the living
had this same lack of responsiveness.
As if mesmerized, he placed his hand on her neck, and, of course
the thumb-print bruise matched his handspan exactly.
Aragorn picked up her robe, and dressed her. Still in silence,
picked up a fur and wrapped her in it gently. He picked her up;
she lay her head on his shoulder, and he then felt her shiver.
"Let us go away from this room. When we get to our chambers, I
wish you to tell me what happened last night. Please."