Chapter 8
Nights Of Memories
by Vagabond
(Aragorn POV)
I've missed them, those silver precious stones that adorn the night sky, hope-giving and gently consoling broken hearts and pained souls.
I've missed them so terribly, when I was chained to the Butcher's bed at night, not able to go to the window to have a look outside, barely able to move, my mind too clouded to remember their sparkling.
Isn't it strange, that we always most of all long for things we cannot have? And that we have a tendency to take the good things for granted all too soon? Only if they are taken away, we realize how precious they were to us...
*
The night was cool, and in the air, one could smell the coming autumn. Tired, but obediently, the sturdy horse trotted along the road that would lead us to Osgiliath, dragging the clattering hay cart behind it.
Under the sweet-smelling hay, we had hidden Legolas, hoping that no patrol would pay us too much attention. The fact, that we were armed and carried an Elf with us, would be enough to get us arrested immediately.
My hand slid to the accumulation of fragrant hay behind me on the cart, softly caressing the prickly stems. They scratched my skin, but I barely noticed it, because under them, I could feel him…
Legolas gave no sign if he noticed me, although I felt that he wasn't asleep. I knew he wouldn't sleep as long as his little human lover wasn't by his side. All his attention was drawn to him, all his care and love. He didn't even trust me.
My hand stilled. I felt a small pain on my little finger, and when I took my hand away, I saw that there was a tiny drop of blood where a stem must have pierced it…
I started when a deep sadly sigh reminded me of the presence of prince Boromir's blond slave boy, who sat beside me, huddled up and restless in his sleep. His head had fallen onto my shoulder, and unconsciously, he snuggled up closer to me in search of warmth.
I fought against the urge to put an arm around the young one protectively and tried instead to back away from him. But the result was, that the boy's head slipped from my shoulder and that he made himself more comfortable with this blond shock of hair in my lap. With a resigned sigh, I gave up and carefully covered him with the thin blanket, that I had taken from the Butcher's things with great foresight. One arm lightly laid over the boy's shoulder and the reins in the other hand, I concentrated on the surroundings again. No danger, not yet...
Slowly, our cart trundled further on the uneven road and after awhile I allowed my thoughts to drift…
~//~
"Legolas?... Where are you, love?"
With an amused smile, I searched for my lover, who got pleasure out of hiding from me, only showing himself now and then from behind a tree, laughing and joking when I tried to catch him. We were romping around boisterous like children or a cheerful courting couple. And indeed, I was so much in love, that I barely knew how to breathe when I was near my beautiful Elf. My Legolas...
He ran like the wind through Mirkwood forest, carelessly of stones or trees or worldly bounds. A being, so free and fair, that he must appear like a dream to human eyes. So fragile, he seemed to me and still so young, although I knew that he was far older than I. Long before I was born, he already had wandered Mirkwood, and he would do so long after I had died. If he would remember me? What meant a human existence to a being that knew nothing of age, of death? Of the fear to fade more and more and just to disappear from this world, after a life so short that there was no time to rest.
"Why do you love me?" I asked him, after we had kissed under a huge oak tree, our heated faces pressed against the powerful trunk, one hand touching the tree's bark and the fingers of the other tenderly entwined.
Thoughtfully, my lover smiled at me, truly considering my question for awhile, before giving me an answer.
"Because you are like a storm, like a wild sea, so uncontrollable... you are sweeping me away... Dangerous you are, Aragorn, in your human desires, but I know you would never harm me. Never before have I felt such a passion, never before given myself so wholly, so unconditionally. It confuses me, but fascinates me even more."
It was the answer of an Elf. But one I could live with. I knew all too well, that one couldn't hope to totally fathom the hearts of the Elves, too different were their feelings and insights from human ones.
But what mattered was, that Legolas loved me, and it was all I needed to know.
~//~
- "But I do not love you... The Elf who loved you is dead." -
I heard the words, but it took me a long time to understand their meaning. Never will I accept them. I can't.
First, I was too shocked to react at all. Later, I was too hurt. And then…
` Then I thought I would understand why you did it, why you spoke those cruel words. - It's because *he* hurt you so much, isn't it? Because the Butcher nearly destroyed you, took away your dignity and pride.
It's also the reason why your heart answers only to this boy beside me now. You needed someone to hold you into life, someone who gave you a reason to live, a sense, someone to care for. And he is no man, just a fragile naïve boy, who cannot hurt you.
I understand, but nevertheless it pains me so much, my beloved, to see you with someone else. To be rejected by you. For a boy.
Yes, I'm almost laughing now, I can't help myself. You know that I often was rejected and expelled, I have a tendency to lose what I love. But to be tossed away for a boy like that `Eomer', that's just… But I will say nothing against your choice anymore. You did what you thought was right. You had to be egoistic. Everyone in your situation would be.
And I'm soothed by the certainty that there will come a time when your wounds will be healed, when you will remember me and what we had, when also your soul will remember it and long for it. Then you will come back to me and love me again.
I can wait, Legolas. That's what I always do.
I feel almost a bit sorry for the blond boy now. He has no one besides you, no task, no place - what will he do without you, Legolas?
Eomer. I think, he really loves you. The love of a slave - wholeheartedly, with unquestioning trust like a good loyal dog. He even loved his cruel master, loves him still. Yet he helped us to escape and that earns him my respect and gratitude. I wonder, what the prince would do to Eomer, if we were caught?
Ah, but better worry about of what he would do to us, Legolas. '
I looked at the clouds above, which were dark and heavy now, like harbingers of doom, and what would inevitably happen, became a silent promise.
`One day I will face you again, Boromir, prince of Gondor.' I thought, and there was no doubt in me.
`You are my destiny, and I am yours…'
* * *
When he came into my cell, I thought him just an arrogant soldier, a captain maybe, from his proud looks and the way he acted. Valar, never had I thought…
He had no resemblance with the statues that were build to
his honor, showing a man far over the prince's real age and of stern dignity.
`Boromir', Denethor's `jewel of war', who conquered everything that the greedy
King desired.
With passion, the people spat at his statue, as they spat at the ones of Denethor
and Faramir, taking out their hatred and anger on the cold stone images.
`Boromir, the fair', how he was called by groveling servants and hypocritical nobles. I thought it just a phrase, even a joke, but he was a very handsome man indeed, the prince Boromir.Not really fair, as one would call an Elf or a woman, but without doubt very attractive and fascinating with his blond hair and those expressive green eyes. In addition with his strong shapely body, he was a truly impressive exemplar of `rough manly beauty'. Someone who hold his head high with pride and natural arrogance, someone who was used to getting what he wanted.
I've always fallen for good looks, and under other circumstances, I surely would have made that certain kind of `offer' myself. The offer to share my body with him. But there in that dungeon I just felt humiliation, when his gaze raked over me and his hands began to touch my skin.
I seemed nothing more than a chunk of meat to him.
~
When the guards came to bring me to the prince's chamber, I had already given my last thoughts to the Valars, begged them to let my Legolas know that I loved him and always would.
I was sure that the Butcher would end my life. That maybe he would have his fun with me for awhile, rape me a few times and then kill me. But strangely enough, fate had other plans. -
Valar, even just the memory of that evening is humiliating enough. All these guards that put their dirty hands on my body, touching me… I tried to fight them off, but they were too many and their grip on my arms and legs was vice-like.
When there was no other weapon left, I bit, getting the nose of one of my captors between my teeth by luck, and his foul tasting dark blood spilled over my chin and chest, filled my mouth and made me retch with disgust. My ears hurt from his painful shrieks and my mind blurred as several fists hit my stomach and head to make me open my mouth. I hadn't even realized that I had still sunken my teeth into the man's nose.
The hurt man cursed me and whimpered in pain, and I could tell from his expression that he would love to strangle me on the spot. But he restrained himself, very well aware of the prince's presence in the background.
When I let go, a piece of the guard's flesh stayed on my tongue and I spat it onto the ground right before his feet, while I tried to flee from the tub. I thought the guards would drown me when they put me back, holding my head under water for a long time to make me dazed. Exhausted and in panic, I thrashed around, feeling how my strength left me, but I didn't want to give up.
It must have been a terrible sight, I think. All the blood, the violence, the mutilated guard - but the prince laughed as if it was a funfair performance. He seemed no more than a primitive animal to me, brutal and without sense.
When he stepped towards me with that knife in his hand, I thought that the Butcher would slaughter me. His eyes had this strange sparkle, like a man in frenzy, mad for lust to kill or to … Embarrassed, I lowered my gaze when I recognized the reason of this fever in his eyes, for I couldn't stand the lust that sparkled there. Rather, I would have let myself get killed than to bear his touch again. Than to be reminded, that I even liked it only hours before, in this dark dungeon, when he was just a pretty captain who could help me. When I couldn't stop myself from thrusting hard back against him, while he was buried so incredibly deep inside of me, filling me again and again with such power and force… His breath hot on my neck, his dark scent of musk all over me, his groans deep and guttural… Strong hands gripping the chains, sliding down to my hands and over my wrists and up to the chains again, gripping them tighter…
Sure, one could call it a betrayal to my lover that I had willingly participated in this, but I thought it a chance to get some information about Legolas' whereabouts! To find a way to rescue him, or at least to see him just once again and to say him that I love him! And that also was the reason why I gave myself to the Butcher again that night. The only reason. It wasn't because he made my blood burn, wasn't because he knew how to wake up my desire, wasn't because of his strong seductive body on mine…
I felt so degraded when he slumped down beside me after he had reached his fulfillment, saying no word, giving me no look, not even caring if I was covered with the blanket, too. He just went to sleep, leaving me like a used whore, and I felt like one.
~
The crown-prince of Gondor hadn't been more to me before, than just a rival for the throne, an enemy, who had to be defeated, but now he became the epitome of hatred. I despised by heart what he did and what he was, and I had no friendly word or look for him.
I watched him when he slept, after he had rolled off of me, exhausted and satisfied from the pleasure that he got from working on my body. And I imagined how I would ram a knife into his throat, watching how those green eyes would fly open in pain and surprise.
Or maybe I would slice his throat open very slowly, while I held his struggling body in place, watching how his blood spilled over the sheets and colored them deep red.
Or better, stab his evil heart right away? No, too risky – it could turn out that a bastard like him didn't have one…
With such delightful images, I could amuse myself the whole night long, trying to distract myself from the humiliating hopeless position I was in.
Finally, the stupid prince freed me from the chains during the day, and immediately, I made sure that the next time when his little boy-servant brought me my meal, I got one of the knives from my plate hidden. Later, I carefully secured it under the bed, so that it would be easily to grab whenever I needed it.
When I was alone, I often busied myself with polishing the bread-knife over and over again, thinking with anticipation of how this blunt edge would cause incredible pain if dragged over a certain pale throat, and I anxiously waited for the day when the prince would be careless enough to give me the opportunity to use it on him. I even tried to be more obedient and friendly towards him, to make sure that this day would come soon.
Still I'm wondering how it could happen, that I forgot about the knife more and more as the days passed and that I began to hate the prince less. How could it happen, that he became `Boromir' to me one day?
~
The days were long and boring, for there weren't much things to while away the time with till the prince returned. I found not even one book in his chamber. - What did he do all the time when he wasn't slaughtering on the field, doing sword practice, or drunk as a skunk in a tavern?
When I sat down on the bed again, my sore behind painfully gave me the answer to this question, and I could feel how anger began to boil in me. Lascivious prince… what did he think I was? His mare?
He really had an incredible stamina, that was for sure. I couldn't believe myself how often he actually… well, it didn't matter. It showed even more how depraved he was. Valar, how I despised him…
But then, when he left in the morning, I caught myself waiting for him.
Perhaps that was just normal, because I had no one besides him to speak with. His servant didn't like me, that was obvious, he even avoided coming too near to me, as if he were afraid that I would eat him alive. And Legolas… Legolas didn't come to me again after that night. Sometimes I heard his voice in the other room, how he spoke to that boy. Sometimes I saw him walking by like a ghost, barely noticing the things around him, and always ignoring me.
With the prince around, I could forget about Legolas. I wouldn't feel abandoned anymore, for the prince would make sure of that. And somehow, the silly thought that he preferred me over an Elf gave me a grim satisfaction.
During the first days of my captivity, I had always feared that I had to witness how the Butcher would force Legolas to submit to his will. I thought that this was the reason why he let me live, now that he knew that we were lovers. I was sure that he just wanted to play with us, enjoy our despair. But the prince completely ignored Legolas. As if he wasn't aware that the Elf existed. Something, I couldn't understand at all. How could someone not want to be near Legolas? How could someone not want to have him… But the prince's interest seemed reserved for me alone.
Mostly, the Butcher would come straight to the point, but sometimes, when he was in especially good mood, he even talked to me. Told me about his day, about stupid Orcs and conquered areas.
Sometimes I even asked him some harmless questions, and then, he would look at me in surprise, as if he didn't think that I knew the difference between a sword and a knife. He would laugh then and shake his head in amusement, but when he answered me, I could see in his eyes that he enjoyed talking with me. And when he came to bed then, he would even try to be more gentle, although there was no need. I was used to him now.
Nearly unnoticed by me, I began to accept being with the prince.
~//~
"Are you not afraid that it could be poisoned?"
I laid on the bed, free beside of the chain that secured my ankle to the bedpost, and watched how the prince ate. How he absentmindedly shoved pieces of meat, bread and cheese into his mouth, taking big gulps of ale to wash it down, while he studied some plans and maps. Of course, he always made sure that he locked them away when he wasn't in his room, thinking me a rebel after all.
"Poisoned? Nah…", he laughed, "I have servants who try each food before it is served to me, and Eomer himself takes care of my meals. My father is very careful in choosing the kitchen servants and cooks, since I nearly died from a poisoned cake when I was ten."He chuckled when he saw my shocked face, but I thought I could see a sudden sadness creep into his eyes, too.
"One tried to kill you when you were just a mere boy?" I incredulously asked, having the image of a wild ten-year-old with dishevelled blond hair and sparkling green eyes.
The prince looked at me and sneered. "Yes. The rebels don't care about children, didn't you know that, Aragorn? For them I was Denethor's heir and their enemy. They thought, if they couldn't kill Denethor, then perhaps they could kill his bloodline, or at least hurt him somehow. They wanted to take revenge for a massacre of the families of some rebels, which my father had ordered to discourage them, to show them that all their resistance was foolish and futile. Father thought that they would give up then, but the rebels decided to give him a decent payback instead. – But you do not seriously want to hear the whole sappy story?"
There was something in his eyes that woke my sympathy. So I just nodded silently and he gave a dramatically sigh, but leaned back against his chair then in agreement, focusing his gaze on the wall as if he could see the past written there.
"T'was my tenth birthday, and my mother had died just five months ago," he began, trying to sound unmoved. "I hardly had laughed or felt any joy since then, no matter what my servants tried to change that. But for my birthday, my father had promised me my own horse!"
Boromir's eyes sparkled, when he was lost in the memory of his youth and he seemed very young to me now and far more vulnerable. He gave me one of his rare boyish grins and I just had to smile back, because it was so engaging.
"Oh, I could barely sleep the night before," he continued, "all my thoughts were directed to this horse, *my own horse*. And on the morning of my birthday, I was so thrilled that my servants had a hard time dressing me and getting me ready to see my father. But even before I was called to my father, Cullen -one of my closest servants- brought a cake to my chamber. `Our little secret', he said, because it was known that father didn't want Faramir and me to have sweets. It would make us too soft, father said.
- And now there was this huge cake for me all alone! I was happy beyond all measures. Still I remember the smile on Cullen's face, when I took the cake from him… Cullen, whom I knew since I was a toddler…
I carried `my treasure' to the table, eager to try the sweet delicacy. I swore that I would share this cake with my brother, but of course I had to try a piece of it first - I mean, it was *my* birthday after all, wasn't it?! And it was a really delicious cake, Aragorn… But not for long.
Just a few minutes after I had taken the first bite I got such terrible cramps that I was sure I would die. My throat and tongue burned like fire and I could barely breathe; in agony, I writhed on the ground, whimpering, not even able to cry for help.
And Cullen did nothing. He did not even try to flee. He just stood beside me, staring down at me with a blank expression on his face, every emotion gone, silently watching how I was slowly and painfully dying… "
My throat was tight and I couldn't turn away my gaze from him. How he sat there, still staring at the wall, trying to tell all that as if it were no more than a broken leg, as if it was something that just could happen to little princes. Strained, he tried to stay unemotional, but the way he gripped the armrests of his chair betrayed him.
"How did you survive?" I asked quietly, and he gave a short laugh. "Do you regret that I did?", he asked, and although his face showed amusement, there was some bitterness, too. He snorted as if to show that it didn't matter to him, as if he didn't care about his past, and he continued in a voice that held no wonder about the fact that he survived.
"I don't know how or why I survived. Perhaps the poison didn't work right, or wasn't strong enough, maybe I had a little resistance to it, I don't know. The medic gave me something, made me throw up the food again and again, until I was so weak that I fell into unconsciousness. I was captured between life and death for over a week and almost fell victim to the high fever that burned in my veins. It's unbelievable that I survived, but I did. Openly, they called it a wonder - in secret, the people called it `bad turn of fate'."
The sadness in his eyes made me feel strangely drawn to him. I hadn't seen him like this before. So hurt… It made him look shockingly beautiful I almost overheard his following words, so captured I was by the pained expression on his face.
"I had to stay in bed for a long time then, slowly recovering. - Hard to stand for a little boy who wants nothing more than to see his horse!" Boromir said with a small smile, and looking more intently at me he added "My father ordered Cullen tortured to death, and then, he began a rebel hunt that Gondor hadn't seen until then. Many rebels were killed and the most of their hiding places destroyed. Where weren't many rebels for a long time - till `The Fox' appeared in Gondor and formed them anew, and later, Eowyn did the same in Rohan. –But whom I'm telling that, eh?"
We looked at each other, and it was almost frightening how changed he seemed to me in that moment. How different to the drunken roaring man, who claimed the title of a prince.
I told myself that I just felt pity for the little innocent boy he once was, when I stretched my arm towards him to invite him at my side. But in truth, I wanted to lie with him to banish the disturbing sadness in his eyes, that made me feel for him in this strange way. In bed –of that I was sure- he quickly would become `the Butcher' again. A man I could hate and kill without regret.
But it wasn't so.
I remember how the joy shone in his eyes, when he understand that I wanted to share my body with him voluntarily. He must have mistaken it for affection.
Laying down beside me, he gently began to stroke over my skin, taming his own arousal that could turn into consuming lust so easily, and leaned forward for a kiss. "You want me to fuck you?" he whispered against my mouth, before he brushed his lips with full force against mine, forcing his tongue between them and inside my mouth.
"I want you to lie with me." I breathlessly answered when his lips separated from mine, correcting his low choose of words, and the prince grinned. He bend his head to hungrily bite at the skin of my neck, and I knew that the meaning was the same to him. He knew nothing about tenderness.
Carefully, I raised my hand and stroked over his head, sliding my fingers through his hair, and he abruptly stilled. I never had touched him before. Not without being told to do so, and never in such an intimate way.
I could feel him breathing against my neck, unsteadily and deep, but still he didn't move. As if he feared that I would stop my caress if he did. He was as tense as a bow now, the muscles in his body nervously twitching, and I slid my other hand over his back to relax him a bit.
He raised his head to look into my eyes, and I placed my hand on his cheek to stroke it gently with my thumb. A slight tremble went through him and his eyes closed, when he leaned into my caress.
And suddenly, I remembered the knife again. The bread-knife, that still was hidden under the bed, ready to be used by me. Now was the perfect moment to do what I had longed for all the time. Now I could kill the Butcher.
But the Butcher was gone.
Smiling down at me, Boromir tugged on a lock of my hair, curled it gently around his finger. "My wildling," he whispered, a mocking name that he often used for me, but that he made sound like an endearment from a lover now.
Passion came easily, and our bodies' needs were plentifully satisfied. "Boromir" I moaned, when we reached our fulfillment together. "Boromir…" I breathed into his ear, when I held him in my arms afterwards, his broad body on top of mine. But in my heart I already felt guilt, because I knew that I had made a terrible mistake.
`How could I do this? How could I betray Legolas this much?' I thought, and my arms fell limply to my sides. Angry about myself, I tried to shove the prince away from me and got a sleepy grunt in return.
"What is it?" Boromir asked and yawned heartily, trying to interpret the expression on my face.
"I hate you." I said quietly, choosing the same words as every time when he had used my body. "I hate you." I repeated more forcefully now, trying to turn away from him. But he gripped my shoulders and held me in place, staring down at me with his green eyes full of fury and something I didn't want to think about. Why didn't he laugh as usually? Why didn't he just shrug it aside and turned around, carelessly going to sleep as he always did? Why?
Instead, he slapped me over the face with the back of his hand. Very hard. Very fast. My head was spinning around, and I had to blink a few times before I could see clearly again.
When my head finally stopped hurting, it was deep in the night, and I was chained to the bed again. The prince lay beside me, deeply asleep as ever, and I almost believed that I had just dreamed what had happened.
In the morning, the prince awoke in an extremely foul mood and left without one look towards me. He even left me chained. When he returned, he was drunker than I had never seen him before, and an evil grin was on his face when he came to me.
He was very brutal and mean that night, although he never spared me the shame of a release from his hand, and the small part in me that had felt regret for my cruel words the night before died in burning anger. I would kill him the next chance I got, I swore to myself. He was a monster, a bastard, and nothing more.
~
"We are leaving." Legolas told me, his voice emotionless and cold, and his golden hair fell over my face, when he bent over me to unlock the chains that held me captive.
For a moment, I was lost in his scent, in the feeling of being so near to him, but then my gaze fell on the knives at his side.
With a fast movement, I drew one of them, and before even I knew what was happening, I already had one hand on the prince's cheek, forcefully pushing his head to the side, while I slowly raised the other hand with the knife.
I half expected that he would wake up now and give me a fight, and I pressed harder to hold his face down, ready to cover his mouth if he would start to scream. But he didn't wake up. He even calmed down in his unsteady sleep!
"My wildling…" he mumbled happily and a tender smile appeared on his face, forcing the drunkenness in it away. Peacefully sleeping, he pressed his cheek even closer to my hand, that still held his head in place for the intended death-blow, leaving the pulsing vein on his neck vulnerably exposed.
`Arrogant prince. Thinking yourself so invincible will bring you death now…" I thought, but I couldn't bring myself to strike. My hand did not obey me, and Boromir's words echoed in my mind, awakening most confusing feelings in me.
All I could do then was to flee.
Shakily, I handed the knife back to Legolas and left the room without looking back…
~//~
The paved main road to Osgiliath lay directly before us now, there was no other way left. All I could do, was to hope that we would come through to the city without being stopped by a patrol, and that I could send a message to the rebels as soon as we were there. We would need help and a safe place for Legolas.
I thought it would be the best to stay with the rebels. At least, Legolas and me. Eomer wasn't made for a rebel's life. He was too fragile, too innocent, almost still a child. He needed people who looked after him. The boy really deserved that. But one couldn't expect the rebels to do so. We should see if we could find him a shelter somewhere else…
My fingers touched the sword at my side, the sword that I had taken from Boromir's things. It was a noble sword, that surely had seen many fights and shed a lot of blood.
`How long,' I asked myself, `till it has to taste blood again?'
If you enjoyed this story. please send feedback to: Vagabond
go to Chapter 9