The delegation of Elves walked through the White City, their bows unstrung and strapped to their backs, their fighting knives bound into their sheaths. The leader was resplendent in golden armor and a red cloak; the others wore cloaks of Lórien grey. Higher and higher they climbed, each turning of the path bringing them closer to the white Tower of Ecthelion.
The black marble pillars and tall statues made the great hall a foreboding place, but the scarlet-clad captain of the Elves strode forward to the base of the tall dais. Haldir was never completely comfortable indoors, preferring the shelter of the great trees of Lothlórien to man-built structures of wood or stone. Even the bare fields of Pelennor would have been more to his liking, but to meet with the Steward of Gondor, one was compelled to climb to the great white tower.
“The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood send greetings to Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor,” the captain recited before the empty throne.
“Long has it been since Elvenkind graced the halls of Minas Tirith,” Denethor responded from his seat on the lowest step.
Haldir inclined his head in agreement. “We pray the friendship of Gondor has not expired with the passage of time, for Lothlórien holds it dear.” Diplomacy was not Haldir’s chosen vocation, but his facility with the tongues of men conscripted him to this duty.
The Steward gestured and chairs were brought for Haldir and his guard. Still another chair was placed beside Denethor’s, immediately claimed by a young man in the uniform of Gondor’s guard. Sharp elven eyes discerned the resemblance between the two, and though Haldir was not accustomed to judging the ages of men, he kenned that they were father and son.
Once seated, the Elven captain spoke again. “I am Haldir of the Golden Wood that you name Lothlórien.” Servants brought wine and white cakes on silver trays to the Elves, and though it was not their custom to eat in council, they each took a morsel and received a goblet, and Haldir thanked the Steward for his hospitality. “We come, Sir Steward,” he said, the communion complete, “to discuss the spreading Darkness, and how we shall both defend our lands against it.”
They talked earnestly until a bell sounded, and Haldir realized it was near sunset from the angle of light through the high windows of the hall. The Elves rose as the Steward and his son did.
“You will dine with us tonight,” Denethor announced. “We will talk further of this on the morrow.” Gathering his robes around him, he swept from the hall, leaving his son to order accommodations.
The young man approached Haldir and extended his hand in greeting. “I am Faramir,” he said, and Haldir clasped his arm in the fashion of Gondor. The other Elves merely inclined their heads, hands held over their hearts. “I will take you to your rooms.”
In all his years, Haldir had met many men, but never had he beheld a gaze more open and trusting than Faramir’s. His eyes were the blue-green of old jade beneath coppery brows and disheveled locks. Though not as tall as the Elf-captain, his well-formed body held the strength and grace that bespoke the blood of Númenor, thought long since extinguished in the South. Seldom, if ever, had a man’s gaze captivated Haldir as Faramir’s did, stopping his very breath.
Faramir spoke as they walked to the rooms that had been made ready for them, but Haldir heard not the words, only the gentle flow of his voice and the lilt of his laugh. The Elven guards were shown to a common room with sleeping alcoves, sparsely but comfortably furnished. “If you will come this way...” Faramir hesitated. “I know not your title, Sir Elf, nor your patronymic, in order to address you properly.”
“In Lothlórien I am Marchwarden, but here you would call me Captain.”
“Then, Captain Haldir,” the man continued, “here is your chamber. Near to your troopers, but with the privacy a leader warrants.” He pushed open the door to the room, smaller, but furnished in the same manner, with a single sleeping alcove. Two uncushioned chairs were tucked under a table that doubled as a desk, and an upholstered divan stood against the wall under an undraped window. “Our daymeal is served as the sun sets; there is yet time to wash before coming to table. I will send a lad to guide you.”
Haldir thanked him with a nod, and as he turned to go, said, “You have not told me your title and lineage, Faramir of Gondor.”
“Forgive my rudeness, Captain,” he replied. “My father is sometimes lax in his introductions. I am the Steward’s younger son, and like you, a captain of my country’s guard.”
A satisfied smirk crossed Haldir’s face as he watched Faramir leave. His estimation of the young man had been correct: Denethor’s son, but not his heir. He schooled his thoughts away from the fair son of the Steward as he removed his cloak and armor and washed the grime of travel from his face. Once refreshed, he stowed his bow and quiver, and put aside his long knives, keeping only a small knife at his belt. The blade was shorter than the longest of his fingers, but sharp, intended for cutting meat at table or fruit on the trail. He ran his fingers through his hair, gently tugging out the tangles until it hung straight and smooth across his shoulders. He left his knapsack unopened, its contents no more than his traveling clothes, spare bowstrings, and what few personal items he required on the journey.
A knock at the door came just as the sun touched the mountain top to the west of the city, and Haldir opened the door to a liveried boy, his hair cropped about his ears and his breeches too short for his gangly legs.
“Captain Faramir sent me, milord,” the boy prattled. “I’m to take you and your men — er, elves — to the Steward’s table.”
“Let us collect my... men," the captain said, “and you can show us the way.”
There were many at the Steward’s table, and the Elves were seated in places of honor. Haldir noticed Faramir sitting far from the head of the table. He caught the young captain’s eye several times, but always his attention was demanded by the Steward and the High Councilors who sat near him.
Denethor’s rising from the table marked the end of the meal, and most of the other diners dispersed without lingering. The youngster who had guided them before reappeared, and Haldir sent the other Elves with him to return to their quarters while he sought out the Steward’s son.
“I seem to have missed my escort, Captain,” Haldir said after waiting for Faramir to bid farewell to the last of the guests. “Would you be so kind as to see me to my quarters?”
“It would be my pleasure, Captain Haldir,” Faramir answered.
Once more alone with the Gondorian captain, he became aware again of the attraction the man held for him, but had seen no indication that the desire was mutual. If anything, Faramir’s conduct had been circumspect, no words or inquiries Haldir could interpret as interest in pursuing anything more than a passing acquaintance. At the door he stood aside to allow the Elf to pass through first, and Haldir felt a slight touch at the small of his back. It was the first contact between the two since their initial greeting, and it sent a shiver up the Elf’s spine.
“Are you chilled?” Faramir asked. “The night is uncommonly warm for this season.”
“No. It is nothing.” They walked on in silence, never more than the span of a hand between them. All too soon they reached the door to the Elf’s quarters, and once more Faramir opened the door and gestured for Haldir to precede him. There was another ghost of a touch at his back as the Elf crossed the threshold.
The room had been attended to during the meal. Candles had been lit in wall sconces and at the bedside, a fire laid in the grate. A carafe of chilled wine, moisture beading on the crystal, a pair of goblets, and a bowl of fruit had been placed on the table. His pack had been emptied, his extra clothes hung up to air, and his kit arrayed on the washstand beside the bed. A quick glance assured him all was in order.
“My father bade me ask if you or your men require anything,” Faramir said, standing in the doorway of the chamber, the uniform he had worn earlier replaced with a long, open mantle over dark trousers and a wine-colored shirt patterned with gold. The colors suited the young man, accentuating the coppery tint to his hair. He ducked his head, and a blush colored his cheeks. “Or anyone,” he continued, then raised his head proudly. He stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for Haldir’s answer.
A slight smile crossed Haldir’s face. “When away from home, it is the custom of Elven warriors to take their comfort with their comrades.” He poured two goblets of wine and extended one in invitation to the Gondorian.
“I see,” Faramir said. He stepped farther into the room and took the proffered cup, letting the door swing closed behind him. He raised the goblet to Haldir in toast and put it to his lips. “That is sometimes our practice as well,” he muttered before he drank deeply of the wine, then said, “That accounts for your warriors. What about their Captain?”
Haldir regarded the young man, and his smile grew. The mumbled comment had not escaped his elven-sharp ears. He set aside his wine and moved nearer. He could feel the heat of the man’s body, even standing an arm’s length away. He breathed deeply, partly to calm himself, but also to detect the man’s scent. He could identify the elements of the complex aroma — the wine he had drunk, the soap he had washed with, and under it all, the musk of desire. Another step took the Elf into close quarters with the man, their bodies separated by no more than the width of one hand.
“Their Captain would enjoy the company of another,” he whispered. He touched the man’s jaw with the tip of one finger, turning and raising Faramir’s face to his own. “Perhaps you know of someone?”
Bow-calloused fingers lightly touched Haldir’s forelock, lifting it away from the Elf’s neck, letting the hair slide between them. “Perhaps,” he answered. He closed his fingers on the strand of hair and tugged, bringing their lips together in a tentative kiss.
An age had passed since Haldir had last kissed a man, and he expected to find Faramir’s beard rough and bristling. Though coarser, his facial hair was nearly as soft as the tumbled locks the Elf threaded his hands into, bringing the man’s mouth back to his own, showing him the depth of his desire, the heat of his passion. His tongue touched Faramir’s lips and the man opened to him, drawing him in. So the desire is shared, he thought, the last coherent idea his mind could grasp before it was filled with baser urges.
Strong arms wrapped around the Elf’s body, pulling them together. Even through the layers of clothing Haldir could feel the man’s growing arousal, and he snaked his arms around Faramir. One hand rose behind the strong shoulders, the other skimmed downward to hold the firm, rounded buttocks. Faramir moaned into the Elf’s mouth and melted into the embrace. With a final nip on the soft lower lip, Haldir broke away from the kiss.
They both breathed heavily, eyes dilated with arousal. “You would consort with me tonight? Freely?”
Faramir increased the pressure of his hips against Haldir’s, his arousal unmistakable. “Yes,” he said, “most freely.” He drained the goblet and set it down, then with both hands unfastened the clasp at Haldir’s throat. “I have never lain with an Elf,” he admitted. “Shall I presume the basic techniques are the same?”
“Hmmmm,” the Elf hummed as warm lips caressed his throat. He stretched his head back, offering more of his neck to be kissed, and Faramir obliged him with soft, licking and nipping kisses. Busy hands opened clasp after clasp, and soon the pale, smooth chest was revealed. “Yes,” he finally answered, “though I shall not be surprised if we each learn something new.”
The man’s laugh was music to Haldir’s ears. Taking his cue from Faramir, he slipped the embroidered mantle over the broad shoulders and let it drop to the floor. In a moment the shirt hung open and the Elf’s hands busied themselves with loosening belt and trousers.
Rough hands stopped the long fingers. “Another glass of wine, perhaps? And we can pull off our boots before the heat of passion leaves us fumbling and inept.” One dark eyebrow rose on the broad forehead and Haldir nodded. He filled both goblets again, and this time their toast was to each other, and what was to come.
Once the wine was drunk and boots removed, they turned again to each other, quickly restoring their arousal with kisses and caresses across face and cheek and body. Haldir’s tightly fitted leggings were peeled slowly away, exposing his loins inch by inch, then his long, lean legs. He pulled Faramir with him to the sleeping alcove, and bade him lie on the bed, then pulled the trousers from his hips and legs in one motion. With all their clothing removed, Haldir threw himself onto the recumbent man, covering the smaller form with his own, kissing the lips he’d come to cherish for their softness and warmth. He slid one leg over Faramir’s knees and shifted his own hips to bring their erections together.
Only flickering candlelight illuminated the room, burnishing them both in a golden glow. Faramir gasped as Haldir moved, sliding shaft against shaft. With a hand on either side of the man’s head, Haldir pushed his upper body up. "What is your pleasure, Faramir-nîn?” He moved his hips again, and smiled as Faramir cried out. “Ah,” he whispered, lowering his head to brush the man’s ear with his lips. “Shall I ride you first? Or would you have me? Either is to my liking.”
Turning his head, Faramir nipped at a delicately pointed ear. “I would have you, Sir Elf,” he gasped. He hooked his foot around Haldir’s leg and twisted; in an instant the Elf found himself on his back with his legs in the air, the man stretched between them.
“Garn enni,” Haldir said in his own language. “Take me.” Haldir didn’t know what to expect of the man, whether he would be rough and insistent, interested solely in his own pleasure, or gentle and considerate, concerned with the Elf’s satisfaction as well.
Faramir gently stroked the long, golden hair away from Haldir’s face, his fingertips barely touching the skin. When he kissed the Elf, his own hair fell forward, the ends soft and tantalizing against Haldir’s cheeks. The man’s kisses were deep and probing, but gentle, his tongue exploring and tasting every part of Haldir’s mouth. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, then Haldir felt the press of lips on his forehead and his eyelids, his cheek and his jaw. At the same time the blunt fingers stroked and caressed the Elf’s long neck and strong shoulders, soon followed by the nipping, tasting kisses.
Haldir gasped when both nipples were suddenly tweaked hard, then sighed as one and then the other were softly licked and kissed. Slowly and deliberately Faramir made his way down the long body, pausing at the lowest ribs to tickle, nuzzling the indentation of his navel. Though his beard abraded the smooth skin, it was only enough to heighten the sensations that followed from lips and tongue.
The Elf’s chest was heaving, moans and sighs of pleasure escaping his mouth of their own accord by the time the man’s kisses reached the crest of his hip. His long-fingered hands were fisted in the coverlet, his knuckles white in their grip. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this foreplay; Faramir had not yet touched his throbbing organ, either with hand or mouth. Freeing one hand from the bedclothes, he reached for himself, but his hand was intercepted and pinned to his side.
“No,” Faramir said, his voice low and full of passion. You’re mine.”
Barely able to speak, his voice caught somewhere in his chest, Haldir said, “Then take me, Far’mir.”
Before he could go on he was consumed by the hot, wet cavern of the man’s mouth. Wordless sounds of encouragement kept time with Faramir’s movements. He tried to thrust with his hips, to push deeper into the paradise of that mouth, but he was held tightly between strong arms, totally at Faramir’s mercy. He tried to calm himself, to let the sensations wash over him. He rode the wave of passion that swept out from the depths of his body, twisting and swirling into every fiber of his being, until he could control himself no more, and with a shout spilled his seed into the man’s throat.
At the instant of Haldir’s release, Faramir thrust a single finger deep into the Elf’s tight opening. As he licked and cleaned the flagging member, he pumped in and out of the perfect, golden body.
Faramir’s hair was silk under his fingers. He continued to stroke and pet the sweat-dampened hair, gently urging Faramir to rest his head on his flank. Both of them gasped for each breath they took, but the Elf had no chance to calm himself as new sensations surged through him. Still deep inside him, the movement of Faramir’s finger stilled as soft lips brushed across his hip.
“Oil,” the man said. “Is there any oil?”
What a fool, Haldir said to himself. How could I forget? On the washstand, along with the other items from his pack, there was a small jar. He grasped it and offered it to Faramir. “This will do,” he answered. “It is wondrously slick.”
The Elf groaned at the loss of Faramir’s probing finger, slick from the man’s own essence. Focusing his eyes, he saw Faramir kneeling between his upraised legs, the man’s member, long and thick, standing almost vertically from the short, cinnamon-colored hair. Fluid seeped from the dark crown and ran along the engorged veins that wrapped around the pillar of flesh.
“Are all men of Gondor endowed as you are?” he asked.
Faramir smiled and stroked more ointment onto his straining organ. "Is it too much for you?" he jested.
Haldir pulled his knees to his chest. “I can accommodate whatever you can give me,” he answered, though none of his former lovers had been so large. He dipped the fingers of one hand into the open jar and spread it across his waiting entrance.
“You are anxious,” Faramir commented.
Using his own fingers to stretch himself, Haldir smiled as Faramir gasped. “No more than you.” He reached for the man’s organ and guided it to him. “Take me, Captain of Gondor. Let the Golden Wood and the White City be joined.”
A single thrust pushed past the tight rings of muscle and Faramir sank his length deep into Haldir’s flawless body. Slowly he retreated, then thrust again. “You are so hot, so tight,” he gasped, and repeated his movements. Each thrust touched the deep-set gland, forcing cries of ecstasy from the Elf. Faster and faster the man moved, until with one last, desperate thrust he pushed as far into Haldir’s body as he could, his spasms filling Haldir with his very essence.
When the spasms eased, Haldir pulled Faramir to rest atop himself, his gentle touch soothing the shudders that continued to wrack the man’s body. A sigh escaped the Elf’s lips when he felt Faramir’s now-flaccid organ slip from him, and he kissed the coppery locks, then nuzzled them aside to press his lips to the sweat-slicked brow.
“Sleep, adan-nîn,” he whispered. Deep in his dreams Faramir shifted to lie next to Haldir, his head still pillowed on the Elf’s smooth chest, their legs entwined. Covering them both against the night’s chill, Haldir settled into his unsleeping dreams, the Captain of Gondor still cradled in his arms. After a time the candles guttered out, leaving only the moonlight.
From dreams of endless pleasure Faramir awoke to find Haldir bent over him, the golden-haired Elf skillfully licking and kissing his manhood into hardness. Both the Elf’s fingers and hair stroked feather-light against his inner thighs. “Do I yet dream?” he asked, and reached a hand to stroke the errant strands of gold that lay across his loins.
Bright blue eyes caught his, and Haldir’s lips curved into a smile, but he spoke not, continuing his ministrations to Faramir’s member, extending his caresses to the soft sac between the strong thighs.
“You have an interesting way of awakening your lovers.” The man’s voice was already husky, his breath panting.
“I seek only to give you the same pleasures you gifted to me last night.”
Twisting his fingers in the long hair, Faramir gasped, “I can deny you nothing this morn, my golden one.” A sharp cry stopped his voice as the Elf’s tongue swirled around the tip of his throbbing shaft, then traced the large vein to its base.
Lifting the heavy orbs in his cupped hand, Haldir reverently kissed them, then laved the soft skin with his tongue. Gently he blew across the dampened area, and smiled as Faramir’s entire body shook with a strong shudder. He ducked his head lower, the tip of his tongue flicking and teasing until he reached the man’s puckered entrance.
Faramir bucked with the touch. “Ai!” he cried, and again when the Elf’s long fingers followed, spreading the cool ointment. He pushed himself up on his elbows, pulling his most intimate regions out of Haldir’s reach.
The Elf knelt on the bed, his knees spread apart, fully aroused. His long, smooth-skinned organ was slick with the lubricant, his hairless body flushed. “Do you prefer a different position?” he asked. “I enjoy seeing your face as we couple, but there are other ways, if you wish.”
The blue-green eyes lost their color, and Haldir saw fear cross the Captain’s face. His mouth gaped open, but no words came out, only the ragged breaths of passion. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again they were again the color of jade. “I don’t know.... I’ve never....” His voice trailed off.
Both eyebrows rose across Haldir’s broad forehead. A virgin! he thought. I am blessed by the Valar today. “Fear not, Faramir-nîn. I shall be gentle.” He touched the man’s shoulder, indicating he should lie back. His fingertips traced a path down the cinnamon-haired chest and flanks. Gently he raised and opened the lean legs, always keeping his eyes locked with Faramir’s. He moved forward, teasing the virgin entrance with the tip of his organ, then pulled away. “First,” he said, “just a finger.”
Before Faramir could object, Haldir thrust a single finger deeply into the man’s body. Shock, then pleasure shaded Faramir’s face, and the Elf continued, adding more ointment when needed. His preparations aroused Faramir all the more, and when his weeping organ took the place of his fingers, they were both on the very edge of control.
“Feel it, Far’mir,” Haldir urged as he pumped into the tight channel. “We are one — man and Elf.” Sensing his imminent orgasm, he pulled back until he felt the tug of the tight muscles on the head of his organ, then thrust hard, releasing himself deep inside.
Still joined, Faramir bucked under the Elf, his own release spreading between their bodies, and they joined again in a deep, passionate kiss. When next they breathed, the first cock crowed, signaling the start of a new day.
The Moon waned and waxed again while Haldir and his Elves held council with Denethor and his advisors, and the day that the delegation left the White City dawned bright and clear.
The Steward and his councilors bade them farewell as they left the Citadel, but the Captain of the Guard was nowhere to be found. Though they had said their true goodbyes in private, Haldir had wished to look on the fair son of Denethor once more before leaving. He led his troop of warriors down the winding avenue of the city, their horses awaiting them at the great gate. A stable boy held each horse’s headstall as the Elves mounted, but Haldir’s horse was not among them.
A whinny attracted his attention, and he saw his horse and another approach, both led by the missing Captain. A smile threatened, but he quickly regained his composure.
“Will you accompany us, Captain Faramir?” he asked. They did not touch nor otherwise greet each other, lest some impropriety lead to hurtful gossip.
“I ride east,” Faramir answered as he mounted his steed. “My furlough is over; I must return to my duties.”
“We wish you good fortune, then, Faramir of Gondor,” Haldir called as he took his seat on the horse’s back. He nudged the horse’s ribs and directed him to Faramir’s side. “If you ever find yourself in the Golden Wood, Captain Faramir, simply speak my name and you will be welcomed.”
With a nod, the man spurred his horse and galloped towards the spreading Darkness.