Sparkle

This chapter is for “Ignis et Ventus” at FFnet, whose review for chapter 2 made my day! Sorry for the delay.

Italics – Elvish.
Bold – Parseltongue.
Paragraphs in Italics, – taken from the films. You’ll recognize them.

* * *

UNBETA’D : I figured after the really long wait, it would be cruel to make you wait for this to be beta’d. I can’t even remember her email address, its been that long since I updated last.

Words: 10,621
Chapter 3/3
Sparkle III
Middle-Earth, Fangorn Forest. July 1998.

They rode through Fangorn Forest, towards Isengard. Legolas and Aragorn kept hold of the reigns, with Harrison and Gimli sat, respectively, behind each. Gandalf rode alongside them, unburdened by a passenger. The broke through the line of trees, and stopped. Gandalf looked around, creases lining his face as he frowned heavily. What once was a part of a thick forest was now a flooded, barren circle of land. He looked up to the Two Towers, and a face peered back down at him through a window. He cursed Saruman for destroying the trees, for razing the forest, to create his weapons of war.

Gimli suddenly shouted, jumping down from the back of Aragorn’s horse. “There you two are! Led us on a merry chase, you did.”

“Hobbits!” Gandalf muttered as his attention turned back to the Fellowship.

Merry and Pippin grinned down at their friends. They were sitting on top of what once was a catapult, each smoking a pipe stuffed with Longbottom Leaf, and taking long drinks of ale from a flagon each. “We,” Merry said, “are sitting in a field of victory, enjoying a few well earned comforts.”

Pippin hopped down. Followed by Merry. “We’re under orders, to keep watch, from Treebeard. He’s taken over the running of Isengard.”

Gandalf shook his head, reaching down to grab hold of Merry, and hoisting the Hobbit onto the back of Shadowfax. He looked at Pippin, then back up at the Fellowship, and frowned. “Where to sit you, master Hobbit?”

“He may ride with Harrison,” Legolas said softly, smiling as he dismounted his horse. “I will run along side them.” Pippin stepped towards them, and then stopped. Eyes wide the Hobbit starred down at the flooded ground. There was a light, shinning through the muddy water, and it called to him, stretched out a slimy hand and grabbed hold of his heart. Reach out to me, it told him, and Pippin leant down as he was told and plucked the Palantir from the water. He stared at it. It was round and glossy, pitch black except for one red sphere in the centre that blinked like Sauron’s eye.

“I will take that, Pippin,” Gandalf said sternly, reaching out. “Now.” Unwillingly, Pippin handed it over. As Gandalf wrapped it up within his cloak, out of site, a part of Pippin silently cried out for one more look.

XXX

Middle-Earth, Helm’s Deep. July 1998.

Harrison watched as King Theoden gave a speech, but he didn’t listen. His mind was on other things. Aragorn was alive: he had not died, and Harrison had not failed. There was still a chance that Arwen would live long enough to marry the Ranger, and Harrison would be gifted with her immortality. The Valar had promised, but only if Arwen lived long enough. For Arwen to live so must Aragorn. Harrison took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed in relief as he heard Aragorn’s laugh echo across the room. He was alive. There was still a chance.

A hand fell on his shoulder, the fingers squeezed softly. Harry opened his eyes, smiling as he turned his head to look upon his mate. Legolas. For who Harrison did all of this. Without Legolas there was no need for immortality, there would be no need to protect Aragorn’s life, and Arwen’s (except that she was Lady Galadriel’s granddaughter). Without Legolas, Harry’s smile faded, it would be very likely that the Elves of Lothlorien would have never taken him in. They had known all along that he was to be the mate of an Elf, and they had treated him as if he were an Elf himself. If not for Legolas, there would be nothing to fight for. His whole life revolved around the blond now, and Harrison smiled at the thought.

“Why do you grin so?” Legolas asked.

Harrison nodded towards a table a little away from them. Merry and Pippin were dancing on top of it, singing. “They amuse me.”

“They amuse us all, master Elf.” Gimli huffed as he took a seat beside them.

“You can search far and wide, you can drink the whole town dry, but you’ll never find a beer so brown as the one we drink in our home town!” The two Hobbits sang together, waving their flagons of beer and linking arms as they began to kick their legs in the air. “You can keep your fancy ales, you can drink ’em by the flagon, but the only brew for the brave and true comes from the Green Dragon!” They knocked their beers together, and downed them both. Merry screamed, “I win!” as they both got down off of the table.

Harrison laughed softly, turning in his seat to press a soft kiss to Legolas’ mouth. “They really amuse me.”

Everyone continued to drink, bar the resident Elves, and Merry and Pippin sang numerous more songs before it was time for bed. As everyone slept, Legolas left his mate sleeping and joined Aragorn on the balcony. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“Watching the stars.” Aragorn told him.

The blond frowned. “What do they tell you?”

“Nothing I do not already know, my friend.”

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but a cry drifted towards them out of the bedroom. The Fellowship had chosen to sleep together, each curled up on a cot or in a sleeping bag on the floor. They had given Gandalf the one bed. Aragorn rushed back inside, slowly as he saw Gandalf rip the Palantir from Pippin’s hands. Harrison sat up off the floor, watching the Hobbit scream and writhe with no expression on his face. Legolas dropped to the floor beside him, reaching out to comfort the human.

“What did you see?” Gandalf asked, shaking the Hobbit. Pippin’s eyes fluttered. He wheezed, still shaking as Gandalf’s grip tightened on him.

“I saw,” he began, before he shuddered. “I saw a white tree, in a courtyard of stone. It was dead. And the city was burning.”

“Minas Tirith,” Harrison muttered, green eyes widening as they looked towards Aragorn, who had gone ashen.

“What else, what else?” Gandalf asked impatiently.

“Sauron. He hurt me. He asked me questions.” Pippin’s hands shook as they reached out to Merry. His fellow Hobbit took hold of them, squeezing them lightly and giving his friend courage.

“What did you tell him of Frodo and the Ring?”

“Nothing.” Gandalf, and the others, all breathed loud sighs of relief.

A short time later, they met in the atrium leading to the King’s chambers. There was a table with a map spread out across it, and a handful of wooden chairs, and banners hung on the walls but not much else. The Fellowship stood around, looking between the King and his niece and nephew. Harrison stood at the table, his fingers tracing over the words ‘Mirkwood Forest’ with a small smile on his lips. Legolas stood behind him, a hand covering Harry’s free hand.

“When this is over, I’ll take you there.” The blond elf promised.

“He is a fool,” Gandalf exclaimed, and all those listening turned their eyes to Pippin, “but an honest fool he remains.” The old Wizard walked slowly towards Aragorn, and whispered, “He cannot stay here.”

“I will take him. I will warn Gondor.” Harrison’s head snapped up at the name of his old home, his eyes shuttered as Aragorn moved forward.

“No. You must travel to Gondor by a different path. Aragorn you must go by the River and look to the black ships. I will warn Lord Denethor.” Gandalf turned to Harrison and held a hand out. The human shook his head softly, taking a step away from the Wizard and bringing his back flush to Legolas’ chest. The elf tightened his hold on his mate’s waist and waited. “You will not come?”

“I will come when I am needed, Mithrandir.”

“Very well. I will see you in Gondor, my boy. Come Pippin.” Merry watched them go from the top of a watchtower. He all but shoved the soldier out of the way so he could peak through the wood and nails and wave goodbye to his friend. Gandalf rode out on Shadowfax, staff in one hand and the other on the reigns. Pippin sat in front of him, eyes closed tight as the Mearas took them away from Helm’s Deep.

The Elves rode out after them. Harrison watched them go, waving goodbye to his friends. Haldir turned his head, and caught Harry’s eyes. With a smile the elf rode away. The human leant back against Legolas, taking comfort from his mate, as Aragorn comforted Merry.

“They will be well.”

“The Valar goes with them.” Harrison answered in Elvish.

XXX

Middle-Earth, Rivendell. August 1998.

It was the end of the Third Age of Middle Earth. The time of Men was over, and it was time for the Elves to move on. As the evil spread from Mordor, the Elves grew weaker. They were creatures of the light, and they faded in the shadow of Sauron. It was time for them to sail to the Undying Lands. Ships awaited them at the Grey Havens, waiting to bring them to Valinor. Arwen was sullen upon her horse. It carried her slowly, in time with the rest of her party, many of who were happy to escape the second war. She cried though, fat pale drops that tasted bitter as they brushed against her lips.

She did not want to leave.

She could not bear to leave Aragorn. A part of her knew that her father was right; there was nothing here for her now. But she couldn’t help but regret being there, away from the home she had known all of her life. Why, why was she running away, and leaving her lover out there alone? He was not dead, she could feel it, but if she left he may as well be.

She blinked back more tears, turning her head to stare out into the forest. Elves surrounded her on all sides, but it was almost like she could see straight through them. She saw Aragorn. He looked older though, and as she studied him she realized that he wasn’t real. She held tighter to the horse’s reigns: there was no need for her to dismount. Aragorn was not really there.

A child ran through the forest. His chin length brown hair, wavy like Aragorn’s, flared out behind him as he ran. Arwen’s heart thumped painfully as Aragorn reached down for the boy, before swinging him around in the air. The child looked straight at her, though Aragorn did not seem to know she was looking. Around the boy’s neck hung the Evenstar. The same one she had given Aragorn.

She pulled hard on the reigns, and the horse stopped. A friend of her father stopped before her, reaching out to her. “My Lady, we cannot delay.” She looked at him, and then turned to the empty patch of forest where her vision had been moments ago. Arwen turned the horse, and galloped back home.

“Why are you here, Arwen?” Lord Elrond asked angrily as she appeared in the threshold. He reached for her hands, but she drew back.

“You knew. You saw.”

“I looked into your future and I saw nothing but death.” He told her sadly, reaching out for her again.

She let him hold her hands, smiling softly at her father. “But there is also life. You saw my son.”

“That future is almost lost.”

“Nothing is certain, Ada.” (father) “If I leave now, I will regret it forever.” Elrond looked her over. She was pale, but her cheeks had a healthy flush and her eyes were bright. She looked happier than she had since the Fellowship first set out from Rivendell.

“What would you have me do, daughter?”

“Re-forge the sword of Elendil.” He nodded. As Arwen gathered the pieces of the sword that had once slain Sauron she spoke softly to herself, a rhyme that she had heard in her dreams over and over, just waiting to turn from premonition to reality. “From the ashes a fire shall be woken. A light from the shadow shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be King.”

Once she had given over the pieces of the sword, her father led her to a bed. She tried to rest, but in her sleep she kept tossing and turning and eventually she gave up. She rose, and walked to join her father outside on the veranda. They stood together, in the night, as two Elves worked below them to fix the damaged sword. Hand in hand they waited. “Your hands are cold,” Lord Elrond said after sometime. “The light of the Eldar is leaving you.”

“By your will or not, there is no ship now that can bare me hence.” She smiled sadly at him, and reached under her collar. She withdrew a small pendant, the size of a locket, which was a dull silver colour. It hung limply on the silver chain. Engraved on the front of the pendant was an intricate letter ‘H’. “I have chosen a mortal life, Ada. As I slept the Valar spoke to me. They have promised Grandmother my immortality for her child.”

“Child? I have a sibling?” Lord Elrond’s brow furrowed in confusion. No one had told him of the birth of an Elf. Legolas was the last Elfling born, and that was three-hundred-years ago.

“He is a human, the child mistaken for Isildur’s Heir. They tell me he is the mate of Legolas of Mirkwood. I see not why two elves should die as mortals, when instead one mortal can live as elf.” She smiled softly, her hand dropping the pendant and coming to caress her father’s face. “When it begins to glow, I will be mortal. My immortality will become his.”

“And if it does not glow at all?”

“Then either I, or Aragorn, have died too soon.” She stayed silent after that. The wind blew around her, her hair fanning her face, and Arwen closed her eyes and listened with her heart for any news of her lover. The trees were silent.

XXX

Middle-Earth, Helm’s Deep. August 1998.

(Slash Scene Starts)

They moved together in the dark, panting softly as flesh slapped against flesh. Lips met in sloppy kisses, tongue darted out, tasting, teasing. Harrison groaned, his nails digging into Legolas’ back, racking across the pale flesh as the elf sucked on Harrison’s throat.

The blond pinned Harry’s hands to the floor. Legolas moved back, just enough so that he could see his mate’s face. He smirked down at Harry. “Stop fighting me. You know I will win.”

“Is that so?” Harrison panted, arguing, even as he raised his head up for a kiss. Legolas captured his lips. They moved together. Their kisses were not loving or gentle, but filled with passion and lust and desperation. Soon, Gondor would call for them, and whatever King Theoden said, the Fellowship would answer. Neither mate wanted to lose the other to war so soon after the last battle, but they would fight regardless. But in the meantime, they clung desperately to one another.

Harrison managed to free his hands, one of them tangled into Legolas’ hair and the other pressed against the floor granting some leverage. His legs locked tightly around Legolas’ waist, and he rolled. Taken by surprise, the elf found himself on his back, with him mate seated on top of him.

Harrison moaned. The change in position forced Legolas deeper into his body, and the human threw his head back, panting, and enjoying the increased pressure. “Does this mean I win?” Harrison asked as he rolled his hips.

Legolas groaned at the feeling. “Do that again, and then you win.” Harry rolled his hips again, raising himself up slightly before he dropped back down. The movement drew identical cries from both of them. Hands gripped Harrison’s waist, helping the boy rise and fall. Legolas spread his legs, bending them and pressing his feet flat to the floor. He thrust up hard, and Harrison shrieked as his prostate was stabbed with every one of the elf’s movements.

“I love you,” the human breathed. He lowered his head, offering his mouth to his lover. Legolas claimed his lips willingly. Their kisses grew sloppier as their release grew nearer.

“Love you too,” Legolas panted as heat began pooling in his groin. “Feels so good.” He took one hand off of Harrison’s hip and moved it to encircle the boy’s erection. He stroked harshly, in long even pulls, and Harry cried out, arching his back and pushing himself down onto Legolas’ lap. He came with a cry, his nails scratching across the pale skin of Legolas’ chest. The Elf flipped them over, driving into his mate’s willing body three times, gripping the boy’s thighs viciously as he came. His hips stuttered as he rode through the aftershocks, and Harrison lay limply beneath him, a soft smile on his face.

(Slash Scene Ends)

“Wow.” The teenager said at last.

Legolas nuzzled softly against Harry’s neck, chuckling lightly. Before he could speak, people began shouting outside. The elf sat up, placing himself in front of his mate, and reached for his sword. The door swung inward, and naked as the day he was born Legolas had the man pinned to the wall in a second.

Harrison placed his hand over his mate’s, and the elf let the man go. “Sorry,” the man stuttered, blushing. His eyes strayed all around the room, desperately trying to keep them off of the two naked, handsome men. “Gondor has called for aid. King Theoden declares that Rohan will answer. They await you.” He turned and ran back the way he came, not waiting for a reply.

“Well,” Harrison chuckled softly, “we finished just in time.” The blond rolled his eyes, before closing the door. “Catch,” Harry said as he threw Legolas’ clothes at him. The elf caught them deftly and began to dress.

They left the room in silence. It was easy to find the others. They were all gathered together in the courtyard, listening intently to the King. “Eómer, muster the Rohirrim. Gamling go south, summon as many able bodied men as you can find to Dunharrow. Grimbold bring men from Westfold. Quickly. You there, go north.” The men hurried to do as they were instructed.

In less than an hour, three of the King’s men had already left Helm’s Deep, searching for reinforcements. His nephew, Eómer, had the Riders saddled up. All of the horses in the land were ready to be ridden, and they stood in ranks with a rider by their side. Eowyn waited beside a horse of her own, hiding a sword beneath its saddle.

“You ride with them?” Aragorn asked her, eying the hilt of the sword.

She pushed it further under the blanket. “Just to the encampment. It’s tradition.”

Aragorn pursed his lips at her, but didn’t push the matter further. As they rode out, he remained beside Legolas. Harrison rode sidesaddle, in front of the blond, but he was silent. He starred down over the side of the horse, staring into the water below them as they rode through the river. The river snaked through this part of Rohan, and one moment they would be on ground and the next in the river. Whenever there was water beneath their feet, Harrison’s attention would be focused solely on it.

“What is it you look for?” Aragorn asked him softly, not expecting an answer.

On the back of his horse, Gimli snorted. “There are no fish in that stream, my lad, if that’s what you search for.”

Harrison just smiled at the Dwarf before going back to the images that played out before him. “What do you see, love?” Legolas asked. The worry in his tone caught Harrison’s attention, and the human looked up at him with glassy green eyes.

“I see things that were, things that are and some things that have not yet come to pass.”1 He looked back down at the water.

Above his head the Nazgül flew. Osgiliath was overrun. Orcs appeared from all sides, outnumbering them completely. Faramir swallowed heavily. “Retreat!” He screamed, waving his men back towards Minas Tirith. “Run!” He had fought hard: he had tried. He cried out, ducking low as the demon-creature swooped down towards him. The Men grabbed their horses, mounted and rode for their lives. Faramir was in the middle of them. He was not the first to leave, but he had not been the last either. He had just as much right to flee as the others did after all. The Nazgül did not seem to notice them leaving, and the Orcs did not chase them. The Orcs held the last defence of Gondor captive: they had no need to chase a handful of humans. Faramir thought they were safe. He could see gates of Minas Tirith ahead of him, he was almost home.

Suddenly, he was in the air, lifted from the back of his horse by one of the Nazgül. And then, just as suddenly, he was falling. He didn’t have time to scream before he hit the ground. Dead.

Harrison’s head snapped back. He blinked slowly, pushing the images away to the back of his mind. They were not happening yet, they might never happen yet. A familiar feeling rushed through him. Just like he had known Haldir needed to be save, he knew he could save Faramir’s life as well. His skin tingled, his arms and stomach burned, and he could feel whatever magic he wielded rising up inside of him. He had to go. He needed to go, just like he needed to escape the caves of Helm’s Deep.

“I love you,” he whispered. It was not soft enough to stop Aragorn and Gimli from hearing though, and they both turned to look at him, along with Legolas. All three looked fearful.

“What did you see?” Legolas asked softly.

“Who dies?” Gimli grumbled, “I bet it’s me.”

“No, my friend, it is not you.” Legolas’ arms tightened around the human, so much so that he let go of the reigns. Fortunately, horses are herd animals, and theirs continued to follow all of the others without guidance. “It is not me either, love. Be at peace. But I have to go.”

“We are going as fast as we can, master Elf.” Aragorn told him calmly, “We will be at Dunharrow soon.”

“I must go faster. I must be at Osgiliath now.” He turned to face Legolas. Calmly, he reached up to cup the blond’s face. Their lips met softly, and the elf couldn’t help but feel a ‘goodbye’ had been left unsaid when Harrison pulled back. “I will see you when you reach Gondor. May the Valar keep you.”

With that, he closed his eyes. He let the feeling that was simmering inside of him bubble over, and with a ‘crack’ he was gone. Harrison felt like he was falling, or flying, he wasn’t sure which, but he could feel the wind rushing through his hair. He squeezed his legs and was shocked to feel a horse between them. He opened his eyes, and there was a man seated in front of him, steering the horse.

“What- How-?” The man cried, reaching behind him with his sword.

“Peace, Faramir. I am friend.” He told the man, knowing instinctively who it was. Loud screeches filled the air, and the Nazgül began to fill the sky behind them. The creatures gained on the men faster than the horses could outrun them. One Nazgül swept down towards Faramir and Harrison, but the teenager held his hand out, willing his magic to work. “Lumos!” He whispered and a bright light flashed into existence between him and the Nazgül. It screamed again, swerving out of the way, and crashing into the ground.

Another light joined them, as Gandalf rode forward with Pippin clutched to his chest. His staff was held above his head, and the light it emitted chased away the remaining creatures. Upon seeing the White Wizard, the remaining soldier rode faster, more determined than ever to survive to see Minas Tirith again.

As the gates closed behind them, Harrison jumped down off the horse and disappeared into the crowd before Faramir could get a look at him. The man looked around, trying to find him, but then his attention landed on Pippin.

Breathlessly, he spoke to Gandalf. “They docked off of the River Pelennor. The Orcs have taken the bridge and the west bank. Osgiliath is overrun.” His eyes remained fixed on Pippin.

“This is not the first halfling you have seen.” Silently, Faramir shook his head.

“You’ve seen Frodo and Same?” Pippin cried. When Faramir nodded, the Hobbit asked, “where?”

“I saw them in Ithilien, not two days ago. But Gandalf, they have taken the road to the Morgul Vale.” He looked away, as if ashamed for having let them continue in that direction.

“And then the pass of Cirith Ungol.” Gandalf sighed.

“Is that a bad thing?” Pippin asked. But no one answered him. Instead, Faramir followed Gandalf and the Hobbit inside the citadel so they could explain everything before Lord Denethor. Pippin was eager to learn about the fate of his friends, but Gandalf insisted that everything could be explained once, in front of everyone it concerned, and then Lord Denethor could give his opinion as well. Harrison smirked. In the crowd, he listened unnoticed, and chuckled as Gandalf spoke so uncharitably about the Steward of Gondor.

XXX

Middle-Earth, Minas Tirith. August 1998.

Harry spied through the doorway. He could see Pippin, on his knees before Lord Denethor speaking softly, but Harry didn’t even attempt to listen in. Gandalf stood by the Hobbits side, looking rather irritated. Behind him Faramir stood with two other soldiers, all looking battered and defeated. He knew he should just go into the room. The two guards at the doors hadn’t noticed him yet, so they were hardly going to be able to stop him from going inside. But he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet.

Lord Denethor had raised him, imprisoned him yes, but at least he hadn’t been killed. He had been given food, clothing, a chance at life, and the Steward had never raised a hand against him. And despite Denethor’s obvious desire to, Harrison had never been molested either. All in all, he had had a relatively happy childhood. If not for the fact that Lord Denethor had tried to force him to marry Boromir, Harrison would have happily dwelt within the Citadel until Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli arrived. He would have met his mate then anyway, six months later.

He did not owe Denethor anything, at least he didn’t think so, after all, the material things Harrison had received balanced out with the fact that he had been a prisoner not a guest. It would have been fair to assume that they would be even. Then again the man was said to have grown irrational since Harrison’s escape. Boromir was dead. Harrison couldn’t be forced to marry Boromir. But Faramir was still alive.

Harrison looked through the door again. Denethor smiled softly at Pippin and held his hand out to be kissed. He rose from his throne, and Harry took a step forward, then hesitated.

“Fealty with love,” Denethor said, still looking at Pippin. “Valour with honour. Disloyalty with vengeance.” His eyes fixed on Faramir, and the man dipped his head in shame. “Your brother held that defence for many years. Why was it you were unable?”

“My Lord, what would you have me do?” Faramir asked submissively. Harry walked completely into the room, but the two guards barely paid him any mind. They probably thought he was another Hobbit.

“I would not have surrendered the bridge at Pelennor.”

“My Lord! The city is overrun!” Lord Denethor hummed lightly. He looked around the room, his eyes landed on Harrison and they widened a little before the man fell silent. “Father?”

He ignored Faramir. “You came back to me.” Denethor walked briskly to Harrison, took both of his hands before Harry could resist and brought them to his mouth to kiss. “My child, you’ve come home.”

“You want him to go back.” It wasn’t a question. Harry turned to Faramir, who was starring at him in shock. “You can’t send him back.”

Lord Denethor laughed lightly, “child, I am King here, I command my army. I will not lose Osgiliath.”

“The city is taken, my Lord!” Faramir cried, his face pale. His father wouldn’t really want him to go back just to die, would he?

“Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his Lord’s will?” Denethor asked cruelly, throwing a sneer in his remaining son’s direction. His nails dug into the backs of Harry’s hands, but the boy stayed silent.

“I see.” Faramir whispered. His whole appearance had shrunk, and he looked pathetically weak, ready to just fall apart at the seams. “You wish now that I had died and Boromir had lived.” Lord Denethor silently nodded his head. “Since you were robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead.” Faramir bowed low, tears in his eyes, and walked hurriedly away. The two soldiers followed him. He stopped at the door, and without looking back spoke, “if I return, father, think better of me.”

“You can’t be serious?” Harry hissed angrily. When Lord Denethor didn’t stop the men, or call them back, Harry ripped his hands out of Denethor’s grip. “Garich i dhôl goll o Orch!” He spat. (You have the hollow head of an Orc) He walked to Gandalf, and looked pleadingly at the man. “You have to do something. I did not save Faramir’s life just for him to die on a suicide mission.”

“Come Pippin,” Gandalf ordered. With the Hobbit by his side, the Wizard left to try and talk sense into the soldiers. Harrison stayed where he was, waiting.

Lord Denethor spoke first. “Why did you leave me? Was I not kind to you?” A hand fell on Harrison’s shoulder, and the boy allowed it to remain.

“You wished for me to marry someone whom I did not love.”

The hand on his shoulder clenched. “You found Boromir wanting?”

“He was a good man, and I was honoured to know him before he died. But I did not know, nor love him, when you offered him to me. If circumstances were different I would have taken him for a husband. Brave, kind, handsome, strong; he would have been good to me.” As he spoke, Harrison kept his eyes on the wall, refusing to look at Lord Denethor, or react to the man’s movements.

The more Harry praised Boromir the lower Denethor allowed his hand to fall. It was now resting lightly on Harrison’s waist, gently rubbing circles on the clothed skin. “What circumstances need be different, my child?”

“I have a mate, whom I love.” Harrison whispered. The hand had been moving lower, but it stopped at the curve of his spine. The fingers twitching just above his backside.

“Mate?” The Steward bit out.

“Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. His is my mate, well actually I’m his mate.”

“Elf?” Harrison nodded slowly. Lord Denethor gave a growl, and tore himself away from the unresponsive boy. “Leave my sight.” He flicked his hand in the direction of the door, before he stalked to his throne and threw himself down on it. Harrison walked slowly, calmly, from the room. As he closed the door behind himself he heard Lord Denethor say, “Be gone, attraction. My own temptation.”

Harry could feel the man’s eyes on his back. He shuddered.

XXX

TBC...