Sunshine in His Eyes
It took the hobbits, his `little ones,' to bring out this side of
his nature. Took Merry and Pippin to bring out his gentleness and
grace. His protectiveness. And his willingness to be made fun of.
I share the laughter as the hobbits tackle him, dropping the great
captain of Gondor into a heap on the ground. I laugh even harder
when I become their victim, toppling awkwardly as they sweep me off
my feet.
Too late the moment is over, disturbed by Saruman's winged spies.
But I carry the memory of the sunshine in his eyes with me. And I
watch for it.
And I begin to see more.
I see the doubts that trouble him. Doubts that he is strong enough
to do what must be done. Doubts that he will be able to do what is
expected of him.
I see the vulnerability he would hide.
And I see the way he looks at me, heat licking at the edges of his
expression. Heat that I had taken for scorn. Heat that now begins to
look like something else. Heat that begins to brand me as well.
I start staying by his side, sharing his spot by the fire, standing
the same watch while the rest of the company sleep. I only want to
see the brightness in his eyes again, the humour. The heat.
But the road is not easy, and there are many trials on the way.
My veins freeze when he picks up the Ring on the mountain. I do not
want his blood on my blade, do not want to see his eyes dulled in
death. Do not want to kill that which I half-suspect I love.
I despair when I see him tossed by the cave troll, his body striking
the hard stone like a rag doll thrown by a careless child, and
rejoice when I see that he lives still.
I approve of the compassion he shows towards Gimli and the others
after Gandalf falls, even as I force the company to press on, to
seek the protection of Lothlorien.
It is in Lothlorien when I can stay mute no longer, when I seek him
out, only to find him with barely dried tears on his face,
despairing of the survival of his city. I offer what comfort I can,
but my words ring hollow in my ears. It is not enough.
He needs more. And, perhaps, I can give it to him.
Silently, I pull him to his feet and lead him to an alcove away from
the others. When he tries to speak, I stop his words with my lips.
He almost pulls away, but then the heat that I suspected was there,
that I knew was there, erupts.
His arms tighten around my back and his mouth opens under mine. I
revel in the feeling of cloth against cloth, then skin against skin.
Mouths clash and I taste a sweetness and a bitterness both. Our legs
tangle and we fall onto Elvin cloth and cushions. Teeth bite my
shoulder and I keen with the pleasure of it. Blood rushes in my ears
as my hands greedily travel his body, feel the well-muscled arms and
legs, take hold of his sex even as he takes hold of mine.
We strain together, both seeking release in the other's touch. And
when release comes, it pulses through me with a rhythm more
elemental than my heartbeat.
I hold him close as our breathing returns to normal, feel his body
ease, the tension of battle and death and fear fading to memory.
Head cradled on my chest, he sleeps at last, a measure of peace
showing in his features. Peace I have brought him. Peace I hope he
can keep.
But like my good captain of Gondor, a darkness threads through the
fabric of my soul. I have my own doubts, about him, about myself,
about our quest.
I pray to always see the sunshine in his eyes, but fear the coming
of the night.
by P.R. Zed
e are many days into the journey before I see it. See green eyes
light up with humour and good nature. Until then, I have seen only
antagonism and contempt in those eyes. Only a grim determination to
protect the White City from the ravages of Mordor, whatever the cost.
