1. Advice Taken
This story is a sequel and will not make a great deal of sense unless you have read “Advice”.
Many thanks to SleeveHeart for a wonderful beta.
“Advice Taken” contains some scenes implying a heterosexual relationship between two of the characters. The author apologises for this and hopes that no slash enthusiasts will be upset or offended. ;-D
King Elessar nodded to the men standing guard duty outside the royal apartments, and walked briskly down the corridor towards the bedroom he shared with the Queen. Torches flickering in their sconces sent grotesque shadows careering along the walls as he strode confidently towards the door. His booted feet sent echoes dancing down the long, draughty hallway. Despite the lateness of the hour, the King had made the decision to put his plans into action straight away. While the ideas that Gimli and Legolas had planted in his mind still burned brightly – somewhat too brightly in some cases – Aragorn would sweep into the bedroom and make love to his wife with all the devotion and fervour at his command. Never before would Arwen have experienced such imaginative and passionate love-making. He would take her breath away.
Reaching the large, ornately carved door, Aragorn paused, took the deepest of deep breaths and began to turn the handle. Suddenly he snatched his hand away, a look of doubt clouding his features. Putting the hand into his pocket, Aragorn withdrew several crumpled pieces of parchment. He walked over to one of the torches, rifling through the papers as he went. Beneath the yellow light, the King sorted the papers again, seemingly torn between a multiplicity of options. In turn he held each picture up to the light. One of them he turned through ninety degrees, paused and turned through another ninety degrees, frowning ferociously. Finally, with a gesture of exasperation, Aragorn stuffed all the papers impatiently back into his pocket. He bit the knuckle of his forefinger for a second or two, gathering his thoughts.
Stepping up to the door, he once again began to reach out for the handle, but at the last moment his hand jerked away and instead swept it through his hair and down the back of his neck. He glanced down at his rumpled clothes, and sent a tentative sniff in the direction of his armpit. Oh gods! He breathed into his palm and inhaled quickly – wine and smoke. Hell’s teeth. Aragorn was beginning to think that he should have planned this spontaneous seduction more carefully. Perhaps a wash would be in order before he… No, no, no! Sweat and alcohol are manly. She won’t mind. She didn’t use to mind.
Casting a second look down at his clothes, Aragorn came to a decision. There was no point in looking scruffy if you didn’t look rakish at the same time. Taking off his jacket, he threw it on the floor. Realising that those pictures were in the pocket, Aragorn picked it up again. They were not the kind of diagrams that he wanted the laundry maids chuckling over. The jacket would have to go into the bedroom with him. He undid the top few buttons of his shirt. Oh to Mordor with it! He put the jacket down again, undid all the buttons on his shirt and took it off. Bending down to the jacket, he searched through another pocket and produced a dog collar – black leather with silver studs – and looking carefully up and down the length of the corridor, buckled it up round his neck. It hung loosely about his collarbones in the least sensual manner possible. He fiddled with it some more until it was a little tighter, but it was still far too big. Bloody hell, I wouldn’t like to meet the dog that fits this collar! Still, I’m sure Arwen will get the idea, even if it doesn’t fit too well.
Aragorn made a final assessment of his appearance. He tousled his hair until it hung in dark strands across his face. He undid the topmost button of his breeches. Did it back up. Undid it again. Looked down at his feet. Boots. Not good! Bootlaces can cause no end of trouble. Socks are simply not sensual. Aragorn hopped around, discarding his footwear with the usual lack of grace that men adopt at such moments, until he stood barefoot in front of the door. He flexed his shoulder muscles, seized the door handle, twisted and threw back the door with a resounding and satisfying thud.
King Elessar Telcontar strode into the bedroom like a wild corsair, candlelight gleaming on his muscled torso, his eyes smouldering under long, dark lashes. His voice was a feral growl:
“Do with me as you wish, my lady!”
Arwen was sitting up in bed cradling Elenwë, their youngest daughter, in her arms. Aragorn froze. The little child looked up from where her face was pressed against her mother’s shoulder. Her tiny hand pointed at the King’s neck.
“Daddy, woof, woof!”
Arwen’s face remained a picture of composed maternal care, save for the tiniest flicker of a smile that was there and gone like summer lightning. Aragorn turned away and scrambled madly with the buckle of the collar.
“You had a good evening then, my love?” Arwen asked in a suspiciously innocent voice.
“Er… yes… very… ” The dratted buckle seemed to have shrunk to ridiculous proportions. Either that or his fingers had rapidly evolved into sausages. “Erm… well… ”
“The bottles of red from Eryn Lasgalen went down well, I imagine.”
“We had one of them, yes.”
“Only the one?”
Aragorn fiddled furiously with the collar, little exhalations of frustration and embarrassment bursting out.
“Do you require any help, my dear?”
“No, no, no! Quite alright!” Aragorn half-turned to glance at Arwen, whose face betrayed nothing but polite concern at his plight. Grinning apologetically, he resumed his attempts to undo the collar, straining his eyes downwards in an effort to see the buckle that was underneath his chin. “What is the matter with Ellie?”
“A little touch of earache, I think. She keeps rubbing her ear. She might be feverish. I am not sure. Would you check?”
“Just… a… moment… ”
“Aragorn?” The King looked round. Arwen was beckoning him over, her mouth twisted to one side in an attempt not to laugh. “I really think that you need some help.”
“Grrrrr, bow, wow, wow!” added Ellie, clapping her pudgy hands in delight.
Aragorn sighed and walked over to the bed. Sitting next to Arwen, he allowed her nimble fingers to work the buckle loose. The child reached out as high as she could and patted Aragorn.
Arwen cast a glance at the child. “You seem to have inadvertently cheered her up.” With a final flourish, she removed the collar from her husband’s neck.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the item from her and tossing it onto the floor with a rueful smile. “Erm… It was for… I thought that it would be… er… we could… ”
“Do you think she is feverish?” Arwen stroked a hand across the child’s forehead. “I am not sure.”
Aragorn, pleased that the Queen was distracted by the child, reached out and picked up the little princess. Moving closer to the candles at the bedside, he examined her carefully, noting the flush of her face, the warmth of the skin.
“Well, there might be the very slightest trace of fever. She seems cheerful enough now, don’t you, poppet?” He hugged the little girl and she returned the hug enthusiastically.
“I think that she should sleep with us tonight,” said Arwen, and Aragorn knew from the tone of voice that there would be no gainsaying her.
“Yes. Come on then, Ellie, back into beddy-byes with Mummy.”
“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!”
The child bounced off her father and onto the bed, jumping into her mother’s arms and snuggling down with her under the blankets. Aragorn smiled at the sight of mother and child cuddled together; Ellie’s chubby, round-faced impishness contrasting sharply with the Queen’s delicate beauty. The child twined her fingers in Arwen’s hair and burbled happily, the alleged earache utterly forgotten. Aragorn became aware that Arwen’s dark eyes were gazing up at him with curiosity and amusement.
“You spent a long time with Legolas and Gimli this evening,” she said. “What did you get up to?”
Aragorn found he could not quite meet his wife’s eyes. “We were just talking.”
He took a sharp breath inwards, a kind of reverse whistle, and shook his head. “Just… things… you know.”
“No, I do not know.”
Aragorn was suddenly reminded, as he risked a quick meeting eye to eye, that Arwen was the Lady Galadriel’s granddaughter.
“Well… ” he began tentatively.
“And are they both wearing dog collars this evening?”
Aragorn frowned, casting his mind back to Legolas and Gimli as he had left them in his study. “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” he concluded.
He stood up hurriedly and began to remove his breeches. “I’ll explain later when… ” he gestured at the child, “when she’s in her own bed.” He pulled on his nightshirt. “And I’ll get rid of the… erm… dog collar in the morning.”
“Did I say that I wanted you to get rid of it?” Arwen’s eyes shone in the candlelight.
Aragorn met her gaze and a slow smile spread across his face. He blew out the candles and slid into bed. As he lay looking up into the darkness, he began to feel that his humiliation over the dog collar was not entirely without result. Things were looking up. At least if he could find some time alone with Arwen, things might begin to look up.
Dawn was breaking when Aragorn awoke. Ellie had, as is the way of small children, managed to occupy most of the bed by the simple tactic of lying sideways. Arwen was curled on her side on the far edge of the bed, her eyes vacant in sleep. Aragorn stretched his arms and legs luxuriously and basked in the comforting warmth of the blankets. He half closed his eyes and contemplated drifting off back to sleep.
A memory of the previous evening sprang into this mind and suddenly Aragorn’s eyes were wide open. His jacket! Those pictures! Where in Elbereth’s name did he leave his jacket? He scrambled out of bed as quickly as he could without disturbing Arwen and Ellie and ran to the door. The servants of the Royal Apartments were up notoriously early. He could be too late.
Snatching open the door, Aragorn almost collapsed with relief when he saw his discarded clothes from the night before. Gathering them in his arms, he took them back into the bedroom and dumped them on the floor. He rifled through the pockets of the jacket until he found the crumpled pieces of paper and pushed them into the drawer of a bedside table.
Aragorn turned back to the bed and, as gently as he possibly could, picked up the sleeping child. She remained utterly limp and unresisting in his arms as he walked with her to her own bedroom and tucked her into her tiny bed, placing her favourite dolly under the covers next to her and kissing her lightly on the forehead.
Creeping back to bed, Aragorn began to smile. Here was a chance to put some of his new ideas into action. Shutting the bedroom door behind him, he took off his nightshirt, walked to the foot of the bed and lifted the covers to crawl inside. He wriggled his way under the blankets and felt about in the stuffy darkness until he located Arwen’s feet. He began to kiss his way slowly up her legs. The Queen stirred and awoke, but made no attempt to stop Aragorn as he nuzzled her calves with his stubbly beard. He heard a little sound of surprise and pleasure as he sank his teeth gently into the back of her knees. Aragorn quickly found himself breathing fast, partly from lust, partly from the stuffiness under the covers, but the encouraging movements from Arwen’s legs more than compensated for any discomfort. The sounds that she was making were muffled, but Aragorn thought that, on the whole, they were positive.
Aragorn was just about to kiss his way up his wife’s inner thighs, when the noises above the covers became much louder and the movements much more vigorous. Encouraged no end, Aragorn bit the soft flesh, his head dizzy with the prospect of the delights to come.
Suddenly the sounds above the covers became much clearer and light flooded in as the blankets were lifted and a small face gazed down at him.
“Oh Daddy! Are you hiding? Are you playing hide and seek? I love hide and seek. I’ll play too!”
Before Aragorn could object, Eldarion, his 6-year old son, had scrambled down into the bed with him and was shouting for Mummy to count to ten before she started looking.
Aragorn could feel Arwen’s body shaking with laughter and, as he crouched there in the dark next to his son, he could not help but curse his wife’s enthusiasm for early-morning visits from their children. Another impact on the bed and a shout of laughter indicated that Emeldir, their eldest daughter, had joined them. Aragorn gave Arwen’s knee a farewell kiss and crawled up out into the daylight. Arwen, cuddling Emeldir to her, shrugged her shoulders and gave Aragorn a small smile as she counted out loud in the game of hide and seek. Aragorn sighed. The Queen suppressed a laugh and reached out a hand to gently squeeze his arm. Aragorn sat with the blankets pulled up and his arms around his knees, trying to ignore the fact that although he might have been thwarted in his plans, his body was still extremely enthusiastic about the whole project and was reminding him of it in no uncertain terms.
Another patter of feet and a squeal announced the arrival of Ellie who leapt onto the bed with wild enthusiasm. Then remembering that she was supposed to be ill, she belatedly clapped a hand over her ear and offered a pitiful look to her mother. Eldarion emerged from under the covers complaining that nobody was looking for him properly. Aragorn let the chatter of his children wash over him. Emeldir was asking for breakfast, Ellie was kissing Arwen noisily and repeatedly, and Eldarion, realising that today was the day that Legolas was going to give a horse-riding lesson, began talking very loudly and excitedly about how he was going to ride the Elf’s horse with no tack, just like they do in Eryn Lasgalen, Mummy, isn’t it exciting! No saddle! No bridle! Legolas says you have to do it all with your voice and your legs. When can we go to the paddock, Mummy, I don’t want breakfast, can we just go straight to the paddock?
“Later, sweetheart. You will just have to wait for a little while,” said Arwen smiling at her son’s enthusiasm, but as she said the words, Arwen was not looking at Eldarion. Instead, her eyes were locked with Aragorn’s and the smile developed a distinctly promising look. “Later,” she said quietly.
“You are doing wonderfully, Eldarion!” cried Arwen as the boy trotted past on Legolas’ horse, Laeriel. Eldarion’s sisters clapped enthusiastically as the chestnut turned obediently at a command. Arwen, her face suffused with pride and love, watched intently as her son rode across the paddock. Yes, Legolas was running alongside the horse, and, yes, Laeriel seemed to be taking her instructions from the Elf rather than the boy, but nonetheless the lad was sitting the mare beautifully. Arwen had been very nervous on his behalf at first, but now she could see that he was a born horseman. If only Aragorn could see this. The King had a busy schedule this morning with the inevitable round of royal duties, but he had promised to come down to see the riding lesson if the chance presented itself. He would be so proud of his boy.
Ah, and here he was. Arwen and the girls waved to the figure approaching them from the far side of the field, who waved back and then continued his conversation with the stocky, bearded figure walking next to him. It seemed to be an extremely animated discussion with arm gestures from both parties that seemed to encompass both Arwen and the girls, and Legolas and Eldarion. What on Middle-earth could they be discussing?
Gimli sighed. “Surely you have a host of nannies and tutors to look after them!”
“Yes, but Arwen does not truly relax when the children are under the care of any of the servants. She frets that they are not being looked after properly. She complains that the nannies we have hired are all too young and inexperienced. And do you know how old the Head Nanny is? Fifty-four!”
“Very young, from an Elf’s point of view.”
“That is beside the point, Gimli.”
“And what exactly is the point?”
“I have been trying to explain. I need to borrow Legolas for the afternoon so that he can look after the children.”
“He knows nothing about children, Aragorn.”
“I know, but Arwen trusts him.”
“More than a fifty-four year old Nanny?”
“No, she has known Legolas for a very, very long time. She trusts him.”
“Horses? Yes, I’d trust him with horses. And hawks. And dogs. Elvish way with all good beasts, I suppose.”
“Is that why he gets on so well with you?”
“Very droll, Aragorn, but I tell you, he has not got the faintest idea about how to look after all your children.”
“What do you mean, ‘all my children’? There are only three of them, Gimli.”
“Really? There always seems to be a lot more than that.”
Aragorn stood with his hands on his hips and glared down at the Dwarf. “Gimli, please. Just for the afternoon.”
“I have plans for that Elf this afternoon.”
“Yes, well I have plans for that Elf this afternoon,” Aragorn pointed across the paddock at Arwen.
“Oh, but Aragorn, when I say ‘plans’ I mean PLANS!” Gimli bounced his bushy eyebrows suggestively.
Aragorn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look, Gimli. My wife has indicated to me, for the first time in weeks, that she might possibly be amenable to a bit of ‘planning’ after lunch. All I need is to for Legolas to take the children off her hands, and we can ‘plan’ to our hearts’ content.”
“But Aragorn, I was looking forward to—”
“Gimli! You do not seem to understand! I have had meetings all morning. There is a banquet this evening. There will be small children jumping all over our bed in the morning, just as there are every bloody morning, and this afternoon I actually have a chance to put into action some of those ideas you put into my head yesterday. Do you not see?”
“Will enjoy looking after the children.” Aragorn pointed at the Elf running effortlessly beside the horse. “Look how much he is enjoying giving Eldarion a riding lesson. And he loves the girls to pieces.”
Gimli stood quietly for a few moments, looking up at Aragorn. “Alright,” he said at length, and smiled as Aragorn sagged with relief. “And what is my role in this afternoon’s frolics? Am I to play assistant nurse-maid?”
Aragorn grinned wickedly. “No, no, no! Now tell me, Gimli – have you brought your axe with you to Minas Tirith?”
Lanhelm, Aragorn’s Chief Councillor, was brought up short by the sight that greeted him at the door of the Royal Apartments. He had expected to see two men from King’s personal bodyguard sitting on either side, but instead found himself looking down at just one guard, who had positioned his chair directly in front of the door and had his feet extended on the second chair in front on him. The figure radiated an aura of stubborn immobility. Everything, from the expressionless face, to the huge battleaxe laid across his lap, to the vast boots resting on the second chair, indicated that nobody – nobody – was going to get past him.
Dark eyes under bushy brows assessed Lanhelm from head to foot and back again, giving the man the impression that they didn’t think it had been worth the trip.
“Well?” The rich bass voice growled the word rather than spoke it.
Lanhelm swallowed nervously. “Lord Gimli, I need to talk to the King with regards to—”
“No you don’t.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t need to talk to the King.”
“My Lord, I do not think that you are in a position to tell me—”
“Oh, I’m in exactly the right position to tell you whatever I choose, Mr. Chief Councillor – that position being between you and this door. The King is not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”
“But I have my orders and it is imperative that—”
“I have my orders as well, and those orders involved the words ‘axe’, ‘forehead’, ‘anyone’ and ‘disturb’.”
“Are you threatening me?
“Oh yes,” said the Dwarf, grinning.
Lanhelm changed tack. His lips creased in a conciliatory smile. “It will not take a minute—”
“You are absolutely right. It will not take a minute. It will not take any time at all because ‘it’ is not going to happen.”
“I must protest!”
“You do not understand, Lord Gimli. It is a matter of national security!”
“Corsairs invading up the Anduin?”
“Citadel on fire?”
“Have we run out of beer?”
“Sounds to me as if it is not all that important.”
“But it is of the utmost urgency!”
“You know, thinking again about those orders that I received…” Gimli stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe it wasn’t ‘forehead’. Maybe it was ‘foresk—”
“Something damned painful anyway. Look, my lad, you might as well give up. Whatever it is that the King needs to talk to you about can be dealt with later.”
Lanhelm, the muscles in his jaw tightening, gave Gimli one more look of intense administrative angst, turned on his heel and strode off. Half way down the corridor he called back over his shoulder, “The King will hear of this you know!”
Gimli chuckled quietly to himself. This job that Aragorn had given him was easy. He hadn’t even had to pick up his axe! He guessed that Lanhelm would be the last person to attempt to get past him this afternoon. If Lanhelm couldn’t get access to the King, nobody else would even try.
Putting his axe down on the floor and reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, Gimli removed a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil. The notebook had a strap, from the front cover to the back, which was held in place with a clasp and a tiny lock. Gimli undid the lock using a minute key held on a chain around his neck. There was only one other key for this notebook and it was on an identical chain around the neck of a certain wood-elf. Gimli turned the pages until he found a blank one, looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes, licked the end of the pencil and began to draw.
Tarondor, the gardener, looked up from the flower bed that he was weeding as three small children came charging past, squealing at the top of their voices.
“Run! Run! Come on, Ellie! Run!”
“It’s the troll! Quick! Run and hide!”
A boy and girl were leading a toddler by the hand, cajoling her into running as fast as her chubby legs would let her. Tarondor sat back on his heels and watched the children, smiling broadly at their antics. He had six grandchildren himself and loved nothing more than to be surrounded by his little tribe of boys and girls.
“Aaaaaarrrgh!” A loud roaring noise could be heard in the distance.
“The troll!” yelled the boy. “Come on! Here! Hide here!”
Squeaking and whimpering in excitement the three children crouched behind a bush. Tarondor could here a lot of frantic whispering along the lines of, “Shhhhh! It’ll hear us! You’ve got to be quiet!” The older girl’s dark-haired head popped out from behind the bush for a brief look, spotted something coming along the path and, with a gasp, darted back.
“Aaaaaarrrrgh! Aaaaaarrrrgh!” bellowed the troll as it lurched round the corner. Tarondor almost burst out laughing. Over the years he had told many stories to his children and grandchildren, many of which involved dread monsters of one kind or another. Trolls had played their part in his tales and he had to confess that the trolls in his imagination did not resemble the one that was approaching the children’s hiding-place. The troll before him was altogether more slightly built than the creatures of his imagination, and had a face that suggested the angelic rather than demonic, even if it was, at present, screwed up into an evil leer.
“Where are those children?” growled the troll in as deep a voice as it could manage. “I’m hungry!” The monster began a lumbering search of the surrounding area, examining every tree, shrub, wheelbarrow and plant pot except the place from which muffled squeals could be heard. “They must be here somewhere! I can smell ‘em!” The troll caught Tarondor’s eye and winked. “Maybe I’ll settle for eatin’ this ‘ere gardener! Eh?”
“Oh no Mister Troll!” said Tarondor in a loud voice. “You’ll be wanting to eat more tender flesh than mine! I’m old and stringy. What you need is a young prince and princesses.”
The troll roared in anger. “Where are they? Come out, come out, wherever you are, little Elflin— erm, little children!” A shriek from the bush alerted the troll, and with a highly theatrical, “Aha!” it leapt behind the bush and shouted, “Lunch time!”
Out ran the children, scattering in three directions, screaming at the top of their lungs. The troll effortlessly grabbed the smallest princess, scooping her up in its arms and taking pretend bites out of her as she wriggled and screamed. The other children, seeing their sister in danger, attacked the troll fiercely, each holding onto one leg, trying to pull it over.
At last the troll was overpowered and tumbled to the ground with a dreadful cry. Tarondor made a mental note that trolls tend to fall over very carefully and thereby ensure that no small children are hurt. The gardener also added to his store of troll knowledge the fact that the creature appeared to be extremely ticklish, especially around the waist. It wasn’t long before all three children were sitting on top of the troll, with their arms in the air proclaiming victory. Tarondor applauded and the little boy bowed towards him with an expression of mock solemnity.
The children then scampered off to begin a victory dance around the garden and the troll sat up slowly, brushing its hair out of its eyes. Smiling ruefully at Tarondor, the troll rose to its feet and straightened its clothes. Suddenly the voice of the youngest child was raised in a wailing cry. Tarondor turned immediately to see her sprawled on the path, but in seconds she was gathered up into a close embrace and her tears kissed away. Who could have thought trolls could be so affectionate, Tarondor thought to himself, as he resumed his weeding.
“Who drew this one?”
“Hmmm?” Aragorn was really too comfortable and sleepy to be bothered to open his eyes. He lay next to Arwen as she sat in bed, his head pillowed on her thigh.
“This one,” she repeated. He could hear the rustle of paper as Arwen waved the sheet in front of his face. With great reluctance, Aragorn opened one eye, glanced at the paper and then closed it again, snuggling closer to his wife.
“You will have to have words with that Elf, my love. I think that he was pulling your leg.”
“I’ll put it on a pile of its own, I think.”
Aragorn sighed deeply, running his hand lazily along Arwen’s leg.
“Yes. Now you see, these,” Aragorn felt Arwen move to touch a small stack of papers, “are highly acceptable. These,” another movement, “we haven’t tried—”
“Haven’t tried yet.”
“This one we need to practise… How is your back, by the way?”
“Fine… fine… ”
“And that one, as I say, has all the hallmarks of a wood-elf who has had one too many glasses of Dorwinion.”
“I mean for that to be possible, he would have to be so flexible that he probably would not need to find a partner anyway!”
“Why don’t we do this more often?” Aragorn felt Arwen pause and put the papers down. Then she wriggled down next to him.
“Oh my sweetheart!” She laid her forehead against his. “When do we ever get any time together? This is the first uninterrupted afternoon we have spent with one another since… since… ”
“Ellie was conceived.”
“Exactly, my love! We simply do not get time together.”
Aragorn drew back from her a little, opening his eyes to look deep into hers. “Then we should make time.”
“It is not easy. We cannot count on Legolas and Gimli to be around whenever we are in the mood.”
“You know what I mean!” Arwen tapped him on the nose. “I get the feeling that this afternoon’s… arrangements came about as a result of a lot of negotiation on your part.”
“Oh, it was nothing. I think that Legolas and Gimli felt that they owed me a favour.”
“Let’s just say that I forgave them something for which many a king would have had them beheaded.”
“I don’t want to go into it at the moment. Suffice to say that I will never be able to sit on my throne without being reminded of them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Or visit the portrait gallery.”
Arwen propped herself up on one elbow to look more carefully at her husband. “Aragorn, what are—”
“Anyway, I believe that we are wandering from the point, Arwen, my love. We must make time for each other.”
“Yes, you are right,” Arwen agreed earnestly. “You are absolutely right. Maybe,” she said, sitting up suddenly and straddling Aragorn’s hips, “you could put it into your official diary.”
“Mmm.” Aragorn gazed up at her. “Tuesday afternoons… discussions with Queen.” His fingertips danced lightly up her thighs.
Arwen ran her hands across the firm planes of muscle in his chest, and amended, “Lengthy discussions with the Queen.”
“Oh yes, long, hard discussions!”
“Mmm. Long, hard, deep discussions. Grinding out the most difficult issues.” She suited the movements of her hips to her words.
“Oh gods!” Aragorn growled.
“Heated discussions, hammering out our differences…” Arwen reached forwards to the bedside cabinet and picked up the dog collar. As she fitted it round her husband’s neck she continued in honeyed tones, “Pounding away, tirelessly, relentlessly…”
Taking a firm hold of the collar, Arwen swung her leg over Aragorn and got off the bed, pulling him along with her.
“Aragorn, my love. I think that this should be a standing committee.” She backed to the wall and then glanced downwards. “I see that you have managed to raise a point of order.”
“Well, I intend to pursue many penetrating questions, my Lady,” said Aragorn huskily.
Arwen pulled him to her and slid one leg up over his hip. He grasped it firmly and pushed her back against the wall with a hard thrust. “In that case,” she gasped, “I call this meeting to order. Aaaah!”
So began the most erotic discussion in the history of government. The participants were not hindered by the lack of an agenda and, in contravention of established administrative procedure, no minutes were taken, but needless to say, after pursuing the ins and outs of every topic, both parties came to a highly satisfactory conclusion.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.