Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Eagle of the Star.	By : Salia Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1151 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Eagle of the Star.
- 1
EAGLE of the STAR
Chapter One
The Ranger of the North
By Salia

2975 of the third age

This is a work of fan fiction, I do not own the characters which are the property of Professor J.R.R.Tolkien and no profit is being made from this. Written from love. ~ Salia.

Denethor was tired of hearing of this Paragon who was coming to Gondor, specifically to Minas Tirith, on the recommendation of Thengle of Rohan.
His Father had been waxing lyrical over him for days. The Heir to the Stewardship needed this Captain Thorongil like he needed the splitting headache he had from listening to Ecthelion drone on about him!
�Thorongil is one of the Northern Rangers did I tell you so Denethor?� asked Ecthelion as he scanned the horizon from the vantage point of the ship�s keel styled balcony of the seventh circle.
�I am sure my lord must have, at some point.� said Denethor sarcastically.
�He is famed as a tracker!� said Ecthelion with a nod of his head.
�Doubtless why he is overdue one assumes.� muttered Denethor.
Denethor II was a proud man, tall, valiant and more kingly than any man that had appeared in Gondor for many lives of men. He was wise, far-sighted and learned in lore. He was as alike to Thorongil as to one of nearest kin and yet was doomed ever to be placed second to the stranger Thorongil in the hearts of men and the esteem of his father.
It was almost a relief when the �Wonder of the Westfold� finally came through the main gates just ahead of them being barred for the night. His delay was explained by the lamed horse he led, a Stallion of the Rohirrim, a magnificent black gifted by Thengel himself.
Denethor would have admired the animal further, could he tear his eyes away from the exhausted Ranger. A sudden burst of altruism flooded Denethor and he gave Ecthelion a peck on his cheek and announced he would aid the venerable Captain Thorongil personally as the man appeared distressed, his father could retire to his apartments and so Ecthelion did, leaving his son on the ramparts to watch the newcomer arrive in the city.
Thorongil was dust coated and his eyes showed his exhaustion. He lifted his head to gaze with blue/grey eyes into grey intelligent eyes that gazed back at his from a handsome face framed with jet black hair worn to the man�s shoulders, this could not be Ecthelion for he was too young, but the sentries fairly jumped to attention, akin to fleas upon a dog, and so this had to be Denethor.
�Beware Denethor, he reads men�s hearts and minds as greedily as one reads a book!� Gandalf had cautioned.
He certainly looked like he would bear watching, not this night though, Thorongil wanted to fall into bed and sleep for a week.

Quite a shame really, as he had a lamed animal to tend before he did anything.
�Captain Thorongil, one presumes. Welcome to Minas Tirith!� said Denethor as he offered a warrior handshake, clasping the slim yet whipcord strong forearm of the �not Rohhirim, whatever he was!
�Thank you, Lord Denethor?�
�Aye, the same, that animal needs tending. Come with me, no, give me his rein, your shoulder must ache leading him so far.�
So far?
Naturally, he was very late it did not require mental powers to ascribe lateness to a long slow trek. He was grateful to offloObsiObsidian� he was tired enough to execute a face plant where he stood.
�Beautiful animal.� Murmured the Steward�s heir, almost pitched too low to hear.
�Sidi?� asked Thorongil.
�Your pardon? Oh, the horse! He is also beautiful!� teased Denethor and Thorongil felt a blush stain his pale cheeks.
What was this? There was no chatter on the grapevine that suggested the son of Gondor�s Stewart was drawn towards men!
�One may admire a work of art and yet not be an artist oneself.� announced Denethor and Thorongil knew his thoughts were being sieved.
Denethor sent a groom for a bucket of hot water, leg wraps and liniment and he himself lit extra oil lanterns. He stripped his robes and stood in leggings and boots before lifting the off foreleg and shaking his head.
�The leg is vastly hot, there is much swelling on the tendon. He is lucky you care enough for him to have walked him in. It has to be most uncomfortable.� Said Denethor as he rubbed between Obsidian�s eyes and the huge chocolate orbs rolled in pleasure.
�There is no creation finer upon the face of Arda than the horse. The gods should have started and finished with the equine race.�
�My Lord Denethor, I cannot allow you to�it is my duty!�
�Be seated upon a hay bale and let me tend him. I have a vast fondness for the creatures, and, modesty aside, no little skill it is not a chore to tend him. I see each injury as a challenge. Yes, there my precious, you know I mean you well, yes!�
It was a talent, there could be no question, stallions in particular do not take kindly to strangers, males in particular, for they pick up on male pheremones but Sidi was fairly falling over his fetlocks in love!
As Denethor lifted the heated foreleg and began to sponge it to reduce the heat the black leaned into him with quivering lips and sheer delight on his face.
�Sidi� chided Thorongil �Stand sir!�
�All is well, he and I are balanced. How far out did it happen?�
�Some fifteen miles; he stepped on a sharp stone and the leg began to swell. I got down at once and he is as you see, lamed.�
�It was bad luck; he is well cared for, you clearly adore him.�
�I love all horses.� said Thorongil. He was pretty much impressed by the Steward�s heir. Hd hed heard he was selfish and conceited and perhaps he was, but the love he lavished on this, another man�s horse, without any motive other than to relieve it�s suffering was admirable.
Denethor was well built, his muscles rippled beneath ivory skin as he sponged the leg over and over rhythmically. Upon his chest there was a scar, the White Tree of Gondor. The smooth action was hypnotic and Thorongil felt his eyelids fall more than once.
He had to have dosed off for when he came awake with a start, Denethor had rubbed a strong liniment into the strained muscles and even into the sound leg to support it should Obsidian put too much weight there to save the strained one. He had wrapped both legs and had stropped the animal and settled him with a bucket of bran mash to take the heat out of him, a deal of linseed was added judging by the smacking of lips coming from the bucket!
�I am in your debt, my lord. He is as content as a rabbit in a carrot patch.�
�He is most welcome. There! All you need now, Sidi, is rest and you shall be well in no time. I shall have him turned into a loose box and he may lie if he needs to. Say goodnight to daddy, Sidi, and I shall find him a loose box also! �quipped Denethor with a smirk.
It was such an incongruous thing to say that it cracked Thorongil up and Denethor swept up his robes and led the way from the stables on the sixth circle.
Thorongil paused to look out over the Pelennor and only then did Denethor realise this man was new to the city.
�I am forgetting my manners. I ought to have given you a chance to see the city.� said Denethor.
�Hardly my lord, I have never been so welcomed!�
�I shall have you taken to my father, and then perhaps you will take supper with me; nothing formal, whatever the kitchens can provide at this late hour?�
�I would be honoured!�
�Page! Take Captain Thorongil to the Lord of Gondor, await him, and fetch him to my apartments when his audience with the Steward is over.�
Now to create an impression!
The fire was built up and there were pine conerninrning there to scent the room. Denethor himself had bathed and had ordered a fresh bath to be prepared for his guest and a linen nightshirt was laid ready for his use.
By the time Thorongil was shown before the Heir, he was exhausted, sore and half starved, ripe for the plucking in Denethor�s book.
�Come, I have had a hot bath drawn and there are towels, and fresh soap a nia nightshift you may use until you are unpacked. When you are done there is a supper readied for you.�
�I have not the words to thank you!� said an embarassed Thorongil.
In Denethor�s book, actions spoke louder than words and he would find a way!
It was not to go that way though. For when Thorongil returned to the study, bathed, dressed in the white linen night shift and with his hair towel dried yet still darkened with water, Denethor realised he wanted more than a roll in the hay with this man.
�Come to the fire.� said Denethor and he offered a dressing robe of wine velvet and led the Captain to the fire.
There was a tray set for the Man of the north, steaming stew and vegetables with bread still hot from the ovens, butter from the Pelennor and cheese and apples and a flask of wine, full bodied and deep ruby-red, from Lebbenin.
Denethor had eaten earlier, but he ate a finger or two of cheese and sipped a glass of wine for the sake of friendship and Thorongil ate like a man who had been starved, which was likely the case.
Looking sated and slightly pregnant, Thorongil worked his way through a third glass of wine and had Denethor been so inclined, he would have been able to take advantage.
The sight of the man, so content and clean and sleepy was like an aphrodisiac to jaded Denethor. He had the urge to protect the man, to cosset and to woo�where had that come from? This was his potential nemesis!
Woo?
Ah, but he was lovely. His eyes, it was his eyes that took Denethor�s attention. Then his hair which was an unremarkable brown and yet it draped about his fine features like a veil.
He was slender yet strong, leanly muscled, athletic and who was Denethor trying to fool? He wanted the man more than anything he had wanted since his father had bought him his first pony!
But not tonight; it mattered that they met on mutual terms and that he was not taking advantage.
Even so, he wanted to see this man asleep in his bed this night, he himself would sleep in the bed in the dressing room. Thorongil was deserving of a soft bed and �
�Come! You are exhausted and my bed is soft and �you may take it tonight. We shall settle you into your own quarters in the morning.� said Denethor.
Thorongil was too sleepy to resist and he allowed himself to be taken into the bedchamber and settled under the snow white linens sprinkled with lavender and just when he thought life could not get any better he felt the softest, warmest sable coverlet settle around him and he actually purred from the pleasure. Soft fur, sweetly scented linens and a clean, well fed body. It was beyond wonderful.
Denethor tested the water with a kiss to the man�s lips and when he smiled and responded Denethor was in two minds about leaving!
No; it would keep. It would! He pressed a chaste kiss to Thorongil�s brow and left.

One thing to make amourous advances to a man half asleep and gentled by a heady wine, how would he take to the same advances now he was rested and sober?
Denethor was an enigma. At times he displayed an extreme lack of patience over the most trivial of things and yet at others he could out sit a statue to achieve what he wanted.
For Thorongil, to have him respond freely and as an equal, he was prepared to wait for as long as it took, especially now when he was viewing the man for the first time in his black and silver uniform of the Citadel Guard. The uniform dated back to Elendil himself and Denethor swore the late king had to have had Thorongil in mind when he chose the design.
Most of the conversation between Ecthelion and Thorongil had gone over Denethor�s head. He was much too caught up in the man standing before his father, his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, the slenderness of his hands, the colour of his eyes.
This entire reaction amazed Denethor for he was not inclined towards men romantically. He was in fact deeply in love with a lady and wished to wed her, but he was a soldier, and soldiers had needs, and precious few were the women they encountered on a campaign and those they did were highly risky fare indeed. It did not sit well with the Steward for his Heir to come home pox-ed.
�Denethor!�
�My Lord!�
�What is so fascinating to you my son that you are miles away today? I was telling you that I wished you to take Captain Thorongil to Osgiliath and acquaint him with the defences there.�
�I admit I was somewhat �distracted! I shall leave at once if you wish, sire. We can find a mount for the good captain while Sidi�his own mount�recovers.�
�He may take mine. Take a troop with you and be vigt. It. I am having the Captain installed in the old Warden�s residence. It seems a shame to have it lie empty and have the captain live in an overcrowded barracks.�
�Just so, sire. Come you captain, fifteen miles to Osgilliath and then a Pavillion to set for the buildings there are mostly fallen into disrepair.�
The Steward�s own mount was a bay mare named Arandur which meant Servant of the King and was the title of the Steward himself. For practical purposes Arandur had become Ari and Denethor himself rode a superb grey Aeglos.
The afternoon was mild and the ride was taken at a leisurely pace, Denethor, likewise in the silver and black of the Citadel for he was Captain General of Gondor�s army, was as amenable as the troop commander had ever seen him.
Thorongil looked rested after a wonderful night�s sleep and was clearly enjoying the ride over the Pelennor and through the Rammas Echor down to Osgiliath. Denethor admired good horsemanship as much as he deplored bad! This entire venture was taking on a holiday atmosphere.
While the Pavillion was raised and the rest of the camp struck Denethor took Thorongil to see around the ruins of the once great city. It had long since ceased to be habitable, but the ships still used the river and the defence of the region depended on the enemy being denied a crossing.
�Harlond to Osgiliath and onwards to Pelargir. The mighty Anduin is our life blood. Likewise, Harlond to Cair Andros and the supply link to the Garrison there is equally vital. You look sad! Is it the ruin of Osgiliath that upsets you?� asked Denethor.
Thorongil nodded. �It must have been magnificent.�
�It was swept by plague and lost its appeal. Come back to camp, the sun shall soon drop and it will be dark, it is best not to take risks.�
�My lord, may I have a moment? I have not thanked you properly for your kindness last night; both to Sidi. and myself. I have never slept so well as I did last night beneath your sable.�
�I have just now remembered what it was I forgot to pack! Remember, my sable is your sable!� teased Denethor and he touched his fingertips to Thorongil�s lips before turning back to the horses.

Denethor had come as a surprise to Thorongil in more ways than one. Not just because he had been kind, nor that he was displaying interest in Thorongil beyond the line of duty, as surprising as that was. It was his genuine willingness to mix in with the troops and eat what they ate that surprised Thorongil.
They settled the horses and collected their rations from the main cooking pit and headed back to the Pavilion raised for Denethor�s use. There were no elaborate trappings, it was a larger tent used as a command post to brief officers and therefore sported a folding map table and space for a chalkboard if needed. Tonight it held two folding cots and the table was being used for eating at instead of poring over maps.

ew aew and potatoes baked in the embers, ale and apples. Simple fare but welcome and they ate in almost silence, commenting now and again on the food or requesting a refill from the ale jug or the use of a salt cellar.
Having returned the plates to the cook and cleaned their hands and faces they settled by the fire with the troops for a time and shared the campfire humour, Thorongil lit a pipe and Denethor waved away the offer of pipe weed which he personally could not abide.
As the night wore on Denethor asked Thorongil to set the piquet and he went, as befitted the commander of the army, off to his pavilion and a moments privacy before his Captain joined him.
Thorongil took a few moments to settle his mind before he returned to the pavilion, uncertain what he would find as he stepped through the tent flaps. He was not naieve; he knew that Denethor had been flirting with him tonight. It didn�t especially faze him, he had had his moments, as had most soldiers, and Denethor was pleasing on the eye.
Thorongil had to be careful not to drop any pups. He was Thorongil at the moment but in another time he was Aragorn, heir of Isildur and future King of Gondor. It was a blessing that he had dual appetites for otherwise life would be extremely lonely for him.
As it happened he found Denethor poring over a map, clearly deep in concentration, comparing a despatch signalling enemy deployments against the supposed strengths already plotted.

Denethor rubbed his eyes and stepping up behind him Thorongil gently rubbed at his commander in chief�s shoulders through the linen shirt he wore over leggings and Denethor gave a sigh and leaned back into the pressure.
�Trouble, my lord?� purred Thorongil.
�Is there anything else these days?� asked Denethor. But it was not asked in anger, just a reflex reaction to difficult times and gods, the man had wonderful hands.
Denethor braced his palms against the map table and let Thorongil work slowly down his back, knot by knot he eased the tension until Denethor sighed with pleasure.
�Must you work, Sir? Would rest not serve you better?� A smile formed upon Thorongil�s lips and sweeping aside the long black hair the Ranger pressed a warm kiss to the nape of Denethor�s neck. The Steward�s heir shivered and it was not down to the cold, for although it was cold outside the pavilion. Inside it was warm partly due to the brazier of coals from the cooking pit that had been set up earlier.
�Should I stop?� whispered Thorongil.
�Oh, no.� whispered Denethor and his voice was hoarse with desire.
Kisses soft as moth�s wings settled against the warm nape; settled, flitted, settled and Denethor growled deep in his throat as the stimulation arrowed to his groin.
Thorongil eased the shirt so that he could settle a kiss onto the man�s shoulder and Denethor turned to face him with longing in his eyes.
Their lips met tender and tentative and then gradually more daring.
Denethor whispered �I want you!� and kissed the Ranger�s forehead. �But not here; not like this. Under that sable in my bed in the Citadel, so don�t tempt me, for you have to be the one who is the perfect memory for sooner or later I am to wed and provide heirs and then I shall have to be faithful and the memory of the perfect time will have to last me forever!�

TBC
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Eagle of the Star.