3. Chapter Three
VERY STRONG SLASH IS CONTAINED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
I wonder what he could be thinking, stealing into my room in this way, as it is very late, and I presumed he was as weary as I am. Perhaps, I have presumed wrongly. The light of the candle drifts towards me silently, and I can feel my heart beginning to pound very fast-
I have a great sense of anticipation, somehow, and I think I may know what my nocturnal visitor is seeking.
But does he not realize, I know nothing of such things? Has he failed to understand this? I can offer him no pleasure, or arousal in this fashion. I understood, albeit it in distress, when he made his “proposal” to Galadriel- at least it was sensible!
The candle is extinguished, and I hear the soft sound of disrobing, and garments falling on the floor. Still soundlessly, I feel him slip into the bed next to me. My heart is fairly well thundering now, and I am torn by conflicting feelings; then, finally, he speaks:
“Gandalf, are you asleep?”
“Not yet, my Aratar.”
“Then pray, turn towards me for a moment or two- I would have the delight of your company, if you will allow it.”
He speaks so elegantly, and so powerfully measured, I am sure he could seduce the very stones of Orthanc to play some sweet music for him, if he so desired.
I turn towards him, and with great subtlety, he moves closer to me, and I can feel his warmth, so near, so very near. I am becoming quite excited, myself, in some unfathomable way.
Ah, I believe I understand it, alright, but it is still a very new thing, to actually experience it! I feel his heated breath now, and his breathing is very different than normal, very labored, very fast.
He touches me suddenly, long fingers on my arm, and I catch my breath sharply.
He moves closer to me, again, and is very nearly against me, as we lie facing side to side. I am vividly aware of his totally disrobed form, and my blood is heating violently.
He reaches for me more aggressively now, and pulls me to him- and grasping my face, kisses me deep, with his tongue seeking mine, and our mingled breath joining together. As our mouths explore one another, he places one hand behind my head, and the other around my back, and presses tightly against me, body to body.
After a moment more, he seeks and finds my hand, which I have had around his neck, and guides me downward, saying:
“Here, let me show you, there, right there, do you understand?” and I do understand ,and I place my fingers around his- what did he call it, in his many graphic tales of conquest?- his cock, that’s right- and I grasp it, and it swells ever larger in my grip, and I can feel it throbbing and pulsating;
“Now: hold tightly, and pull upwards- ”, he whispers to me in a very urgent voice, and I do so, and Saruman fairly purrs approval “ Ahhh- yesss- oh, that’s very good, ahhh -so very nice -you learn very fast!”, and I do as he bids me, “Now down again. That’s right, my silme, oh- ah-you must slow down now- just a bit -”
My own need has come alive, now, as well, and I yearn for his touch upon me, but it does not come yet.
Ah, my sweet Aratar, will you not return my caresses?
I still have ahold of him, and he is gasping, panting almost, and he whispers, in a very strange, strained voice:
“I think you had best stop all together, or this will conclude too early!”
So this is passion, this is lovemaking, I think, as my senses rise and flow, and I relinquish my hold on Saruman, at his request- I do not understand his asking me to cease and desist, but he seems very adamant about it, so I will do so. My heartbeat has taken on the qualities of a raging thunderstorm, and I can scarcely hear for the pounding of it in my ears-
Saruman lies close against me for another long moment, wordlessly, and then he moves on top of me, and I am exhilarated with anticipation, and he lies above me, urging me onto my back; I do not resist but move as he bids me, and we lie together, face to face, for several more painfully long moments.
Finally, I can bear it no more, and I whisper in his ear “My lord, my Aratar, I need – I need more!” Exactly what I need, I do not know. But the urgency I feel is overwhelming.
I am acutely aware of the feel of his beard on my face, and the scent of his breath, so hot, and smelling strongly of dark wine.
“Ah, my Gandalf, fear not, the time is nearly at hand! Wrap yourself around me, my melda, my beloved! Arms and legs both, let us merge into one another!” he murmurs to me, and then whispers to me strange words I have never heard before, not Quenya, or Sindarin, or any of the tongues of Men, but something much stranger, and the words are blackly exciting, though I understand them not.
I am now, as he asked of me, utterly wrapped around him, and he moves me up even higher at the hips, and places one of the pillows under me there.
“Yes, now- yes, it is time, indeed.” He says dreamily, breathlessly, and covers me with his radiant presence, and I feel a growing and urgent pressure, just beginning, and then it becomes a sharp piercing, and I instinctively flinch, and try to move away, but he holds me very firmly, and I suddenly feel trapped.
”No, no, my silme -” he purrs in that silky voice-
“Trust me, you have only to trust me- you must relax- “ and then suddenly he is thrust all the way inside, entirely, and I feel as if I am filled to the core of my being.
I gasp loudly, in shock at the pain and pleasure of it, and he moves inside me, and I am pinned under him, and he has suddenly taken on a very different aspect, much more aggressive,and I unhappily recall his ever more violent changes of mood and attitude. “Valina nu i beleg makil!” ( rejoice under the mighty sword! ) he snarls at me fiercely, and the bed is shaking precariously with our passionate movement,
and I can hear it creaking woefully.
“Lisse, lisse lind - ” (sweet, sweet song ), he mutters quietly, and I cannot even make a sound in reply. I am far beyond speech at this point, and the pain has finally ceased, there is only ecstasy now, and my mind is bereft of reason, and all clarity. I only can perceive his moving inside me, his magickal voice, and our sweating, straining bodies locked together in love.
“Ai! Rato sii rato!” ( Alas! Soon, now, soon!) he groans in a throaty voice, and slows his movements suddenly, saying “Laa – kara ta ando -” ( No- make it for a long time )-
I finally find my voice, myself:
“Ullume, ullume!” ( Forever, forever! ), and he drowns me in an impossibly wet kiss.
I do wish it would last forever, I could ask nothing more of the Valar, than to allow us to remain joined like this, for all time.
Of course, as I would find many long ages after, that was not to be.
And so we lie still again, for what seems like an eternity in itself, and I can feel him inside me throbbing and hot, and then he moves again, more slowly, but harder, and deeper; I grasp his long hair as it falls into my face, and stroke its silky dark strands. I feel his strong hands under my hips, pulling me up higher against him, and then he pushes harder again, and the bed groans in disapproval.
I am clinging to him, somehow desperate to keep him close to me like this, as if I feel, in some vague and mysterious way, that he may slip away, and be lost to me. He mutters something in my ear, what, I cannot understand, and his breathing has become quite rapid; suddenly I can hear him whispering to me, as if in a dream -
“Now, yes, ah, now- now, Olorín!” –
and his entire body shivers violently, and I am flooded inside with some great warmth, and the effect of it is overwhelming, causing me to give in at last to the very height of pleasure.
It is, I find, the most soul shattering experience:
this pinnacle of feeling, and it roars through me, body and spirit, and I hear myself gasping, as if from very far away.
I am aware, in a very dream-like way, of my lover laying atop me, slowly moving even now, but all the great urgency is gone. And then, wordlessly, he moves off of me, slipping out of me easily; I feel the loss of his weight upon me, and I already begin to long for it again.
He does not speak for several moments, and then finally says softly:
“Sleep now, silme, sleep in the welcoming arms of love!”
And yet, even as he murmurs to me so tenderly, he does not embrace me again, but if anything, moves away a bit farther, and closes his eyes, saying no more. I lie there in utter amazement, and wonder, and confusion, all at once. I know – in some unfathomable way- that this is the beginning of a strange game between us:
one long, endless power play - and all enshrouded in this mysterious love, which embraces and then just as quickly pushes you away, and denies utterly.
I turn carefully to look at him, to see him in the moonlight coming in through the window, and his eyes open again, and he looks at me, eyes blacker than any midnight; those eyes! They pierce and overwhelm, and yet there is love in them, but it is a love that is undercut with fierce arrogance, and some nameless, alien savagery that lives in him now.
I yearn to move close to him, and wrap my arms and my whole being around him, and yet I can hear a warning from him in my mind:
It is enough, Olórin, no more.
Ask no more of me this night. Sleep.
My exhausted and rejoicing body overtakes my troubled and lonely heart, and sleep does indeed find me.
Morning comes, at last, and as I gradually awaken, I am aware that Saruman is not in the bed with me anymore; I already had felt he would not be, somehow.
Most likely, he is down in the chaotic study, pouring over endless books and scrolls. He is searching for something, his quest is obvious, although he never speaks of it. I can see him being driven in some nameless and formless fashion, looking ever more exhausted and drained, yet unable to get control again.
In the back of my mind, I know that it has something to do with the mystery of Dol Guldur, and the equally mysterious Necromancer.
Is he seeking the Ruling Ring? And if so, to what end?
I drowsily ponder my own thoughts and feelings, as the morning sun grows more brilliant, streaming in through the beautiful ironwork window of the Tower.
I am, I understand utterly now, falling – or have already fallen- in love with him.
My mentor, my friend, my patron in this Middle Earth- and yet I feel something is terribly wrong. Not with my feelings, or his feelings for me, but something else.
He does not speak to me of it, ever, and I cannot bring myself to ask him. Long years later, I will live to deeply regret this. If what was to come later had been, perhaps, headed off, then I would not have shared in the blame for all that was to happen, to myself, to Middle Earth, to friends I have not even imagined yet, and worst of all, to Curumo himself. He would ultimately suffer the worst of it; I would look back in heartbreak one day, and wish I had been brave enough to make him speak the truth to me.
Perhaps I could have reached him, and saved him, and all others that I will come to love as well.
But of course, nothing has come to pass this day, and I am merely having very bad daydreams. I force aside the evil, pervading images and ideas that have suddenly come into my mind, filled with nightmares, and the visions of Saruman in some horrific situation, immersed totally in madness, and at the brink of death. Unreachable, insane, and beyond all effort to save him.
Why am I getting this? I wonder, feeling very sad and ill, all at once.
I realize with some alarm that I am on the verge of tears. I try again to maintain- or regain- my composure. I rise slowly, and I am trembling slightly: I am badly shook up, from my intruding visions. And the visions were not silent- they were accompanied by blood chilling screams and angry warlike shouts, sounds of war and dying.
Sounds of a madman.
I hastily put on my robe and cloak, and make my way down to the main rooms, on ominously weak legs. It will not do for Saruman to see me like this, he will know something is wrong.
I feel an odd sense of shame, and sadness, almost as if I have let him down in some way. But nothing is wrong, not today, not in the present. I take a deep breath and knock lightly upon the huge door of his study.
“Enter, Olórin.” I hear his voice say softly, and I do so, and I see him sitting, as I knew he would be, amidst a gigantic collection of materials he is reading.
I see he has simply thrown many of them on the floor, as he goes on to the next. He is wearing a blindingly white robe, and it is open; as we are the only ones here, he has not bothered to secure it.
As I move towards him, I can see his strongly muscled chest and belly inside the glimmering robe. I feel a powerful memory of the previous night’s passion, and I have to struggle for composure, again.
“Ahhh- lisse silme -” he purrs in my ear, as he rises and embraces me gracefully -
“Did you sleep well, my melda? In the throes of satisfaction, I hope?”
I hold him tightly, again feeling that nameless dread of losing him, and the even greater terror of him suffering in some way, and I whisper back, “ I slept like the tides at sunrise, my Aratar.”
He nuzzles me gently in my hair, with gentle kisses, and this will be the closest he will ever come to displaying affection, throughout all the many countless years to come.
I will look back on this moment many, many times, and yearn with all my soul to feel his embrace, and these rare, precious kisses again.
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.