Beregond son of Baranor

[Continues from where we left Beregond and Smith - with Smith convincing Beregond to stay with him. NC17 with non-con overtones. Eeek.]

( Stay, Beregond. )

If you could have dinner with anyone in all of history, who would it be, and why?

I would enjoy going back a few hundred years in time to have dinner with my namesake, Beregond, the 20th Steward of Gondor. I think he would be a wonderful storyteller! I can imagine us at the local tavern, sitting back with full bellies and large ales, as I encourage him to tell me his version of the old story of the battle against the Corsair invasion, and helping to free Rohan from the Dunlendings following that terrible Long Winter.

Often my mother told me these tales when I was a child. She admired the Steward greatly, and I am sure that giving me his name was her way of instilling a sense of honor and pride in me. It worked. I couldn’t wait to grow up, become a soldier, and fight when needed for my country. I certainly did receive my wish, ten fold!

Aside from ancient tales of battle, it might be interesting to hear about city life back in the old days. Has Minas Tirith really changed all that much in the past two centuries? I wonder how many ales it would take before I learned the real truth of life back then in the White City.

Beregond: Captain of the White Company, the Guard of Faramir Prince of Ithilien.
Fandom: The Lord Of The Rings
Double-drabble: 200 words

What is your favorite guilty indulgence?

I suppose you’re thinking that a gruff old soldier like me will confess to a love of horseback riding, or perhaps tending to my weapons. Perhaps the wearing of a favorite old worn pair of boots. I know I will certainly not be confessing a hidden love for the rations my rangers and I endure! While I do love those things – a fast horse, a singing blade, the comfort of those boots my son has tried to throw away three times, these are not pursuits to bring guilt to my mind.

Would it surprise you to learn that in a way I have never stopped being a boy of eighteen years? My favorite guilty indulgence is a kiss.

No, not a chaste peck on the cheek, or even a tender touching of lips. I speak of the kind of kiss that blows the world away on the wind. A kiss hard enough to drive the breath from my chest, deep enough to slam into my soul, long enough to make me no longer care if it is night or day.

I have taken such a kiss. One particular kiss stays with me, and will forever be a memory seared into my mind. Not a day has passed since when I did not pause long enough to relieve it. The pit of my stomach still flips every time I bring this kiss to mind, exactly as it did that day it was given to me. I would indeed indulge again, should a similar circumstance come to pass. And yes, I would again feel that pang of guilt, but it would not stop me. Indeed, the full experience could not be had without the blending of guilt with indulgence. I would have it no other way.

And what circumstance would that be, and with whom? I leave you to wonder. I believe I have answered your query. If perhaps I leave you with more questions than answers, well then, that is the nature of life, is it not?

Beregond: Captain of the White Company, the Guard of Faramir Prince of Ithilien.
Fandom: The Lord Of The Rings
Ficlet: 336 words

[Continued from Here. Rated NC17]

No, I can't take advantage of his sickness. Remember, Beregond, he's been infected; he doesn't know what he's doing. But he's returning my embrace, and I'm only human, even if he is not. What harm could there be in simply enjoying his touch, just a little tonight.

( Of Justification And Desire )

Beregond yawns and stretches as the morning light filters through his windowshades. But he doesn't stretch much, as his outstretched arm bumps into something. Actually, someone.

Suddenly, the events of last night are recalled, and as he cracks open sleepy eyes, Beregond realizes it was not a dream after all. He grins, albeit nervously.

Ah, good morning. Hmm. We do need to get you a name so I can say Good Morning more properly.

[continued from here]

*cough* [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]! Oh, Cupid, could I interest you in some conversation and company? I'm sure you get pretty tired flying around all the time.

Come on, sit a while, relax. I'll give you a shoulder rub, if you like. Those wings look -heavy-.

It would seem I've been challenged to a drinking contest by a computer program. And any self-respecting man of Gondor cannot walk away from a challenge. He wished for a wager, too.

Well, then.

*nods to the bartender, settles into a comfortable booth, and waits to see if Smith changes his mind or not*