This part of the castle is dark, unfamiliar; the meager candles scattered here and there cast more shadow than they do light. The walls are cold to the touch and rough, unlike the meticulously smoothed stones upstairs. But it is cool, quiet, and lonely - all things that, at this moment, you ache for. The gathering upstairs is, you suppose, quite festive and entertaining to most of the guests. But you've never truly been comfortable around them; they have a bond, a connection that you know can only come from surviving together as they have. There's a light in their eyes for each other that doesn't exactly discomfit you, but gives a mild sense of exclusion. It's not on purpose, you know that, and they can't change it; still, sometimes you find it easier to avoid the situation entirely.

Lost in thought, you hardly manage to detect footsteps as he approaches. They pause slightly, as if caught briefly in indecision, and then continue forward. Turning to meet him in the dim light, you can barely make out the smile in his eyes that does not quite touch his lips.

"You left the dinner quite suddenly." His expression is, as usual, inscrutable; you are rarely able to guess his true feelings, even when they seem obvious. Sometimes, that's one of the things you love most about him.

You begin to murmer an apology; he silences you with a hand. "A woman after my own heart." He glances towards the ceiling impatiently. "There is little in them now for me; even the little ones, who had nearly become as children to me, are hardly recognizable to my heart. They will always be a part of me, but my future lies elsewhere." His eyes are on you now, traveling over your body as if he owns it, possesses it completely. You're not sure you'd mind that.

His tone changes, taking on a strange quality rarely heard outside his bedchamber. "Apparently, however, there is something in you for them..." Each breath brings him closer to you, until his voice is a low, deep rumble, sending small frissions of energy sparking down your spine. "Did you not see the way their eyes followed you? Never before have I seen a dwarf lust for anything besides steel." His body, almost unfamiliar when clothed simply in the steward's garb, stands firm and lean before you; you must fight to keep your hands still. "Even him; yes, even the mighty true king... " His voice is an odd mixture of bitter sarcasm, and he laughs shortly, in deprecation. "Can his elven queen not be enough for him? Must he aspire to have not only my throne, but the one thing precious to me in all the world?"

You can hold your tongue no longer. "Aragorn would never... I would never..."

He laughs again, the harshness lessening. "Oh yes, Aragorn would never..." Stepping around you, he brings his mouth close to your ear. "Aragorn would never do this..." Your breath hisses through your clenched teeth as his tongue briefly flickers on your earlobe, desire flashing through your veins. "Nor this..." Teeth on your neck, scraping roughly as a shiver wracks your body. You can feel him smirk against your skin. "And definitely not this..." His beard pricks the soft skin just behind your ear, making goosebumps break out on your arms in the already chilly air. Grasping your wrists in his strong grip, he draws them together behind your back. One hand holds yours in place while the other maneuvers out of your view; the soft clink of metal upon metal is your only clue as to his machinations. Suddenly it is not him confining your movement, but a strange chain looped around your wrists - what you soon recognize as his golden belt, given to him by the elves. The points of the decorative leaves press into your flesh, not unpleasantly, and you shudder in a quick jolt of anticipation. As the metal warms to your skin, you realize that you are completely at his mercy; the look in his eyes tells you that tonight, he will have none.

He moves in front of you again, evidently amused at the blush now flaming your cheeks. "Shy, suddenly? Not like you..." His fingers linger at your neckline, toying with the buttons that trail down your torso. The first slips through the fabric, exposing a small stretch of skin just above the swell of your breasts. He leaves his hand there, barely stroking a featherlight touch across your chest; you can't help but lean into him. "Tease..." he growls, his mouth hot against your cheek. Then his lips are on yours, hard, demanding, and intoxicating. He grips the back of your neck with his free hand while the other moves lower, cupping your breast, thumb coaxing your nipple into a a hard bud even through layers of fabric. Catching your lower lip in his teeth, his tongue strokes over it before plunging into your mouth. It seeks out your own, sliding against it in a wet heat, pressing and tangling in a lustful dance. As suddenly as he began, though, he withdraws, leaving you panting and helpless.

Struggling to keep your emotions under control, your breath is ragged as you watch an almost predatory smile cross his face. He circles behind you once again, pressing the length of his body to yours. Your eyes close involuntarily as he plants a light bite on the back of your neck, and runs his fingers under the belt that still binds your hands. He traces up your arms, shoulders, scratching his nails over your collarbone lightly before dropping them to your dress. His fingers continue the work they began earlier, unfastening the buttons at an agonizingly slow pace.

He breathes, and the rush of warm air on the juncture between throat and shoulder makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. He's watching you watch his hands, and a smile curves his lips; he knows exactly what he's doing to you. "I'm beginning to believe that you did notice them watching you," he says, his voice husky. "You saw the way their eyes followed your body's every movement, every curve..." He trails off as his tongue trails a path to your ear, and nips briefly at your earlobe. "And you knew that they wanted to touch you, to explore you, to hear you moan and plead for more before they finished..." His hands have unbuttoned nearly to your navel now, and the abandon their work. The left drops to your hip, pressing you against him, while he slips his right under your dress, teasing langorous circles over your stomach and ribcage. "They wanted to see your face, hear your voice as you come, to taste you and feel your knees go weak. They wanted to take you, again and again... just as you'll beg me to do before long." His hand encompasses your breast, fingertips flicking lightly over your nipple, causing you to spasm slightly from your very core. "Tempt them as much as it pleases you, darling, it only makes me want you more." Now his left hand shifts to the front of your dress, pressing against you possessively. "But do not forget... you are mine." A shiver of slight pain runs down your spine as he lowers his head to your neck and bites, harder than before, but it, instead of lessening your passion, inflames it further. Your hips instinctively grind against his, and he crushes you to him.

Unconsciously, your wrists have been protesting their bondage nearly this entire time, pulling against the confines of their metal cuffs. Such passivity is unusual for you, as he is well aware, and yet everything is different tonight. Even if you thought, at this point, he'd agree to free them, you wouldn't ask.

You're backed up against the wall now, his hips pressed to yours; he's studying your face, your reaction to his every movement. Your dress has been pushed back over your shoulders to allow him freer access; he bends his head and captures your nipple in his mouth. Back arching, your fingernails scrape at the stone and a whimper escapes your lips. He takes you between his teeth just for an instant, and heat blooms through your senses, but he pulls away. Silently, he gathers up the yards of material below your waist and lifts them wholly over your head; the dress now hangs limply off your wrists, useless. You are fully exposed now, unable to even pretend modesty. His eyes are frank and appreciative, examining the tone of your flesh, every stray birthmark and sloping curve. Hands take over where eyes leave off, initially soothing and gentle, but after a few moments becoming more rough, more formidable. He scrapes his fingernails across the soft skin just under your breasts, then unfolds his hands to encompass your ribcage, and slides them down, resting briefly on the curves of your hips. They move around to cup your ass, squeezing slightly, and then tighten and pull you fast against him. He's still fully dressed, and the roughness of the fastenings on his pants as they press into you is incredibly arousing. He must notice the look in your eyes, because while one hand still holds you in place the other rubs back over your hip and proceeds to brush your patch of curly hair, watching carefully for your reaction. His fingers finally part the flesh there, becoming slick with your moisture. Slowly, he circles your clit, waiting until you bite your lip to slip first one and then two fingers into you. Kissing you again, now biting your lip for you, he starts to make love to you with his hand - an action frustatingly inadequate for what he's been promising. You cry out into his mouth, and he slowly withdraws his hands.

Next to the wall he has you pressed against, a shallow ledge juts out at about waist height, and it is that he's now pushing you down upon. Your hands are caught under you, only able to barely keep a grip on the ledge, balls of your feet supporting you on the floor. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he kneels before you, taking one ankle in a seemingly iron-clad grip. He raises your foot to the ledge, spreading your legs too far apart for modest comfort. His facial hair grazes the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, and you jump, but his grip only tightens. The stubble is soon replaced by the warm wetness of his tongue; it wastes no time in discovering your most sensitive spots and exploiting them. His tongue flickers over your bud, teasing until your knees quiver. His free hand is busy at his waist, but you hardly have a chance to notice; you're not very capable of coherent thought at this point in any case. Desperate for more, for release, your hips buck towards his, and the only sound you can emit is a high pitched whining moan. Without warning, however, he stands up quickly, your ankle still tightly held, and wraps your leg around his waist. His pants have been pushed down, and his cock presses against you, hot as embers and harder than you've ever seen it..

"Tell me you want to feel me inside you..." he says against your cheek, breathing quickly. You are too stunned to answer for a moment, and his hand goes to the back of our neck, squeezing slightly. "Say it!" As you gasp out the words, he fills you in one perfect thrust, groaning his approval. Raising your other leg, you press your heels into his upper thighs, pressing your legs to his hips and clinging for dear life. He drives into you again and again, the both of you panting with effort and built anticipation. The sensation is odd; your wrists ache, you're longing for release after these past events and yet you've never experienced such intense pleasure in your life. The look on his face tells you he's having similar feelings. You can feel yourself coming close to the edge now; your hands squeeze helplessly at the stone as you curl your toes into his skin. His hand comes up and takes your face firmly, turning it to his. "Look at me," he commands, captivating your gaze. His eyes are deep, enigmatic, and as your climax nears they're what you focus on, him and nothing else. Then, suddenly, you're certain you've fallen into them; every nerve buzzing, screaming with rapture, surrounded by blue and gold and electric currents. You can hear him shouting your name, and dimly you realize that you're yelling his as well, feeling him pulse inside of you what seems like countless times. He thrusts into you one final time and buries his face in your neck, teeth scraping as he groans. When you are both finally still, you slump together, sweaty and shaking; no one speaks for what seems like hours.

Neither of you returns upstairs that evening.