The Rut


Vignette – Published in the harem thread, Imladris…7/24/02

 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, written solely love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and situations used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises. The author receives no money or other remuneration for presenting this work but the pleasure of enjoying the Professor's creations. This work is the intellectual property of the author and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

He had come to you full of excitement; his face flushed with wonder and tinged pink from the bitter wind. ‘Come!’ he had whispered. ‘I’ve something you simply must see!’ You barely had enough time to pull on your heavy wrap before he whisked you out the door. Down the path the two of you flew, your cloaks billowing out behind you and the dead leaves of November swirling in your wake. His warm, slim fingered hand clutched yours with surprising strength as he pulled you along. His exhilaration was contagious and you wondered what could possibly have stirred the fire you saw in his brilliant blue eyes.

Into the forest he leads you, to the edge of a wide glade that is like an arena of light in the gathering dusk. He slows at the edge and, putting a finger to his lips to silence you, pulls you down onto a brake of fern. All is still in the shadows where you lie, but Frodo’s eyes are fixed on the glade, searching the deep veil at the opposite edge for… what?

“I’ve been coming here at dusk for days…” He whispers. “He appears every night just as the shadows lengthen.” Suddenly he stiffens and he smiles with wild, untamed joy. He points and you follow his graceful finger.

There, just entering the meadow, a huge stag waits in silence. He has paused; sniffing the wind, testing the air. His crown of antlers strives upwards, a thicket of many fingered, white spikes in the fading light. His deep barrel chest is thrust forward, his haunches quiver with barely controlled power, and his slender, elegant foreleg is held, paused just as he would make a step into the open field. He waits, and an age seems to pass as you drink in his majesty. The image of this untamed power consumes you and thrills you beyond your wildest imaginings. This is what Frodo has brought you here to witness. You tear your eyes from the stag and look to your lord. He is also held by the vision, mesmerized by the fierce splendor before him. You thought the stag was beautiful, but to see him like this stirs you more than the deer ever could.

His hair is tumbled around his face, disheveled from the sprint and curling errantly over the delicate point of his ear. His mouth is half open in awe and a delighted smile softens the corner of it. In the dusk, his dark brows and thick lashes stand out starkly against the glowing alabaster of his skin. The shadows soften him; he looks more like a fairy child, a creature of this wood, than the gentlehobbit that you love. His eyes, wide and staring in wonder, catch the light from the forest opening and seem to glow with a fair luminescence of their own. Even in this dusk, you can tell their color – the brilliant blue that rivals the clearest autumn sky is not dimmed. How any creature under heaven could be so lovely you cannot even begin to understand.

“Look there!” He breathes and you turn to see another deer has entered the meadow. Behind him, a cluster of does pause, also sniffing the wind , but they are quickly satisfied and move out into the field to graze. The second buck has not moved and stands shock still, eyeing his rival in the dimness. A loud, blasting snort breaks the tense silence between them as the first sounds his challenge. It is answered immediately and with fierce abandon by the second. This meadow - these does - will be fought for! The two great lords of the forest rush towards one another, heads lowered, to join in battle. The trees resound with the din of their conflict; the heavy, snorting breath, the clattering ring of antlers, the heavy thud of powerful cloven feet driven deep into the earth. Their powerful, muscular bodies strive against one another, heaving and thrusting with unbelievable fury. The pure unadulterated virility of the sight astounds you, shocks you and takes your breath away. You sway and clutch at Frodo’s cloaked arm, overwhelmed.

He looks at you and you realize you are seeing deep into his unguarded soul. There is a glow in his eye, a wildness. The heat of the primal battle in the meadow stirs his passion and you thrill to see it. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are a rich, dusky rose even in the dim light. He reaches for you and pulls you close, possessively covering you with his own cloak. He is warm under the dark folds of woolen fabric and his arm trembles with excitement as he embraces you.

The combat beyond continues, ancient and savage, …but you are oblivious to anything but the searing fire of his touch.

The End...