rohanson: (Default)
Paris: It's dark, and I'm snuggled up against Dave, half awake, half asleep, when Theodred pulls me in. I know he's alone and hurt, and should have expected the nightmare, but this time, I can reach through the link between us, and it's different, open, I can feel him, this time, he can feel me.

"It's a nightmare, Theo; let it go, let yourself sleep, dream of Eowyn"

Theodred: Noise of battle surrounds me, I turn, and everywhere, my escape is blocked. I have no weapon to fight and they are closing in around me ...

A voice slips through the darkness, a voice I do not know, but it calms me, calls me by the name Eowyn uses when she is close to me, eyes bright. I follow the voice, and I'm lying in her arms, soft and welcoming, and I sleep ...

Paris: Smiling, I follow him into dreams ...
rohanson: (Default)
Sam: Everything about today has been perfect. The ride up the mountain was more exciting than any roller coaster. At first I thought I'd be afraid, we were going so fast around those steep curves, but as we rode I let myself meld with you. I was like a blade of grass, with nothing to fear from the wind. Your body led me through every curve, and soon I could anticipate your lean from the subtle tightening of your thighs against my legs. As we reached the campground I felt like I already knew you more intimately than I have some of my (admittedly few) lovers. I was glad we hadn't gotten off the bike yet, because there was no way I could hide my blush at that thought.


We had our pick of campsites ... )

NC-17 Het Alert!!
rohanson: (Default)
I've pushed myself this morning, I ache already, and it's only lunchtime. A sigh escapes me as I sit down on the steps, grabbing the bottle of water I'd left in the shade and drinking half of it down in one go as I stare out over the trees.

So Faramir lives in Wellington and knows Dave ... and some of his friends. Faramir, the fictional character from Lord of the Rings, lives in Wellington near the library. The laughter that bubbles up inside me borders on the hysterical.

The only thing I'm clear on right now is that he's real. The things he said about his life, the way he spoke of ... Theodred. May as well start calling him by his name too. The grief he felt over the loss of his friend, his friend who is, for the moment, still alive and well, and filling my sleep with nightmares, was real.

It had occurred to me to ask Dave about him. Well, actually, it had occurred to me to yell "What the fuck is Faramir doing in Wellington??" at Dave, but if he won't open up to me about whatever else is going on around here, that would probably send him into hiding. Maybe that's what happened to Hugo; maybe he just got sick of someone asking questions and took off.

I lay my hands across my knees, and rest my head on them, just for a moment, I tell myself. )
rohanson: (Default)
I let out a sigh as my Tai Chi routine ends. There had been no nightmare last night, no violence or bloodshed, just the depression and despair of a son watching his father deteriorate, draw away from him. I ... he is certain that the powers of darkness are involved, yet his reasoning falls on deaf ears. Yesterday's good mood evaporated with first light this morning, and I'd pulled myself out of bed with a heavy heart. It felt like it was my father, who I know is fine. I hate it when the lines blur like this.

I pick up one of the two bokkans I bought yesterday. Need to try them both, see which one has the right balance for me. I start the eight point kata again, wishing there was someone I could practice with. The katas are good for focus and fitness, but nothing beats the unpredictability of a sparring partner.

North ... east ... south ...

I slowly get the feeling that someone is watching me. It's probably someone out for an early morning walk, so I continue to move, staying alert.

Faramir:: I return from a patrol of these woods, content for the moment that all is well. I had ventured as far as the limits of Craig and Hugo's back yards this time, needing to at least glimpse the portal to see if all was quiet there. I hear the sounds of leaves beneath feet up ahead, and I approach as quietly as possible, stepping behind a tree to watch the man going through a morning exercise. It is the one that is helping Dave with the house, I recognize his face as the one I slip past sometimes as he sleeps. I also know that face from elsewhere, from my younger days during trips to Rohan, insufferable gatherings of dignitaries punctuated by the freedom of slipping loose on the horses, riding till the dust of politics blew from our hair. This one must be protected, I feel that strongly.

I try to lose myself in the rhythm of the kata ... )
rohanson: (Default)
... fighting rages around me. A horse screams as an attacker cuts its hamstrings, crashing to its knees, dislodging the blonde-haired rider who spills into the attacking force. My horse screams in answer and we turn as one diving towards our fallen comrades. We’re too far away, my mount trampling orcs underfoot as I hack my sword down at our attackers, but there are too many, they’re too fast, and more and more hurl themselves into the clearing. The blonde warrior surfaces from the mass, and a jolt of hope runs through me, ripped away seconds later as an orc sword slices through him, my comrade, my friend, reaches for me, a bloody hand grasping at the air, his eyes wide and pleading, and I’m just not close enough to stop them taking him apart.

“NO!!!”

One word echoed round the silent house, my heart pounding as I shot awake sitting bolt upright, but either Dave could sleep through anything, or I hadn’t cried it out loud. I’m assuming the latter. It takes a while for my heart to slow. I know I didn’t just watch the warrior die, it’s just one of the regular themes, each nightmare different, but each time, I ... he can’t get to the blonde haired guy, and we’re forced to watch him die. Doesn’t mean it feels any less real, to either of us.

A ragged sigh escapes as I curl myself back up on the couch. I hadn’t even bothered to set the bed up last night, just crashed, and pulled the quilt over the top of me. The memory of Dave’s body against mine makes me crave the comfort I know I’d find in his arms, and all I want to do is walk up the stairs, slip under his quilt, and curl myself around him.

It doesn’t take long to realise there’s no getting back to sleep. After fumbling around under the couch to find my watch, I let out a groan as it tells me it’s only 6am. Ten minutes later, I’m dressed and heading out the door, grabbing the two lengths of broom handle I keep leaning against the shed, and walking through the trees to the clearing I found on my first walk round the place. Guess I could have done this on the porch, but I’m not ready to see Dave anytime soon. My boots get kicked off and the soft grass beneath my feet feels good. It’s so easy to slip back into the routine, moving slowly, deliberately, my whole body moving with precision, the concentration and steady breathing of Tai Chi helping to centre me as my hands move in front of me, weaving patterns in the air.

I’ve become complacent. Over the summer, as the dreams faded to almost a memory for the first time in 10 years, I let my guard down; let Sophie in, just a little. I guess it was easier to relax around her, because I knew there was a time limit on our relationship, and if I had needed to take off, ultimately, no-one would have been hurt. Now, here in Wellington, it’s becoming harder not to get tangled up in the lives of those I’ve come to know. Dave, Sam. I’ve watched life from the outside for so long; it scares me to think about being part of it again.

The Tai Chi helps to steady my thoughts, but it’s not what I need this morning. I pull off my t-shirt and pick up the shorter length of wood to use as a bokkan, a practice sword. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do. The eight point sword kata helps to centre me, to ground me, and I go through it again and again, letting it flow.

It would be easier if my Gran was still alive, if I could talk to her. She saw in me something no-one else could recognise, and helped me deal with it. I’d always been able to pick up on people’s feelings, and she taught me how to focus that ability to the point where it’s become part of me. Using it is as natural as using my other senses, and last night, I ignored everything it was telling me. I should have left Dave alone when we came in off the porch, as I fully intended to. Handed him his beer and retreated to the couch. I shouldn’t have sat down so close to him because after that, what happened was inevitable.

Sweat runs down my back, as the bokkan continues to move. North .... east .... south ....

Dave had no idea how much he was pulling me towards him, and pushing me away at the same time. He needs someone, someone to take away the loneliness of the past months, to open up to, understand what he’s going through, whatever the hell that is, and he’s so confused and vulnerable right now it would be so easy to be all that for him, and take the comfort I need, but I can’t. Not knowing it would just add to his pain when I leave, and that’s inevitable, no matter how much this place clings to me. I’ve come to value his friendship, even in the short time I’ve been back, couldn’t take advantage of him when I know how complicated his life is, even if I’ve got no idea what most of those complications are. And there’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to know. The part that thinks I’ve got enough demons of my own to handle without taking on someone else’s.

Yet at the same time, part of him is screaming at me to leave this place, get away, and never look back. Wellington? New Zealand? I have no clue. And as for why, he’s not going to tell me unless I let him get closer, and I can’t do that.

On the final north west stroke, I finish the session, and the bokkan becomes just another length of broom handle again. I’ve really had enough of thinking in circles for one morning, and need coffee and breakfast. Whatever is lurking in the fridge will do and maybe I’ll go out and get something decent for lunch, might even pick up a balanced bokkan while I’m there.

After pushing my feet back into my boots, I grab my t-shirt, leaving the makeshift “weapons” leaning against a tree, and head back down to the house. So, quick shower, quick breakfast, and get stuck into the hot tub support, which I should get finished today, maybe tomorrow, oh, and fit a quick apology somewhere in there, after all, I made the first move.

See if we can get back to where we were before the kiss. Apart from the foot rubs, of course, and the back rubs. No more hands on anything and the thought of that makes me sigh. Friends. Friends who had crossed a line, but friends who could put that aside, and move on. Hopefully.

And even though I’ll miss what I’ve found here in Dave, and in Sam, as soon as this project is finished, I’m outta here.
rohanson: (Default)
Takes place the morning after this

Paris stared down at the bodies of the woman and two children. He could taste ashes in his mouth, feel the heat of fire on his skin. They had been hacked to death, small limbs lying as if tossed on the pile of flesh as an afterthought. He felt shock course through him, but the man whose eyes he stared out of looked down at the sight with a heavy heart, shock being a feeling he had left behind long ago. Paris could feel a little more hope slip from the man's heart, as he wondered, not for the first time, if they could ever truly beat the darkness back. Paris knew he would never give up. He had felt many things from him in their time together, but knew he would fight until the end if he needed to. He would not, could not abandon his people.

Then Paris was back, waking in Dave's house, his shoulder a little tense from sleeping on the couch. He stretched, and felt the need for coffee, even the instant kind as there wasn't yet a kitchen in the place, never mind a coffee machine. He quietly made himself a cup, hoping he wasn't disturbing Dave sleeping up on the futon, then took his coffee outside, and sat on the stairs leading up to the side door.

He sighed, thinking on his dream. Sometimes, they were dreams, filled with surreal imagery. Sometimes, like last night, merely snapshots from a life that wasn't his. The torn and bloody flesh wasn't enough to count as a nightmare anymore; it was just a fact of life. Fighting orcs, now that was a nightmare, the sound, and the smell … he shuddered at the thought. And what if this was the start of another cycle? If he threw himself into the job at hand today, wore himself out, he could probably sleep through tonight. He couldn't risk a full blown nightmare, not his second night at Dave's place. The thought of having to explain to Dave exactly why he was fighting orcs in his sleep didn't appeal, and he wanted to stay here, felt he needed to stay here, and he had learned a long time ago to trust his feelings. And he saw in Dave someone else with something hidden just below the surface. Someone else with a secret he didn’t want to share with the world.

Paris stared down towards the trees, and drank his coffee. This was a good place, it had a good feel to it, and he was looking forward to helping put it back together, making it into a home for Dave. He finished his coffee and ambled back into the house. Time to get started.

December 2007

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