![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I think one of my favourite things about this world, and one of the new found freedoms that communicating with Paris has brought is being able to fall asleep tangled in a sated heap with a lover that I cannot be with in my own world, knowing we will both still be together in the morning. Mer’s continuing truce with Karl has meant we are able to share that pleasure often, and this morning, it is Faramir’s hair that my face is nuzzled into when I wake, the scent of his skin filling my senses. My lips move lazily over the soft skin of his neck, and he stretches as he wakes. “Morning.” I murmur against his shoulder, and he turns sleepily in my arms to face me, pulling me to him in a long languid kiss …
… much later, we head for the shower. He has promised me a hearty breakfast, and I am looking forward to it. It has been an interesting day, and I am glad that I got to spend time with my old friend as well as with Dave, who I think would not object to being called a friend also. After soaping each other more liberally than is really necessary, Farmair rinses off, and goes in search of towels, and I move under the spray that is so hard it makes my skin tingle.
There is a crash, a door bursting open … but not in the cabin … with a start, I am back in my quarters in Helm’s Deep, disorientated and being pulled out of my seat by the fire into a bear hug, a familiar voice greeting me. “Cousin!!” With shock I return the embrace. “Mer? … Éomer?! What … what brings you to Helm’s Deep?” He grins widely at me with a shrug. “I was in Edoras, and I volunteered to bring the dispatches.” I am about to ask why he left his command to do this … and remember that here and now, he is not yet Third Marshall. He is twenty two, and as far as he is concerned, we will not meet in Wellington for years yet. I return his smile, and slap him hard on the back. “Come, let us find a couple of tankards of ale, and you can give me the news from the Mark.” As we leave my chambers, I send Paris a quick apology. “I was pulled away unexpectedly, my friend. Sorry, Faramir should be returning any second, and you are …”
Paris: … in the shower, yeah, I got that, being wet and all and …” As I back away from the water, a rough towel is rubbed over my back, with particular attention being paid to my ass. I slowly turn my head and my eyes meet smiling grey ones, as my hand reaches for the towel. “Er … Faramir? Théo had to leave suddenly. You wanna give me the towel?”
Faramir: I am so startled I drop the towel, and I feel my face redden at the sight of your bare skin. I stammer an apology and quickly bend to retrieve it, managing to bump my head against your leg nearly toppling you in the shower. "Paris! I did not expect... it is good to see you, wait, I do not mean see you like this, I...." I realize I'm standing here stammering at you, and I shove the towel into your arms and turn, scrambling for the doorknob, and excuse myself hastily. "I will wait for you to finish!"
What a fine way to start our day together. I lean against the hallway wall, and push my hands through my damp hair, collecting my wits. It is then I realize I need to collect more than just wits, as I am as buck naked as you were. Clothes are definitely needed before we meet again. I run to the bedroom, and grimace as I see the state Theo and
I left your bed in. It will need more than a quick tidy, as the sheets are twisted and stained with strawberry juice. In fact, there are pieces of the ripe fruit strewn about, some of them mashed by our bodies. I will certainly be thanking Theo next time we meet for leaving me to explain our evening!
I hastily pull on a pair of jeans and find a t-shirt, and then try to turn my thoughts to the day ahead. You will wish some coffee. In the kitchen, I find what is needed and start a pot brewing while I wait for you to join me.
Paris: Grinning to myself at the startled look you had on your face, I finish getting dried. It’s a good job I’m not the shy type, and for all I know, you’ve been with my body all night, even though I wasn’t aboard at the time. Hearing you make your way down stairs, I head off to the bedroom, towelling my hair dry on my way … and stop dead in the doorway. If it wasn’t for two large squashed strawberries on the floor, I would be more concerned at the red stained sheets. And yes, that’s the bottle of champagne I wanted to share with Dave tonight standing empty on the dressing table. Rubbing my eyebrow, I let out a little snort of laughter. Well, I didn’t say it was off limits, and this weekend was about us all relaxing, spending time together, so what the hell, although I’ll be showing you where the washing machine is later.
I pull on a t-shirt and jeans and head barefoot downstairs, to where you’re hovering with an embarrassed look on your face over the coffee machine. You look up as I reach your side and look startled as I pull you into a bear hug. “It’s good to see you too, Faramir. It’s been too long!”
You pour the coffee as I rummage in the fridge. “Hmmmm. I could have sworn there was a bowl of strawberries in here … really fancied them for breakfast.” I peer round the fridge door at you, and you look uncomfortable, until you see the tease in my eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist!” I say with a smirk, pulling out everything that doesn’t need cooking onto the table, yogurt and fruit and milk that goes with the cereal on the bench, fruit juice, butter and honey for toast … you’ve pulled an assortment of bowls and plates and cutlery out of the cupboards and drawers, and just before I sit down, I spy the foil wrapped package Dave brought, which turns out to be cake! So we’re all set.
Faramir: It is good to see that teasing look in your eyes. I enjoy your company immensely, and I've looked forward to our time together today. I wish the mood to be light and cheerful. "Does it help to know that the strawberries were quite ripe, and were very much enjoyed?" You snicker and roll your eyes while I attempt to sip my coffee and keep a straight, innocent face. It is quite difficult.
I load my plate up with two slices of cake stacked one on top of the other, cover it carefully with fruit and drizzle some of the yogurt over my creation. "It is somewhat similar to Minas Tirith, though it is missing something. Ah!" I take up my spoon and imbed it in the top, handle sticking straight up into the air. "The Tower of Ecthelion. Welcome to my city, Paris."
Paris: Your grey eyes are sparking, obviously you enjoyed your time with Théo, but I really don’t need the details of exactly what you did with those strawberries, that I can live without. I waggle my spoon at you. “You don’t do innocent very well, Faramir!!” You grin and take a fork full of the first circle, dripping with yogurt, and wolf it down as the Spoon of Ecthelion catches the sun and gleams.
Your city. Minas Tirith. Still gives me a little thrill of to know that you, the guy I’m sharing breakfast with, the one who’s making food castles that we’re both sniggering over, comes from a different world, one I hadn’t read about until after being in the movie. And I realise I haven’t asked you this before. “Did he get it right? The White City that Pete Jackson created … did he get it right?” I cut a couple of figs into quarters and push one across to you.
Faramir: I take the fruit you offer, and turn it over in my fingers. It is unfamiliar - fragrant and sticky. watch to see how you eat it, and then try a bite myself. It is darkly rich and sweet. I like it. The cake and fruit are nearly gone now, but I do not need the silly model on my plate to recall what my city looks like.
"He did a fine job, for one who does not live there. Though... the streets are more worn in ruts and grooves from so many horses, carts, and heavy boots over the years. Cracked, too, as the mountain we cling to has shifted slowly under the weight of the city. An entire book could be written about the conduits and drainage systems of
Tirith, and their constant state of disrepair." I sigh and laugh quietly at that bane of my existence. "My father expects me to have the insight of the elves into what drain will be the next to fail each day. I spend much of my time giving orders to city workers, instead of commanding troops. Your movies show my city and myself in a slightly more lofty position than we truly take."
"Ah, but the steward's quarters themselves. There, your Mister Jackson did capture the spirit and mood of the place perfectly. More is the pity..." I spear the bit of cake that would be in the place of my father's throne, and bite into it with relish.
Paris: I love hearing you talk about your home. Really brings it all to life and helps make it all the more real, somehow, but … “Drains?” My eyebrows raise at the thought of you sitting at a desk all day. You just don’t strike me as someone who belongs in what sounds like an office. And that isn’t just through reading the books and watching the movies, it’s through having got to know you, spend time with you. You’re no more suited to sitting behind a desk all day than I am. I push another piece of cake onto my plate, and drip honey onto it, then refill our coffee mugs. I didn’t miss the sound of your voice when you spoke about the Steward’s quarters and I know about your relationship with your father, so I’m not gonna touch on that if I can help it.
“But you don’t spend all your time looking for drains. I’ve sparred with you, and no-one handles a sword like you do without a hell of a lot of practice, or practical experience. How often do you go out on patrol with your rangers?”
Faramir: I like your curious nature. And I will admit I enjoy your interest in my life. I pick at the cake crumbs on the platter and take a thoughtful sip of my fresh cup of coffee. You tend to be relaxed and open, and do not confuse me as some of Dave's other friends, and even some of my own, tend to do. Your approach to life is simple, basic, clear... yet not shallow or vapid. It is an interesting balance, one I admire. I like spending time with you.
"You are right. I spend a week or so tending to such matters when our patrols come home for provisioning. By the time our men have rested, visited with their families and new supplies are obtained, I am ready to find the woods again. I appreciate that the forest seems to know how to deal with rainwater and other challenges on it's own, with no needs of drainage systems built by man. It demands nothing of me, in fact, it barely tolerates my presence. I can respect that."
It has been many weeks since we have returned to the woods though, with the current situation escalating so rapidly. "You know the tales, Paris. Unfortunately, these days, my rangers have become soldiers, and Osgiliath occupies my mind more than the annoyance of sewers. I know what lies ahead, but do not care to dwell upon it on this sunny day I share with my good friend." I hope I have given you enough, I have no wish to turn away your interest, I simply do not wish to wallow in the events to come in my life. However, this story of ours, right now, needs our attention, as it is still being written, moment to moment.
Paris: I like the way you talk about the forest, but can see the shadows in your eyes when you mention Osgiliath. “Yeah, I know the tales … “ And I can understand why you don’t want to dwell on them, but talking to you has reminded me of something that’s been on my mind recently. “But Théo doesn’t. I need to ask you one last thing, and then we can go and enjoy our day.” You nod, looking a little puzzled.
“I know you’re not his keeper, Faramir, but I don’t think it would be good for him to know … you know.” I roll my eyes at myself. Can’t even say it out loud, but you know what I’m talking about. “I’ve shifted all my books and DVDs so he can’t come across them accidentally … I’ve thought about it … a lot, and I know if I was him, even knowing the outcomes after … the Ford, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from trying to change things.” I know it must be painful for you to think about this, and wonder if you’ll agree with me on this.
Faramir: I nod quietly, showing you that I am in full agreement. "Dave noted that you had hidden our stories, and it was obvious to him why you would. He has told me he feels this is a delicate subject. I agree."
It is a problem that is more encompassing than you might yet realize. I feel as if I am forming a conspiracy of sorts with you. The distance across the table suddenly feels awkward, and I rise to come around to your side of the table, dragging a chair to sit close by you. My eyes find yours, and hold them intently. "Éomer must not learn of Théo's fate, either. He loves him well beyond the point of reason. If he knew... he would find a way to have Théo be elsewhere. He would save him. I am sure of it." This is strange. You wear the face that I now accept as Théo's in this world, yet it is to that face that I speak of secrets we will keep from my good friend. Secrets that will ensure his death, at the proper place and time. "No one should know what the future holds. It is a hard weight to carry. But we must, for the sake of my world. Can you shield this knowledge from him?"
I barely realize that I have reached for your hand, and grip your fingers tightly as I speak.
Paris: I’m a little surprised when you move to sit beside me, but understand you need to be closer when you open your heart to me about Éomer, about all of this. I knew that Théo felt strongly about him, and I saw the look in Éomer’s eyes that day at Karl’s place before Théo shifted in and you’re right. Neither of them would let him ride off to meet his fate if they knew what would happen. No one should know what the future holds… but you do, and I can’t even begin to understand what it must be like to know that not only your brother, but a close friend will both lose their lives, and you can’t tempt fate by trying to change things.
My hand squeezes yours and I nod with a sad smile. “Neither of them will hear anything about this from me, Faramir, I promise you that.” You look so sad that I pull you into a hug, holding you for a moment. When I pull away, I smile, and get to my feet, tugging you to yours. “I think it’s about time we got some fresh air, and there’s something I need your help with out in the garage. You coming?”
Faramir: There is a deep sense of sad relief that we have reached this agreement, but it has been accomplished. I trust you, and I know that we need not belabour the problem any longer. We will each keep our secrets, and that is that. I am happy when you stand and change the subject.
"Fresh air would be good! We have eaten many sweets, and the sugar will make us fat and sleepy if we do not stir ourselves into action. Lead the way, I will be happy to assist you."
Paris: Opposite the front of the cabin are the garages Steve had built when he did the place over. Pretty much empty now, there was a quad bike here years ago, but I think he sold it when he realised he wasn’t gonna be able to spend as much time up here as he thought. But there’s one thing that I know hasn’t seen the light of day since he brought it up here, and it’s still wrapped in plastic sheeting. I turn, and you’re looking round the place, curious as to what we’re doing in here, and I flash you a grin.
“Give me a hand with this?” You’re straight at my side, and we manhandle the large flat parcel round the side of the cabin onto the deck. Stripping off the plastic, I pull the legs into position, and you help me right it. “This is the pool table me and Steve had in the garage back home in Auckland. He taught me the basics before I started hanging out at the pool hall where Luke taught me the rest.” I head off back to the garage to grab the cues and balls, looking back to see you checking out the table. “I said I would teach you to play!”
Faramir: I have seen these gaming tables in various taverns in Wellington, but I have never felt comfortable approaching the players who have dominated them. I have watched from a distance, and understand that balls must be struck with sticks and knocked into the holes at the edge of the table. But, as with most games of gambling
and challenge, I am sure there is much more than the obvious to the rules of the game.
I tentatively take up a long, slender wooden stick, and admire the feel of it. It is a beautiful object, as are the balls marked with numbers that you begin to arrange on the table. A game that is crafted so intricately and beautifully will have it's appeal, especially given this quiet setting, away from the distractions of a busy tavern.
"You did say that, Paris. It is good to see you are a man of your word! I am curious about the game, and eager to learn."
Paris: With the balls ready, I’m about to line up my first shot, when I realise there’s something missing. I duck back into the kitchen, and emerge with two cold beers. “Unwritten rule of the game. It must always be played while drinking beer … no matter how early it is.” I wink at you. “Okay, I’ll go first, show you how to break.” I line up the white, and send it slamming into the waiting balls. As I’d hoped, the purple stripe heads straight down the far corner pocket.
“When you’re playing an actual game, the first ball that either of us pots determines which set of balls we each need to pocket. That stripe went down, so I would have to put the rest of the stripes down, and then the black in order to win. You would have to do the same with the spots.” There’s a look of deep concentration on your face as you take it all in. “But for now, why don’t we use this break as a practice? You put the rest of them down, doesn’t matter which order, just to give you a feel for the table and the cue.” I put another one down, just to give you another example, and then leave the table to you.
You bend down low over the table, and line up a shot, but the angle is too steep so I walk round behind you, and push you gently down lower, bending over you to alter the way you hold your hand on the table, and adjust the angle of your elbow, talking you through everything I do. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact I’m pressed up against you, and keep my cool as you pull the cue back, and the white hits where it needs to, and a spot goes down. “Excellent shot! Now try another one, and remember what I showed you.”
That brought back memories of being taught how to play, Luke’s lean body pressed against mine rousing feelings I hadn’t know existed for another guy, nothing emotional, just pure lust … I’m hoping you’re gonna be a quick study with this.
Faramir: I thank you for your guidance, and then walk slowly around the table, looking for another ball that I would be able to hit with the white one. As I try various shots and angles, I begin to learn what distances and angles are easy, and which are more difficult. I badly mangle a shot that at first presented itself to my eye as a simple one. There are many subtleties to learn about this game, and I am pleased by that. I am also pleased by the potential of many chances to challenge you as my skills are honed... and at the moment by the chance to have a bit of fun at your expense.
I look at you, and let my eyes fall half shut, my words are spoken quietly, in a low tone. "I am not sure I am holding the stick correctly. Could you come close and show me again, more slowly this time?" I note the way you blink, and if I am not mistaken, you
swallow nervously. I cannot keep a straight face for long, and as you tentatively step closer, I break out laughing. "Ah! I have suddenly remembered. It is like this, I think." I touch your chest to indicate that you should keep some distance, and lean to tap the white ball, nodding in satisfaction as it grazes the solid black ball and tips it into a side pocket. I turn to grin at you. "I think I have the basic rules. Would you wish to play an actual game now?"
Paris: I’m impressed as you weigh up each shot, not always successfully potting a ball, but learning what works, what doesn’t. I can see by the concentration on your face that you’re picking this up rather quickly, which will make this afternoon all the more enjoyable. I’m chalking up my cue when the change in your voice gets my attention. It’s almost sultry, and the look on your face … I must be picking that up wrong. Right? I was hoping not to have to demonstrate so closely again, as I was a bit disturbed at the memories laying my body along yours brought back.
“Er … sure.” I agree, trying to keep my nervousness in check. This ridiculous! You’re my mate, my buddy … your laughter with that look of evil teasing on your face has me rolling my eyes, and smirking back at you. This I am gonna get my own back for!
“Yeah, I think you’re ready for an actual game. But just for that, no quarter will be given! Just remember, I was taught by the best, and always strive to uphold the honour of the Lucky Shot Pool Saloon in Auckland.” I incline my head towards you seriously in a small bow, and salute you with my pool cue before a grin breaks out on my face as I go to set the balls back up.
Faramir: I take up the bit of blue stuff and rub it on my stick as I have seen you do, as you arrange the balls for a new game. "Perhaps on our next 'group vacation' we should take a pilgrimage to this Lucky Shot Pool Saloon. I would wish to hear the unaltered version of your training in this fine game. It is amazing what people will tell you while holding a free drink in their hands."
The table is prepared, and you nod at me. So I am to 'break'. I finish off my beer and focus carefully on the task at hand. I know I must send the white ball powerfully into the group to scatter them. I have not yet learned how to do this with the intent of sinking any particular ball, so I take a deep breath, shoot, and as the black ball with the number 8 on it begins to roll towards a pocket, I dart over to that side of the table and hiss a stream of Gondorian curses at it. It stops shy of the hole, and I smile smugly. A second later, I am startled to hear a 'thunk' from across the table, the sound of a ball
dropping into a pocket. I was concentrating so hard on the black ball I did not watch the others. I look at you expectantly. "That means that I may shoot again? Was it striped or dotted?"
Paris: I snigger at “group vacation” which I suppose in a weird way this has been. “Well, if you ask around the pool hall, you might find out more than you bargained for so since I already have my free beer,” I waggle my beer bottle at you. “I’ll give you the unadulterated version. That would be the version where the hot older man, Luke, well he was 35 but I was only 17, took me under his wing, and taught me how to play. Very well.” I watch as you break, grinning at the way you keep the black going down by the sheer force of swearing at it.
“Yeah, you get to shoot again, and it was a stripe.” And I watch as you carefully line up your shot, which slides in nicely, but leaves the white in an awkward position. You make a valiant attempt at your next shot, but nothing could have been put down from there. You do, however, leave the white in a perfect position for one of my spots, and I walk around the table to line up the shot. As I bend down, I remember you wanted the unadulterated version. “Luke was also my first … guy.” I grin at you and send the purple spot hurtling into the corner pocket, leaving the white in an ideal position to put down my blue.
Faramir: I raise an eyebrow at that last detail, an unexpected twist to your story, but then the loud cracking sound of your shot jerks my head up just in time to see your target vanish neatly into it's trap. I nod my compliments for the shot, and step back so that you may cross in front of me seeking the best angle for your next shot.
"I will never be able to match your skill at this game, as I am sure I will never find a mentor willing to take me so carefully in hand, and teach... in such great depth, as you were lucky enough to find at such a tender age." My smile is sincere, yet playful. I do not wish to pry all your secrets from you, yet it is a pleasant feeling to know that you are comfortable telling me things about your life that you would not tell just anyone.
You bend to focus on your shot, and I can see the concentration on your face. A perfect time to share something from my life with you, I think. "There is a soldier by the name of Beregond stationed in Gondor, who is one I count among my oldest friends. When we were much younger, he taught me how to play a peculiar game of cards that carried a penalty of an article of clothing when one chose their hand unwisely." You give me a sidelong glance, but hold your cue steady, sliding it gently between your fingers, testing your shot. "I became quite good at this game... but I never let him know how well he had
taught me." You take your shot, just as I casually add "One night we decided that we had both lost the same game, and when our clothing was gone, he taught me another interesting diversion."
Excellent. You never said I could not distract you from your aim. "You seem to have missed your shot, Paris. It is my turn, then?" I wink, and take up my cue.
Paris: “Strip poker?? Or whatever you call it in Gondor.” I’m smiling as I let you have the table, it was worth missing my shot just to hear that. “Well, the way you’re learning how to cheat at this, just remind me never to play cards with you, okay?” You grin over your shoulder at me before sinking another ball, but it leaves the white in an awkward position. Now, I could let you take the shot you’re lining up, knowing that it’s highly unlikely anything will come of it, or I could be the good teacher, and show you a neat trick.
“Faramir, wait, that’s not gonna work.” I take a swig of beer, and leave the bottle on the railing before wandering over to the table. “Okay, I know we said this is a game, but let me show you something.” Pointing out the layout of the balls, and the position of the white, I tell you which one we are gonna pot, and you look at me as if I’m joking. Smirking, I pull you to my side of the table, and push you down, showing you the exact angle you need for this to work. It’s not so embarrassing being this close after we’ve joked about it.
Finally, I try to explain how much force you’re gonna need, and step back. With a look of deep concentration on your face, you send the white straight over the table to the side cushion, and it strikes at exactly the right angle force it onto the top cushion, and then through the spots, missing them all and hitting your stripe in the middle of the pack, which rolls neatly into the opposite side pocket. A grin splits your face, and I slap you on the back. “Now just cause you made the shot doesn’t mean I’m taking my pants off, okay? We’re playing by civilised rules here!”
Faramir: I conjure up a shocked expression. "Gondor is quite civilized, I will have you know! The wearing or not wearing of pants is besides the point. Sometimes, Gondor has no pants, Gondor needs no pants." I could not resist, and the look on your face is one I will long remember. I have been visiting this world long enough to have overheard a few of the jokes about my own.
I look over the table, and note that I will soon be out of striped balls to target. You are also nearly done with the dotted ones. That cursed black ball stands between the white one and my easiest target. I shall try another ploy. I tap the white ball lightly into the
black, and it rolls a short distance. I smile in satisfaction. Perhaps I cannot make a shot this time, but now, neither can you. I have blocked the last two of your dotted balls, I believe. "It is your turn. I will fetch us more beer."
Paris: I howl with laughter, as you gauge your next shot, wondering if that’s some sort of Gondorian slogan or battle cry that Tolkien was wise enough to leave out of the books. I’m really pleased we got to spend today together, I’ve missed your sense of humour, and I hope Dave’s time with Théo was at least half as enjoyable as this. Okay, well, enjoyable in a masochistic way as far as this game is going. You give me a smug smile as you box me in, and I let out a long sigh.
“You sure you haven’t played this before??” I can see your shoulders shaking with laughter as you head off to the kitchen. Slowly, I walk round the table, assessing every possible angle, biting my lip as I search for an opening, and just as I think it’s gonna be impossible, I see it. It’s my turn to smile smugly as you return, and I take the offered beer, drinking deeply before lining up a shot, holding my hand in an incredibly high arch over the black, hitting the white with substantial force, sending it spinning in totally the opposite direction to the balls, bouncing off three cushions before rolling back to clip one of my spots, and sending it gently towards a pocket, so gently I don’t think it’s gonna make it … but it does. Extra smug, I pot the last of my spots, but fluff an easy shot on the black, with a groan, which leaves the table open for you.
Faramir: With your spotted troublemakers out of the way, I have a chance to show you that I have learned my lessons well. I take my time, shooting carefully and slowly. Finally the black ball eases into the pocket, and I straighten up, stretch, and tap you on the shoulder with my cue, laughing. "I like this game! There is need for thought and logic combined with skill. And beer. Very important that, the drinking of the beer." I am in a wonderful mood and laughter comes easily to my lips. "I thank you for a fine game, and though I am proud to win, I know you will not let me rest on that victory for
long."
I hear a whining from inside the house, and ask you for the time. I am amazed to learn that we have been so lost in the game that Dave's poor dog has probably abandoned hope of being let outside for a little relief. "Shall we stretch our legs with a walk before I allow you to regain your title of champion, Paris?"
Paris: I grin at you. “For someone who only picked up a cue today, that was one hell of a game, my friend!” I salute you with my beer bottle, and drink down the last of it. Ise dashes past me, and heads down the steep track that winds its way into the trees from the far side of the deck. We follow the path as she weaves through the foliage ahead of us. “Allow me?” I snort with laughter. “Just you wait til we get back …”
It’s been good to spend time with you here, as last time it wasn’t under the best of circumstances, but you were a good friend when I really needed one, and I won’t forget that. It’s been a fun afternoon, and we’ve still got a little while before Dave shifts back in, so a rematch is definitely in order. I’m curious as to how Dave and Théo got on, hope they got past their differences … and thinking of Théo, there’s something else I’m gonna show you when we get back. How to use the washing machine!
… much later, we head for the shower. He has promised me a hearty breakfast, and I am looking forward to it. It has been an interesting day, and I am glad that I got to spend time with my old friend as well as with Dave, who I think would not object to being called a friend also. After soaping each other more liberally than is really necessary, Farmair rinses off, and goes in search of towels, and I move under the spray that is so hard it makes my skin tingle.
There is a crash, a door bursting open … but not in the cabin … with a start, I am back in my quarters in Helm’s Deep, disorientated and being pulled out of my seat by the fire into a bear hug, a familiar voice greeting me. “Cousin!!” With shock I return the embrace. “Mer? … Éomer?! What … what brings you to Helm’s Deep?” He grins widely at me with a shrug. “I was in Edoras, and I volunteered to bring the dispatches.” I am about to ask why he left his command to do this … and remember that here and now, he is not yet Third Marshall. He is twenty two, and as far as he is concerned, we will not meet in Wellington for years yet. I return his smile, and slap him hard on the back. “Come, let us find a couple of tankards of ale, and you can give me the news from the Mark.” As we leave my chambers, I send Paris a quick apology. “I was pulled away unexpectedly, my friend. Sorry, Faramir should be returning any second, and you are …”
Paris: … in the shower, yeah, I got that, being wet and all and …” As I back away from the water, a rough towel is rubbed over my back, with particular attention being paid to my ass. I slowly turn my head and my eyes meet smiling grey ones, as my hand reaches for the towel. “Er … Faramir? Théo had to leave suddenly. You wanna give me the towel?”
Faramir: I am so startled I drop the towel, and I feel my face redden at the sight of your bare skin. I stammer an apology and quickly bend to retrieve it, managing to bump my head against your leg nearly toppling you in the shower. "Paris! I did not expect... it is good to see you, wait, I do not mean see you like this, I...." I realize I'm standing here stammering at you, and I shove the towel into your arms and turn, scrambling for the doorknob, and excuse myself hastily. "I will wait for you to finish!"
What a fine way to start our day together. I lean against the hallway wall, and push my hands through my damp hair, collecting my wits. It is then I realize I need to collect more than just wits, as I am as buck naked as you were. Clothes are definitely needed before we meet again. I run to the bedroom, and grimace as I see the state Theo and
I left your bed in. It will need more than a quick tidy, as the sheets are twisted and stained with strawberry juice. In fact, there are pieces of the ripe fruit strewn about, some of them mashed by our bodies. I will certainly be thanking Theo next time we meet for leaving me to explain our evening!
I hastily pull on a pair of jeans and find a t-shirt, and then try to turn my thoughts to the day ahead. You will wish some coffee. In the kitchen, I find what is needed and start a pot brewing while I wait for you to join me.
Paris: Grinning to myself at the startled look you had on your face, I finish getting dried. It’s a good job I’m not the shy type, and for all I know, you’ve been with my body all night, even though I wasn’t aboard at the time. Hearing you make your way down stairs, I head off to the bedroom, towelling my hair dry on my way … and stop dead in the doorway. If it wasn’t for two large squashed strawberries on the floor, I would be more concerned at the red stained sheets. And yes, that’s the bottle of champagne I wanted to share with Dave tonight standing empty on the dressing table. Rubbing my eyebrow, I let out a little snort of laughter. Well, I didn’t say it was off limits, and this weekend was about us all relaxing, spending time together, so what the hell, although I’ll be showing you where the washing machine is later.
I pull on a t-shirt and jeans and head barefoot downstairs, to where you’re hovering with an embarrassed look on your face over the coffee machine. You look up as I reach your side and look startled as I pull you into a bear hug. “It’s good to see you too, Faramir. It’s been too long!”
You pour the coffee as I rummage in the fridge. “Hmmmm. I could have sworn there was a bowl of strawberries in here … really fancied them for breakfast.” I peer round the fridge door at you, and you look uncomfortable, until you see the tease in my eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist!” I say with a smirk, pulling out everything that doesn’t need cooking onto the table, yogurt and fruit and milk that goes with the cereal on the bench, fruit juice, butter and honey for toast … you’ve pulled an assortment of bowls and plates and cutlery out of the cupboards and drawers, and just before I sit down, I spy the foil wrapped package Dave brought, which turns out to be cake! So we’re all set.
Faramir: It is good to see that teasing look in your eyes. I enjoy your company immensely, and I've looked forward to our time together today. I wish the mood to be light and cheerful. "Does it help to know that the strawberries were quite ripe, and were very much enjoyed?" You snicker and roll your eyes while I attempt to sip my coffee and keep a straight, innocent face. It is quite difficult.
I load my plate up with two slices of cake stacked one on top of the other, cover it carefully with fruit and drizzle some of the yogurt over my creation. "It is somewhat similar to Minas Tirith, though it is missing something. Ah!" I take up my spoon and imbed it in the top, handle sticking straight up into the air. "The Tower of Ecthelion. Welcome to my city, Paris."
Paris: Your grey eyes are sparking, obviously you enjoyed your time with Théo, but I really don’t need the details of exactly what you did with those strawberries, that I can live without. I waggle my spoon at you. “You don’t do innocent very well, Faramir!!” You grin and take a fork full of the first circle, dripping with yogurt, and wolf it down as the Spoon of Ecthelion catches the sun and gleams.
Your city. Minas Tirith. Still gives me a little thrill of to know that you, the guy I’m sharing breakfast with, the one who’s making food castles that we’re both sniggering over, comes from a different world, one I hadn’t read about until after being in the movie. And I realise I haven’t asked you this before. “Did he get it right? The White City that Pete Jackson created … did he get it right?” I cut a couple of figs into quarters and push one across to you.
Faramir: I take the fruit you offer, and turn it over in my fingers. It is unfamiliar - fragrant and sticky. watch to see how you eat it, and then try a bite myself. It is darkly rich and sweet. I like it. The cake and fruit are nearly gone now, but I do not need the silly model on my plate to recall what my city looks like.
"He did a fine job, for one who does not live there. Though... the streets are more worn in ruts and grooves from so many horses, carts, and heavy boots over the years. Cracked, too, as the mountain we cling to has shifted slowly under the weight of the city. An entire book could be written about the conduits and drainage systems of
Tirith, and their constant state of disrepair." I sigh and laugh quietly at that bane of my existence. "My father expects me to have the insight of the elves into what drain will be the next to fail each day. I spend much of my time giving orders to city workers, instead of commanding troops. Your movies show my city and myself in a slightly more lofty position than we truly take."
"Ah, but the steward's quarters themselves. There, your Mister Jackson did capture the spirit and mood of the place perfectly. More is the pity..." I spear the bit of cake that would be in the place of my father's throne, and bite into it with relish.
Paris: I love hearing you talk about your home. Really brings it all to life and helps make it all the more real, somehow, but … “Drains?” My eyebrows raise at the thought of you sitting at a desk all day. You just don’t strike me as someone who belongs in what sounds like an office. And that isn’t just through reading the books and watching the movies, it’s through having got to know you, spend time with you. You’re no more suited to sitting behind a desk all day than I am. I push another piece of cake onto my plate, and drip honey onto it, then refill our coffee mugs. I didn’t miss the sound of your voice when you spoke about the Steward’s quarters and I know about your relationship with your father, so I’m not gonna touch on that if I can help it.
“But you don’t spend all your time looking for drains. I’ve sparred with you, and no-one handles a sword like you do without a hell of a lot of practice, or practical experience. How often do you go out on patrol with your rangers?”
Faramir: I like your curious nature. And I will admit I enjoy your interest in my life. I pick at the cake crumbs on the platter and take a thoughtful sip of my fresh cup of coffee. You tend to be relaxed and open, and do not confuse me as some of Dave's other friends, and even some of my own, tend to do. Your approach to life is simple, basic, clear... yet not shallow or vapid. It is an interesting balance, one I admire. I like spending time with you.
"You are right. I spend a week or so tending to such matters when our patrols come home for provisioning. By the time our men have rested, visited with their families and new supplies are obtained, I am ready to find the woods again. I appreciate that the forest seems to know how to deal with rainwater and other challenges on it's own, with no needs of drainage systems built by man. It demands nothing of me, in fact, it barely tolerates my presence. I can respect that."
It has been many weeks since we have returned to the woods though, with the current situation escalating so rapidly. "You know the tales, Paris. Unfortunately, these days, my rangers have become soldiers, and Osgiliath occupies my mind more than the annoyance of sewers. I know what lies ahead, but do not care to dwell upon it on this sunny day I share with my good friend." I hope I have given you enough, I have no wish to turn away your interest, I simply do not wish to wallow in the events to come in my life. However, this story of ours, right now, needs our attention, as it is still being written, moment to moment.
Paris: I like the way you talk about the forest, but can see the shadows in your eyes when you mention Osgiliath. “Yeah, I know the tales … “ And I can understand why you don’t want to dwell on them, but talking to you has reminded me of something that’s been on my mind recently. “But Théo doesn’t. I need to ask you one last thing, and then we can go and enjoy our day.” You nod, looking a little puzzled.
“I know you’re not his keeper, Faramir, but I don’t think it would be good for him to know … you know.” I roll my eyes at myself. Can’t even say it out loud, but you know what I’m talking about. “I’ve shifted all my books and DVDs so he can’t come across them accidentally … I’ve thought about it … a lot, and I know if I was him, even knowing the outcomes after … the Ford, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from trying to change things.” I know it must be painful for you to think about this, and wonder if you’ll agree with me on this.
Faramir: I nod quietly, showing you that I am in full agreement. "Dave noted that you had hidden our stories, and it was obvious to him why you would. He has told me he feels this is a delicate subject. I agree."
It is a problem that is more encompassing than you might yet realize. I feel as if I am forming a conspiracy of sorts with you. The distance across the table suddenly feels awkward, and I rise to come around to your side of the table, dragging a chair to sit close by you. My eyes find yours, and hold them intently. "Éomer must not learn of Théo's fate, either. He loves him well beyond the point of reason. If he knew... he would find a way to have Théo be elsewhere. He would save him. I am sure of it." This is strange. You wear the face that I now accept as Théo's in this world, yet it is to that face that I speak of secrets we will keep from my good friend. Secrets that will ensure his death, at the proper place and time. "No one should know what the future holds. It is a hard weight to carry. But we must, for the sake of my world. Can you shield this knowledge from him?"
I barely realize that I have reached for your hand, and grip your fingers tightly as I speak.
Paris: I’m a little surprised when you move to sit beside me, but understand you need to be closer when you open your heart to me about Éomer, about all of this. I knew that Théo felt strongly about him, and I saw the look in Éomer’s eyes that day at Karl’s place before Théo shifted in and you’re right. Neither of them would let him ride off to meet his fate if they knew what would happen. No one should know what the future holds… but you do, and I can’t even begin to understand what it must be like to know that not only your brother, but a close friend will both lose their lives, and you can’t tempt fate by trying to change things.
My hand squeezes yours and I nod with a sad smile. “Neither of them will hear anything about this from me, Faramir, I promise you that.” You look so sad that I pull you into a hug, holding you for a moment. When I pull away, I smile, and get to my feet, tugging you to yours. “I think it’s about time we got some fresh air, and there’s something I need your help with out in the garage. You coming?”
Faramir: There is a deep sense of sad relief that we have reached this agreement, but it has been accomplished. I trust you, and I know that we need not belabour the problem any longer. We will each keep our secrets, and that is that. I am happy when you stand and change the subject.
"Fresh air would be good! We have eaten many sweets, and the sugar will make us fat and sleepy if we do not stir ourselves into action. Lead the way, I will be happy to assist you."
Paris: Opposite the front of the cabin are the garages Steve had built when he did the place over. Pretty much empty now, there was a quad bike here years ago, but I think he sold it when he realised he wasn’t gonna be able to spend as much time up here as he thought. But there’s one thing that I know hasn’t seen the light of day since he brought it up here, and it’s still wrapped in plastic sheeting. I turn, and you’re looking round the place, curious as to what we’re doing in here, and I flash you a grin.
“Give me a hand with this?” You’re straight at my side, and we manhandle the large flat parcel round the side of the cabin onto the deck. Stripping off the plastic, I pull the legs into position, and you help me right it. “This is the pool table me and Steve had in the garage back home in Auckland. He taught me the basics before I started hanging out at the pool hall where Luke taught me the rest.” I head off back to the garage to grab the cues and balls, looking back to see you checking out the table. “I said I would teach you to play!”
Faramir: I have seen these gaming tables in various taverns in Wellington, but I have never felt comfortable approaching the players who have dominated them. I have watched from a distance, and understand that balls must be struck with sticks and knocked into the holes at the edge of the table. But, as with most games of gambling
and challenge, I am sure there is much more than the obvious to the rules of the game.
I tentatively take up a long, slender wooden stick, and admire the feel of it. It is a beautiful object, as are the balls marked with numbers that you begin to arrange on the table. A game that is crafted so intricately and beautifully will have it's appeal, especially given this quiet setting, away from the distractions of a busy tavern.
"You did say that, Paris. It is good to see you are a man of your word! I am curious about the game, and eager to learn."
Paris: With the balls ready, I’m about to line up my first shot, when I realise there’s something missing. I duck back into the kitchen, and emerge with two cold beers. “Unwritten rule of the game. It must always be played while drinking beer … no matter how early it is.” I wink at you. “Okay, I’ll go first, show you how to break.” I line up the white, and send it slamming into the waiting balls. As I’d hoped, the purple stripe heads straight down the far corner pocket.
“When you’re playing an actual game, the first ball that either of us pots determines which set of balls we each need to pocket. That stripe went down, so I would have to put the rest of the stripes down, and then the black in order to win. You would have to do the same with the spots.” There’s a look of deep concentration on your face as you take it all in. “But for now, why don’t we use this break as a practice? You put the rest of them down, doesn’t matter which order, just to give you a feel for the table and the cue.” I put another one down, just to give you another example, and then leave the table to you.
You bend down low over the table, and line up a shot, but the angle is too steep so I walk round behind you, and push you gently down lower, bending over you to alter the way you hold your hand on the table, and adjust the angle of your elbow, talking you through everything I do. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact I’m pressed up against you, and keep my cool as you pull the cue back, and the white hits where it needs to, and a spot goes down. “Excellent shot! Now try another one, and remember what I showed you.”
That brought back memories of being taught how to play, Luke’s lean body pressed against mine rousing feelings I hadn’t know existed for another guy, nothing emotional, just pure lust … I’m hoping you’re gonna be a quick study with this.
Faramir: I thank you for your guidance, and then walk slowly around the table, looking for another ball that I would be able to hit with the white one. As I try various shots and angles, I begin to learn what distances and angles are easy, and which are more difficult. I badly mangle a shot that at first presented itself to my eye as a simple one. There are many subtleties to learn about this game, and I am pleased by that. I am also pleased by the potential of many chances to challenge you as my skills are honed... and at the moment by the chance to have a bit of fun at your expense.
I look at you, and let my eyes fall half shut, my words are spoken quietly, in a low tone. "I am not sure I am holding the stick correctly. Could you come close and show me again, more slowly this time?" I note the way you blink, and if I am not mistaken, you
swallow nervously. I cannot keep a straight face for long, and as you tentatively step closer, I break out laughing. "Ah! I have suddenly remembered. It is like this, I think." I touch your chest to indicate that you should keep some distance, and lean to tap the white ball, nodding in satisfaction as it grazes the solid black ball and tips it into a side pocket. I turn to grin at you. "I think I have the basic rules. Would you wish to play an actual game now?"
Paris: I’m impressed as you weigh up each shot, not always successfully potting a ball, but learning what works, what doesn’t. I can see by the concentration on your face that you’re picking this up rather quickly, which will make this afternoon all the more enjoyable. I’m chalking up my cue when the change in your voice gets my attention. It’s almost sultry, and the look on your face … I must be picking that up wrong. Right? I was hoping not to have to demonstrate so closely again, as I was a bit disturbed at the memories laying my body along yours brought back.
“Er … sure.” I agree, trying to keep my nervousness in check. This ridiculous! You’re my mate, my buddy … your laughter with that look of evil teasing on your face has me rolling my eyes, and smirking back at you. This I am gonna get my own back for!
“Yeah, I think you’re ready for an actual game. But just for that, no quarter will be given! Just remember, I was taught by the best, and always strive to uphold the honour of the Lucky Shot Pool Saloon in Auckland.” I incline my head towards you seriously in a small bow, and salute you with my pool cue before a grin breaks out on my face as I go to set the balls back up.
Faramir: I take up the bit of blue stuff and rub it on my stick as I have seen you do, as you arrange the balls for a new game. "Perhaps on our next 'group vacation' we should take a pilgrimage to this Lucky Shot Pool Saloon. I would wish to hear the unaltered version of your training in this fine game. It is amazing what people will tell you while holding a free drink in their hands."
The table is prepared, and you nod at me. So I am to 'break'. I finish off my beer and focus carefully on the task at hand. I know I must send the white ball powerfully into the group to scatter them. I have not yet learned how to do this with the intent of sinking any particular ball, so I take a deep breath, shoot, and as the black ball with the number 8 on it begins to roll towards a pocket, I dart over to that side of the table and hiss a stream of Gondorian curses at it. It stops shy of the hole, and I smile smugly. A second later, I am startled to hear a 'thunk' from across the table, the sound of a ball
dropping into a pocket. I was concentrating so hard on the black ball I did not watch the others. I look at you expectantly. "That means that I may shoot again? Was it striped or dotted?"
Paris: I snigger at “group vacation” which I suppose in a weird way this has been. “Well, if you ask around the pool hall, you might find out more than you bargained for so since I already have my free beer,” I waggle my beer bottle at you. “I’ll give you the unadulterated version. That would be the version where the hot older man, Luke, well he was 35 but I was only 17, took me under his wing, and taught me how to play. Very well.” I watch as you break, grinning at the way you keep the black going down by the sheer force of swearing at it.
“Yeah, you get to shoot again, and it was a stripe.” And I watch as you carefully line up your shot, which slides in nicely, but leaves the white in an awkward position. You make a valiant attempt at your next shot, but nothing could have been put down from there. You do, however, leave the white in a perfect position for one of my spots, and I walk around the table to line up the shot. As I bend down, I remember you wanted the unadulterated version. “Luke was also my first … guy.” I grin at you and send the purple spot hurtling into the corner pocket, leaving the white in an ideal position to put down my blue.
Faramir: I raise an eyebrow at that last detail, an unexpected twist to your story, but then the loud cracking sound of your shot jerks my head up just in time to see your target vanish neatly into it's trap. I nod my compliments for the shot, and step back so that you may cross in front of me seeking the best angle for your next shot.
"I will never be able to match your skill at this game, as I am sure I will never find a mentor willing to take me so carefully in hand, and teach... in such great depth, as you were lucky enough to find at such a tender age." My smile is sincere, yet playful. I do not wish to pry all your secrets from you, yet it is a pleasant feeling to know that you are comfortable telling me things about your life that you would not tell just anyone.
You bend to focus on your shot, and I can see the concentration on your face. A perfect time to share something from my life with you, I think. "There is a soldier by the name of Beregond stationed in Gondor, who is one I count among my oldest friends. When we were much younger, he taught me how to play a peculiar game of cards that carried a penalty of an article of clothing when one chose their hand unwisely." You give me a sidelong glance, but hold your cue steady, sliding it gently between your fingers, testing your shot. "I became quite good at this game... but I never let him know how well he had
taught me." You take your shot, just as I casually add "One night we decided that we had both lost the same game, and when our clothing was gone, he taught me another interesting diversion."
Excellent. You never said I could not distract you from your aim. "You seem to have missed your shot, Paris. It is my turn, then?" I wink, and take up my cue.
Paris: “Strip poker?? Or whatever you call it in Gondor.” I’m smiling as I let you have the table, it was worth missing my shot just to hear that. “Well, the way you’re learning how to cheat at this, just remind me never to play cards with you, okay?” You grin over your shoulder at me before sinking another ball, but it leaves the white in an awkward position. Now, I could let you take the shot you’re lining up, knowing that it’s highly unlikely anything will come of it, or I could be the good teacher, and show you a neat trick.
“Faramir, wait, that’s not gonna work.” I take a swig of beer, and leave the bottle on the railing before wandering over to the table. “Okay, I know we said this is a game, but let me show you something.” Pointing out the layout of the balls, and the position of the white, I tell you which one we are gonna pot, and you look at me as if I’m joking. Smirking, I pull you to my side of the table, and push you down, showing you the exact angle you need for this to work. It’s not so embarrassing being this close after we’ve joked about it.
Finally, I try to explain how much force you’re gonna need, and step back. With a look of deep concentration on your face, you send the white straight over the table to the side cushion, and it strikes at exactly the right angle force it onto the top cushion, and then through the spots, missing them all and hitting your stripe in the middle of the pack, which rolls neatly into the opposite side pocket. A grin splits your face, and I slap you on the back. “Now just cause you made the shot doesn’t mean I’m taking my pants off, okay? We’re playing by civilised rules here!”
Faramir: I conjure up a shocked expression. "Gondor is quite civilized, I will have you know! The wearing or not wearing of pants is besides the point. Sometimes, Gondor has no pants, Gondor needs no pants." I could not resist, and the look on your face is one I will long remember. I have been visiting this world long enough to have overheard a few of the jokes about my own.
I look over the table, and note that I will soon be out of striped balls to target. You are also nearly done with the dotted ones. That cursed black ball stands between the white one and my easiest target. I shall try another ploy. I tap the white ball lightly into the
black, and it rolls a short distance. I smile in satisfaction. Perhaps I cannot make a shot this time, but now, neither can you. I have blocked the last two of your dotted balls, I believe. "It is your turn. I will fetch us more beer."
Paris: I howl with laughter, as you gauge your next shot, wondering if that’s some sort of Gondorian slogan or battle cry that Tolkien was wise enough to leave out of the books. I’m really pleased we got to spend today together, I’ve missed your sense of humour, and I hope Dave’s time with Théo was at least half as enjoyable as this. Okay, well, enjoyable in a masochistic way as far as this game is going. You give me a smug smile as you box me in, and I let out a long sigh.
“You sure you haven’t played this before??” I can see your shoulders shaking with laughter as you head off to the kitchen. Slowly, I walk round the table, assessing every possible angle, biting my lip as I search for an opening, and just as I think it’s gonna be impossible, I see it. It’s my turn to smile smugly as you return, and I take the offered beer, drinking deeply before lining up a shot, holding my hand in an incredibly high arch over the black, hitting the white with substantial force, sending it spinning in totally the opposite direction to the balls, bouncing off three cushions before rolling back to clip one of my spots, and sending it gently towards a pocket, so gently I don’t think it’s gonna make it … but it does. Extra smug, I pot the last of my spots, but fluff an easy shot on the black, with a groan, which leaves the table open for you.
Faramir: With your spotted troublemakers out of the way, I have a chance to show you that I have learned my lessons well. I take my time, shooting carefully and slowly. Finally the black ball eases into the pocket, and I straighten up, stretch, and tap you on the shoulder with my cue, laughing. "I like this game! There is need for thought and logic combined with skill. And beer. Very important that, the drinking of the beer." I am in a wonderful mood and laughter comes easily to my lips. "I thank you for a fine game, and though I am proud to win, I know you will not let me rest on that victory for
long."
I hear a whining from inside the house, and ask you for the time. I am amazed to learn that we have been so lost in the game that Dave's poor dog has probably abandoned hope of being let outside for a little relief. "Shall we stretch our legs with a walk before I allow you to regain your title of champion, Paris?"
Paris: I grin at you. “For someone who only picked up a cue today, that was one hell of a game, my friend!” I salute you with my beer bottle, and drink down the last of it. Ise dashes past me, and heads down the steep track that winds its way into the trees from the far side of the deck. We follow the path as she weaves through the foliage ahead of us. “Allow me?” I snort with laughter. “Just you wait til we get back …”
It’s been good to spend time with you here, as last time it wasn’t under the best of circumstances, but you were a good friend when I really needed one, and I won’t forget that. It’s been a fun afternoon, and we’ve still got a little while before Dave shifts back in, so a rematch is definitely in order. I’m curious as to how Dave and Théo got on, hope they got past their differences … and thinking of Théo, there’s something else I’m gonna show you when we get back. How to use the washing machine!