Displaced Prince

A morning of intellectual pursuits was a lot to ask of Théodred. Even as rumpled and mussed as the Helvetica was, it was still a place of studious reading and discussions. Even Faramir was ready for something a bit more down to earth. He directed Théodred from the back of the bike, holding on tightly with one hand and pointing out directions with the other, until they pulled up in front of The Malthouse. Faramir knew the ale here was excellent, food would be plentiful, and recalled the large open fires that took any chill right out of the air.

( Faramir, Théodred, and a Big Bang. No, not that kind. )

I chase the last of the crumbs from what had been a large slab of raspberry cheesecake around the plate, eventually squishing them with the back of my spoon and licking them off. It had been divine. All creamy and sweet, off set by the sharp tang of raspberries and complimented by the crumbly nutty base. Putting my spoon down, I flash Dave a grin as he finishes his dark chocolate mousse, which had been almost as good as my dessert, going by the fork-full he fed me when it first arrived.

Our coffees arrive with a smile. Rich and smooth, they’re the perfect end to the perfect lunch. I wanted to spend some time with Dave away from Wellie cause last time I had a day off, I spent it with Éomer. So I suggested we take Leelu up the coast for a blast, and he suggested this place.

He sits back, looking happily stuffed to the gills, and I can’t resist picking up the small dish of chocolates that came with the coffee and offering them to him with a smirk.

( Wafer thin mint? )

Éomer: The clash of swords echoes in this high ceilinged room. We grin at each other, tossing our heads to fling sweaty hair out of our eyes. This is another gift that we have found in Karl's world . . . training together. It has been long since either you or I have been able to indulge in sword practice for the sheer enjoyment of it. And certainly not together, our different commands keeping us far apart for months at a time.

But I have seen you recently at Edoras, and the memory of that meeting has me unsettled. I was afraid to look at you too long or too fondly, for fear that hostile eyes would mark my regard for you. However, that constraint may have given rise to other problems, which worry me. Yet another gift is the opportunity to talk to you without fear, though I cannot tell you precisely what has occurred, I can reassure myself on certain things.

The angle of the sun coming through the long windows on the west wall has lengthened by the time we stop, panting and grinning at each other. By mutual impulse, we begin putting the weapons away, cleaning and drying them as we work.

"Théo . . . " ( I cannot hold my questions back any longer. )

The driftwood is warm under my fingers as I smooth the edges of the marks left by the small carving tool. It knows what it wants to be, just needs a little help to get there …

I found it one Sunday, weeks ago, as me and Dave walked along the beach. We’d been talking about things, stuff, nothing in particular, spending time together, making each other laugh and smile as Ise ran in and out of the sea, when we came across a line of debris left by the last high tide. Ise snuffled her way through it, grasping a frayed length of blue nylon rope between her teeth, growling to herself as she pulled it free of the rest, dislodging a piece of driftwood in the process.

The slender curve of it drew me and I picked it up as Dave played tug of war with her. Just over two feet long, it was wide at one end, tapering to a soft point at the other, the grain clearly visible. There was something about it …

I carried it back to the cabin, keeping it out of Ise’s reach. As I laid it in the truck before we went inside, Dave asked me why I wanted it, why that piece out of all the others that had littered the beach.

“It feels right.” I’d shrugged with a puzzled smile, not really knowing why, but knowing that it had a purpose, and that I’d figure it out eventually. He touched my face, fingers ghosting round my jaw and all thoughts of driftwood were driven from my mind, replaced by desire. His hand had slipped into mine and I followed willingly as he tugged me towards the door …

The driftwood stood on my workbench for weeks. Every now and then I’d pick it up, run my hands over it, sure that I almost knew what it was for, almost …

On a damp spring evening I arrived home knowing that Dave wouldn’t be around until after ten, and stopped on my way past the workshop to drop some sketches onto the bench. As I glanced round the room, my eyes skimmed over the driftwood, and I finally saw in it what it was meant to be. I sat down, hands reaching out for my tools, and began to work …

I was still there when he heard Dave’s car approaching hours later, not realising how long I’d worked on it, not realising how hungry I was until I was distracted. Closing the door behind me, I smiled as Dave locked the car door, moving to greet him with a kiss before hurrying him into the warehouse so I could go in search of food.

I worked on it every chance I got until two nights ago, and then it was done. The sleek, smooth body of a dolphin bursting from the rough foaming surface of the sea, pushing itself skyward. What it was meant to be. And as soon as I knew that, I knew who it was for. I just hope he likes it …

I carefully wrap it in a dozen layers of tissue paper before lying it in a dark blue satin box and tying it up with a black ribbon and adding a small card with a simple message.

Happy Birthday Dave.

Love you forever, for always.

Paris.

Leaving the box on the table beside an opened bottle of Shiraz and two glasses, I guess I’ve just got time to dash upstairs to shower and change before he arrives. Leather jeans, bare feet and that dark blue silk shirt he likes so much, I think.

Ten minutes later, I hear the door open as I reach the bottom of the stairs, dragging my fingers through still drying hair. He smiles at me as I greet him with a lopsided grin.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

Karl: Paekakariki Beach is not very far from Wellie, so after we finally concede that it's too fucking cold to surf anymore, it's only about an hour later that we're pulling up in front of the barn. We leave the boards in the truck for tonight, but unload the wetsuits and cooler. I hang the wetsuits in the laundry room to dry, and now all I want to do is get in the shower.

I show you the guest bath, which has no tub, but you can get a hot shower. You seem intrigued by the futon bed in my office and I guess you didn't realise that the couch converts to a bed. Hopefully, the room is far enough away from mine that if I wake up screaming it won't disturb you. I'm gonna do all I can to avoid that tonight though, because I don't know if I can bear the humiliation of one of my nightmares waking you up. I’ve discovered that beer seems to make things worse, and after the incident with Dave, I’ve quit taking any alcohol, settling instead for water or coffee.

After a quick shower, I'm feeling much warmer and I go to the kitchen, lifting the lid of the slow cooker and smelling the lamb stew. It's been simmering all day and the aroma is tempting me. I resolve to eat like I'm normal and then maybe you won't ask me any more questions. The water from the other shower is still running, and I pull out the ingredients to make a batch of biscuits. They're in the oven and baking before the shower turns off, and I guess you must be pretty clean by now. I think that's the longest shower I've ever witnessed.

( I'm putting out plates and bowls on the table when you finally reappear. )

Warning: NC-17

This took place the morning after Dave and Karl rehearsed Baz's script for Alexander and before Karl phoned Dave to tell him that he and Eric had split up.


Paris: First things first. Feed the furballs and then stick the coffee on, and I’m gonna need it good and strong this morning. And while that’s brewing I’ll try Dave’s cell. Again. No answer. Again. Sighing, I lay the phone down on the counter, pour myself a large mug of coffee and grab a cinnamon bagel to munch on. I didn’t sleep much last night. Dave was supposed to be sleeping here but he didn’t turn up. I knew he was spending the day at Karl’s, helping him rehearse, so I guess they must have gotten caught up with it and maybe he stayed over, but it’s not like him not to call. I tried him three times last night and then gave up, not wanting to play the jealous lover. But it wasn’t jealousy that had me tossing and turning in the middle of the night, it was concern, worry.

( The phone rings and I grab it off the bench. )

I arrived at Karl's in good spirits today, and found you waiting for me on the porch. It has been longer than usual since we have seen each other, and I park up the bike, pulling off my helmet as I walk quickly towards you, a grin on my face. It isn't until I get closer that I see the heavy bandage on your hand covered in a blue sleeve, and evidence of a fight, going by the fading bruises and marks on your face.

My brow furrows, and I reach out and put my hand on your cheek, examining your face, knowing by the age of them that these must be Karl's injuries, not yours. The bandage on your hand is rigid, designed to hold it still, so I guess that it is broken, but I get a demonstration of how little it bothers you by the way you pull me to you.

( Missed you ... )

NC-17

The afternoon had been one of the most pleasant Faramir had spent in Wellington in a long time. He'd been practicing the billiard game that Paris had gotten him so hooked on, and, to be honest, he was anxious to show off his skills a bit. They'd ended up at 'The White Room', wanting to put a bit of distance between themselves and some of Theodred's regular haunts. Four games and two pitchers of beer later, the two friends conceded that a draw was a fine place to leave it. They strolled out into the early afternoon air, and said their goodbyes. Paris wanted to check on a supply shipment due to arrive that day, and Faramir knew Dave needed to stop by Hugo's place to tend to his cat and give everything a once-over for his out of town friend. Paris had mentioned he had no plans for the evening, and would meet up with Dave at the cabin after checking on his shipment.

As he drove back to the cabin, he thought about the time he'd spent with Paris, and what a good mood his friend was in this afternoon. It was a beautiful day. The morning rains had cleared, and brilliant sunshine helped the cool winter air feel a bit warmer.

( Times like this were to be savored. )

Dinner had gone well, Kate thought. The chatter during the four courses that had been overseen by Jason got louder and louder as the wine flowed and there had been cat calls for her poor embarrassed husband to rise and give a speech. As it happened, he was in a talkative mood, and had kept them all laughing with anecdotes about the perpetrators of the party. He managed to make both of his sons roll their eyes and hide their faces with tales oftheir childhood, a feat she could see he was quite proud of. Steve had earlier insisted that Paris be the one to make the toast, and since he could be as shy as his father sometimes, he had been a nice shade of pink under that tan as he spoke. She was happy to see her two sons together again, and back to that friendship they had always shared growing up with only two years between them. After the cheering had died down, Paris had also raised a toast to prodigal children, that they all return safely to the fold, and most people present knew that this time, it was Helen that was uppermost in the family’s mind.

Kate sighed. Her youngest children took after her sister, and of course her mother. That was the only way to explain this necessity they both seemed to have to head off and disappear for years at a time. At least Paris was settled now, or so she hoped.

After the dinner had broken up, people had wandered off into the bar, or through to the room where a band was playing, a traditional Scottish band at Eileen’s request, and by now her sister was no doubt leading the party through the Gay Gordon’s or Strip the Willow. She smiled as she ordered another glass of wine from the bar. She had seen Paris being pulled in that direction too by a couple of his younger cousins, and noticed David slipping out onto the deserted balcony. She smiled at the though of what he must have gone through meeting everyone this weekend, but he had taken it all in his stride, and apparently had a new friend in the form of Eileen. She took a sip from the long stemmed glass and wandered out through the balcony doors, the slight breeze moving the silk of her slim fitting ankle length dress. It was a warm evening, and there was no need for a jacket to cover her shoulders. She slipped off her sandals, leaving them by the door and wiggled her toes.

( Dave and Kate reach an understanding )

We’re heading up the coast to the hotel, and Izzy is driving. She refused to let Steve get behind the wheel of her shiny new SUV, and I had to smile at his hangdog expression. So he’s giving Dave a running commentary of places we pass. We’re heading up early, because Jas, who is travelling behind us with Jack in his sporty little Mazda, is supervising the food, and wants everything to be perfect.

( I have to admit, my heart was pounding in my chest when we walked through the doors of 69 this morning )