Aragorn and Flora

Sequel to Aragorn at the Crossroads Inn

ARAGORN AND FLORA

Aragorn pulled his cloak more tightly around him. It was the end of March and the nights were still bitterly cold, he was desperately tired, it would be another three days before he reached Bree, but still he could not sleep.

His thoughts turned to Arwen and he shook his head as though to rid himself of them. They would never marry, her father, Elrond, would not allow it, and it was too cruel to expect it, for her to give up her elven immortality and live a human lifespan. His stomach groaned, unused to being so full. An excellent meal last night, a fine breakfast, and a pack of travelling food given to him by Flora.

He involuntarily smiled as he thought of Flora. She'd been beautiful, innocent, but not virginal, he'd enjoyed showing her the delights of lovemaking, and felt sure she'd never before climaxed. He could feel himself hardening as he pictured her ripe sensuous body, with soft curves and a warmth that had thawed the chill in his bones more thoroughly than any fire.

He remembered lying in the bath as she'd washed him, massaging his battle-weary muscles, tenderly ministering to him, and how one muscle in particular had responded. Yet she hadn't been shocked, just given him a knowing smile. He re-lived the firmness of her touch, the fragrance of her, and he was forced to reach his hand into his breeches to grip his hardening member. Breathing deeply, he pictured her as she'd undressed for him, both shy and wanton, drawing on his reaction to her, wanting to please him, but wanting to please herself.

He'd taken her to his bed, revelling in her innocence, her surprise and pleasure as he'd touched her intimately, releasing in her emotions that at once amazed and tormented her, leaving her wanting more. And that first magical entering of her, her tightness, her wetness, her pleasure and her willingness.

He turned onto his back, the better to take himself in hand. Oh how he'd wanted her to peak, for him to be the key to her first time. And how he'd listened to her rapture, bringing himself to his own climax sooner than he'd wanted, simply due to her unconcealed elation. And then how she'd taken control of him, tending to his manhood, absorbed in fascination as she licked and sucked him back to hardness, delicately, not wanting to hurt him, inexperienced and yet so focused on his pleasure.

He groaned, pulling faster at himself, but not wanting it to finish just yet. How she'd lowered herself onto him, arms raised above her head, like a goddess of the night, all powerful. He mentally ran his hands over her warm breasts, feeling their weight and softness until her own climax had forced her down onto him and he'd pushed deeper into her, wanting to watch her face as the waves of passion flooded through her.

The hot sticky liquid spurted involuntarily from his manhood and he sighed as the memories of the previous night faded and he drifted into sleep. The journey was a hard one to Bree, but Hasufel was in good health and he knew the road well. He arrived at dusk four days after leaving The Inn at the Crossroads, hoping to see Gandalf. Uncannily, or maybe not for Gandalf, he arrived while Aragorn was eating, warmed after a hot bath.

Gandalf was in a jovial mood, blowing smoke rings and telling of his recent travels. But then his mood changed, he sighed heavily and said, 'Aragorn, I fear for the future. Sauron is growing in strength and your help may be required sooner than we all thought.'

'You know I'll do everything I can.'

'Aye, and more will be expected of you. But I have a favour to ask of you now. I want you to be close to The Shire.'

'Not much of a favour,' Aragorn said, smiling. 'Can I ask why?'

'Not yet. But I've heard information that may well come to fruition sooner rather than later.'

'And it involves The Shire? Hobbits?'

'Hobbits indeed, I believe. But I'll say no more. Except I need you to find out this . . . '

Aragorn spent the next few days information gathering, calling on his contacts, laying the foundations should their help be needed, and learning of the worrying sightings of Nazgul in the area. He was asleep when there was a rapid knocking on his door.

'Sir, there is a girl here to see you.'

'No thanks, I don't want one.'

'She is asking for you, Sir. For Strider. She arrived ten minutes or so ago by horseback. I have stabled her horse with yours.'

'With Hasufel?'

'Yes.'

For Hasufel to allow any horse to be stabled with him, it must be familiar. He pulled on his breeches and shirt and followed the innkeeper down to the bar. Huddled by the fire, shivering, was Flora, but not the Flora of a few days past. This Flora had an angry black eye and bruising to her cheek. As he approached, tears filled her eyes.

'Flora, what happened?' The innkeeper was hovering. 'Have you eaten?' She shook her head. 'Can you get her some soup, she's freezing. And a hot bath in my room?'

'Yes, Sir.'

Aragorn pulled Flora onto a seat near the fire and examined her eye. 'What happened?'

'My uncle. He . . . he found out about us. Mindor told him he'd seen me at the first floor window and he, well, he asked for the money you'd paid me. When I told him none, he didn't believe me and . . . I couldn't stay. I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to come tonight. It's only for one night, then I can find my relatives.'

'Hey, hey, it's all right. You're safe now.' Flora ate the soup, still trembling, but from shock rather than cold. 'My father died and I'm the oldest, so I got a job with my uncle at the inn.'

'Did you bring much with you?'

She shook her head. 'Just these clothes, my ointments, and my mare.'

'Ah yes, your horse,' Aragorn said, smiling. 'She's the only reason I came down. Hasufel normally doesn't tolerate other horses, but he must have recognised yours. Come, that eye needs attention.'

He turned away as she undressed in his room, searching his own pack for some elven healing cream for her eye. As she lay back in the hot water, he tenderly applied the salve, remembering how the situation had previously been reversed. He waited for her in his bed, and she slid in next to him, warm and soft and fragrant, snuggling up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

'Sleep well, you're safe,' he said, kissing her on the forehead, trying to ignore her nakedness next to his. He mustn't. He couldn't.

He woke as she stirred in her sleep, pushing herself against him. He couldn't help the hardness that grew between them and she must have felt it as she turned and found his lips with hers.

'Flora, you should sleep,' he whispered as her hand stroked down his body and, wonderfully, she slid her fingers around his arousal.

'Probably, but how can I now?'

Her breath was soft on his cheek as he took a deep breath as she squeezed him, and he could feel her body tremble with laughter. She was enjoying this, enjoying him, and it was impossible for him to reject her. He rolled onto his back and sighed with pleasure as she kissed down his body, running her fingers through the curls of hair on his chest, scraping fingernails gently across his flesh and he savoured the tiniest of movements.

Soon, but not soon enough, she took the head of his member in her mouth and began to run her tongue around its tip, teasing him gently with her warm, wet mouth. He relaxed into her ministrations, waiting for her to demand something of him which she did by kissing back up his stomach and rubbing her breasts against his chest. He turned her onto her back and positioned himself between her legs, being careful to resist her urges to be inside her. She'd enjoy it all the more for the anticipation. Finally, he gripped her hips with his fingers, licked up the inside of her thighs and then his tongue found her locus of pleasure and she jerked against him as though she'd been burned.

He flicked his tongue around it, pulling at her hips as she squirmed on the bed, gasping. And then his tongue was inside her, drawing forward her wetness onto that little nub of pleasure where he pressed his tongue hard.

'No, oh no,' she was moaning gently as she floated on waves of passion.

Once he was sure she'd peaked, he pulled her over onto her knees at the edge of the bed and stood behind her. He could see her warm, moist entrance and imagined it pulsing with lust, ready, waiting for him. Resting his hands gently on her hips, he slid the first inch of his length into her, very very slowly, watching himself disappearing into her. She moaned, clutching the pillow, pulling it under her face, bracing herself against his entry. Slowly he slid deeper into her until her flesh prevented further ingress and then he pushed, hard.

She cried out, her fists balling the pillow, but she pushed her hips back at him as he withdrew and then, building up the pace, he eased himself in and out of her. She was gasping, but her reactions were urging him on and he thrust into her faster, watching his length entering and leaving her, her wetness glistening on his skin.

'Strider, oh Strider,' she whispered, over and over as he repeatedly slammed into her, needing to feel the depths of her against him. He could tell when she peaked as her whole body shuddered, forcing the release in him he'd been trying to delay. He leaned forward, over her, breathing with long shuddering gasps as she stretched out in front of him.

He couldn't help this. She was like a drug to him. But as she turned and smiled up at him, he realised that she was taking as much pleasure from this as him. And that was the biggest arousal of all.

He left her sleeping in the morning, obviously exhausted, and went to check on Hasufel. He was stomping in his stall, tugging at the hay. Next to him was a plump bay pony. He checked over Hasufel, shaking his head at his precocity. Normally he wouldn't allow any other horse to share his stall. Noticing that Flora's pony had a cut on its left foreleg, he cleaned it and treated it. It wasn't deep, but would be better rested.

He found Flora at the rear of the inn, chatting to Barliman Butterbur, the innkeeper.

'I've heard the name,' he said, 'but I don't rightly know where they live. Mebbe you can ask some of the locals when they come in. Breakfast, sir?'

Over breakfast, Flora told Aragorn she had relatives in the area. 'That was why I came here. I'm hoping they can take me in and find me work, although I've not seen them since I was a child.'

'If it's work you're looking for, I can find you plenty here,' the innkeeper said, clearing away our platters. 'Since my daughter got herself married, I be short of a good pair of hands. Can you cook, clean?'

'Yes, sir. I worked at the Inn at the Crossroads. I can wash and sew as well. That is . . . if you'll take me without references.' She touched her eye.

'If this gentleman can vouch for ye, that's good enough for me. Best you be making a start then, miss,' and he nodded in the direction of the kitchens.

Flora packed some food as he would be away all day. She folded the package deftly, kissing the flap before handing it over. 'Stay safe,' she said.

'I'll be back tonight.'

It was late as he slid into the bed next to her warm yielding body. She was so good for the soul, easing the tension from his bones as she massaged him, sleepily following her fingers with kisses.

They didn't make love as he slept under her caresses, but he woke her in the morning with probing fingers which she pretended to resist until he removed them and she complained. She was lying on her side, her back against his front, so he gently entered her, surprising her.

'By the moon and stars, how many more ways . . .?' she murmured as she adjusted her angle to allow him better access to her depths.

'Oh so many more,' he replied. 'As many as there are days in the year, stars in the sky, pebbles on the beach . . . Oh!' She squeezed him so hard that for a second he had to pause, fearful he would release himself too quickly. She grinned.

'That stopped you talking.'

Exploring Flora's willing body was time consuming and addictive. Already her curves and planes were becoming familiar, engraving themselves on his memory so he re-lived them when he was out riding, picturing them in his mind, their soft texture under his fingers. Barliman Butterbeer and he had agreed he could share Flora's room under the eaves when he stayed at the inn, although he was away more often and for longer given the news that he was hearing about Sauron and his forces. He knew it wouldn't be long before Gandalf returned and that his days with Flora were numbered, which added piquancy to their couplings.

It was September when Gandalf returned to the Prancing Pony, and the leaves were starting to golden into Autumn. Aragorn thought he looked older, but he seemed cheerful enough. He caught Aragorn following Flora with his eyes as she served in the bar and grinned.

'Make the best of it, my friend,' he said. 'I'm on my way to the Shire.' He lit his pipe and leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke rings. 'I have news of the ring.'

'The one ring? It's in the Shire?'

'I believe so.'

'But where?'

'With a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins. Which is why I'm here. I need your help.'

'Of course.'

'The ring needs to be destroyed.'

'How?'

'In the fires of Mordor.'

'You want me to go to Mordor?'

'No. I want you to protect the hobbit.'

'Bilbo?'

'No, his nephew, Frodo. If I can persuade him to take on the quest. He'll be here within the next two weeks.'

'Will you be with him?'

'I don't know. Now, let us talk of more pleasant things. That young lady, for instance.'

'A little young for you, Gandalf?'

He laughed. 'But not for you, I see.' His eyes flicked over Aragorn's face. 'She's been good for you.'

'She's been . . . good. But, yes, I know . . .'

'I'm sorry, my friend. I wish it could be otherwise.'

'You'll be leaving soon?' Flora asked that night.

'Yes.'

'I'll miss you.'

'By the Gods, I'll miss you too.'

'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'For being my protector. My lover. My saviour.'

'I think it was me that got you into trouble in the first place.'

'And worth every second,' she laughed, running her fingers around his neck and into the curls of his hair at the nape. She pulled his face towards hers and he slid his arms around her waist, breathing in her scent, fixing it in his memory.

A week later, Gandalf sent word that the hobbit that needed guarding was on his way, due to arrive the following day. Aragorn's last night with Flora was special. She knew he was going, made sure his kit was clean, and was extra attentive to his needs. It would be so hard to leave her, but he knew he had to. Gandalf's mission could not be ignored or postponed.

They made love gently, without the previous ferocity, taking time to explore each other, whispering words of comfort to one another. Leaving their bed in the morning was impossible and he made no excuse for lingering as long as he could, drowning in the warmth and femininity of her, delaying thoughts of the quest that would take him into who knows what danger. He had urgent work to do before the hobbit arrived, and forced himself to leave the bed, kissing over her breasts as he left. She was etched in his memory, engraved on his heart, the beautiful, wonderful, glorious Flora.