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Winter, year III, 1053
A tired horse carried a slumped-over rider through the
falling wet snow. It could smell the stables nearby and quickened its pace. The
rider, soaking wet, did nothing to
interfere. In fact he was not even feeling cold due to the fever that raged
within his body. His mind was far away, caught up in dreams of better times,
happier days.
It was in this condition that Gandalf arrived at
Orthanc. Servants soon fussed over him, carrying him into the large bedchamber
he shared with Saruman on the few occasions that he was ‘at home’.
“What have you gotten yourself into now?” the chiding,
slightly mocking voice of Saruman penetrated Gandalf’s fever-dreams. “Drink
this!”
Despite the foul taste of the brew, Gandalf downed the
cup in one draught, so burning was his thirst. “EWW!” his face contorted with
the bitterness of the tea.
Servants hurried to bring in hot water and towels but
Saruman ushered them out, wanting to care for his mate himself. With great
gentility he washed away the sweat and grime of his companion’s travel, hissing
each time his fingers touched the blistering-hot skin.
Four long days Saruman did not leave Gandalf’s side.
Gandalf was caught in feverish dream-sequences.
Steel against steel.
The attacks grew fiercer with every moment. Gandalf
had to move backwards, losing his advantageous position to the attacker who
had obviously only toyed with him so far. When his back hit the rough, knotted
bark of a tree, the other’s sword stopped at the tender flesh of Gandalf’s
throat.
“Got you. Again?” Glorfindel stepped backwards,
saluting with his sword.
“Not now. You keep frustrating me, Glorfindel.”
Gandalf shook his head and gathered the dropped weapon. Far in the back a very
slim, pale, dark haired elf had been watching and now slowly commenced on his
way as the sparring obviously had ended.
+++
Elrond’s study.
Gandalf and Saruman were concentrated reading scrolls,
some of them so old and frail the wizards were almost afraid of touching them.
Scholars were busy in the ongoing process of copying the oldest scrolls in
order to preserve the knowledge.
The door burst open and Erestor, Elrond’s chief
counselor stormed in, excited and, for a
change, his pale face was flushed, a small smile
on his lips.
“My Lord Wizards!” he addressed the two Istari, “My
Lords, we have word from Gondor. Orthanc is being cleared as we speak and you
may reside there as long as you wish.” Erestor bowed slightly and handed
Saruman the letter that had just arrived from Gondor, carrying the great seal
of King Cyriandil of Gondor.
+++
Darkness.
Telperion and Laurelin dying, killed by the dark
crimes of Melkor, the fallen one. Valinor frozen in shock and fear, crying all
around them.
Olorin had been there, alone, scared and shocked. When
he understood what happened, it had been too late and his reaching out for help
did not change a thing.
He was hiding, truly scared of Melkor, not knowing if
the Vala was still around, probably lashing out against him. Olorin did not
even dare to re-unite with his fellow-Istari, afraid that his spirit’s very
move would give away his whereabouts. He had never been a hero.
“No!” Gandalf woke with a start, “Laurelin….”
“Shht. You were dreaming, dear. Relax.” Saruman dabbed
away beads of sweat that had formed on Gandalf’s face.
“Cu – Curumo?” slowly the wizard recognized his
surroundings.
“Aye. You are home. By the grace of the Valar, you are
better! You need to take more care of you, I was truly worried this time.”
Saruman chided Gandalf gently. After all he was glad his mate had survived.
Sickness was another frightening concept, they had
learned. First they had been convinced their bodies were more like those of the
Eldar, with abundant healing-abilities, immortal and strong. But then Gandalf’s
first flu had taught them otherwise. Both Istari wondered if they were actually
mortal yet they, of course! Had no intention to test that particular issue.
“I had a dream…. I saw The Trees die. So dark…”
Gandalf whispered.
“It was just that, Olorin: a dream. Hush now and rest.
Let me hold you” Saruman slid under the covers to hold his beloved.
“Hold me, you said.” Muttered the gray-haired wizard.
“I DO hold you.”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Are you complaining? Tell me to stop and I will.”
Saruman teased his lover.
“If you do all the work, I shall be fine. I will not
move a single limb here.” Gandalf smiled and actually purred under the gentle
yet arousing ministrations.
“Don’t worry, I do not plan to exhaust
you………prematurely that is.”
The wizards cursed the heavy covers that made the act
awkward. Yet, they both cherished it. These short, rare moments came closest to
the bitterly missed union of each other’s minds they had once known. And because
Saruman for some reason refused to receive, Gandalf always surrendered after
the shortest discussion, not wanting to anger his beloved who had developed an
even quicker temper with his incarnation.
“Welcome home!” Saruman whispered once he’d recovered
so far that he could speak again. Gandalf smiled happily, reaching behind to
keep Saruman in place, relishing the sensation of being coupled as long as
possible.
“Thank you, beloved.” The smaller,
gray-haired wizard whispered before he dozed off again, sated and pleasantly
tired.
TBC...
