The Smith Maiar

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

#theblxssed #nsfw

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

The touch was fire in his veins, causing his skin to burn and blush brightly. He shuddered but not in pain or cold. Need filled him- the need to be touched again. And again. To never end. How long had he been alone? Mere years in the eyes of some, to the elders and the immortal. Years he had not taken any lovers. Years he had laid alone, never inviting any into his private chambers. None had laid upon his bed but himself.

Until now. Mairon was a racy portrait laid across his bed in bare skin, unmarred, waxed and bright. The kiss had turned the king’s head fuzzy but he knew the need rising between his hips, the need he long felt but could find little pleasure in release. It was all so temporary, his self-love. Bare skin he now bent to kiss, barely able to tease as his tongue traced the count of ribs upon the dancer’s side, stopping only to suck at a nipple, teeth nipping softly. It had been much too long.

"What I promise?" he whispered at his lover’s ear, knees slipping to the furs, hands pulling apart long thighs. "What I promise is only a hope: that you shall enjoy yourself, that I should enjoy myself." His lips dropped to the crook of his neck, sucking softly. "It has been many years for myself. I may not recall precisely how to make love. Will you be so kind to guide me?" His hips bucked, pressing himself against his lover’s heat as Eomer shuddered hard, panting. "I am in great need."

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

Boots fell to the floor and warm water in a bowl was sloshed as a foot inserted, bathing away the muck and coldness in his toes. His shirt was loosened and tossed aside, eyes turning, his lips sealed for the moment. The fire blazed as he soaked the other foot, both burning red with the sudden heat. It was a good burn, one that raced up the leg of his breeches. Untying and tossing aside the mess of rain and mud, he stomped on a cloth and moved across the room, bare and in all his glory, the weight between his hips not quite as heavy as he had thought.

Taking Mairon by the elbow, he twisted the dancer to face him. Eomer’s lips grazed his, a hand now to his cheek to feel the warmth. Seering eyes captured his and held them. No one had such eyes, no, he would have heard of such before now. What a sight! Beautiful and burning bright, their faces together. He took a hip in hand, rubbing a bit roughly.

"Hear my words," he whispered. "He is worth nothing. If he has let you go, it is his loss and another’s gain. This night, it is mine. You are beautiful, you are a splendid dancer. Your voice is smooth, as is your hair and skin. You are warm, you are kind to dance for me, to follow me here without complaint. If what is before you is not what you seek, speak now. I am not one to force- not ever. Otherwise, I intend to love you until I can no longer move. This night, you are mine and mine alone. I will not have you riding in the cold or sleeping in a stable intended for horses. You are too beautiful to do such."

His mouth pressed to Mairon’s fully, suckling. His fingers, meanwhile, sank into the hips of the leggings to feel soft, warm skin. Eomer gave a shaky sigh and took another kiss, tongue flicking at the man’s lips, seeking entrance. He recoiled suddenly, panting, asking questions and seeking questions with his eyes. “If this is not what you wish, then say so and leave this room this moment. If it is, then kiss me. Show me some sign of consent.”

Eomer surprised the smith when he was turned about and their lips brushed together like long lost lovers. It felt amazing and Mairon craved this more than ever. That rough hand caressed his hair as if this man had never held a weapon or killed men upon the battlefield before. The king was someone the smith wanted to keep forever, to hold and to love. His own hand reached out to Eomer and he touched the sculpted chest with his warm fingers in awe. Yes Mairon had his beauty, but how could a king of Rohan want a stranger like himself?

The words only made the Maia tremble, but when Eomer took his kiss he could not fight back. Mairon submitted to the kiss for only a few moments before stepping away from him. It would seem like he was rejecting the king’s advances, but his hand reached for the metal clasps upon his robes and with a flick of his wrist the garments fell from his shoulders leaving his body naked for the king’s eyes to before hungrily.

“Please…give me what you promise,” Mairon said as he slowly sat down upon the bed and lay down. His amber hair spilled out over the furs elegantly making the Maia a tempting picture. His body was lean and well formed from his labors as a smith yet there were no scars upon him from his works. He rarely scarred, yet above his left collarbone was a mark Melkor had left upon him when they first met; the word ‘Mine’ in an altogether different language that had never been seen upon middle earth. Eomer would not understand or know what the writing said.

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

Now his feet truly were cold. The bitter winter moved ever toward Edoras, freezing all that stood in its way. His toes were going numb within the boots without thick socks to protect. The rest of his body flushed red, standing so near to the warm man who had danced for him, moving his body in a form he had not seen in years and only behind closed doors. It had caused some arousal that the king attempted to hide within the somewhat baggy front of the leggings.

The fingers in Mairon's burning curls slid along, twisting, feeling the softest he had ever touched. It felt much the way his skin had felt. What was his secret?, Eomer wondered briefly before tilting his eyes upward. The offer was fair and tempting.

Very tempting.

Enough so that he swallowed hard and parted his lips again to speak. Instead, he wet them. "This is not the reason I brought you indoors, I wish you to know. Never have I been poor, but I have been cold and tired without a warm bed at hand. I do accept your offer in sharing mine." His fingers moved from the curls to slide along the ribs of the wet clothing. "There is a rather large hearth that burns warm, a large bed with furs, and clothing is not required to be worn."

His hand dropped, taking Mairon's warm hand in his, slipping their fingers together. "I will not deny you what you seek. Already do I crave to taste your mouth. Come with me." And with a tug of his hand, Eomer turned to lead the way from the great hall.

Eomer’s words softened Mairon’s heart and he laced their fingers together as he was tugged down the hallway. He knew that the king had not looked upon him with lust at first, but his dance had tempted him to these passions. Tonight they were allowed to lose themselves in each other’s arms and the amber smith couldn’t have chosen a better man. His eyes lifted to Eomer with a soft smile on his lips and he ignored the hushed voices that murmured about them as they left the great hall.

“I trust you, my king,” Mairon spoke up as they left the crowd behind. “I can see you are a man of honor and would never take advantage of me. I could not help, but tempt you.” The smith’s smile just widen and gripped upon his hand a bit tighter.

The room was not far and the pair was safely behind closed doors leaving them alone. Mairon walked towards the kingly bed and brushed his fingers along the soft furs. He could imagine the sensations of the furs against his body would only heighten their pleasures. But was bed sports what he truly sought this night?

“It has been so long since I’ve been held,” he spoke up after the silence had drifted between them. “Even when I was in his arms I was numb and empty inside. I don’t want to feel that tonight – not with you.”

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

To be touched without a bit of intimacy, or even touched at all, seemed so foreign to the golden king. Long had he been alone without such a visitor with such skill that had yet to be shown. It was his bright eyes that drew in Eomer, and the odd warmth of his skin, which felt no different to cold fingers. The damp clothes would be replaced before it was time to rest, he told himself, placing a hand to the one on his chest. It was hardly a thought that he was being moved away from the danger and toward the throne.

There he stood with a dagger at his feet, jaw set, eyes wide, watching the movement of this... being's body. The movement of hips and arms, the falling of bright hair, and the wanton tug of his feet that stood in place, heavy and cold from the droppings of rain and mud. They had been slipped on for a trip to pay the farrier and that was only to be a quick run outside and in again. A cup of tea sat chilling at the table laden with books before the hearth in his warm room.

A burn overtook his core, restricting the breath he had been used to drawing, slowing it to a shake, a spell seeming to overtake the king. Mairon moved so fluidly that others had stopped to take notice until the hall was painfully still before the music began. It was soft, almost hesitant to play, a hint of shame, or perhaps it was him. The king of this realm stood staring at some foreign male who moved as a loved moved in bed, if he recalled correctly.

Snatching up the dagger to hold near, Eomer came down the shallow steps, drawing nearer until a single outstretched hand could curl about a single bright curl. "Stay the night," came his low voice. "I will see to it that you are warm and rested in the morn. You will not go without in my halls." Biting into his tongue to prevent any further words escaping, the voices about them began to flutter to life again.

Mairon strangely enjoyed his time dancing for all eyes to see, but the way the handsome mortal king stared at him only made his skin burn. It had been thousands of years since he had felt anything for anyone – years since he had felt the feverish passions and hands upon his body with desire. The last man who had touched him had been the king of Númenor and at the time his own fire and passions had faded away. It had been a lonely existence.

Now Eomer was reaching out for him, his calloused hand grasping gently at one of his curls as he spoke. Mairon’s heart pounded hard as he looked up into his eyes and his own hand itched to reach out for the king, but stayed by his side. Slowly, the amber smith bowed his head and came closer to him.

“I shall lay in whatever bed you wish, my king,” he whispered before leaning in close so his lips brushed against his ear as he spoke in hushed tones so that none of his court heard them, “Even if it is your bed.”

It was a bold thing for Mairon to do since he could not trust Eomer after just meeting, but no matter what his mind told him, his need for contact over ruled his thoughts. He wanted to be held and desired. He wanted to forget the horrors of his previous life and lose himself, body and soul, to this king.

“Where shall you have me, my king?”

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

Indoor fires were lit, warding off the bite of the cold, warming the massive space of the great hall. At the head of the room sat a great throne carven with horses, tapestries the same, shallow steps, long walls of stone, pillars, and doors. They were a proud and strong people, though not as book smart as many other people of different realms. They learned by mouth and ear, not letters written in fancy scripts across pages of old books. Eomer had inherited his uncle’s kingdom and with it, his study of very little books of history. To this he had added several by request of foreign lands while forging alliances. A normal night was spent before the hearth of his room, turning pages and expanding his young, eager mind.

Tonight, he stood near a brazier, removing muddy gloves that covered only palms and the bottom knuckle. His eyes floated over this dancer, the one with a hair color he had yet to see. Well, he thought, another odd one not of elvish blood.

"We do not normally take kindly to those very different than our own," he said in a low voice. "But your need is great and the cost is only a dance. Make it a long and pretty one, for the eyes upon you are not only mine. Call yourself my guest and let none other lay a finger upon your person."

He hadn’t pretended to not notice the eyes that moved over Mairon both indoors and out alike. Even now, there was a low muttering and many pairs of eyes watching. Eomer moved near to his guest’s side, placing his cold fingers to the fair skin of a hairless chin, lifting it with gentility.

"I will bring you no harm, for you are full of beauty, though to leave you to search for dry clothes would be to leave you alone. Do you carry weapons or are you also without?" His eyes found Mairon’s. "Do not be frightened," he whispered but it was more to himself, feet rooted in place, though astounded at the bright color. Eomer hummed with amusement, not daring to speak his curiosity, and felt a bit nervous, dropping the digits to the hover over the fire again, squeezing to rush the blood to move.

The cold hands upon his heated skin only made Mairon glance up at the man who dared to touch him, but it was not out of hate. Many feared to touch him for he was a flame that burned hotter than the white and blue fire. His strange, golden eyes locked with Eomer’s and he softened from his fears and nerves. This man was noble and as long as he did not know he had been the Darkness, this man would protect him.

Mairon’s gentle hands lay upon the king’s chest and he gently pushed him towards the throne where he would sit and watch him earn his keep. He would show him a dance that would take his breath away and leave him speechless.

“Sit gentle king,” he whispered softly, voice strangely musical that not even the elves possessed. “Wet clothing shall not hinder me in earning my place here. As for a blade, I shall relinquish it to you for safe keeping.”

With a quick movement of his hand, Mairon tore his robes to his thighs showing the dagger strapped to his leg for protection. He pulled the elegant blade from the sheath to lie at Eomer’s feet as he backed up to the middle of the halls for all eyes to see. The Maia kicked his shoes off and his bare feet softly stepped upon the wooden floor as he moved into position for his dance.

There was no need for music for when the Maia began to move and sway his body for all eyes could not look away from him. The harpists and flute players only started to play to stay in time with the beautiful dancer before the king. His amber curls flashed in the firelight as he twirled and his arms raise above his head as if he was offering himself to the gods themselves. Sometimes, Mairon’s eyes would lock with Eomer so that he would know that he was only dancing for the king’s pleasure.

demetiers

the songs will remember you as the virgin huntress what the songs forget is that you were so much more protector of young girls with their heads in the clouds and hope in their eyes,daughter of wolves and thunder you were stripped bare and the only thing that marked you as important, was the name of your father the only thing that they remembered was the state of your maidenhood no one warned you how their eyes would linger and darken in lust,untouchable, forbidden fruit because that’s all they thought you were worth you were three years old when you refused to be reduced to a state of being you were three years old when you refused to let any man take what was yours you were three years old when you decided you were to rule the mountainsyou proved them wrong

artemis, the moon burns too (k.h)

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

It made more sense that the male before him would be a dancer. Slender and possibly muscled beneath the frailer fabrics, thought Eomer, it seemed more likely than a thief. He gave a nod and turned to the cloak, taking it up to drape across an arm.

"I will see to it this is before a fire to warm and dry. As it is, there is room indoors of Meduseld, and I will not have you staying outside in the cold and damp with the horses. Sturdy companions are they, but someone of your talents should be inside where the fires and braziers are warm." He made a noise of clearing his throat. "No coin is needed. If you are truly a dancer, your payment in return shall be a dance in the main hall."

His eyes lifted. "I am the king of the country, Edoras being the capital city, and my seat. I am Eomer, and I welcome you, Mairon. Follow me and mind your step, as the mud is very slippery." His back turned, moving across the stall, eyes turning back to the slender man. There was something so... off about him. Not many that were so different often crossed his path, but in his mind, it was a most welcome distraction.

To Mairon’s horror, he would have to dance. It had been thousands of years since he had done such a thing, yet he knew he was not rusty in the least. It was not the fact he had to dance at all, but to dance for coin and lodging that made his cheeks darken with blush. But he followed behind Eomer quietly and left the safety of the stables behind him.

People would stare at them as they passed by and the amber smith kept his gaze on the king’s back so they would not noticed his unnatural eyes. If one were to look in them too long, they would know he was not mortal or any immortal that had been seen on this earth for a long time. The silk robes clung to his skin during their short walk to the royal halls and it only made men’s gazes linger upon him.

Mairon was fair. He could attract anyone if he wanted to, but his focus was upon Eomer who lead him inside the warm building. He had ‘seen’ him before when he was locked away in Sauron’s mind through his servant’s eyes. He was a great warrior of his people and a true lord of Rohan – a man to be admired or desired it seems. It made the Maia’s blood warm, but he assumed that no just king would ever look upon him with love if he knew his dark secret, so he kept his head bowed as he moved towards the fire to warm his cold skin.

The fire was a welcomed sensation since Maia’s personal fire inside his body had lessened in this weaker state. Mairon’s slender arms reached out and he warmed his hands just above the flames wishing to allow the fire to lick over his skin without fear. No, Eomer would know then that he was other worldly by the sight.

#My Dark Days #My Shame #Dancer #Priest #Sauron

darklordisms

Art trade with tosquinha - Sauron in Númenor (sorry for the gore)

This was not what I had originally planned, but this is what happened.

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

His eyes drifted over the stranger, feeling a twinge of guilt for startling him, but it wasn't often a traveler slept in the stables when he hadn't meant to cause trouble. Eomer had long been wearing the dagger for protection. The days after the war had brought many stragglers through Rohan, seeking shelter or mischief. The horses weren't possessions but dear friends, more than mounts and not easily replaceable. Any harm coming to them would welcome harm to those that caused it. Why had the farrier not noticed or said anything? Even a nod in that direction would be enough to set Eomer on defense to rectify the situation.

Noticing the garments and jeweled fingers caused his frown to deepen. "No coin yet you wear fine things upon you. What can you offer in return for shelter? Is there nothing?" Though he was fair in face, body, and clothes alike, Eomer always felt a great wave of doubt, and this man was different than others. What would such a richly dressed stranger be doing in his stables?

"Truly, tell me from where do you come and where do you go?" His hand left the dagger, arms crossing, brow still crinkles together, stance set. "I am waiting!"

The mortal's sharp voice almost made Mairon flinch, but he would not. No, he was a Maia after all. Even if his other half had done evil in the past, that was no who he was anymore and he shall not shrink away from a mortal man like some cowards.

And yet he could not tell him who he was.

Mairon's eyes dropped down to the floor for a moment trying to think of a way to get by without causing trouble. How could this man believe he was a smith of the greatest skill? He wore silk garments and his hair was long like molten amber only adding to his fair face that held no scar or burn. No mortal smith or noble would believe him and he had no pointed ears to even pass for an elf. Finally, Mairon just sighed out his shame and spoke up,

"D-Dancer." He said softly. "I am a dancer. I have been traveling alone, but I have lost my purse in the storm so I have no coin on me."

It was not an outright lie. Mairon had many skills he knew besides smithing, and dancing was one of them. He was taught by his older Vala sister and it was a secret joy he relished in when he was alone. The amber smith was truly mortified that he had to confess it to this mortal stranger who caught him hiding in the stables.

"I am Mairon of the West...I hold no last name or title and I go where ever I please."

Smith and a King - Mairon and Eomer

It wasn't a new occurrence, these rainstorms. As of late, they were plentiful. The rain stirred up the mud, leaving the city a mucky mess. During the day, a string of curses was the norm as one lost their footing and slipped around, sometimes followed by laughter. The city became a trap after dark when many planted bottoms became drunk and slid around all the more. The king wouldn't admit it, but he found some joy in the loud curses and watching what games the child could play with the mess, the mothers either fussing or laughing along with the screaming delight of slipping, muddy children. It couldn't be a memory they would forget.

He had emerged from the house to pay the farrier himself. Firefoot was his one true friend, one he could trust. It made sense to Eomer to be the one to inspect the work and hand over the coin. Arriving with a streak of mud down the length of his side from ribs to knee, boots coated in the mess of outside, he chuckled, clasping hands with the other in greeting before approaching the horse. Muttering a bit between them, the farrier was paid and left. A slosh and thump came from outside the stables. He snickered and rubbed his mount's face, clucking his tongue.

It was then his eyes moved over the grey cloak. For a moment, his hand faltered and fell. The horse didn't seem to mind and moved away as Eomer took light steps in attempt not to squish. Hand at his hip, resting with a grip upon the dagger, he tried to recall any who wore a such a fine accessory. Bringing no memory quickly, he peered into the stall, brow furrowed.

"And who might you be?" he asked patiently, holding to the cold steel.

The sounds of the rain fall had lulled Mairon into a gentle sleep so he did not hear anyone enter the stables. He curled up against the warm hay and tried his best to stay in the clutches of slumber only to hear a voice above him. His golden eyes opened quickly and the smith was faced with a mortal man looking down upon him with a hand upon his dagger.

Mairon moved back quickly only to press against the wall of the stall he had been hiding in and stared almost wide eyed at the stranger. He was a fair mortal with long hair damp from the rain and even if his clothing had mud upon them, they were not of a commoner. This had to be someone of noble birth – maybe royalty. The smith’s cheeks burned a little and he glanced away for a moment.

“Forgive me,” he started softly and stood up. “I was seeking shelter from the rain. I had been on a long journey and I have no coin for an inn.”

It would seem a horrid lie since the beautiful man standing before the stranger wore garments of elven make and there were golden rings upon his fingers, true. Mairon had no coin upon his person and he was nervous about offering his skills as a smith. He had tried to make himself known, but some of the harden blacksmiths thought of him only as a scribe or even maybe a dancer. The fools did not know that he was once a student of the Vala greatest smith even if his face was fair.

“If you wish for me to leave, I can go.”