Once they stood alone Orlando dropped his accented voice into a low whisper. His mocking gaze fixed on Aragorn’s damp face. “Tell me, Sire, how does one fight such a legendary King? Need I restrain my swing and let you win? Should I hold back?”

Aragorn arched his brows in equal mockery. Yes, this boy was a bold one. This Orlando No Name was not some sheepherder fresh off the plains; he possessed too much natural arrogance. Intriguing. Lowering his own voice Aragorn leaned close. “Well, boy, you fight a King just like you would any other talented sparring partner. You are familiar with the polite rules of engagement here? I trust you will not try and take out my eyes or slice off my nose? Although capped our lives blades can still do damage.” Aragorn paused and cocked his head. “And do you understand right of way dueling? Or must I explain that time-honored concept to you?”

As he narrowed his eyes in annoyance Orlando stiffened again. “I am not some ill-trained barbarian who does not know any better! I have been...” Suddenly Orlando snapped his lips shut. His deep eyes returned to their guardedly watchful state. “I understand those rules, Sire.”

Hmmm, yes, he was a touchy one. “Then, boy, prove that crucial fact to me. As you work perhaps you can also prove to me why you should have a chance to be in my royal guard.” Aragorn lifted his blade and smiled in an openly challenging manner. “First to say, erm, five hits wins, agreeable?”

“Agreeable, Sire. May the best warrior win.”

“Indeed. Hallas? We’re dueling to five hits between the waist and shoulders. Right of way rules.”

“Excellent, Sire. Lothar, Camer, Amrath, position yourself to watch the angle of the hits.” Once the other soldiers occupied three equidistant positions Hallas held up his hand. “Begin.”

After they tapped blades the two combatants stepped apart and slowly circled each other. They intently stared into each other’s eyes, assessing who would make the opening move. Aragorn thought this beautiful boy was also probably a fine card player; his velvety dark eyes revealed nothing but wary anticipation. They performed one full foot pattern circuit, both lightly stepping in the sand. Ah, Aragorn finally sensed a puzzled taint washing from the lad. Excellent. Unfortunately the King’s usual sparring partners knew his custom tricks; Aragorn’s most obvious one was to let his opponent begin the first attack. It was bracing to face a warrior who knew nothing about his habits. It almost felt like a real battle.

As they moved Orlando studied this calm and collected King and tried assessing which opening thrust he wanted to use. The young Haradrim knew Aragorn held his sword ready for any attack; the blade’s angle silently defied him. Bah, already this cautious beginning wore on Orlando’s fiery nerves. He had been taught to attack and press his advantage, not hover like a waiting dragonfly. Maddening.

By the Burning Sand this opportunity both frustrated yet exhilarated the young Haradrim; imagine being given the chance to duel against this legendary fighter on his first day in Minas Tirith! The warrior knew that if he made an utter fool of himself he’d have no second chance. Orlando didn’t know if he could win but he would do everything in his power to try. This was the ultimate chance to prove his quality. If he failed here he could never return to unforgiving Harad. Never. He’d die before that fate.

After another tense circuit Orlando hissed under his breath. His hot temper, never his best friend, unraveled in the heat. “Do we duel or dance, Sire?” Before his words floated toward the watchful sun Orlando lunged to the side and thrust up at Aragorn’s broad chest.

Aragorn almost didn’t see Orlando’s sly feint. Hmm, what an excellent move. Aragorn deflected the blade and drove in before Orlando could set up his second attack. Soon they were at it in earnest, their blades lovingly ringing together in an age-old deadly song. Neither allowed a new opening.

A silence gripped the watching crowd. Word had spread that the King challenged a young Harad savage so curious on-lookers gathered on the observation deck. Money quietly exchanged hands. Most favored their skilled king but ahh, the brutal day was blazing and the challenger looked young and strong.

Halbarad was among the last to arrive but others stepped aside to let him reach the front railing. The royal advisor took one hard look at Aragorn’s dueling partner and mockingly shook his head. A smirk curled his lips. Yes, this must be the youth that Faramir spoke of to him. After all this time Halbarad knew Aragorn’s sexual tastes. This boy conformed to the usual checklist: graceful, smooth shaven, slender and possessed of beautiful masculinity. He was a fine-looking lad, actually one of the fairest that Halbarad had ever seen. But a fierce Haradrim? Hmm. He wasn’t sure about that aspect. There were enough old resentments in place to make the advisor’s hackles rise in profound distrust. Why was this lad so handsome? Was he a dangerous plant to gain Aragorn’s trust? Something bothered Halbarad’s warrior senses. No, after this duel he’d try and talk sense into his King although if Aragorn truly wanted this fine lad then Halbarad could talk until the first snows thundered in from the mountains and still not move the King’s will. Once Aragorn’s lust came to the fore there was no turning it back.

Down in the ring Aragorn blocked another talented swinging feint. So far he had let Orlando perform most of the heavy attack work. Instead he concentrated on defense and observation. Yes, the wily king began seeing one area that Orlando, in his zeal, did not fully protect. Ahh, there it was again. A slight opening just as the lad’s arm swung over. Yes, wait, step, step, pause... perfect. Whipping his sword in a decisive move Aragorn knocked past his opponent’s blade and firmly poked Orlando’s leather jerkin right at his heart. Aragorn thought the move rather poetic.

Hallas clapped. “First clean hit to the King.”

A cheer shook the hot air.

During their brief pause Orlando stared in amazement then a savage smile broke across his smooth face. “Yes, you are most sly, Sire! But thank you for showing me my sad lack. Trust me, it shall not happen again.”

“Excellent, young one. I am glad to offer you knowledge.” Aragorn saluted again and resumed the match.

After another ten minutes Aragorn hated to confess it but he felt dreadfully hot and sticky. The late afternoon air refused to grant even the smallest of mountain breezes into the sweltering ring. As the heat grew the practice sand seemed to become deeper and deeper. Aragorn’s sword gained weight. And this intrepid beauty would not grant him any new openings. They engaged time and time again and, except for one savage flurry that ended in mutual annulled hits, little progress had been made. Yes, although he claimed he had no father this Harad youth proved immensely skilled. Someone had taught him well.

Many questions hovered in the back of Aragorn’s mind but he tamped them down. Concentrate on winning rather then on how glorious this boy looked glistening in the sun. The Haradrim’s swarthy, sweat-washed face almost glowed with intensity. Aragorn wanted to toss his sword aside, lunge forward and run his tongue along one perfect, deeply tanned cheekbone. Now that move would cause a fuss. It certainly didn’t fit into the standard dueling rules.

Very well, time to take the match to the next level. Pressing hard Aragorn came at Orlando in a burst of fast footwork and excruciating speed. As he gasped in surprise Orlando desperately defended himself then he lunged wildly and prodded Aragorn’s left shoulder.

The watching crowd murmured then they clapped in polite acknowledgment.

Hallas sounded pleased. He agreed with his guards’ signals. There now, he knew this youth showed fine promise. “Second clean hit goes to the Harad warrior.”

“Very well played, my young warrior. Now...” Instead of allowing for a breather Aragorn drove forward again. Orlando slipped on a slick sand patch and stumbled a bit. As he crowded in Aragorn easily scored his second hit low to Orlando’s stomach. The King truly wished to see what lurked under the leather practice jerkin. He knew he’d enjoy sliding his tongue over this youth’s belly.

After the hit Orlando danced back, a frustrated frown marring his sculpted lips. He didn’t want to lose due to his own stupid mistakes. “That was not cleanly done, Sire.”

Aragorn grinned and shrugged. “But it was done so I suggest you concentrate harder.”

As his fury fought for control of his arm Orlando scowled and fiercely pressed his own fresh attack. Again. Again. Now the watching audience began murmuring in sincere appreciation. This time Orlando’s fierce hit came in high on Aragorn’s right shoulder.

Hallas sounded doubting. “Sire, that hit was questionable...”

Aragorn waved his sword before him. “I declare the hit high but clean. So, young one, we are again tied. But not for long.”

Orlando simply couldn’t believe his blessed luck. Aragorn acted gracious in giving him that second hit. Energized by the heady feeling he pressed another strong attack. Excitement welled up. He had a chance! As he fought Orlando’s complete giddiness guided him to a fresh hit. He was winning!

Aragorn smiled at Orlando’s obvious excitement. Ahh, this was where his youth would defeat him. Feeling a little like a seasoned cheat Aragorn deployed an old trick; a sloppy opening attack that drew Orlando in so Aragorn could pounce into a strong second attack and score a hit.

Tied again at three apiece. Two more for victory. Aragorn thought it might as well be twenty.

At this point the exhausted King toyed with the idea of letting the youth win but he knew that this prickly Harad would sense any deception on his part. No, that would not do. But this duel had worn on long enough and suddenly Aragorn decided that yes, he wanted to win. But he also wanted to impress Orlando.

Ah. The answer came to Aragorn. Resorting to a dangerous Elven move Aragorn left his chest unprotected for a second then he swooped in from the left side and jabbed Orlando just as he twisted his body away from Orlando’s thrusting blade. Swirling his blade up along Orlando’s Aragorn nearly forced Orlando to stab him in the neck then he whipped his blade up and jabbed Orlando’s jerkin right below that beautiful notch between his collarbones. Hopefully next time his lips would perform that deed.

The watching guards signaled their agreement. Hallas crowed in delight. “The final two hits for King Aragorn! The match is done.”

Panting deeply Orlando gazed at the sweat-soaked Aragorn in sheer admiration. “By the Burning Sand I have never seen such a clever move! You must teach that trick to me, Sire! Two hits in one move... amazing!”

Mmm, Aragorn savored the admiration in those lovely dark eyes. “It’s an Elven move and trust me, young one, it is dangerous plus it takes time to perfect. But yes, if you like I can show you. I think you will be able to master the complexity.” Stepping close Aragorn held out his hand to the young Haradrim. “Well played, young man, very well played. Your talent is deep-running.” Their hands clasped and squeezed.

As their hands met Aragorn stared intently at Orlando and, for the briefest of seconds, he allowed his true emotions to show. He allowed his yearning to well up and flash at this youth.

Orlando’s dark eyes twitched then he quickly looked down at the sweat-spattered sand. No. Could it be that... he darted his stinging eyes up again and caught Aragorn’s quick wink. The King was... no. He must be imagining things. The heat must have affected his clear thinking. Why would King Aragorn be... flirting with him? Impossible. Instead of meeting Aragorn’s bright gray-blue gaze Orlando stared at the trampled sand again. “Sire, I... thank you. You are every inch the noble warrior. I see why many people in my land no longer speak basely of Gondor for she is ruled by a truly astute King.”

“Good to hear that you approve of my rule, Orlando No Name.” Aragorn released Orlando’s hand and beckoned to Hallas. “My captain, I think we have a definite candidate for palace guard instruction, eh?”

Hallas walked over and firmly poked one finger into Orlando’s leather-covered chest. “Yes, I think we do, Sire. Now I simply need to knock some of that cocky attitude out of him.”

Instead of crafting a flip reply Orlando bowed respectfully. “I am honored that you deem me worthy, Sire, Captain. I hope that my further performances still please your expectations of me.”

Aragorn grinned in playful agreement. Oh indeed, he hoped that Orlando’s future performances pleased him. Although for now he didn’t like how Orlando avoided looking him the face. Suddenly the bold lad acted shy?

Or was he perhaps repulsed? Nonsense. Why would a young no-named Haradrim refuse the King of Gondor’s obvious invitation? Aragorn watched as Hallas dismissed the youth. His fellow Harads greeted Orlando with war cries and congratulations.

Hmm, perhaps his initial invite hadn’t been obvious enough. Aragorn shrugged and tried looking interested in what Hallas said but his lusting mind still dwelled on the beautiful youth now surrounded by his friends.

Yes, now it was time for the direct attack. And the King didn’t plan on being denied.