Lingua Franca

[brainofck]

Title/Chapter: Lingua Franca
Author: muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: Richard Sharpe/Elessar Telcontar
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Summary: Mr. Sharpe has a difficult morning in the fog and
Content/warnings: Crossover. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: No infringement on anybody's copyright intended. Fan fic worries some authors, because they find that they get a note from a fan or see something posted and it parallels something they were planning to write and their publishers flinch and they lose a whole storyline. Well, my sincere and abject apologies to Mr. Cornwell or any representative or asignee of the Tolkien estate who was considering a Sharpe/Middle Earth crossover novel. I swear by all that's holy that I will not claim any copyright in your publication. Dude.
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only: muck_a_luck and brainofck
Further Disclaimer: This is an unannounced WIP. Beware bad!fic and rough drafts
Special glaring to: uisgich, who started this with some bath!slut!porn one boring afternoon while I was working, pretended she wanted to write with me, then dropped it in my lap. *glares*

---

Richard refused to drink the tea. End of story.

The man showed a mixture of worry and anger over this, grey eyes darkening. Their new companion laughed at the confrontation, an unsettling, musical sound that brough Richard's eyes back to him again, again puzzling over what on earth the creature was.

The man turned to the other in exasperation and said something in a hard, angry voice that for all the world sounded like Wellington on a bad day. Richard smiled grimly as the other raised his hands in a peacemaking gesture and shook his head. The man sighed heavily and with one last glower at both of them, stalked from the room, tossing some comment over his shoulder that made the other one smile and roll his eyes.

Richard had managed a sitting position, and now the other one came forward again. The creature's hands were warm on Richard's bare shoulder and chest. And he was singing. Humming, really. It was soothing, the tendrils of sound seeming to have a life of their own, winding arouhd him in a way that was almost physical and very intimate. The whole experience was strange and wonderful - and very disconcerting. Richard was yielding to that persuasive touch completely unintentionally. By the time he caught himself and began to fight, he had rolled over so far that he had given up the leverage. Strong, careful hands now held him firmly into the bolster.

"Let me up, you bastard," he muttered, but he didn't even try to struggle. He knew enough to know when he'd lost.

The bandages were pulled away and soothing fingers ran over the hot, painful, lacerated flesh of his back. The humming, crooning song went on, tempered now with a deep concern and sympathy that touched Richard even through his anger at his own weakness and the manipulations of his captors. He gave a little huffing sigh and forced himself to relax and lie still.

With a press of his palms against Richard's shoulder blades, the other stepped away from the bed and moved nearly silently across the creaking floorboards of the room. Richard turned his head to watch him look over items laid on the table by the man. He was nearly scowling at whatever he saw amidst the clutter there and he stood a long time, apparently thinking it through.

---

Aragorn reappeared with the inn keeper and a couple of serving men in his wake. They set up the table and a generous meal, then quickly withdrew.

When they were gone, Legolas said, "You don't have what you are going to need." He preceeded Aragorn to the bedside and laid his hand on the stranger's bare shoulder again. The scars the man bore were horrifying. He didn't have the demeanor or bearing of a criminal, though, so Legolas thought they represented torture rather than punishment, though for what reason he couldn't imagine.

"Well, as far as I can find, I have everything we can get from this town and the fields here," Aragorn replied. "What can we do with what I have?"

---

They had talked quietly over him, gone back to murmur over the table, then the strange sat down to the meal while the man apparently made decisions and set about applying some sort of poultice to his back.



Grrrr. This is feeling more and more like bad!fic to me. *glares* *goes to bed*