[Mature Content] This chapter explores themes of male same-sex attraction, personal shame, and the journey towards acceptance, with explicit descriptions of intimate moments.


    Rumors circled like restless birds caught in an updraft—soldiers, envoys, or perhaps a band of scouts dispatched by the king. Some swore they’d heard the king’s men were approaching from the south; others insisted from the north. Still others claimed the delegates would bear gifts of peace, or threats wrapped in velvet words. Uncertainty pressed on the village as dusk settled each day, leaving everyone guessing at what the future might bring.


    Rowan watched this tension unfold with a quiet resolve. He continued to share warmth and understanding with those who approached him, hoping these small seeds of empathy and openness might influence how the villagers faced whatever came next. He walked beneath old eaves, spoke gently to farmers and wives, and answered discreet questions from young men who dared to wonder if desire could be kinder than they once believed.


    One evening, as he leaned beside a low stone wall observing a faint rose sky after sunset, Ildan returned. The broad-shouldered fieldworker approached slowly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, gaze flicking nervously around to ensure no one watched. When Ildan finally met Rowan’s eyes, his expression was tense, his jaw set hard as if bracing himself.


    Rowan offered a small, welcoming nod. “Ildan,” he said softly, stepping forward to close the space between them. “You look troubled.”


    Ildan swallowed, shoulders rising as he took a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about what I felt the other day,” he admitted, voice pitched low. “At first, I was just curious. But now… I feel something stronger, and it’s twisting me up inside. I’m drawn to you, Rowan. Attracted to you like I never thought I could be to another man.”


    Rowan’s heart warmed with empathy. He rested a hand on Ildan’s arm, rubbing gently through the coarse fabric of the man’s tunic. “I’m listening,” he said, voice calm.


    Ildan closed his eyes, grimacing as if in pain. “I feel shame,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “All my life, I’ve been taught that such feelings are wrong or unnatural. But since you came, since I saw you touching others with so much warmth, I can’t deny what stirs inside me.” He shook his head. “I’m ashamed of how intensely I want you. And yet I’m desperate to find some peace with it.”


    Rowan’s grip on Ildan’s arm tightened softly, reassuring him. “Elves taught me that love and desire know no boundaries of gender,” he said quietly. “Among them, men loving men, women loving women—these are natural variations of the same warm fire. There’s no shame, no special secrecy. Only honesty about what we feel.”


    Ildan’s eyes flew open, glistening in the waning light. “But I’m not an elf. And here, we—”


    Rowan interrupted with kindness, “You are human, yes. But you stand on the edge of choice. Do you wish to carry old burdens, or set them down? If you feel shame, let’s question it. Who taught you to be ashamed? Was it your own heart or others’ judgments?”


    Ildan looked away, jaw working. After a long silence, he let out a shaky breath. “Others,” he admitted. “I grew up hearing mocking jests, seeing how men who strayed from the expected path were ridiculed. I feared that fate. But now, after seeing what’s possible…” He turned back to Rowan, voice cracking slightly, “I want to move past that fear. I want to know if we—if I—could find comfort in your arms without guilt crushing me.”


    Rowan’s eyes softened. He reached with his free hand, gently tilting Ildan’s chin up, forcing the man’s gaze to meet his. “You can,” he said simply. “But it must start with acceptance. That what you feel is not dirty, not vile. It’s part of you, as natural as the wind. I can show you how kindness and tenderness can melt shame, if you wish.”


    Ildan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I wish it,” he whispered.


    “Then come with me,” Rowan said, taking Ildan’s hand. He led the man away from the main road, across a quiet field where the grass swished softly against their legs. The moon was waxing, silver light guiding them. They found a secluded nook beneath an old oak tree. The trunk’s massive girth sheltered them, leaves whispering overhead. No lantern needed—the moonlight was enough to see each other’s eyes, each other’s honest expressions.


    They stood facing one another. Rowan began by placing both palms on Ildan’s chest, feeling the man’s heart hammering like a trapped bird. Slowly, Rowan leaned in, resting his forehead against Ildan’s shoulder, just breathing with him. “It’s alright to be nervous,” Rowan murmured. “We take this slowly.”Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Ildan nodded, his large hands rising uncertainly to hover over Rowan’s back. With a small sigh, he allowed himself to let go of tension, lowering his hands to rest lightly on Rowan’s waist. He felt the warmth there, the solidity of another man’s body willingly pressed close.


    Rowan tilted his head up, and Ildan, hesitating only a moment, lowered his lips to Rowan’s. The first kiss was tentative, almost chaste. Ildan pulled back, searching Rowan’s face for approval, and found it in the gentle curve of Rowan’s smile. Encouraged, he kissed again, this time letting himself feel it: the softness of Rowan’s lips, the subtle taste of his breath. It stirred warmth low in Ildan’s belly and made his chest ache with yearning.


    Rowan responded with quiet enthusiasm, sliding his hands up to rest on Ildan’s broad shoulders. He pressed closer, letting Ildan feel that he, too, found pleasure in this connection. In that moonlit grove, the two men learned each other’s rhythms. Ildan’s kisses grew bolder, deeper. Rowan ran his fingers through Ildan’s hair, soothing and encouraging him.


    When Rowan’s tongue brushed Ildan’s lower lip, asking silently for entry, Ildan parted his lips with a hushed groan. Their tongues met, exploring, tasting. Ildan moaned softly, amazed that this act, once unimaginable, could feel so natural, so good. Shame’s grip loosened with every quiet breath they shared.


    They took time. Rowan never rushed. Instead, he asked softly, “How does this feel?” And Ildan answered with breathless honesty, “Incredible. Frightening, but right.” Step by step, they unfastened tunics and pulled shirts free, baring chests and arms to the cool night air. Ildan marveled at the feel of another man’s torso beneath his hands—muscles so different from a woman’s softness, yet still offering a kind of comfort, a sense of belonging he never knew he craved.


    Rowan pressed close, letting his skin brush Ildan’s, heartbeats whispering against each other. Ildan dared to trail his fingertips down the line of Rowan’s spine, earning a soft sigh of pleasure. The scent of earth and leaves mingled with the faint musk of their bodies.


    Eventually, Rowan guided Ildan to lie with him on a soft patch of moss. The earth supported them, and the old oak tree stood guard. Ildan’s breathing was ragged now, a mix of desire and lingering apprehension. Rowan cupped his cheek gently, “We go as far as you want. If you need to stop at any point, we stop.”


    Ildan shook his head, determination in his eyes. “I want this. I need to know that I can feel this fully.” With that, he began to explore more boldly, learning Rowan’s body with his hands, pressing careful kisses along Rowan’s neck and collarbone, smiling at the quiet moans he elicited.


    Rowan reciprocated by unbuckling Ildan’s belt slowly, offering him every chance to object. Ildan didn’t. He lifted his hips slightly, letting Rowan remove garments that felt suddenly unnecessary. Soon, they lay naked under the moon, two men discovering each other’s shapes and textures. Ildan was both nervous and thrilled by the sight—Rowan’s arousal met by his own, equal and unashamed. Rowan whispered reassuring words about how men among the elves find joy in each other’s embrace as naturally as any other pairing.


    With gentle guidance, Rowan showed Ildan how to pleasure him, and Ildan found himself enjoying not just the physical thrill, but the emotional release of loving touch without barriers. No harsh jokes, no fear of ridicule—just softness, warmth, and a growing understanding that desire between men could be as tender, as meaningful, as any love story he had ever dared to imagine.


    Rowan’s hand closed around Ildan’s erection, stroking slowly, and Ildan gasped, arching slightly, his mind reeling at how right it felt, how his shame melted into sighs and murmured pleas. When Rowan guided Ildan to reciprocate, Ildan followed eagerly, delighting in each moan he drew from Rowan’s lips.


    They moved together in a quiet, unhurried dance, testing boundaries, asking with touches and whispered words if this or that felt good, if they could go further. Eventually, Ildan dared to explore more intimately. With Rowan’s gentle instruction, he learned the pressure and rhythm that brought Rowan’s head back, lips parted, a moan escaping into the night. The power he felt in giving pleasure dissolved his shame further. This was no sin, no corruption—just two humans honoring each other’s longing.


    When they reached the edge of release, they clung to each other, breathing in sync. Rowan guided them to a shared climax, moans muffled into shoulders and throats, bodies shuddering with exquisite relief. In that moment, Ildan realized he was crying softly, tears of release and gratitude. Rowan kissed those tears away, holding him close, hands soothing up and down his spine.


    They lay entwined, the night quiet around them, hearts slowing to a calm beat. Ildan pressed his forehead to Rowan’s chest and whispered, “I never thought I could feel so free. Thank you.” His voice trembled, but the shame was gone. It had evaporated in the warmth of acceptance and desire honestly met.


    Rowan stroked Ildan’s hair, his voice soft and reassuring. “This is what I hoped you’d find—that nothing in your love is wrong. You can choose your path now, without shackles of guilt.”


    Ildan nodded, eyes closed, absorbing the stillness, the gentleness of this revelation. “I’ll remember this night,” he said quietly, voice steady now. “No matter what comes—soldiers, commands, fear—I know there’s a truth deeper than all that.”


    They dressed slowly, helping tie each other’s garments. The moon shone kindly, as if pleased to have witnessed a man freeing himself from old ghosts. When they parted, returning to the village’s edge, Ildan’s posture was different—straighter, lighter. And Rowan watched him go, a soft smile on his lips, thankful that another soul had discovered that love need not wear shame’s heavy chains.


    The future was uncertain, but one truth shone clear: in these quiet, intimate moments, humans learned to cherish each other without fear, forging bonds that even the king’s uncertain decisions could not easily break.