Chapter Text
The sun was slowly setting in the High Atlas mountains. The intense glow of the evening sun set Jebel Toubkal and it's surrounding snow capped mountain range ablaze. The day had been fresh but warm and sunny, but the dusk brought on a chilly breeze.
On the opposite hillside stood a traditional, square stone hut, once build for shepherds but now hired out to tourists. Subtle hints indicated a rustic luxury, such as a large balcony, with an intricate stone balustrade and delicate , cast iron table and chairs. The chairs were covered with sheepskin furs and two glasses of dark red wine stood on the table. Two large planters with palm trees decorated the front corners of the balcony.
On the balustrade stood an old couple in the growing darkness, two men, one smaller and slighter, the other still strong and tall, despite his age. The taller man stood behind the smaller one, his arms gently, protectively folded around the slighter man's chest. The slighter man's hands lovingly covered his protector's hands and gently caressed them. The taller man leaned forward, gently burying his face in the other ones beautiful, long, snow white, silky hair. The evening glow was reflecting off his hair and giving him a magical glow.
The smaller man was dressed in black, with black jeans, black boots, a black jacket over a black shirt. Only his silk scarf was grey. His small, round face was still breathtakingly beautiful, with straight, dark eyebrows accentuating his pale skin, his dark eyes full of wisdom. His nose was small and cute and his lips unusually full for an old man. He had aged gracefully, like a precious old wine and was, no doubt, still considered attractive by people many moons younger then himself.
The larger man resembled a centuries old oak tree, mighty and weathered. The king of the forest. Or an old lion, with his wild mane of untamed, long, tangled grey hair, his strong arms and hands, his broad shoulders and chest and his long, slender legs, still ready to pounce. If he was a lion, he would still be the leader of his pride, unchallenged by his own sons or anyone else trying to take over. He must have been beautiful in his younger years, but his might had grown as he got older. Like an old king, ruling with wisdom, kindness and confidence. Drawing in people wherever he went. Yet humble and unpretentious.
The old lion bend his head slightly and lovingly kissed the top of the snow white head in front of him. Then he spoke, quietly, almost a whisper, with his unique, raspy yet gentle voice. His lips almost touched the small shell of the other man's ear. His words were filled with the deepest sincerity: " I love you, James Patrick Page".
The man in front responded by turning in the other's arms, so as to face him. He laid his hands on the other man's broad shoulders, and looked up at him. James Patrick Page's dark eyes were glistening with emotion and he had to turn away for a moment, biting his lip. He felt the weight and significance of this moment. He never handled pressure too well. Finally he spoke too, his gentle voice surprisingly steady and clear: "I love you too, Robert Anthony Plant". Then he curled himself into the other's strong arms, and was held firmly and close.
Around them, the blazing red on the mountain tops had faded to dark red and then purple. The night was encasing them. The first stars became visible on the endless sky above them. An ice cold wind ruffled the lover's hair.