WEST WIND OVER EDORAS

Disclaimer: The characters and places here are not mine, all but a few are Tolkein's genius. If it's in LOTR, Silmarillion, Hobbit or Unfinished tales it Tolkien' s. If not it's mine.
No profit in this but the fun of writing and getting to play in Middle earth for a while.

Chapter 21:

HEALING:


LEGOLAS:

Hours pass as I watch her closely. Aragorn leaves me with her, many others are in need of his skill and he also has much to think on. For long, there is no discernable change, and I begin to draw to the conclusion that she has drifted deeper than the reach of Athelas and I would that my own heart stops beating at the same instant as hers. Night breezes flow through the open casement and swirl their chill scents into the chamber. The lamp flickers and the flame is almost extinguished, sputtering and wavering, only holding on by a faint spark before flaring again. Then Rowannen begins to stir and sweat breaks out on her brow, her arms flail and I have to hold her still. She makes no noise but I can feel torment. On and on she continues in this half-life. I hold her, thankful in some part that it means she is fighting, that her life force is re- awakening. I pray continually, my hands stroking her arms as I gentle the trembling there. My eyes are fixed on her pale face, which despite her thrashing is devoid of any expression.

A slight knock and Inara enters, a troubled expression on her countenance. She brings fresh water and cloths, sets them down, then fades away again without speaking, still uncertain how to act in the presence of an Elf. Time is stretched, bowed and unmeaning. I cling hard to the hope that Rowannen’s continuing restlessness is sign of recovery. I feel a sense of great violation within her. I can do nothing but hold her, keep her as safe and as still as possible. Meleth, come through this. I send my thoughts to the Valar for her and feel some reassurance in answer to prayer, but underlying this there is a sense of loss.

The bitter watches of the night pass in this manner and just before dawn she suddenly jerks. The fear I have been controlling slams through me, is this the end? Instead her breathing grows steadier, stronger, deeper and I watch each inhalation intently, then slowly she opens her eyes. Green, the colour of life. My heart is leaping with joy, my mind calling out prayers of thanks. “Rowannen, Anna. Look at me.”

Her eyes move. She tries to speak but cannot. I bring a goblet of water and slipping an arm beneath her shoulder raise her slowly and help her to drink. “Where am I?” she manages to whisper. I want to laugh with relief but smile only, letting my tension ebb away. Still holding her, I settle onto the pillow and speak quietly, explaining what has come to pass.

“You were hurt my love, but now you will get well. Victory is ours. The ring destroyed and Sauron finished. The whole story I will unfold in time, but even the hobbits are safe now. Many days have we travelled and tended to you and we lie in the King’s chambers in Minas Tirith.” I halt my words as I see agony flaring behind her eyes. “You are in pain?” I ask.

She hardly moves her head to nod and I can see the action causes her untold distress. “A moment only and I can ease it for you.” I rise as gently as possible from the bed and my fingers reach for the vial in my quiver. I pour half its contents into the goblet and add just a little water to temper the taste. I dare not give her more for her stomach, empty for so long, may protest at the invasion and empty itself and then the effect will be wasted.

“Drink, within moments the pain will be gone, you may sleep and that will be good.”

She does as asked with my aid and the liquid works almost immediately, its properties transferring to her bloodstream instantly. The anguish fades from her gaze and she relaxes visibly. “Days?” she queries, confused. I nod agreement. “Feannim?” her next question.

“Safe and stabled with Arod. There is nothing to trouble yourself with, Rowannan. All is well now.” She tries to smile and return the intense happiness that she can see in my eyes, but it is a small smile only and already she is fighting sleep. The potion is needfully strong. “Sleep for a while, should you wake to more pain I can repeat the dose.”

Elladan appears following a soft knock, sees my joy. He stares as Rowannen closes her eyes and drifts into sleep. “I am more than happy for you as you know. So relieved, Las. Yet I sense something else, some sorrow within you still” His ebony eyebrows arch.

“Not now Dan, another time I will speak of it. Just now I wish to feel only the joy.”

The day passes with visitors who have heard the good news peeping in and leaving again. Eomer too advances into the room. I can tell he wishes to approach and grasp her hand but he stands at a respectful distance.

“I am glad for you and have much admiration for the healing skills I have seen these past days, both in respect of my sister, who gains in strength daily, likewise for my injured men and for Rowannen. I would rather see her alive and with you, than lost in death. I wish you well Legolas.” This is much coming from the Horselord, for I still see regret and longing in his countenance as he looks at her face. He is a fine man and one who would have been well worthy of her, if fate had not intervened.

“I thank you. My heart is full to know she will heal and be restored to me.” He nods and takes his leave.

Before nightfall she wakes and groans again in pain. Inara has brought a full cauldron of warm broth. I lift a bowl from the hearth and encourage her to take some in an effort to rebuild some strength within her body and then seeing her anguish and her inability to speak with me, I administer the second half of the potion. As swiftly as before it releases her into sleep. Elladan returns.

“Legolas, I will stay here with her for a time as she sleeps and keep the fire alight. Take a walk, mellon. Breathe fresh air, stretch your limbs. You have been here overlong without the slightest break. He grins at me, sensing my reluctance to even pass into the adjoining chamber to relieve myself. “Go! I insist.”

I hear his low laughter as he listens to the seemingly never-ending stream as I do take his advice and relieve myself.

“And how long have you held that?” he jests lightly with me as I return and pull on an outer tunic. “Your aim was to single-handedly swell the sewers of the city?” He watches me kindly as I touch her hand, search her face. “Las. You need a change of scene. Tending the sick is a wearisome task however much love you hold for them. Go, replenish yourself. I will call for you immediately should I feel her awakening. I can still reach your mind over distance in time of need, never doubt that.”

I stare back at his fine face. I would trust my life with him and have. Likewise I will trust hers. “I do not doubt you Elladan. Hannon lle.”

Darkness is falling again as I walk around the ramparts, seeking out the first star, giving thanks when it sparkles from the firmament. My heart is filled with profound happiness, gratitude and much hope for the future but also entwined with this is the deepest sorrow I have known.

I am sitting staring at the deepening sky, perched on a stone post, legs drawn up, hugging my knees when Elrohir touches my shoulder.

“So troubled are you Las, that you did not hear me call to your mind,” he says gently.

“Mellon,” I manage to utter and grasp his fingers with my own. If I am so distracted how will I hear Elladan should he need me? I focus my awareness.

“Talk to me, Las. Unbounded joy and hope is ours, unburden yourself of that which is weighing it down for you.”

I shake my head softly. “I will try but it will not be easy listening.” Elrohir looks into the darkness with me, his head bends close to mine.

“Nothing about these times has been easy,” his arm slides around my shoulder.

“No, indeed. I am reluctant to impart to you how I feel and what I hope for, these things Elrohir are things you face too in some part and I would not stir grief in you.”

“No matter. Since first we met have we not shared everything? Some things change, Las, but there is no reason for that to, nor do I wish it otherwise, so speak.”

I take a slow breath, feel Elrohir’s concern, for a fellow warrior, a treasured friend, even a lover. Such sexual physical intimacy may be past between us, but he loves me still. I can share my thoughts with him.

“I knew somewhere in my thought, Ro, even the first instant I set eyes on her in Rohan that this was special. It was compelling and I refused to think fully of what it might mean. Feeling what was happening to me was ecstatic and I filtered to the back of my mind stories of the few alliances between elves and mortals, remembering only the power of them and the greatness, not dwelling on the abiding difference and how it ends or is resolved. I know now why these alliances, beautiful as they are, occur so rarely.”

I pause, look into my friend’s grey eyes. He smiles wryly. His sister, he believes will bring this choice within their family soon. He nods at me. “Yes Las, I follow your thought and I can feel that Arwen has made her choice. She has not sailed and she will come to Estel and choose mortality. My brother and I choose elven heritage as you know, and one day, far in the future I think, will take our leave of this good earth and journey together into undying bliss in Valinor. I do feel grief over Arwen, for her loss. How can I not? But, Las it is her will. A choice she makes. I must respect and live with that. Now for you it is different. You are not peredhil. The Valar will not give you that choice. You are eternal, mellon nin, a truer Eldar never breathed, your heart was meant to beat forever, your mind to encompass the ages. There is no outcome but the undying lands for you, should you escape death by the sword. Thankfully we all have now survived the worst of battle and that is now most likely. I will rejoice in your presence in Valinor with us.” He waits for me to go on. All he says is true. I must explain my feelings now.

“My joy at Rowannen’s recovery is heartfelt, consuming, an answer to prayer, but it has highlighted for me, Elrohir, that I will face this terror again, assuredly. And at that time the outcome will be different, it will be, as I feared. There will be no answer to prayer, she will die and I will lose her forever. There is no way to avoid this pain. What I suffer is a constant, an inescapable conclusion.” I feel Elrohir’s fingers tighten as he hears the emotion in my voice. “Now that war is over and a future is before us, I have to decide how to live with that, knowing how I will feel. All I can do and will do is love her, make our lives as beauteous as I can together for her brief span. I can do that, but when the end inevitably comes, will I be strong enough to bear it?”

“You have borne much already Las, you know of loss even more than I and Elladan. I do know that you are strong. Strong as the mightiest oak in your forest realm and yet able to bend as the supplest willow. I know that you will not ultimately fade from grief; it is not your way. Though how you will bear her loss I cannot begin to say, for I have seen the way you look at her Las, and the way she looks at you. A pledge may be broken by agreement or broken by death and there is a chance to love again. For you I think not. This is deep.”

He looks at me, watches me as my thoughts turn. I continue. “I feel I have become one with her, that some of the immediacy of her mortality and her emotion is now part of me. Maybe I can give her some of my immortal heritage and thinking also. Elrohir, not all rules are absolute. Glorfindel returned, was given new life, as was Gandalf most recently. The Valar are given such powers when it is needed. Luthien was allowed to return to Arda with Beren and become mortal. I will do all I can from now on to have hope and act accordingly that somehow she and I shall be granted some such mercy. That either I will be released from an eternity of sorrow without her by my side and allowed to die with her or my greatest hope is granted, that she will be allowed to journey with me, attain elvish grace and pass into eternity with me.”

Elrohir squeezes my shoulder. “I have no way of knowing what the Valar will grant, but I would not crush hope ever. All I can speak of is that which I know to be truth. You told me in Rohan, that dawn before departure, of your joy in her, of her contradictions, her shyness and courage, her fire and her quietness. You said you thought that what attracted you to her and she to you was your difference. In some ways yes, but I see it is also your sameness. You yourself have more in common with that than you realise. For a Sylvan Elf, so practical and centred, so strong, separate and traditional, you nevertheless feel such emotion and empathy, have adventurous aspirations and wild dreams and follow them if you think they are true and right. You have your own contradictions, mellon. You and she are very alike. Las, I love you and I can do no other than say you must do as your heart directs you and I will be here for you whatever befalls.”

The night is suddenly still, the breeze abates. As I hear his words and feel his care, I glean again a little of the pattern of Iluvatar. Who better for Estel to have been entrusted to, to be brought up with than this family, to have these incomparable twins as brothers, to shape him unconsciously for his heritage and the fourth age, to have the love of their sister. All the very best of Edain and Eldar combined. I too will trust to the pattern and adhere to its will. I have but a small part to play and if sorrow is my destiny then so be it, but still I will hope.

“You have my love also Elrohir.” I tell him and turn and hold him close. It is then we both hear Elladan. ‘Las, will you return? She begins to stir.’

I need no second bidding and am risen from the stone and fleeing with long, swift strides even as he finishes his communication. Opening the door gently, despite my haste, I enter the room and see her eyelids flutter.

‘I take my leave. I will go and find refreshment in the city.’ Dan’s thought brushes my mind. Indeed the sounds of merriment from taverns on the lower levels had begun to drift upward as I sat with Elrohir.

“Enjoy this night both of you. You deserve some pleasure.” I call to him as he exits the chambers.

ROWANNEN:

The pain is gone, such a welcome relief and although this room is strange still, the form of it is familiar to me as my eyes flutter open and flicker around. Windows, stone sills, a hearth with a blaze, coverlets over my body. He is here and tending to me. The soft blue of his eyes full of untold joy and yet concern. I am too weak to speak, cannot form words to describe how I feel. Legolas stacks soft pillows behind my shoulders, expresses his relief at my lack of pain when I nod at his enquiry. I cannot yet hold the cup he brings, so I allow him to raise it to my lips and let me drink. This time it is sweet, minted tea, warm and comforting. When he is certain I can keep it down he brings broth simmered over the fire and breaks tiny pieces of soft bread into it, carefully bringing the spoon to my lips. As I swallow he tells me of the Eagles and the rescue mission of Sam and Frodo from Mount Doom. It is good to hear of victory and hope and I am grateful beyond measure, but still shadows mar my mind. He mentions a little of our journey, hinting only slightly at his trouble and concern, but I see behind his eyes, the pain it caused him. I so want to reach out and hold him, to make it disappear, but my body will not obey my mind.

LEGOLAS:

I have hope that soon some strength will return to her. After she has eaten, I place the dish back on the hearth, and when I turn back to her she is fingering her hair and pulling at the strands, staring as if she cannot believe it is hers. I frown slightly. She is behaving oddly and surely her lack of speech is not because she is incapable but that her mind is struggling to choose what to say. Aragorn may have some knowledge of this, if it is an effect of the drug, perhaps it is one that will pass. I sit close to her, stretch my fingers to hold hers and begin to stroke her hair too. Carefully I reach beneath it and graze my fingertips over the bruising, she flinches only slightly, she can bear the touch. My hand frames her face and I bring my lips to kiss her lightly. She flinches and tenses again, turning her face so my kiss touches her cheek only. She draws back and I see a flash of fear in her eyes? What is this?

ROWANNEN:

Why did I do that? I love him and I need him. He searches my eyes when I look back at him. “Rowannen? I would never hurt you? What do you fear?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head; my fingers tighten in my hair. He untwines them gently.

“Let me brush it?” he asks. “You will feel lighter and fresher with it tended to.” I manage to smile and nod. With the soft bristle brush from my pack he works in sections down the long length, erasing tangles, working loose the worst knots with his long fingers, unwinding the thin binding braids. The dust of war leaves the strands and soon it begins to shine again, its deep red gold shimmering in waves in the candlelight as it falls onto the quilt. He plaits the braids again and fastens them together on my crown, letting the rest fall free. I relax so much during these attentions, my tongue is freed and I find my voice at last. “Legolas, I am sorry. I am disorientated. I know I am here with you and all is good, but I have been somewhere else for what seems like a very long time and its horror is with me yet. It was a real as the place I now am. I do not know how to deal with it.”

“Tell me.”

He leans against the pillows next to me as I begin to speak. My voice sounds like a child’s as at first I relate the reliving of the loss of my parents, then of the winter day when Lawinel and I skated on the lake. My friend, usually so timid, wanted to be more like me, and tried to prove her bravery and adventurousness by foolishly skimming out in circles far onto the ice. It was too thin there; the surface cracked and shattered, tipping her beneath into freezing depths, which drove the breath from her. I could not reach her without succumbing to the same fate. Legolas holds my hand as I tell him of watching her hair float in an arc, seeing her fingers turn blue as they scrabbled at the edges of the breaking ice, always slipping, and then she sank. Of how I had to run home through the snow and tell her family, of how I always blamed myself and felt they did too. I tell him of the untimely death of my first treasured dog, of the grave I dug. Of the night when I, not yet far into my teenage years, with Eowyn and Eomer, struggled at the birthing of her favourite mare and we failed, the foal born twisted and dead. The mare, exhausted, bleeding the last of her life into the straw. Then I come to those deaths I have had little time yet to grieve. Of waiting for Theodred’s last breath and the shock of Hama’s demise.

“Such loss,” he says softly to me when my words cease. “You cannot lay blame upon yourself. We are all helpless in the face of death, Rowannen, I do understand.” His eyes are dark as he lowers his lashes momentarily and I realise he expected to lose me. I find the strength to reach out and touch him. “One day I will tell you about my mother,” he adds. “Though this is not the time.” He gathers me close. “Rowannen, you will not lose me.” I feel the conflict and irony that he struggles with and feel his strength, his determination bursting through it to hold me.

We cling together and soon our breathing falls into time. His hands around my back begin to touch bare skin and the sheets start to slip. My hands leave him and a strange fear overcomes me again. I clutch the coverlet around me and hide my body from his sight. I can see puzzlement in his countenance. He stands slowly, locks the door and then proceeds to take his garments off one by one, laying them on the chest below the high window. He moves gracefully around the room, making more tea. I watch quietly, my eyes following his tall, lean form, noticing the firelight play over flawless pale skin. He comes to sit cross-legged on the bed and hands me a cup, which my fingers now have the strength to grasp. The fragrant steam rises into my nostrils, soothing and healing.

“I will stay naked with you, meleth nin, until you are happy to be so also with me. I have nothing to hide from you, nor surely you from I? Have you forgotten our beautiful love of each other’s bodies?” he asks, a faint trace of sadness in his tone.

I shake my head. I do remember now I am here, of course, but I do not want to admit to him that I had no sense of him in the dark place. It was a place where he did not exist. I had no memory of him there and when I was forced back into life I did not want to return. I would not hurt him further by such a confession. Yet as the hours pass I know I must tell him all. The night is overtaken by day, pale curves of light spill down into the chamber. He has told me of the twins and their care for us, of Aragorn and Athelas, of the plans for the Coronation of the King. He has held me as I curled under the blankets, brought me water. We have slept a little in snatches and now he extinguishes the lamp and swings his elegant feet to the floor, stepping soundlessly to the table he breaks bread and slices fruit with his small knife, comes back to me, encourages me to eat, all the time so naturally naked and unashamed. My trust of him builds again and I feel foolish of this fearful modesty. I let the sheets slip away as I sit and eat the fruit with him.

“Will you let me bathe you?” he queries. I take a breath and nod. I must rise soon for as my body regains life and takes food and drink, so all its functions are beginning to return and I need relief, and as yet I do not think I can walk unaided.

He supports me as I rise unsteadily and guides me to the bathing chamber, holds me all the time, modesty has no place here in my need of him. He leaves me seated while he fills the huge marble tub. “It is very grand.” I remark and indeed it is, a smooth white surface veined with dark green, the water inlet fashioned of silver. Light falls onto it from a large window, which looks out onto the mountain, curtained outside by falling fronds of spring ferns.

“Yes, these are part of the King’s guest chambers and Aragorn has given them to our use for as long as we require.” He extends a hand to me when the tub is filled and I step across the smooth cool tile of the floor and enter the bath. The light on the water is reflected from the marble and sparkles as he steps in behind me. It is warm and I lean against him. I am reminded of Helm’s Deep, but here our situations are reversed. He washes my hair and then my body, so gently, his fingers everywhere, massaging my scalp, stroking soap over my skin, but there is no threat from him, simple tenderness and no sexuality. As his hands slowly take such care of me, I lean back into his strength and find myself beginning to tell him of the other horrors I endured. Initially haltingly and then in a great rush the words spill from me. He listens as he rinses the foam from me, says nothing, and does not try to assure me that it was not real, that I was merely dreaming of evil. I respect him for that. Silently he steps from the tub lifting me with him, wraps me in large soft towel, takes me back to bed to dry, his eyes knowing.

“Rowannen, my heart is saddened that you suffered so, such are the effects of evil wounds and the stress of war. Listen to me now. I will not approach you, touch you with desire, nor try to coerce you into any intimacy you are not comfortable with. Know that I love you above all and that I am here for you, but because of what you related, until you come for me and want me of your own will, I shall not initiate anything of a sexual nature.”

The day passes and I find my strength returning. He lets me walk around and perform simple tasks; prepare tea, light the lamps when darkness comes. When a knock comes on the door he lets me answer. I peep around the edge, wrapped in a blanket, and Gimli is there eyes twinkling.

“I do not wish entry. Legolas said you need to heal before facing the rest of the world,” he says putting down his offerings. “I am glad lady, you are with us again, more than you know. Accept this for your continuing strength. I hope to see you both very soon.” He gestures to what he left and turns and ambles away again whistling cheerfully.

I agree with his words and am glad of Legolas’ insight. I do not want visitors and talk just yet, but this is welcome. I pick up a cream coloured pitcher filled with starry shaped, blue spring flowers, which emit a sweet fragrance, and a deep, covered dish, which is warm to the touch. I bring them within and set the blooms near to the bed and then investigate the contents of the dish at the table. It is tender, white chicken with green beans and thick slices of floury potato. I ladle it out for us both. All is cooked with the piquant spice of mustard grains and sweetened with honey and it is good. I smile at Legolas as we eat.

The evening advances. I can feel Legolas’ happiness at my returning abilities and my increasing ease with him, but he makes no move to touch me save for light friendly caresses. There are books in the room and he selects one, props himself against the pillows, alternately reading and watching me.

I turn the lamp higher as I come back from cleaning the dishes and then I notice that he is aroused. For some time I sit close to him on the bed, ignoring it, as he is doing, until I cannot any longer.

“Your book is exciting?” I ask, a hint of humour in my voice.
He smiles back, eyes sparkling. “Hardly meleth, on the contrary, I am attempting to read the agricultural policies of the cities of Gondor in an effort to distract my mind and body from wanting you because of the joy of your recovery and how much I love you. As you can see, I am failing.”

I smile and then the first laughter for so long rises like a spring inside me and fizzes higher to escape my lips. I take the book from his hands, lay it on the table. He looks at me, suddenly serious again. “I mean it, meleth. I will not touch you until you are quite sure. If even for an instant you feel my loving as violation then we are finished.” He raises his hands and twines them behind his head into the iron struts of the decorated bedhead. “You may bind me if you wish?” he offers. “If it gives you surety, makes you feel in control.”

For an instant I am tempted, my fear and wish for certainty nudges at my thought and then I shake my head. “I trust you, Legolas.”

He is so beautiful lying there, lamplight washing his skin with gold. Long and sensuous, with his need quivering under my gaze. I feel compelled to love him as he lies before me with his arms entwined, held fast. I bend and kiss him, such soft lips but firm, and the scent and the taste of him as my tongue enters between them is wonderful. He is like a magical garden from another world, where things undreamt of grow in lovely profusion. I kiss him until my head spins and I can barely breathe for the bliss of him, exploring again the infinite pleasures which he ignites in me with this sharing. “Legolas. I love you.” I whisper, and my fingers trace his ears, wanting to give him pleasure. He stretches out his legs and I see his toes stiffen and reach along the bed as sensation courses through him. Should I do this? Is this fair to him? Then I am sure. I can and do and will love him. I rise and lift my body across his hips to kneel astride him and stare into his eyes. There is no lustful encouragement there, only his undisguised longing and a waiting to see what I will do.

As I move over him my hair spills over his skin, around his body. He groans. My fingers stroke his erection. How I love the feel of him. He is beautiful to touch here even when soft and resting, but now with his velvet skin strained over such engorged hardness, he seems to shimmer with life. My fingertips run over the tip of him, that sweet point already slick with silken fluid. His breath has quickened but his hands remain voluntarily fastened above him and he does not speak.

My hand guides him between my legs and gently rubs the head of him against my yielding labia until I have him right there, nudging into the entrance to the heart of me. Tiny suppressed moans are spilling from his lips; half heard, so quiet I have to listen carefully to hear them. His knuckles are tight around the bedhead. I am ready. Gently I lower my body over him, sliding him in at an exquisite angle. He does not push upward to meet me, simply lies still and his eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open to mine again, filled with ecstatic pleasure. I still feel shaky and a little faint, but pleasure is foremost in my mind. He is perfect. I begin to move, lifting myself and then sinking down upon him until he is as deep inside me as he can be, my body at its very limit of taking him, our flesh pressed together. My hands rest on his chest, brush his hair across his shoulders and I stroke across his muscles, flicking with my nails at his nipples and peaking them. I bend lower, my hair tumbling around us as I kiss him again and the sensations intensify within my body.

“Legolas, Amin mela lle. Touch me please; I want your hands, your mouth, your soul. Come, touch me. I want you. You are my love.”

“You are sure?” he whispers a little reticently. I nod. His fingers uncurl from the curved iron and he reaches forward, strokes down my arms, one hand moves to cup my breast, the other frames my face and encourages me close for another kiss. Suddenly like a light illuminating all the world… we are there. There, in that special place that is his and mine alone. A golden bower, an exquisite sphere, where it is only he and I. He and I joined and together, each part of the other, our souls the same for a moment. I feel my very core begin to shake and liquefy, hot and melting as I move around him and he touches me within. I lose all sense of control then and my orgasm ripples through me, over him, spinning out from my centre like light, like a blessing.

LEGOLAS:

She is recovering. She feels better to be clean and refreshed from her ordeal, as do I. I let her take over some chores, she makes us hot tea. Her hands are mostly steady now, her body trembles with weakness and residual fear less and less. The sweet, bright clarity of her gaze shows through the shadow here and there when she smiles at me. I would hate her to lose it, for that to be the price of Athelas. I find myself watching for those glimpses of clear light in her eyes and smiling for joy when I am blessed with the sight, at first briefly when I wrap her safely in a thick towel, then when she hands me steaming mint tea, later as she carries the flowers from Gimli towards the bed. I smile back at her as she sets them down, imagining my gruff friend searching them out and bending his stout body to pick the blooms, a glint of moisture in his eye. Not only have I learnt much of hobbits on this quest but also much of dwarves which I would never have expected, but the most unexpected thing stands naked before me now, offering me a dish of food. It is richly flavoured and I remark to Rowannen that already orders must have been given to the kitchens to practice new recipes for the coronation feast. I watch happily as she eats.

In fact I have watched her all day, reassured by her body language that she is healing, and my joy deepens. Already I want her so, needing to banish the past and the future and be with her here in the present, as close as we can physically be in our love, but I will be patient. As night falls we light the lamps and I take a book from the case by the bed. This room must once have belonged to a court official judging by the reading material. I select a volume on the agriculture that serves the cities. The meadows and orchards that have not survived the war can be replanted I muse, as I flick through the pages, but this particular city has rebuilding needs, there is too much rock and stone and there should be room for more greenery, not just for herbs and fruit but for beauty and peace, and Pellenor, that field of blood, must not be sown with food crops but with something new, something beautiful instead to arise from sacrifice and death. I resolve to speak with Aragorn and design some gardens for him.

Yet I cannot keep my mind on these things. My eyes follow Rowannen as she walks around. Her hair trickling over her skin as she moves. Her skin flares in the firelight when she bends to place a large log on the fire, the muscles in her legs bracing and the swell of her buttocks curving toward me. I may be able to control what I do with my desire but I cannot control the rise of it and rise it does, pulsing into my groin, making me harden and twitch. I lie still and concentrate on the page before me. She is tiring I can see. She will come to sleep with me soon. I expect a long night stretches before me, of holding her safe in my arms whilst I burn for her ‘You have spent worse nights, Legolas,’ I remind myself with a smile.

I am hard as iron when she curls beside me on the pillows. “Your book is exciting?” she asks at last. We laugh as I explain and then I grow serious again to reassure her. It is then she kneels beside me with desire of her own. I will not touch her. This is far too important. It is everything. I offer that she may bind me, not for my own satisfaction, though I am no stranger to such games, but for her own confidence of her mastery of me.

“I trust you,” she tells me. What will she do? She leans to kiss me and the scent of her freshly washed hair as it falls tantalisingly around me is beautiful and makes me feel as if I am flying high in the air, the perfume of freedom wafting about me. She kneels and lifts her leg across me and I keep myself still, though I want to arch from the sheets and make contact. I suppress my moans as she touches me; her fingers sweeping against my tender skin are already growing in skill. I will my hips to stay clamped to the bed as she brings me closer, rubbing me lightly against those sweet curls. I am alive and aching as she wriggles carefully and encloses my very tip in her soft folds. Then she lowers herself and lets my shaft enter her a little at a time. I twist my fingers tighter into the bedposts as I am taken deeper until I am as far as I can go. My breathing quickens as she moves upon me at such an angle as to drive me wild and her nails graze across my chest bringing my nipples to flaming peaks, but this is her time. I will let her do exactly as she wishes and be glad. “Touch me,” she asks and affirms her love for me. I am reticent. I would have her take me this time until she is very sure of me, but her eyes beseech me and I uncurl my fingers and bring them to her body. Oh Eru, thank you that I have not yet lost this. Her cheek against my palm is perfection as is her breast curving into my fingers, so soft. She moves on me to her own rhythm and I kiss her. Her body melts, crumples, shivers and she comes for me, loving me within her. As her orgasm fades I feel her weakness at this exertion, too much for her too soon.

“Shall we stop now?” I suggest thoughtfully, though I am fighting against my inclination.

She opens her eyes which have closed with passion and shakes her head.

“No, please my love, I do not want this to end so quickly but I am weary, let me lie down.”

Very slowly I turn us, keeping myself within her so we do not lose this intimate contact. It would be difficult to resume if we parted. Her legs entwine with mine, long and lovely and now my weight is upon her and I rise to make it easier for her. As soon as I begin to move in and out, small cries escape her lips and she comes again, shaking and shuddering under me. I stay still, relishing in the wonder of it and waiting for her to recover. I am deep within her and the beauty of it is like pure light.

“Rowannen.” My eyes close. I want to watch her but the bliss is overpowering. When her breathing steadies I move again, just a few strokes, ready to build it into a beautiful height, but she immediately comes again the instant I touch that spot inside. Her body squeezes about me and her flesh moves to fit me perfectly, there is no space between us, no difference, she clutches every molecule of my body with hers and the sensations flow through us both like fire. No not like fire, like nothing that has form or words, it is just me and her, there is nothing before this invented to describe it. We are new and perfect. I gather my thought and breath again and thrust gently into her. This time I manage at least five thrusts before she is coming again and I cannot help but laugh softly at the intense feeling thrilling through me from her. “Lirimaer, how can I go on with such pleasure, I have never known its like?” I take another breath and begin again. Yet again she rises to orgasm, her arms holding tightly around my back and her body leaping against me. My balls are pressed tight against her and she has all of me inside. My head falls into her hair and I lower my body to hers unable to hold myself higher for long. I am all hers, all of me.

“It is all you, Las,” she gasps “How can I not come for you when you are so fine and touch me so and love me so tenderly. How can I not? It is impossible”

So I test it out another time and move, a different angle now as I rest on her, a little slower but our eyes are fastened on each others faces now, slow thrusts of increasing intensity and I know that I am going to explode as the pressure builds. I have not long to wait, her eyes shimmer with passion and her body tenses and convulses yet again as I hold her close against me. “Can I?” I hear myself ask in the midst of her climax. “Yes, Las, yes.” I hear her voice faint and breathless, so I do. I come with her, and all the pent up feeling and the love I have for her gushes out of me, pumping through me and into her body. I am shaking as she takes me and settles around me and we relax slowly into the wet warmth of release together.

“Amin mela lle.” I slip to the side of her, conscious of taking my weight from her, I can sense her fragilty and fatigue still, but as I gaze at her face her eyes are bright and her gaze is as clear as glass as she smiles at me in wonder and relief. To my surprise I feel an unfamiliar dampness of a tear steal onto my cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~