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.

A/N In a way I am reluctant to do this. I quite like her being virginal and once it’s gone it’s gone. After a night with the ELF she will probably turn into a raving nymphomaniac. Oh, well. Some things are inevitable. I cannot hold out much longer unless I kill one of them off. So here goes. :)


Chapter Five:

FIRE IN THE NIGHT

ROWANNEN:

I should be tired but I am not, the adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I can scarcely keep from running and shouting aloud. I have prepared my supplies, stowed my pack at the stable with Feannim. I have left much corn for the chickens. I hope they do not gorge themselves to death. The dogs who will not follow us, have been provided with what we may, until they can hunt for themselves. My hawk I will bring, she may be of use on the journey. Many people are wailing. They feel sadness at leaving behind their precious artifacts, their memories, and their treasured belongings. I thought to feel so too. I have some very beautiful clothing, but this is just vanity and not worthy of my attention at this time. Many fine things at Edoras have been worked by my fingers, tapestry and banners, they represent many hours of my life and this is harder to bear. My harp stands in the corner of my chamber. Will I ever return to play it again? Yet I grieve not for any of these. They are but material manifestations. What I treasure I can carry in my heart.

My memories will live as long as my body. This is all I need, my body and my mind. A body and mind which I am about to give to the Elf. Crirawen has offered to look after the children this night. She thinks I am in need of rest before the journey, and suspects nothing. Eothain and Freda have been playing with my brotherson and brotherdaughter this day and are happy now in their company. No doubt they will share the same big bed and giggle into the night. I have many hours now before departure and when I think of what is to come, the breath catches in my throat.

I am pouring steaming water into the tub, when Eowyn enters my chamber unannounced. I turn to greet her. She stands and regards me for a long moment.

“That is a good idea.” She says. “It may be many days before we can wash in anything but a cold mountain stream.” Then she pauses, draws a breath and continues. “Yet I venture to think that this is not your main purpose for taking a bath this day.”

I cannot help the flush that rises to my cheeks. My friend has known me long and reads my mind well. I usually am easy in Eowyn’s company yet this time I do not know how to answer.

“I have seen you with Legolas.” She says, “Do you know what you are doing, Rowannen? Is this not just grief at losing Theodred so cruelly, that you seek comfort in his arms? I well understand your pain, but is this the way forward?”

I look at her. She has been my soulmate since infancy. I cannot hide from her now.

“Eowyn, my grief at Theodred’s death has been beyond telling, as you know,” I say. “Yes, you may think I cleave to Legolas because of this and all I have lost. In some respects of course it is so. Yet I think I would have been captivated by Legolas’s beauty and aura, even had Theodred still stood at my side and I was promised to him. I would not break a promise, but Theodred was taken from me, fate has intervened. My defenses are low and Legolas heals me in a way I have never known.”

Eowyn stares at me, taking in the import of my words, then speaks gently.

“You do know, surely, do you not Rowannen? That Eomer will come to claim you. Banished he may have been, but he brought my cousin from the Ford, saw his wounds, he knew that Theodred’s life was forfeit. For long has he loved you, although he realised it not fully himself until last summer. I admit he has loved many women and girls. My brother has a fine appetite for pleasures of the flesh, but why, think you, has he never married before? He has ever desired you, my friend, and only restrained himself because of your youth and your honour. His heart was set in ice when he knew Theodred had claimed you as his own!”

My heart begins to hammer in my breast. Many times have Eomer and I had fun and jest, but I had thought he pursued me in sport, as he did so many others. Most of them falling conquest to his considerable charm. I had known him since a boy, he was as dear to me as my own family. To hear these words casts me into turmoil. I raise my eyes to Eowyn.

“Eowyn, I did not know. I had thought all Eomer’s advances to be in jest or conquest, as he does with so many. That he cared for me deeply, I had not guessed. Why did he never say?”

“You should know this,” She answers. “If you look into your heart. Is this not my brother’s way? He waited only for the right time, which never came for him. You will break his heart twice over Rowannen, if you keep to this course.”

Why has this decision come to me now? It is too much for me to bear. I believe her words, she cannot lie. She is asking me to choose between her dear brother, and not only that, but our country, Rohan, my beloved land; its culture, its future and its inheritance. The continuance of its leaders and its Kings, and set against that, what I know my heart is telling me. It is a great burden for my soul.

“Eowyn, how can I choose?” I cry. “You tell me this, as I am poised at the edge of all things! At a time when our futures hang by a thread. With no time left to ponder what is right.”

“When else are such decisions to be made?” she snaps, then adds more gently. “I am sorry. These times are hard to bear.”

“I heard your words Eowyn, this day in the hall,” I say. “ When you said you fear a cage. So do I! The future of Rohan is uncertain. My future and yours are uncertain. I know what I fear, and I know what I desire! Eomer I could love, it is true. Never think that your brother is not dear to me, but the times are different now, great forces drive our lives in ways we have never envisaged.”

Eowyn sighs. “Then you will go to the Elf, cast your life into the unknown?”

“Yes, Eowyn.” I reply. “There is no other course for me at this time, my mind is set, and I will embrace it willingly.”

Eowyn stares into the distance and a tear courses down her cheek.

“Eowyn, my friend.” I say softly as I go to embrace her. “I think you have your own choice to make. I have seen you gaze upon the Ranger. I have heard the question in your voice. Aragorn is indeed a noble and kingly man. Can you say that your heart is not forfeit also?”

“That is for me only to know.” She says, “I cannot speak of it yet. Yes, he is indeed noble. He is Isuldur’s heir and will be a King of Men.”

“Legolas is heir also, to a woodland realm.” I remind her.

“He is an Elf, Rowannen.” She replies. “Can I not prevent you from this course?”

For long moments I think of my beloved kingdom, my land, my history, my future, of Theodred, of Eomer, and then of Legolas. I slowly shake my head.

“ No Eowyn, for good or ill. I have made my choice.”

I can see sympathy in her eyes as she leaves, but not understanding. So be it. My decision will be hard for many to understand. I must hold fast to my resolve. Yet I must admit my mind turns to Eomer. Such fun have we shared across the years, such joy and comradeship. We have been so close. As Eowyn has been as a sister to me, then likewise, Eomer, I thought of as my brother. Closer in age to me than my blood siblings. To know that I was more to him than that, stirs my soul, and tugs at my emotions. If Theoden and my people were to know of this, then they would wish it greatly. I hope though, that I can rely on Eowyn. That whatever she may feel, she will still support and nurture me, whatever may befall, as I will her.

I turn my mind forward and reaching for a vial I pour oil into the water. This is rare oil. Extracted from orchids that bloom but rarely in sheltered vales, it has a precious scent. Naked now, I slide into the water and rub my skin clean. This was meant to be saved for my wedding day, but now I know that such a day will not come. I feel some sorrow. When a maiden of Rohan is married, whether she be virgin or no, nobility or peasant, then her body is perfumed and decorated. The beautiful everlasting, swirling designs will now never be drawn upon my skin, to be seen by my chosen one. Only had I joined with Theodred, and indeed maybe Eomer, would this ritual have been performed. No matter, I will go to Legolas simply and unadorned, just as I am. It will suffice. I rise from the water. The hour is drawing near.

What shall I wear? I do not know. If I had been on my way to Theodred or Eomer, then Eowyn would have been with me. Laughing and joyous, thrilled and conspirital. She would have shared in my excitement and happiness. We would have laughed, chosen garments, discarded them, spent happy hours in mirth and anticipation. I feel sorrow that she has left, but I understand why. This is my chosen path and for now I must follow it alone. I have a few fine gowns, threaded with beads, embroidered with pattern, yet somehow none of these are fitting. I think of him and of the trees. Slowly, I slip over my body a plain gown of pale spring green, closely woven, quite light and with no adornment. I look at my jewels, a ring, necklaces, and hair clasps. Pleasure have I often taken in these adornments, but now they seem superficial. What use do they have? None, they are unnecessary. Therefore as such they have no place about me tonight. My body is pure skin and I let my hair fall freely. I will go to him just as I am, for I have nothing more to give.

The sky darkens as I make my way to Legolas’s chamber. I am singing again inside with desire and longing, but strangely I am also afraid. Before I reach the guest chambers, I hesitate and sit upon a stone bench. I look out into gathering dusk at the spread of my kingdom below. I am about to embark upon a journey into the unknown. I may be leaving behind all that is dear to me, my past and my future. Is this worth it, for such a taste of bliss in the present? I do not know anymore. It seems as if my guidelines have been swept away and given new boundaries these past days.

And what of Legolas? He is an Elf. What do I know of such a being? Already he has told me he has lived many lives of men. I have but seventeen summers to call my own. I know nothing of love; he must have had many lovers. What will he expect of me? Virgin I may be, but not totally naïve. The joining of a stallion and a mare, or dog and bitch is commonplace for me, yet this is just nature and procreation to them. For men, I know it is different and love and pleasure is foremost. I can already sense from Legolas and his kiss, that for Elves this is even more so. Indeed I cannot imagine what is to come. I sit and stare at the first awakening star.

I know of male bodies. I have brothers, I have cared for children. I have touched Theodred tentatively. I have seen him in death. Also there is an unspoken custom in Edoras, a ritual that takes place at midsummer. In the foothills of the mountain a great waterfall falls from a vast height into a deep pool. Only at the height of the sun is it ever warm enough to swim there, but for those few weeks of the year much use is made of it. It is taken in turns for the young males and females of Edoras, and indeed any of the Riddermark who wish to travel here, to swim naked and play in this pool, leaping from the rocks, diving into the spray. Although never spoken openly between the sexes, it is usual for the girls to hide and watch the males and for the young men to spy upon the women. In truth, in this way, we have maybe seen many of our kin and neighbours naked. This is how I first knew of Theodred’s body and found it beautiful. I knew he would find me lovely also. But Legolas is an Elf, he must be so much more beautiful. Will he find me wanting? There is only one way to discover the answer. I rise and walk to his door.

As I lift my hand to knock, the door is drawn open and he stands before me. His smile is like ten thousand suns tonight. I smile my own joy back at him as he draws me inside. I am no longer afraid. I know this is where I need to be; all my doubts and misgivings flee beyond the confines of the world. He turns the key in the lock and brings me to stand before the flickering fire. He glows outwardly in its light and warmth, and an inner light also comes from within, never have I seen anyone so luminous before.

“You look beautiful.” He says.

He gazes at me, his eyes, dark tonight as the sky at dusk, shining his love for me, scattered with stars. I bring my hand to touch his face in wonder. Suddenly his arms are about me, his face in my hair, he murmurs in elvish against my neck. I can feel his need pouring from him. It is overwhelming. My own body flares in response and vibrates against him.
He takes a deep breath and lifts his head.

“Meleth nin,” he says “My heart is full of happiness to have you here. Many hours stretch before us. This is our time alone, we have no need to rush.”

“Legolas, your language is like soft music in my ears,” I answer, “but you forget I do not know your tongue. You must tell me what you say.”

He Smiles. “Meleth nin is my love,” He replies softly. “Lle naa vanima, lirimaer. You are beautiful, lovely one. Tula, hama neva I’naur. Come, sit near the fire.”

He seats me in the chair before the flames and pouring from a silver jug he hands me some wine.

“My native language is Sindarin.” He says, “It is easy to learn. Far easier than Rohirric.” And the corners of his mouth smile at me.

He lifts his own goblet and drinks deeply, then putting it aside, he begins to unbraid his hair. I remember the night of his arrival when he stood not so far from the spot where now he is and did the same thing. Again the breath catches in my throat and I cannot take my eyes from him. How can this be so wonderfully erotic? Yet it is. His fingers are deft, sometimes moving quickly, sometimes slowly. He untwists the tight weaves and the narrow braids are freed. Fine ripples of waving gold settle into the long, sleek fall of his hair. Then his arms lifted, he reaches behind his head and unclasps the twist held there. A shower of mithril and gold sweeps forward and cascades to frame his face, brushing against the high bones of his cheek, sliding past his jaw.

Then he grasps his tunic and pulls it up and over his head, his muscles rippling as he does so. There he stands before me now half naked, hair freed, and he reaches for my hand, places the goblet there on the hearthstone and lifts me gently toward him. It is good that he does so, for I would not be able to stand of my own free will. He is beautiful to behold as I thought he would be. Different from the men of Rohan. They are broad and strong, large muscled from horse handling, sword wielding, hard work. They are often hairy and tanned from hours working bare chested in the sun.

Legolas is more slender in build, though his shoulders still are broad, and the muscles of his chest and stomach and arms are taut and well defined. They ripple as he moves. His skin is pale and fair and smooth with not a blemish anywhere upon it. There is a sheen upon it, not of sweat, more like moonlight. There is an impression of great power held in check by a discipline of grace. I move into his arms and for the first time touch his bare skin. So smooth and firm, my hands slide over it easily, up from his waist across his curving chest over the pale brown nipples there. He shudders as my fingertips brush across them. Round his back, my hands move slowly, over the firm muscles, even harder under my fingers than they look to the eye, to lie at rest against his shoulders and pull him close. His hair falls forward and mingles with my own as his lips meet mine.

I will never get used to these kisses. They transport me to another universe, somewhere that time stands still. He tastes of the wine and of himself, spicy and clean. His tongue dances within my mouth and through my thin dress I can feel his body. His arousal hardens against me and I have to break free for air. My desire is mounting. He loosens the lacing at the shoulder of my dress, slips one shoulder free. His fingers run lightly across the upper reaches of my arm, my skin tingles. He gently brushes my long tresses behind my back and his head lowers to rain kisses across my shoulder. He draws his tongue over the skin, licking the line of my shoulder and dips into the hollow of my throat. My breath is coming in short gasps. Again I wonder how I shall survive the night.

He unfastens the ties at the other shoulder and pushes the fabric away, down over my shoulder and my arm. My dress falls free of my body and shivers to the floor. I stand naked before him. He steps back to look and pulls me with him closer to the bed. I had thought to feel some shame but I do not. His eyes could never hurt me. They glow as he gazes upon me.

“You are so very beautiful.” He whispers.

His hands run down to my waist over the curve of my hips, slip behind to caress my buttocks, then he releases me and slides the leggings from his own body stepping from them as they reach the ground. I hardly know where to look; yet I cannot take my eyes away. Far more pleasing than the Manhood of my own people is this Elfhood of Legolas. The skin lightly flushed but still fair, it rises proud and long from a soft nest of short, golden hair. Shapely and straight in arousal, it follows a centre line up his body to his navel and beyond. The tip, shining, as the smoothest skin there is pulled tight over straining flesh, is more pointed than a man. Just like his ears, I notice with surprise. Rather than a man he reminds me of a fine stallion. He draws me to him, holds me tight. He presses into the yielding flesh of my belly and groans softly, the heat of him is intense. What will he expect of me? I cannot go further without telling him.

“Legolas,” I whisper, “I have never done this before.”

Without releasing his tight hold of my body he looks into my eyes, searchingly and surprised.

“Not even with Theodred?” he questions. I shake my head.

“We touched a little that is all, I do not know how best to give you pleasure Legolas.”

He smiles and picking me up as if I was but a feather he carries me to the bed and lays me gently against the pillow there. He lowers his body down next to mine and speaks to reassure me.


LEGOLAS:

I hear her footsteps outside the door and open it wide to bring her in. I cannot wait any longer to hold her in my arms. She is quiet and tentative again, but joyful also, dressed like a pale new leaf in springtime. Her eyes reflect the flames leaping in the grate, her hair is free and flowing, glowing bright amber in the firelight. As she touches my face I crush her to me, bury myself in her hair and nuzzle at her neck. “Meleth nin.” ((my love)) I murmur. I must bring myself under control or I will not be able to give her pleasure. This is not like me; she makes me feel like a very young Elf.

As I lift my head, I calm myself. There is no need for haste. I explain my words to her and seat her near the flames. I watch the firelight dance across her face as she drinks the wine. I have sprinkled a little of the spices into it that I had carried in my pouch from Lothlorien. The same spices used in Lembas, that give strength and endurance and vigour to the body. I drink my own cup swiftly and begin to unwind my hair. She watches me with wonder in her eyes as I shake it free and strip the tunic from my body. It is good to feel the warmth of the fire glowing on bare skin but more do I long for the heat of her body against mine. I set her wine down upon the hearth and raise her to me.

She flows into my arms, her hands stroking across my chest, thrilling over my nipples, running around my back and holding me tight. I love her. I want her. She smells of flowers and underneath this, her own scent of rich honey. I will be a bee and collect much nectar this night. I bend to kiss her, so very sweet is she as she surrenders her mouth to me and my tongue reaches deeper inside to taste her. She can feel me growing ever harder against her body. I am aching with desire. I tease open the ties of her dress and slip it from her shoulder. My lips are hungry to kiss her skin. In time I must feel and know every inch of her with my tongue. I begin with her shoulder and sweep inwards to her soft throat; the breath is pulsing through her neck. I release the other shoulder and her dress falls to the ground with a whisper. She stands naked before me.

Even more beautiful than I had envisaged is her young body. Long slender legs run up to curving hips, shaped as the outer edges of a crescent moon. Her waist is narrow, her breasts firm and rounded, tipped with darkest pink. Her skin glows golden and fair in the firelight, peppered here and there with pale golden freckles like constellations in the sky. I shall enjoy learning this map of the heavens. I run my hands down her side and reach to cup her to me. My erection is complete; I can no longer bear the restriction of the fabric against it and I slide the leggings lower down my thighs. They crumple to my ankles and as I step out of them I am freed for her at last. I know I am the first Elf she has ever seen and I think she likes what she now beholds. I reach to hold her tightly to me. My burning flesh pressing exquisitely into her own. Then I feel her falter and she speaks.

“Legolas,” she whispers, “I have never done this before.”

I am initially surprised and then astonishingly pleased. I sweep her into my arms and lay her on the bed. Stretching my needful body next to her side, I look into those deep green eyes.

“You must not worry for an instant about anything that we may do together tonight. I swear I will not hurt you. It is in many ways a first time for me also, melamin. Well travelled may I be on the elven paths of love, but never have I ventured into Rohan before. Also, never before has anyone given their virginity to me.” I say softly. “Amin harmuva onalle e’ cormanin. I shall treasure your gift in my heart.”

I sweep her hair across the pillow and gaze upon her sweet body.

“Do not trouble yourself as to how to pleasure me this night. Your pleasure will be my own.” I say, and then I laugh down at her, “But I will tell you that Elf ears are very sensitive and this I like.”

I bend over her face, my hair sweeping around her and capture first the lobe and then the tip of her ear with the very edges of my teeth nibbling fast and gentle then licking and sucking. She starts to squirm a little beneath me, when I hear a faint cry begin to rise in her throat I stop and kiss her mouth. My hand strokes across her body and reaches her breast, so soft, such shape, my fingers explore gently, rubbing around the nipple and every time the tips brush across it, it hardens a little more. I feel her arch toward me, she begins to moan softly into my mouth. I stroke the other in the same manner and her moans increase.

Slowly I take my hand down her body, circling around her navel. The sensitive tips of my fingers learning her curves, noting what makes her shiver with anticipation. Gently I reach between her legs brushing through the tight curl of amber hair and begin to ease her thighs apart. She complies, but shyly, only as far as I am asking with my hand. I ask some more and she widens to open herself fully to my touch. This is so sweet. I lift my head and gaze at her.

“When first I join my body with yours, Melamin.” I say, “I want it to be the most perfect act you have ever known. Let me pleasure you with my fingers first and then you will relax and be ready.”

Her eyes are dark with need. I can see she cannot speak. So lightly I trace my fingers on the tingling, silken skin of her inner thighs, brushing the back of my hand against her. I can feel her growing warm. I can smell the rich scent of her desire. Her eyes close and her head falls back across the bed. I bring my mouth to cover the hardened bud of a nipple and very gently suck it in.

I must be so careful. I am holding myself back, I take my mind from the fierce ache of my Elfhood pressed against her body and breathe slowly, letting my awareness travel to my fingertips. I graze them across her swollen lips. Teasing past the clitoris I feel her twitch against my hand, and then slowly I enter my middle finger between the folds and slide it carefully into her body. I hear her gasp out loud. There is little restriction there, maidens of Rohan no doubt will stretch or break their hymens long before they lay with a man, through all the fierce riding they do, but she is so tight. Gently I reach deeper, feeling her softness yield to me. My finger curls in circles and she grows wet and silken under my touch. I draw it out slowly and begin to move in and out, spreading the juice. Then I add another finger and she gasps again as I move in circles, as deep inside her as I can go, and my fingers are long. Then when she has accustomed to my touch and her body is pressing against my palm to help me, a third finger I slide into the delicious wetness. She closes tight around them and tiny sobbing noises break from her lips, noises of pleasure not of pain.

I am kissing across her breasts, my tongue tastes her. My fingers move in rhythm inside her secret passage, finding that smooth, sweet, spot deep inside among the folds. I press there and stroke.

“Legolas!” she cries and her voice is swept away as her back arches to meet my hand.

On and on I stroke, one finger after the other circling and pressing. Her flesh is tightening around my moving fingers. Her breath is taken in shorter and shorter gasps, her head slides from the pillow and her hair tumbles over the side of the bed. I can feel it coming now, she cannot hold it back. Her body leaps against me, her thighs jerk against my arm and she wails aloud, shudders running through her. My fingers are trapped by the delicious spasms. I am going to have a hard time keeping control when she does this with me inside her!

Slowly her muscles relax. The shudders cease. She lies back on the pillow; her lips parted and begins to breathe again. I find I can draw my fingers from her body and I put them to my lips tasting her secret essence. She watches wide-eyed as I lick the tips clean.

“Oh Legolas, what was that?” she asks me, in a voice filled with astonished wonder.

“That my sweet love.” I say, “Was the first of many.” And smile down at her flushed face.