Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play in their world.

The candlelight glinted off his battle scarred skin, the tan flesh taut and lean over well cultivated muscle. His eyes, usually so alert and vibrant, were closed tightly, and his breathing was shallow. She gazed up at him and wrapped her long legs around his hips, clinging to him as he moved in slow teasing strokes. One delicate hand drifted into the dark locks falling across his face to brush them away, while the other reached between them to trace the hard outline of muscle down his torso. He grunted as the contact, and opened his eyes and smiled at her, his crystalline eyes dark and full of passion.

She arched her back and as she did so, her hips curved against him, taking him deeper and drawing from him a deep sigh. He bucked against her before pausing to catch his breath, meeting her eyes with a cock of his head and a lopsided grin.

"One more move like that, love, and I fear this game shall end too soon."

He leaned down over her, the thick expanse of his biceps both sheltering her and pinning her down. She smiled at him, her full lips swollen ever more from his passionate kisses. Reaching up she wrapped her arms around his neck before nibbling on his bottom lip, drawing it between her teeth and sucking. In an effort to tease him just a bit more, she again arched her trim hips to bring him further inside her warmth. He gasped and chuckled softly.

"Is it your intention to break me, Meleth-nin?"

In response she rolled over and pushed him onto his back. He gazed at her with questioning eyes and motioned to her to rejoin him. She waved his hands away, mindful of his rigid manhood standing at attention. She leaned over him and pressed soft kisses along his collarbone, ignoring his pleading hand as it roamed over her soft skin. She slowly worshipped him, running her tongue along every scar and mark as she traveled down the course of his body.

He shifted down the bed as his hands tangled themselves in her thick dark hair. She reached her tongue out delicately to run along the tip of his shaft, tasting herself and the salty essence of his own body. Deciding that she had not pushed him far enough, she drew him into her mouth. Again he bucked and in doing so forced himself deeper into her mouth, but she took him with little difficulty. Years ago she had seen fit that her father not confiscate every knowledgeable book from his library, and she had studied these smuggled manuscripts until she was sure she had mastered every technique. It simply was not normal for her kind to deny themselves physical pleasure, but with a man such as the one before her roaming his halls, perhaps it had been a good idea to shelter his only daughter. Thinking back to those secret late night readings, clearly she had taught herself well, judging by the moans and groans he was eliciting. Unconsciously, she drew her teeth lightly along the tip of his organ, and that proved to be his undoing.

"Enough!" Before she could stop him, his hands wrapped themselves around her upper arms and pulled her from his lap. She giggled as he spread her across the bed and draped his body across hers. He silenced her further protests with a searing kiss, and gripping her hips he positioned himself at her entrance. He penetrated her with a powerful thrust, relishing the throaty cry she emitted and wincing as her nails dug into his arms.

He inhaled deeply, his breathing in rhythm with his movements. She could tell by the feel of his coiled muscles that he was close. She urged him on, clawing his back and whispering his name, placing lingering kisses on his lips and moaning into his opened mouth. His hold on her hip tightened, and the ache of his fingers did little to compete with the delicious aching in her center.

He grunted into her neck once, twice, again, and his hips gave one final jerk before he collapsed on her. She could feel his warmth seeping into her womb, and cradled his head on her shoulder as she listened to his breathing slow, the sweat of his body mingling with her own. He placed a sleepy kiss against the pale skin of her throat, and she smiled down at him.

He smiled before closing his eyes in exhaustion. "It would seem you have worn me out." She laughed softly as she nuzzled his nose with her own.

"Perhaps you should sleep now. Lose yourself in a world of dreams."

He yawned as he nodded lazily. "A wise man should listen to his wife."

She smiled, a strange feeling descending over her as she turned his words over in her mind. His wife. "You're right. A wise man should."

He rolled away from her and lay back upon the pillows, and a few silent moments later his soft snoring betrayed his utter tiredness.

She watched him in the fading candlelight. Smiling again at his words, she lay beside him and closed her own eyes....

Arwen's eyes snapped open. A soft wind carried with it the sound of falling rain, and the quiet rumbling of approaching thunder. Pushing herself from the soft pillows she had fallen asleep on, she sat up and pulled her grey velvet mantle tighter about her lithe body. Standing and crossing the room she leaned against one of the pillars circling her room, her eyes drifting to the window and the glittering stars above.

She shivered, more from the lingering vividness of the dream than the late night chill permeating Rivendell.

More and more often she found herself immersed in these sensual yet frustrating dreams. They had begun soon after the departure of the Fellowship, after her last meeting with Aragorn. She had had them before, of course; like all other beings, she was not immune to the desires of the flesh, and her wait of nearly three thousand years was beginning to gnaw at her. But always they had been of a faceless man. Now the man had a face, and a handsome face at that. These dreams had begun after he departed, causing her more aggravation than she was willing to accept. Over the past few weeks, she had become accustomed to bringing herself to a sweet release in the late of night. But her patience was wearing thin and soon, she suspected, she would no longer be enough to satisfy herself.

Lost in thought, she wondered how it was that Aragorn managed to handle their long standing imposed celibacy. Were it Arwen's choice, she would have allowed the ranger to bed her many times over now, but Aragorn was bound by promise to her father to preserve her honor and make her his wife before he claimed her in the most primal of ways. Many times Arwen had doubted Aragorn's resolve however, after seeing the lust in his grey eyes following their late night meetings and stolen kisses. She had lost count of the many times she had spied him swimming in the freezing mountain pools high above the valley.

The rain began to fall harder, and she dropped her mantle before stepping out onto her balcony to relish the cool drops upon her flushed skin. The water matted her hair, and the hem of her gown absorbed the liquid, but she did not care. She once more looked up at the stars, wondering where he was at this moment, and if he was thinking of her. She sighed and turned to the warmth and dry recesses of her chambers.

Drawing the wet gown over her head, she drew from her wardrobe a thicker night shift. Letting the soft material slide over her pale skin, she stretched and lay back down. Running a thin finger down her throat, she touched the spot where once the Evenstar had rested, offering a silent prayer of hope for the man she soon hoped to call Husband.

The silent trees of Lorien rose high into the dark sky, imposing and alight with Elven magic. Far below their leafy branches, seven beings slumbered deeply, while one found himself pitched in a restless effort to sleep. Upon his brow, sweat gathered, and he rolled to and fro, murmuring in the ancient language of those who had raised him from infancy. His hands gripped the pillow his head rested upon. With a jerk, he bolted upright, eyes alert and bright. Looking around, he instantly relaxed, comfortable to be safely tucked away in the unspoiled haven of the Lady of Lothlorien.

Glancing at his companions peacefully oblivious, he assured himself that all was well, despite the lingering sorrow for Gandalf. The grief of the Elves was heavy in the air, but no longer did minstrels play for the fallen wizard. All were retired to their beds, but Aragorn found himself unable to rejoin them.

He rose to his feet, careful not wake his companions. He tread lightly upon the soft green grass, his bare feet warm despite the chill he knew to be residing in other areas of the Golden Wood. Finding a raised root, he sat upon it, running a hand through his scraggly hair. Inhaling deeply, he allowed his sleep fogged brain to drift, turning over his dreams in his mind.

Her soft skin beneath his seeking hands...

He swallowed heavily, leaning back against the tree trunk for support.

Her hair falling about them like a curtain. Her quiet cries of passion and the sweetness he found in her kisses. The desperate way she clung to him. The way her hips arched as he teased her with light strokes...

Aragorn groaned. It had been a while since he had been plagued with such dreams. He suspected his present location and his recent ordeal had much, if not all, to do with it. He was not far from Cerin Amroth, and the memory of his last meeting with Arwen gripped at his heart.

She had been terrified for him, and morose for herself. If he did not return, she would lose the last connection she had to Middle Earth. She had renounced her immortality for him, and he was frightened at the prospect of what should befall her should he fail. Should he not return, he did not doubt Arwen's demise shortly thereafter. He feared for her, and had been shaken to his core by a nightmare of his death and her suicide. Elrond had sensed his foster son's despair and had offered fatherly words of comfort, but nothing could shake the nagging feeling of doubt surrounding the would be King.

Their last meeting had been in secret, orchestrated by the determined Elf maiden. They had met in a clearing far removed from Elrond's house. They had come together out of desperation and silent hope. Lying together upon the grass Arwen had tried valiantly to persuade Aragorn to make love to her, and she had nearly succeeded until he had suddenly pulled away. Tearfully, she begged him to love her. Comforting her, he promised her he would return to marry her no matter the cost.

Aragorn exhaled, willing the effects of the stirring memories away. Shaking his head, he pulled at the short blades of grass by his feet.

Her full lips trembling after a fulfilling release...the way in which she beckoned him to bed, her blue eyes sparkling and alive. The way she clung to the bed sheets, her head thrown back and her elegant neck bared to him. The sound of his name escaping her in breathless moans...

He cursed himself aloud, knowing he was purposefully torturing himself. He refused to give into the pulsating demands of his blood, unwilling to bring himself to release to drive her from his mind. He was a man. His will was stronger than the thought of her tempting body pressed tightly against his own.

He groaned, knowing full well that this line of reasoning was not convincing him very well. He was only a man, after all.

Deciding to return to bed, he padded across the grass once more, the green ground muted by the silvery light of Caras Galadhon. Lying down again, he smiled unconsciously. At least he could do as he truly desired with Arwen in his dreams, promise to Elrond or no. Allowing his exhaustion to get the better of him, he imagined Arwen curled against his side and kissing his neck. It was not too much longer before he drifted off, satiated as one can be in dreams...