Warning: Graphic and explicit sex – het. M – strong sexual content.
Disclaimer: Didn't happen in the book or film. None of it really mine. Only in my over-heated little mind.
AU. NOT CANON in any way. Eowyn is not inexperienced in this AU, but a woman very much in control of her own sexuality and wants- so anyone who likes their shield maidens icy cold will not approve of this. But you never know, you might enjoy it anyway.
For those of you who have read and enjoyed Deeper than Breathing, this is obviously different version and not part of the same story. That, however, is due for an update very soon… so if you enjoyed that and want more, a review might encourage me to write faster.
As always, many thanks to the wonderful Anarithilien for her sensitve betaing.
Chapter Two: Ithil's Silver
He had left Gimli at the door of the Great Hall, saying he needed air and space and stars and clear skies, not the fug of smoke and hot bodies. Gimli had grinned, determined to see his withdrawal for the drinking contest as a victory and Legolas had for once, allowed it. He walked away from the heat and noise of the feast and stood gazing outwards across the steppe.
He let the air slide over his senses, letting the moments pass without thought, let the wind run long cold fingers through his hair.
The green grass was silver now in the moonlight, rippling for miles and miles all the way from the foot of the mountains to the banks of the Anduin. Endlessly rippling under the wind, like the waves on the Long Lake and he felt a sudden pang of longing for home… But as sometimes had happened even at home, it was not the beeches and pines of the forest he wanted, but sunlight on the Long Lake……its blue-green depths…he had felt it briefly on the river, and the black metallic ripples at night had stirred something like a joyous melancholy in his heart. He recognised the same feeling now when he looked or dwelt upon the White Lady of Rohan.
Stars scattered like white jewels on the deep sky and he leaned back against the cool stone, listening to the sudden bursts of laughter and snatches of song that came from the hall. The Hobbits were singing and he smiled slightly, closing his eyes and bringing his breath slower, slower, closing his eyes, listening to those other sounds; the horses in the stables pulling hay and crunching their feed. A dog barked nearby and he heard the smaller sounds of mice; a moth fluttered towards the moonlight and then deeper, he breathed more slowly and star song chimed cold and bright.
He became aware of the presence of another but did not turn, did not open his eyes. He stilled completely and breathed in; the clean scent, fresh washed linen, lavender and camomile and then that indefinable scent that was only hers.
He could not speak.
He shook his head once, to clear his mind. He was old beyond her imagining, she a child of men. What was he thinking?
He opened his eyes and turned his head and caught the gleam of gold that lifted in the breeze, and her flushed skin. And then as if stunned, all his thoughts melted. He could not help himself.
'It is beautiful is it not?' She kept her gaze ahead, out across the endless grass of the steppes.
'There is much beauty in Rohan.'
They were silent for a moment. Then she said 'Why are you not at the feast? It is in your honour.'
He said nothing for a moment. 'The Dwarf will drink enough for both of us and the Hobbits enough for all of us.' A burst of song seemed to punctuate his words and there was a loud cheer from the hall.
'And the Lord Aragorn?'
Her question pierced him but he could not blame her. How could she not love Aragorn?
'Aragorn…has much to think on.' Legolas remembered the words they had spoken in the steam room where he had held the Evenstar as he would cradle Aragorn's heart. And he had heard love and desperation in his friend's voice.
'He has someone who loves him,' she said. But she did not sound as he expected. He glanced at her curiously. She continued, 'The pendant he wears. It was given him by a woman?'
'Is she beautiful?'
'She is considered the fairest of our people.'
'Then she must be beautiful indeed. For your men folk are fairer than any I have seen.'
Legolas did not answer. This was not what he had expected. He had expected to hear pain in his voice. There was none.
'And is she good and wise?'
'So I am told by those who would know.'
'Good. I am glad. For he deserves to be loved.'
'She loves him enough to give up her immortality for him.'
'Oh.' She suddenly turned and looked at him. Her hand held to her mouth. 'How could he ask that? Does he not love her more than that?'
Legolas stared at her, confused. 'He does not ask it of her. It is hers to give. She is half-elven and can choose to live a mortal life or an immortal life. She has chosen mortal.'
She said nothing then, just gazed out into the huge night that stretched across the plains of Rohan. She seemed bathed in the silver moonlight, it gilded her skin and hair like some precious carving. She did not move or speak for a while.
Then she turned towards him and said, 'I have not thanked you yet. '
'Thanked me?' He struggled with the sudden change in the conversation. Nothing was as he expected.
'For fighting for us…with us.' She looked at him briefly and then turned back to the cold starlit night that was huge over the open grasslands. 'You are from the great woods of the north.' He was glad she did not call it Mirkwood. 'Is it beautiful?'
'Yes,' he said, thinking of the tall beeches and forest streams that gurgled over the granite rocks, of the banks of ferns and wildflowers and the great forests where he hunted with his folk and they danced and feasted and sang beneath the stars. He wondered what they were doing now, if those same glades were now battlefields and if halls of the Elvenking ran with blood…
'You are far from home.' Suddenly she was very close and her hand lay on his arm, 'Are you lonely?'
He looked down at her hand on the moss-green suede of his tunic, and then looked away again.
'Yes,' he said quietly.
'Then we are both in our way, exiles. Outsiders. '
And he thought briefly again on the words he had exchanged with Aragorn in the steamy heat of the bathing rooms. Aragorn had said she was cold, that she was but a girl in love with an idea. Legolas did not think so. He thought her fair and queenly.
'My troubles must seem so small to you. You must think me a fool for wishing to fight when I know so little of battle, of war,' she continued, unaware of his thoughts, his silent perusal of her. Although she turned her face away he could hear in her voice that there were tears. 'Will you say nothing? I am a fool. How could you think anything of me but that?'
'I do not think that,' he said simply.
She turned back to him then and her eyes shone with tears of humiliation and regret. 'What will you tell my uncle and brother? Will you tell the Lord Aragorn that I am a mere woman who should be made to stay at home? And Lord Gimli will think me a fool… and you…' She looked away, and he was able to gaze at her profile, her full lips parted, the flush of her skin and the gown that clung to her breasts and belly. He forgot to breathe for a moment and had to close his eyes briefly.
'No. I will not tell them that.' He took her hand in his then and looked into her eyes. 'I will tell them that you are a shield maiden of Rohan. And that you are as burnished steel.' He touched her face with his fingertips and breathed with her, wanting to know her, to listen to her song, slowing his breathing to hers. He looked down into her upturned face. 'I will tell the people of my home of the warrior queens of Rohan.'
Her long, long golden hair framed her beautiful face. Her eyes looked up at him, long lashes dark against her cheek and he saw a glimmer of tears. He reached his hand to her face and stopped a breath away from touching her. He wondered why she sought him out. Was it that Aragorn had rejected her attention? For Aragorn's heart belonged to Arwen as surely as his own heart was utterly lost in that moment.
Eowyn smiled at him. 'Why are you not at the feast?' she asked again.
'Why are not you?' he returned.
'I sought you,' she murmured. His heart squeezed again but this time, it was not unpleasant.
He looked up at the sky once more, hardly daring to think. Her fingers pushed back a stray tendril of his hair from his face. Her touch sent a shiver down his spine and he caught his breath.
'It was you before,' she told him. 'But you were so aloof, so strange. I did not think…'
Eowyn pulled him to face her then and he turned to her, wordless, thoughtless, breathless. He went to her simply and with nothing but desire for her. He stood against her, body pressed to hers and looked down on her –hardly daring to breathe in case, like a ghost of his dreams, she vanished and it was but an elven dream that seemed too real
She led him away, and he followed without care for what might follow, without thought, he forgot everything but followed her, through passageways that avoided the loud and noisy halls. She led him through a door that opened into a large chamber. He paused and looked about him before entering the room. Heavy curtains were held back from the open window and moonlight flooded in, silvering everything. There was luxury for a king's niece then. Tentatively he stepped within and stood in the moonlight as she approached.
Eowyn had led her woodland warrior to her chamber and he like a wild deer had stopped and paused, and almost she expected him to scent the air, to suddenly vanish. Instead he followed her willingly and his strange green eyes watched her with an almost predatory disbelief. She watched him for a while, his pale winter grass hair swept down his back, finer than most of the maids in Rohan she was sure.
She watched him step into the moonlight and become absolutely still. His hair silvered, his tall strong body almost quivering. She still had his hand in hers and she lifted it to her mouth and kissed his calloused fingers, let her tongue trail over his thumb.
Eowyn felt a surge of desire flood her from her stomach to her loins. Sudden passion took her and she saw this strong, impossibly beautiful warrior looking at her with the sweetest, most tender expression and she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. She pulled him towards her and kissed him deeply.
Her tongue pushed into his mouth, seeking to fill him, to wrest his self control, she grasped the back of his neck and pulled his head towards her, pressing her lips against his; her hands swiftly undid the buckle of his belt and it clattered to the wooden floor. She tugged loose the clasps of his tunic and the laces of his shirt, all the while pushing her tongue around his, pulling him into her mouth as if she might swallow him. He wrestled his arms free from his clothes and threw his tunic, shirt on the floor, already he was kicking off his boots. Eowyn could feel his hardness pressing against her stomach and she smiled against his lips. Shield maiden she may be, but no maiden. Not in these times of war where life could be so short.
Suddenly she pushed him off and stood away, breathing hard. She held him back with one hand braced against his chest, shaking her head and revelling in the dismay on his fair face.
'I want to look at you.' she said.
'I want to look at you' he replied.
Eowyn stood away from him, so she stood in candlelight that cast a golden glow over her, and began to unlace her gown, watching him as she did so. He was like some hero from an ancient tale. In the moonlight, his long flaxen hair swept silver over his shoulder and back, the braids loose at the side of his strong, beautiful face. His torso was muscled and athletic. His shoulders broader than his hips, like any seasoned archer, muscles hard from years and years of battle beneath the leaves of his home. A recent scar lined his ribs and blood had seeped from it anew and dried on his skin. She traced the outline of his desire as it strained against the material of his breeches.
This Elf, this warrior stood barefoot, almost trembling before her, his strange green eyes fastened on her body and she let her white silk gown drop to her feet where it pooled. He was silver and she was gold. She held out her hand to him and he stepped toward her, trembling, almost quivering. She felt her power over him, her control over his barely restrained need.
She touched lightly the recent scar that lined his ribs and glanced up at him. He had fought for them, put himself at risk for her people. But even had he not, she would still have wanted him.
Kneeling slowly before him, Eowyn raised her face to him and ran her fingers lightly along the waistband of his breeches.
She watched him shudder.
'You torment me' he whispered, looking down at her where she still knelt.
'I want to enjoy you,' she told him, running her tongue over the skin of his belly. She felt the smoothness, a cool, different taste to her own skin, she smelt his musk.
Then she eased his breeches down a little way until she could see his navel, the lean hips and the beginning of the downy hair that marked her path. She ran her wet tongue down from his navel to where her fingers rested, feeling the hardness of him push and strain against their constraint. Glancing up from where she knelt, she saw his eyes heavy lidded with lust, his lips parted.
She felt him lean over her where she knelt, and sweep up the length and heaviness of her hair in one hand, cupping the back of her neck in the other. He leaned over her and kissed her on the mouth, plunging his tongue into her gasp. Her lips tingled.
Her breasts pushed against his thigh where she knelt before him. She felt his grasp on her hair tighten and he pulled her head back, breaking away from the kiss for a moment to stare at her, both of them gasping and breathing hard. He murmured something she could not understand and then smiled. His eyes were strange, she thought in the heat of the moment, the pupils grown huge, like a cat's, and the deep green of the iris seemed shot through with gold, she gazed and smiled at him.
He took a breath.
'You will undo me, Eowyn of the Mark. You will undo me before I have even time to draw breath.'
She smiled and lifted her hand to his lovely face, moved a tendril of long hair from his high cheekbones, stroked a dark brow and moved over his parted lips.
'Oh,' she said smiling wickedly, 'I haven't even started with you yet.'
It was as though he had not understood her at first, and he paused for a moment, staring at her. Then she saw his expression change from bewilderment to predatory lust.
'Nor I you!'
She felt herself suddenly swept up in his strong, muscled arms and thrown unceremoniously to the bed. Alarmed, excited, she watched him approach. He looked suddenly outlandish and strange, his smile wolfish and predatory and for a moment, she felt a little thrill of fear. He climbed onto the bed, already bulging and hardening.
His hand was next to her shoulder and he leaned over her, his other hand stroking her hair, her face, her lips. His hair fell forwards and she gasped at the unfamilar pointed ear.
He kissed her nose quickly and affectionately, then her mouth. She wanted to be the one in control again but he moved away and licked her neck, the ticklish places that had her giggling, and the sensitive places that had her gasping.
When she moved her fingers to her own sex, he pulled them away and pinned both hands above her head in his one hand. She felt his strength and wondered briefly what she was thinking, letting this alien warrior, this Elf who was so utterly different from any Man, into her room, into her bed… she wavered in her desire and he paused, as if sensing her trepidation.
He became utterly still, his body on hers, his sex burning against her thigh. His strange eyes penetrated her. 'We do not have to be so impatient,' he said gently, releasing her hands. 'We have a long night ahead of us.'
The Moon had moved and cast long shadows in the room; the night was still and silent outside. This elven warrior in her room, pressing against her, had paused. Stroking her skin, he closed his eyes, as if focused on the sensation of his fingers against her skin. She had time to look at him again, his long hair and perfect face, she knew this was no more than it was. She did not want it to be. Not for her Luthien and Beren, not for her watching herself grow old while her lover remained forever young, beautiful, strong. She would take what she wanted this one time, this one brief ecstasy and then treasure it forever.
She smiled and lifted her hand to his face and he met her gaze.
Laughing with him then, she trailed one hand down his chest, stroking lightly over his skin, barely brushing his nipples which were hard and tight with excitement. She pinched one gently and laughed softly again when she saw his eyelids flutter and his lips part. When he kissed her deeply, his free hand stroked over her breast, belly, thigh.
She raised her head to follow him as he moved away, but his finger was on her lips and he was smiling.
She laughed, shaking her head. 'Where do you go now master Elf?' She felt him move down her body, trailing light kisses down her neck, her breasts, kissing each nipple playfully, her belly. Resting on the curls between her thighs, he breathed deeply, scenting her like some wild creature. She rested her hand on his winter grass hair.
How could he be so beautiful? She had expected, when she heard an Elf had come to Edoras, an ethereal faery being, insubstantial and light, but Legolas was anything but. His was a very solid reality, he seemed so alive, vibrant. He seemed invincible. Eowyn wondered how many battles he had fought in his long life, wondered what he thought of their short battles, like skirmishes in the long, long fight against the shadow in his home…wondered if he had others who cared for him…
She glanced down at him and saw him looking up at her with a smile on his lips. 'Am I boring you?' he asked, 'You were somewhere else?'
'I was wondering how long you have been fighting the shadow,' she whispered.
His eyes were dark for a moment. Then he seemed to shake himself free of memories and buried himself in her. She felt his mouth on her body and gasped, twining her hands in his cool silk hair.
Eowyn felt she would melt; molten, fluid, she pooled in the sensation. His tongue flicked and licked, smoothed and sucked her to delight and she felt the pressure building in her and suddenly, she spasmed, arched and cried aloud his name. She felt him hold her closely and slowed, placing his hand over her sex, cupping her and warming her with his palm as she reached the edge of climax, but only the edge. She opened her eyes and stared at him, confused, frustrated and cheated and excited, watched him as he prowled her body, eyes fastened on hers and tongue trailing over her skin, her belly, her breasts, neck. And then he was over her, on her, between her thighs slick and wet with moistness. She felt again that thrill of his strangeness and otherness, and asked herself what she was doing but she was too far gone now and could not stop.
'Now we do this,' he said.
She saw the look of utter tenderness and that slow sweet smile. Her heart teetered on the brink of love.
He kissed her deeply, his tongue filling her mouth, lips crushing hers, his weight on her and she felt his hard length slide along her thigh. She reached down and guided him and he moved gently, gently, shuddering with each tiny movement. But she already trembled with the beginning of her climax again and wanted him plunged into her
'Come,' she invited, 'be mine completely'.
Blissfully she felt him push into her then and her flesh parted easily. She grasped at him, feeling herself tightening and losing herself in the physical, animal urging. She felt him driving deeper, her body arched, fingers scrabbled at his back. Her legs clamped round him and pulled him in deeper, to the hilt, welded together. She felt his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her nipples, sucking her throat, her lips, tongue, and she him. They moved together, frantically. Suddenly she went rigid and clasped him to herself. She gave a wordless cry and threw back her head, grappling with him, pulling him towards her and she felt him flow with her.
Awareness gradually returned to her and she opened her eyes to see he looked down at her, the sheen of sweat on his skin, face and throat. She kissed him gently. Smiled, moved a tendril of hair slick with sweat away from his face, felt his relaxed body against her, her own thighs and legs around his lean hard body still. He was heavy on her and she shifted so he leaned onto his arm, giving her room.
When he spoke he said, 'Thank you,' and stroked her cheek with his fingers. She blinked, surprised, for she felt he had been the one giving.
'Thank you,' she replied and smiled too.
She felt him shift again and he looked at her. Realising what he wanted she eased herself from his body, the linen sheets were twisted and wrinkled and she smoothed out the pillow a little.
He stood then and looked around the room. There was a small closet upon which stood a large, heavy jug and bowl and Eowyn watched him pour water and it seemed to her he was some young god, his body was muscled and lean, his long, long hair gleamed palely and his skin glowed with the exertion and sweat. When he told her she was beautiful, she blushed.
A small precious bottle of oil was on the shelf of the closet and she watched him uncork the bottle and poured a few drops onto the water. Kneeling before her, he placed the bowl on the floor, the scent of lavender and camomile stole over her. He dipped the cloth in the bowl, soaked it and began to wipe away the sweat on her face, he wiped her forehead and face, then her throat and chest. He lifted each arm and dipping the cloth into the water, wiped her arms and between her breasts.
She wondered that a man could be so tender, so intimate and loving yet not in love, for she had no illusions about this. He had given and she took what he gave.
Cool water tingled on her belly and he turned her over, wiping the cool cloth now over and down her back and flanks, over her buttocks and thighs and down over her legs. Together, the coolness of the water, the mingled scents of lavender, camomile and musk were heady and erotic. Hands caressing her body in this intimate washing away of passion left her strangely hungry for more and she knew she wanted him again, more than ever.
He lifted each foot, passing the cloth over her calves and feet. It tickled slightly and she giggled girlishly. He kissed each toe and then laughing with her, flipped her over quickly, pinning her on the bed.
'So unsatisfied! So demanding!' he murmured, leaning down over her and kissing her again.
'How do you know?' she demanded
He grinned, 'I can smell you…' he made it sound so erotic. She sighed into his shoulder.
Suddenly he tensed, looking up towards the door. He put a finger on her lips and sprang up, eyes fastened on the door.
'Someone comes,' he said, leaping from the rumpled bed and scrabbling for his boots.
'No!' she cried,' No –one will disturb me this late.'
'It is late,' she protested. 'Why would anyone seek me at this hour?'
He looked at her with his strange green eyes. The intensity made her shudder, and she wanted to be right. She felt her blood thrill at the memory of him plunged into her body, deeply lost in her.
'There are footsteps coming this way,' he said but less certain.
She held out her arms to him and he dropped his boots, joining her once more on the bed. 'It will be Eomer, on his way to bed,' she said, wanting to keep the sensation of his closeness, the electric thrill of touching him.
'He is very heavy footed.' Legolas observed.
'He has been in his cups.' She laughed softly
Suddenly there was a heavy knocking on her door. Both sat bolt upright and suddenly the Elf flew out of her bed again, grabbing his boots in one hand and scooping up his discarded clothes in another.
'No, no, don't go! Stay! I will send whoever it is away.'
'I dare not stay,' he whispered urgently, 'I will leave. Just let me…' He pushed one long muscled leg into the top of his breeches and hopped about on the other leg. He stumbled in a most unelvish way and Eowyn, stifling a giggle, held up her hand to her mouth as he crashed against the bed.
'Shhhh! They will hear you,' she whispered, her eyes bright with laughter.
He gave her an amused look and then gave up with his clothes, gathering everything up in one hand and standing in all his elven naked glory, he grinned and blew her a kiss.
She paused, lips parted and then he leapt onto the window sill and threw open the casement. She gasped in horror as he seemed to suddenly disappear from the window, melting into the darkness.
Quickly she dragged the bed sheet around her naked body and ran to the window, staring in horror at the night. She leaned further out and held back her long hair with one hand. Surely he had not…?
There was a whisper to her right and she looked along the wall to the next window ledge. Impossibly, her elven lover stood poised precariously on the narrow ledge. She gasped again and then heard the door to her chamber open. Legolas grinned at her- she could see his teeth flash white in the moonlight that lay like a veil on his naked skin, gilding him silver.
Hurriedly she pulled the window almost closed and left him like some strange bird perched on the window ledge. She heard him laugh softly as she rushed back to the bed. And she realised it did not matter. His amusement was like a promise. The maid who bustled in with water and soap and lavender would quickly be gone. Eowyn smiled at the maid and thanked her. She could be generous, knowing that they would laugh about this when the maid had gone. And then, her mouth watered, she could take him again to her bed, still warm from their bodies, and she could watch his strange eyes lose themselves in lust, twining her limbs with his, silver and gold. She watched a silver moth flutter around the golden flame of the candle, scorching its wings over and over until she brushed it gently away.