Title: Aniratha [Elvish for 'I will Desire']
Author: Sabine Hawks
Feedback: Please, I would absolutely love reviews, etc...!
Disclaimer: Some of these characters belong to Tolkien, I am not profitting from their use or claiming they are mine--they're merely...guest starring. The original characters (Narcirya, Linelei, etc) are my own. Please do not reprint this story without my permission. :)
Synopsis: This story takes place post-ROTK and deals with a period of time between Eomer's arrival back in Edoras, when he first arrives there and the years after. It's a theoretical story about what might have happened on his journey back and the time in between then and his betrothal. Tolkien canon is going to be observed as much as possible, I promise! lol. In this chapter, we see a flashback to what happened on his journey back to Edoras on a stop in Lorien. All will be explained. :)
The desire was washing over him again and again, relentless spasms that his brain sent throughout his body. I am not a wreckless man, I am not a wreckless man, I am not-- But he knew the lie would only comfort him for so long. Watching was worse than acting upon his needs, it made him feel guilty and petty, fueling a portion of his heart that he had tried to stamp out for days. Then, her voice would carry from another room and the desire would return again, hard and violent enough to render his sensibilites useless.
Looking at her in the pale light, wondering if she could sense him there, knowing her Elven senses must be keen enough to comprehend his presence. Yet she made no move to cover herself, she walked about the talan, nearly empty except for a bed and a small table, busying herself with worthless action. He could feel his own breathing deepen, passing beyond the initial stage of fear and doubt. He would stay, he would watch her, he would go through with this idiotic plan to the end...
And then what? More emptiness when he saw her the next day? More dreams filled with the flowery teasing of her scent or the feather light touch of her fingers? She was not for him, would never be for him, but that fact was not acceptable. He buried all reason beneath heavy layers of greed and want. If he needed her to survive then his behavior could be overlooked, or so he hoped.
In truth, he had no one to justify this to but himself. His sister would never know, his companions--too involved in the crisis at hand to care. Fingers gripped the woody ring that peered into her room, just one eye of his allowed the privelege of seeing her. The sheet she held around her body billowed around her long, muscular legs, fluffy as a woven cloud. Her hand, the hand that had rested on his arm when he made a jest or moved to suddenly, graceful and clean, clasped the fabric around her body. So near, he thought, so close to her and yet tracks of history and tradition spread them apart.
If he had thought her beauty too much to bare when she was clothed, it utterly crushed him when she let the sheet fall in preparation to dress. His exhalation of breath was quick and disbelieving, his eyes widening with the hope of taking every centimeter of her in. There was no shame visible on her countenance, only the quiet smile of someone who is relaxed...content...
She began to hum softly to herself, then more loudly as she added words. Her fingers smoothed away the wrinkles on the gown laid before her, sensitive pads gliding over the smokey grey velvet. He watched the subtle changes in her physique as she bent to touch the fabric; the fawn-like youth of her body was evident in the way her skin slid easily over muscle. And yet, he thought to himself, her youth was deceptive, nearly as false as he.
His heart clenched at the sadness he saw in her eyes as they turned toward the window--toward him. For a moment, their gazes fused and he felt the entire weight of the universe outside his world, their world, overwhelm him. No air would enter his lungs, no artery would pump blood, every thought focused on the emotion she had captured him with. It destroyed him, the regret that he found mirrored in her eyes. She knew.
She knew.
Briefly, he forgot the nature of this moment, neglecting the warning signs flickering in his brain. Her lips parted and her eyelids closed slowly, reluctantly when she blinked. Slowly, her feet carried her to the window where she could see his crouched form shaking intensely--with fear, with embarrassment, she was not sure. The space between them, though closing, felt thick with their shared misgiving. Wading closer, she felt her breathing hitch with the first signs of sobs.
"Eomer," his eyes closed at the sound of her voice, never had his name seemed so much like melody. The velvety touch of her fingertips on his eyelids was not startling, only oddly familiar. Familiar only because of dreams, because he had envisioned that very touch daily, nightly...
"Why do you crouch in the shadows?"
"Because...we cannot--I cannot really be with you."
Her fingers fell down his temple to his chin like rain drops, and a gasping sigh rushed from between his lips. The smell of her skin, of sage and fading sunlight, entreated his rough, calloused hand to touch her waist gently. He felt the spark behind that contact, the jolt that ran throughout his arm and punctured his heart. It was painful, more painful than the prick of steel.
"I have all the years of my life to be with you," she replied in her lilting voice, "to really be with you."
"No," Eomer returned, though his fingers splayed on her hip, carefully touching more of the white skin. His eyes parted time between her eyes and the union of their flesh as if not really comprehending the sensation. "I will not give in to my need for you, it corrupts and bleeds me."
"There is no shame in admitting your fear to me," she murmured. Her hand tangled in the blonde waves falling down his back. Eomer shut his eyes again, closing off all of the exquisite beauty that blotted out the duty he had to his people. What would it look like to them, another human king taking an Elf for a wife?
"But I will die, it is not fair to leave you here alone..."
"I shall have memory, and that is vivid indeed."
There was a pause as his eyelids fluttered and he was bathed in her golden light once more. His lips, burning from appetite, pressed to her chin, ghosting the tempting valley between there and her mouth. She tasted of happiness, and the joy he had known travelling with her to Lorien. The golden mallorn lived within her lips and he was emersed in the sweet waters of her birth land as their tongues grazed. His hands, dark and scarred, the foil to her swan white back, climbed carefully up her spine until his desire swept higher and crashed down harder. No longer could he be satisfied with such fundamental touch. His arms tightened around her, one hand grasping her shoulder blade, the other the opposite hip.
Silken arms encircled his neck, pressing his lips to hers with an urgency he had never known. Never had she been tickled by a man's beard, never had she known the absolute abandon of the human to his emotions. His fervor only solidified her decision to give herself over utterly, to forget every warning, every custom, every tradition...
Eomer was the one to break the kiss, pulling his lips from hers with a quiet smack. For a moment he merely felt the weight of her in his grasp, the sweet pressure of her body against his and he wondered if this would be the only time he would have the pleasure. She seemed to be doing the same, resting her forehead against his as she caught her breath.
"Narcirya," he whispered.
She kissed his lips delicately once. His hand moved to cradle her head against his own, sharing the breath that rushed from between her lips. The other hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, brushing over the satiny slope idly. The Elf shivered against him before finding warmth in the embrace that he wrapped her in.
"You were right," she told him sadly.
"What do you mean?"
"I could never be without this, I would sooner die..."
"You will be strong."
"No--"
"I shall leave tomorrow morning and ride before you can regret our parting."
"And you, you also will be strong?"
"I shall hide behind my duty, and you behind tradition."
"And still I will love you..."
He kissed her, "And I will regret."
