A/N: TRIGGER WARNING, CHAPTER CONTAINS AN INSTANCE OF NON-CONSENSUAL SEX
Chapter Thirteen: A Labour of Love
She was unable to sleep the rest of the night, alternating between uncontrollable trembling and soft whimpers as her memory was restored. At the first possible convenience, Lord Elrond was notified of the incident; he then visited her rooms and excused her from joining them that dawn. Even though the prospect sounded quite enticing, Áine insisted that normalcy would help her more than isolation. He reluctantly agreed and waved a very overwrought Faelwyn inside to finish attending to her lady, excusing himself to attend to other matters.
After he closed the door behind him, Áine broke out into a fresh set of tears, her heart feeling as though it were being torn from her chest. The She-Elf returned to her lady and took her into her arms, gently rocking the young woman side to side as she quietly murmured Elvish endearments. Once the sobs subsided, Faelwyn gave her a quick squeeze and promptly set about preparing her for the dining hall, still humming softly. It was for this very reason Áine so dearly loved having the graceful She-Elf as her handmaiden: unlike some, she understood that some things went beyond words.
Somehow, the news had spread in that short time, and it was in the courtyard that Áine found herself surrounded by a growing crowd who all seemed too shy to glance her way but bold enough to talk amongst themselves in whispers. She unconsciously started gnawing on her lower lip as her slippered feet shuffled over the flagstones. The cold nipped mercilessly at her cheeks, forcing her to slouch in an attempt to keep herself warm; it also made her feel less visible to the watchful stares that seemed to engulf her.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her, and a warm hand pressed against her back. "Come, my lady. You must be hungry." Boromir's gruff baritone oddly comforted her as the pair glided through the throng of Elves towards an empty table. Áine sat down heavily in the ivory chair and kept her gaze focused on the table's intricately carved edge as the Gondorian captain gracefully seated himself beside her. When the taste of copper touched her tongue, she realized she had worried her lip to the breaking point.
Seeming to sense her internal distress, Boromir reached over and gently clasped her hand in his. "They are not cruel, my lady – merely curious. They do not understand fully the troubles of mortals." He gave an encouraging smile that did not reach his steely grey eyes.
She let out a wry scoff before she could stop herself, still not looking anywhere in particular. The large, battle-hardened hand left hers and the Gondorian captain let out a soft sigh that sent a twinge of guilt through her. I know he is just trying to help. Áine finally lifted her eyes, met his gaze, and forced a smile of her own. "I know. It does not make it hurt any less, however," she responded curtly, purposefully raising her voice just enough for those around her to hear. Almost instantaneously, the low roar of the dining hall subsided to a gentle murmur as most of the residents glanced sheepishly at one another and lowered their tones.
Boromir glanced about them and smirked quietly at the noticeable change in atmosphere. "Some people just do not understand common courtesy. Rest assured, though: in a matter of days, they will have found some new object on which to fixate their conversation. Your little…episode will not remain in the forefront of their minds for long, I wager," he offered as he took her plate and filled it with boiled egg slices, ham chunks, and a potato dish with white cheese and peppers.
Áine accepted it wordlessly, nodding her thanks. She tried to take his words to heart and not worry herself into an emotional spiral, but the more she tried to not think on it, the worse it became. Squaring her shoulders, the Rohirric maiden made an attempt to fixate her dwindling attention on the meal but found that that only made her mind more distracted and erratic. Her jaw tightened as despair began to flood her senses, tangible in the trembling of her fingers and noticeable in the shifting of her bloodshot gaze; she hated that it got to her. She hated that she was the subject of several different conversations around the room, that what happened this morning was now common knowledge.
Boromir reached over and gently grasped her shaking hand. Without a word, he rose from his seat and inclined his head. "Come with me please, my lady," he said simply.
She did not know what exactly made her go with him. Maybe it was the gentle way he had posed the request. Or it might have been how he had been the only one to show her kindness in her moment of distress. Either way, Áine found herself following him out into the bright, crisp morning, still grasping his hand as though her very life depended on it. She opened her mouth to inquire as to their destination but quickly discovered that such a question was not necessary: they halted a dozen steps from the dining hall's doors, protected from view by a small grove of evergreens.
Boromir turned to face her, eyes flickering with some powerful, unknown emotion. "I had to get you out of there. The constant babbling at your expense was exhausting my patience." His voice was oddly strained and his body language expressed barely contained irritation and…nervousness?
"As you said yourself, they will eventually find some other interesting thing to discuss. The more obvious we appear, the worse – and longer – this will be," Áine countered with a quiet sigh, pain and panic forgotten now that her main priority was to stay warm.
The Gondorian sighed and allowed a corner of his mouth to quirk up in halfhearted amusement. "Even so…it amazes me how obtuse Elves are. One can only wonder if they are truly innocent or just uncaring." His gaze rested on hers, still turbulent and unsettled. "Were you treated thusly by Lord Elrond's sons?" he asked suddenly.
Áine blinked once, surprised. "No! No, Elladan and Elrohir were the picture of courtesy and kindness. Elladan was more formal and reserved, yes, but he never was rude. Elrohir, however, favored comfortability and vitality over strict etiquette. In fact," here, she gave a wistful chuckle, "he was the first to take my request to heart and address me as only 'Áine'. Not even his brother ventured into that level of familiarity." Yes indeed…Elrohir is not shy about how he feels, her inner self snickered as images from that one night long ago floated to the surface of her consciousness. Unsurprisingly, she flushed at the memory of their passionate encounter which induced shivers that had nothing to do with the cold.
This sudden shift was not lost on Boromir. "My lady, are you well?" he asked, his tone thrumming with an undertone she could not pinpoint.
"Y-yes, I apologize. I just…I remembered a-an assignment that Lord Glorfindel needs this morning." The lie was so transparent that even she cringed inwardly.
A sigh escaped his lips and he stepped closer, hands running up and down the backs of her arms. "My lady Áine…what is really troubling you?" The low rumble in his voice plied at her reluctance to voice her current state, his eyes equally pleading and trusting. "If secrecy is your condition, I swear never to speak of it."
"Are my thoughts so obvious that one can read them by simply looking at me?" Áine asked dryly, aiming for flippancy but not callousness.
"At times, yes. Now especially." Boromir's icy hand cradled her jaw as he had that one drunken night in November and guided her gaze to his, bold heather meeting shy blue. "I pride myself in knowing when you speak falsely by looking at your eyes."
"What do you see now?" asked the Rohirric maiden, now going for stubbornly coy.
His wry smirk vanished abruptly and that strange riotous emotion returned, darkening his features. He did not speak for several moments, seeming to war with himself. "That I cannot properly answer without further information from you," he finally answered breathlessly. His hand had drifted down to the side of her neck, fingers gently curled in her loose hair.
Áine felt herself short of breath all of a sudden; there was no mistaking the charged atmosphere. This was not any ordinary question. Boromir may have originally intended to pull her away to shield her from the crowd's insensitivity but his reasonings had now altered drastically. And now, despite her uncertain feelings for Elrohir, Áine's primal side begged her to give Boromir the answer he was desperately wishing for. This was not the first time she had wondered what it would be like to kiss the handsome captain of Gondor. She was ashamed to admit that there had been several occasions since that one night by her cottage that she had played out the scenario in her mind: the feel of his hot but soft lips caressing hers…his beard tickling her nose and cheeks…his rough hands grasping her arms, her back, her rear…the animalistic groan rumbling in his throat as he pulled away briefly to rip her dress enough that her breasts were free to his touch…her own shrieks of pleasure as his tongue toyed with her nipples and sent heat rushing to the cleft between her legs…his hands down there, teasing as her own slipped into his trousers and stroked his—
The sharp peal of the morning bell snapped her back to the present. Gasping shallowly, she stepped back and struggled to breathe normally. "I fear it would not be the answer you seek," Áine said with a resoluteness she did not feel. Her heart clenched at the sight of his confused pain. "I thank you for your kindness but I am already late for my lessons. Please excuse me." A curt bob and she was gone, trembling now with unbridled emotion.
Áine had hoped that her studies could sufficiently distract her from the unwanted turmoil that Boromir had unleashed – but her wish went unfulfilled. For the next few days, she found herself irritatingly shy of the captain. Anywhere she saw him, she detoured to a more secluded location or left the area entirely. Even more upsetting was the flutter her heart gave whenever her errant thoughts drifted to him. One night, as she lay in bed, she decided enough was enough. This is ridiculous! I cannot – AM not in love with Boromir. He is simply a friend, NOT. A. THING. MORE.
So friends think of other friends in such a scandalous manner? If so, you might have the word 'friend' confused with another.A wry scoff.
NO! I do not! I am in love with Elrohir! Áine insisted angrily.
Your decision has been made, then?
This pulled her up short. I…yes, I…well…She squirmed uncomfortably, studiously ignoring her increasingly overheated face and neck.
No? Yes? Make up your mind! You intend to string him along in this fashion once he returns?! If I did not know any better, I would suspect that you rather enjoy having the affections of two very different men. Wryness gave way to a sharp accusing tone.
Of course not! I am not a strollop! Áine huffed and turned to rest on her left side. I just do not know if it can work.
What –work as in you both die of old age together? No…but it CAN work. You are both compatible and willing enough. It would be imprudent not give it a chance.
But what if I am merely fooling myself? As I have mentioned countless times before, I can only make him happy for a finite period of time. I feel that pledging myself to him would only increase his heartbreak when I eventually die.
But those days would be the best in his entire existence.
The only days, you meant to say. And that I cannot bear. He deserves happiness in the arms of one of his own people, not a lovesick mortal who cannot control her desires. An image of Elrohir passionately kissing a She-Elf who looked alarmingly like Faelwyn flashed before her eyes; the sight made her heart thump painfully in her chest.
COULD you give him up if it came down to it? Pause. No…you could not. You should not. If you love him – which I know you do, so do not lie – you should not feel ashamed to admit it. Is there anyone you can talk to about this that might give you some insight?
Boromir, Áine answered without thinking. NO! No I could not…
Better him than Glorfindel or even Elrond.
Try worse.
Look here, YOU are the one with reservations! If you are not willing to explore your options, I cannot help you. With that, the internal dialogue ceased and Áine was alone again.
I should have known that talking to myself would only lead to madness, she sighed with a groan as sleep came and took her away from this present world.
The night was unusually warm and the clouds had been swept away, leaving naught but the thin silver moon and the innumerable twinkling lights above. Áine made her way down the path towards the outerlying forest when a low voice whispered her name. Whirling around, she saw a tall, dark-haired Elf clad in green and brown standing before her, face cast in shadow by the trees.
"…Elrohir?" she asked, daring to hope.
He took a step forward, his broad grin now visible. "In the flesh" might have been what he was going to say but all the poor man got out was "In th—" before being enveloped in a crushing embrace. A sob escaped her throat as the Rohirric lass twisted her fingers in the fabric of his tunic, overwhelmed by the joy of his safe return. A few seconds passed before she realized how awkward this must be for him; she started to pull away when strong arms wrapped around her shaking body and kept her close to him.
"I feared that…that you would not come back," Áine murmured into his chest, feeling foolish.
She heard his breath catch, a low rumble tickling her cheek as a hand stroked the back of her head. "I will always come back for you, my beloved," the Elf lord promised, voice thick with emotion. "Am I to take this confession to mean that you considered my offer?" Her heart broke at the sound of his tenuous optimism.
Squirming in his embrace until she could look up at him, Áine gave an impossibly wide smile. "Indeed…and in these past few months, I have discovered that I cannot be without you. I need you as much as I need air." She was now practically vibrating with intemperate joy.
Elrohir's poorly contained anxiety crumpled into disbelief and delight. "Áine?" he asked quietly, finger twisting absently in her hair.
"Yes." She answered the question he could not bear to ask for fear that this was just a cruel dream. "I – forgive me for taking so long to realize it, but yes…I do love you." Any further attempt at conversation was stymied by a certain Elf's knee-buckling kiss.
The pair somehow made it to the Haven of Orladion, a pavilion conveniently hidden from view within a cluster of trees, without getting noticed or stopped. Once under the domed marble ceiling, Elrohir turned and swept her up into his arms, pinning her against the nearest support as he ravished her lovely mouth. Hair became undone and irreversibly tangled by desperate hands that drifted from head and hips to thighs and back. Their giggles turned to gasps and then to moans as their passion escalated. Áine discovered that she somehow had ended up on the floor of the gazebo, dress hiked up and legs wrapped around his waist as he peppered her throat with searing kisses. Her hands combed erratically through his disheveled hair as she sought to get closer still to him; when his lips found a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, her eyes rolled back into her head and her hips bucked against him as she mewed with pleasure.
Elrohir groaned in response and pulled away momentarily, grey eyes black with desire. "Áine, I cannot!" he insisted with absolutely no conviction in his voice.
"Please? Aiya Eru, Elrohir, anirale*. Please?" She knew it was unfair to beg, but she feared that she would go mad if he did not claim her at this very moment.
His gaze grew pained…and then took on a resoluteness that she had never seen in him ere now. "Turn over and get on your hands and knees," he said in a gruff voice. She obliged without objection or hesitation, though that expression niggled at her memory. Where had she seen that look?
A sharp pain in her nether region stole her breath and nearly blinded her. She gasped as it occurred yet again, seemingly connected to whatever Elrohir was doing behind her. "My love, please…it hurts," Áine protested, hands now clenched and tears filling her eyes. "Elrohir, love, please wait. Stop, please. Stop!" Her entreaties went unanswered as the thrusting grew more frantic and grunts of pleasure filled the air. She twisted her neck around to beg him to slow down…
…and saw Boromir behind her instead of Elrohir. His head was thrown back in ecstasy as he rocked in and out of her roughly, gloved hands gripping her hips so tightly that it bruised her bones.
A scream ripped from her throat at the sight of the Gondorian captain and she now struggled. "Please, stop! Boromir, stop! It hurts! LET ME GO!" Every word fell on deaf ears. The pain became unbearable. It seemed to reach within and pound away at her very core; with each searing bout of pain, cracks formed inside her, spidering out until it engulfed every inch of her. At the sound of his release, Áine felt herself break. Agony. The taste of blood in her mouth. Pulsating light behind her eyes. Those awful noises behind her. Burning. Humiliation. A final thrust before he withdrew.
The last thought she had before she hit the cold, unyielding stone was "Why?"
Áine awoke to find herself lying curled up on her bedroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably and covered in sweat. She reached out and weakly tried to pull herself up onto the bed, but her strength failed and she collapsed in a heap onto the floor. Her shallow breath parched her throat and chapped her lips so badly that just moving them caused multiple splits.
Help. Please…help. Her voice was stolen in the trauma, leaving only her silent pleas. Help me.
"help me….please…" was all she could muster before she was taken captive by another fit of terror.
When Áine finally came to once more, the sun was just peeking out over the horizon. She blinked rapidly and draped an arm over her eyes, groaning softly.
"Oh thank the Valar! My lady!"
The outburst pulled her out of her stupor with the sharpness of a whip cracking. That voice…She was suddenly tangled in bedclothes – how did I get back here? – and the shaking was back. Her panic grew as that hellish dream came back to her in frighteningly clear detail; hoarse shrieks echoed in the small space, punctuated by the onslaught of images and a tidal wave of fear.
Hands sought to calm her, stroking her flailing arms with increasing frequency. "My lady, please! You are safe! Please calm down!" it entreated, sounding awfully frightened.
"Captain Boromir! What is the meaning of this?" came a booming voice from the doorway. She recognized it as Gandalf the Grey, the visiting wizard associated with the Halflings; with him was a visibly frantic Faelwyn.
"Help me! She is not in her right mind!" The sheer panic in his voice resounded in Áine. It did not make sense to her, his pain. Why would he be upset after what he did?
She heard a rustle of cloth, and a new set of hands touched her, cool and callous but strong. They roamed about her face and oddly enough soothed her. From deep within, a warmth began to spread, filling every crevice and healing the broken pieces of her psyche. The constant playback dissipated into nothing and her fear vanished as suddenly as it had arrived. Slowly her gasping waned to a slow inhale and exhale, her body now still and eyes far away.
"What happened?" The wizard's rich baritone had a certain sedative quality to it.
"I don't know! I was walking home last night and I heard awful screaming. When I came by to check, I found her on the floor, drenched in sweat and trembling violently. I feared she had had another nightmare so I put her back on the bed and slept in a chair outside her room. Gandalf, I swear – nothing improper happened. I stayed only to keep her safe."
A sigh. "Yes of course Boromir. I believe you." The wizard's cool hand grazed her jaw, guiding her eyes up to his. "My lady, do you recall anything from last night?"
She tensed as the memories came back….but their power was gone. The nightmare did not feel real as it once had; they were just images floating about. "I….I had a-a nightmare," was her raspy response.
"What was it about?" questioned Gandalf, still gently stroking her hair and face.
"I…I cannot….remember…" she lied, still too terrified to put the reverie into words – especially with Boromir present.
"Tell us what you can still recall," encouraged the captain as he sat by the foot of the bed just behind Gandalf.
Here, Áine's face went deathly white and she shook her head vehemently. "No….no, I don't want to talk about it." The trembling was back.
"My lady….you are safe. There is no need to be afraid. No harm wi—"
"NO!" Áine's voice was like a thunderclap. Her blue eyes flashed violently and her cheeks flushed pink; in the span of a heartbeat, her anger was gone and she slumped back against the pillows.
"All is well, Áine. You need not speak if you do not wish to." Gandalf shot a glare over his shoulder at the staggered Gondorian. "We leave you with Faelwyn, let you calm down." Áine nodded absently, eyes closed against the sunlight filtering in. "Do not worry about your studies today. I shall speak to Lord Glorfindel and say that you are not feeling well."
"NO! No please say nothing. Give me and Faelwyn but a few moments and I will be in the library at the appointed hour."
"Well, we had best be going." He put a hand on Boromir's shoulder and marched out with the bewildered man, his parting words to Áine being an arched brow and a subtle nod.
*Elvish translations*
Anirale: I desire/need you