Part 26 by Julie
Namoriel found herself laughing at almost everything Orophin said to her during their stroll through some of the less frequented areas of the city. She was not unaware that he was gradually steering her away from the main pathways, but she felt content to allow it, finding him both entertaining and alluring. She was curious to explore their developing relationship in a more private setting.
"I really should not tell you these things," Orophin was saying. "My brothers would not be at all amused to know that I told you some of these stories."
"I promise they will never know," she assured him with a smile. "My lips are sealed."
"Oh, I hope not," he teased her back. "That would be no fun at all."
"Orophin!" She swatted him lightly. He made her almost dizzy with excitement at times, and yet she could never quite seem to get Tareun out of her mind. She did not like to feel so torn, and stubbornly and deliberately pushed those feelings away in an effort to simply enjoy the magic of the moment.
He was laughing at her again, something he did quite often. "Ah, Namoriel, you have no idea how much I want to kiss you."
"On the contrary I do," she replied rather breathlessly.
Something in the air shifted, a heightening of the tension she had been feeling all morning. "I will take that as encouragement," he said, his keen glance sliding over her in a way that made her tingle all over.
They had halted in a quiet little garden so far from the main pathway that it bordered the high wall that perimetered the city. Slowly and seductively he moved closer, his blue eyes filled with smoldering fire. "Namoriel, you are so very beautiful," he murmured. "So delicate and sweet."
Totally entranced by him and by his words, she allowed him to slide his arms around her, to take her in his arms as a lover would. She lifted her lips, watching the way his smile widened, and then he was kissing her.
How long it lasted she did not know, but his kisses were persuasive, passionate and so skilled that they made her knees weak. Again and again he kissed her, his hands holding her firmly while his tongue thrust deeply and a warm glow spread through her entire body.
But suddenly something changed, and Orophin went tense. The kiss ended as he lifted his head to gaze at something—or someone—behind Namoriel. "You are looking for me?" he inquired. To Namoriel, he sounded defensive and irritated.
"Indeed I am," said a low male voice. It was Tareun!
Namoriel whipped around, aware that she was flushed from those kisses, her lips swollen from the intensity of them. She did not speak, but watched the way Tareun kept his gaze on Orophin, ignoring her totally. Ah, he was hurt. Or angry. She could not tell which.
"Haldir sends word," Tareun went on rather stiffly. "He commands you to join him at the Fences, along with five others. I wish to be one of them."
Moving away from Namoriel, Orophin shook his head. "You are not ready. I will take someone else."
Visible anger flashed in the other elf's eyes. "Unfair, Orophin. I will not be left behind! I am no weakling!"
"You are no weakling, but you are weak," Orophin snapped. In a movement, nearly unseen, Orophin caught Tareun by the shoulder and, with a violent twist that made Tareun gasp in pain, had him on the ground, pinned by Orophin's knee to his chest. "Can you breathe?" Orophin hissed.
Tareun struggled, but finally gasped an answer. "Nay."
"Then you are still weak. Haldir would not allow your return, nor will I. Regain your strength, my friend, and then I will reconsider." He leaned down to Tareun with his hand out.
Tareun grimaced and then clasped Orophin's wrist and was hauled gently to his feet.
Orophin turned briefly back to Namoriel. "A thousand pardons, fair lady. Duty calls, and I fear I must leave you."
Without another word, he stalked past a white-faced Tareun and out of the garden.
Namoriel stood still, gazing at Tareun, who had not moved, nor looked at her.
"Tareun," she said softly. "He is right. You have been weak, but you will be strong once more."
His clear blue eyes fastened to hers, narrowed but thoughtful. "Aye, I will," he said a bit abruptly. "Do you require an escort, my lady, or can you find your way back?"
For him, it was very formal, and she could feel herself bristle. "I am fine on my own," she retorted frostily, "and need no assistance. However," she added, starting to move past him, "if you wish for my company, I would not be adverse to it."
He trotted after her, catching up quickly and taking hold her arm. "Do not be angry, Namoriel," he said quietly. "If it is Orophin you prefer, I will not stand in your way."
This, Namoriel found, was not at ALL what she wanted to hear. "Do as you wish, Tareun." She kept her voice cool.
He stopped, the strength of his grip forcing her to stop as well. "What I wish, Namoriel, may not be quite what you think," he said crisply. "Shall I tell you what I wish?"
She looked at him questioningly, sensing a change that brought shivers to her flesh. "And what is that?"
"Quite simply this. If your true desire is for me to do as I wish, then you will see much more of me in coming days. I will not yield you to Orophin willingly, not unless you ask it of me." Determination glittered in his eyes and steel reverberated in his voice. For the first time Namoriel glimpsed Tareun the Warrior, and that glimpse jolted her to the core. "And since I am too weak for the Fences, in coming days you will find me on the training grounds. Perhaps you will be surprised by what you see."
"No, Tareun, I do not think I will be surprised," she heard herself answer, as if from a great distance. "I know you to be strong, and . . . and I do not wish you to yield me to Orophin."
"Then I shall not." Taking her firmly by the elbow, he guided her back to the main path.
xxx
Haldir stood on the high flet and fingered his bow, his attention focused, his mind far away. It was a skill he'd developed long ago, to drift and to stay alert at the same time. He gazed out into the growing darkness, knowing Orophin and the other wardens would be here soon to give them an added advantage. By himself, Orophin could take down a score of Orcs in less time than it took to pull on a pair of boots.
His thoughts drifted to Sariel, no matter how many times he reined them back. She drew on him like a heady wine, pulling on him as though he was a young ellon in the throes of his first love interest. It was nonsense for him to be so taken with her, and yet he was. He meant to take her as a lover, that much he knew. If only this business of the stone could be concluded. He could not imagine who it was that the stone yearned for, but he was glad it was not Galadriel or Celeborn. The idea of having that stone, with its untapped and unknown magic, near the ring of power sent a frisson of dread down his spine. He could not imagine what might happen, but he did not want to find out.
He shoved the thought away, returning to Sariel. With her blue-black hair, her wide sea-blue eyes, and those lips, she was extremely tempting . . . but that was not it. He had seen countless ellith just as lovely. Then what was it about her that drew him?
He thought of her delectable form, recalling the dream he had had, and what he had done to her during that dream. The remembrance caught his breath. This was not the time to think of such things unless he wanted to stand here with an unbearable ache in his loins that he could do nothing about.
He only knew one thing. He wanted her. When this would happen, he did not know. It all depended on that cursed stone and even more cursed Orcs of Mordor.
But if it all worked out the way he wished, he would make Sariel his. Not for a night, not for a month or a year, but for all time. Completely his.
xxx
Celeborn sat on the edge of the bed, studying his wife's face with concern. "You must eat," he said gently.
"I still feel ill," she whispered. "I cannot think of food."
Two healers stood at the foot of the great bed. "At least drink this draught," the first of them pleaded. "My lady, it will help, I promise."
Celeborn held out his hand. "Give it to me. I will see that she takes it."
"Bully," she murmured, after they had left. "I will be well, my love, without that nasty drink."
He propped up her head, holding the goblet to her lips. "Drink," he commanded.
The fact that she complied told him much, for this concoction was one often given to revive the wounded. Afterward, the color came back to her cheeks, and she smiled.
"There," she said dryly, "are you satisfied?"
"For now," he murmured, and bent to kiss her brow. "It was the stone," he added flatly. "It did this."
"I think you may be right." Galadriel lay silent, thinking this over. "But we still have to know, Celeborn. To have something of such power within our grasp . . . it could make the difference. It could be what we need to survive."
He sighed. "It could be. Or it could bring about our destruction."
His words hung in the air for some time to come.
~*~
(back to Fianna)