Chapter 18
Ornella lay on her side, sighing contently as Beorn spooned her from behind. She could feel his lips feathering over her shoulder and neck, wringing a shudder out of her.
"Careful," She warned him with a sleepy smile, "You will find yourself on your back again."
"Your words only entice me further, little clover."
She was unlike any maiden on Middle-Earth; unafraid to be risqué, acting and speaking provocatively. It drove him wild.
Beorn's fingers brushed up her hips, his hands moving down the arch of her pinched waist and back up. Ornella closed her eyes with a sensual sigh, his touch sending goosebumps through her body and hardening her soft nipples. He continued his ministrations until she shifted their positions, forcibly pushing Beorn onto his back to straddle his hips.
His amber eyes set aflame, taking in the glorious sight of the naked woman.
"I warned you," She smirked playfully, her hands resting on his rock-hard stomach.
"A warning I am glad I did not take seriously," He said, bringing his hands to her hips.
She could feel him hardening beneath her. Her body responded, feeling the familiar yearn in between her legs.
"You are insatiable," He muttered heatedly, his greedy hands wandering.
His hands slid to her back to pull her down against him. Her arms slid around his neck, her breasts pressing against him as he swept her into a knee-weakening kiss. He suddenly rolled over, settling himself between her legs as she let out a high-pitched giggle.
Looking down at her smiling face, he paused. Ornella looked up at him curiously, her hands resting on his muscular chest.
"What is it?" She asked, question in her eyes as he continued to stare at her.
He brought a finger to brush a silver curl off her face, his golden eyes soft like melting honey.
"You are exquisite," He breathed out in a tender whisper.
She felt a sudden and inexplicable meekness at his passionate words. Her hands trailed slowly up his chest and on his face, gazing up at him with a loving hesitance.
"Will you still think so when I am old and gray?"
"I will be old and gray with you, little clover," He reminded her.
"Oh, then who will take care of our home and our animals once we are too old to do naught but sit on a chair?" She raised a playful eyebrow.
"You forget you are not only my life mate," He smirked, "You will also be the mother of my Beornings."
A soft gasp escaped her lips, her eyes widening slightly. He stilled, the lack of reaction on her part making him nervous. He nearly released an exaggerated exhale when the surprise on her face morphed into utter delight.
"Then I suppose we better get started," She said before pulling his face down for a fierce, passionate kiss.
1,000 Years Later
The idyllic tale of the silver maiden and the Beorning beast was a favorite romantic tale throughout Middle-Earth. The wind carried different versions of their story. Sometimes Ornella was a fierce warrior who charged through the Anduin Vales to slay the beast only to fall in love with him. Other times, Ornella was an elf who had tamed the beast with her gentle aura and silver beauty. Then there was the version that Beorn had actually raided her village and kidnapped her only to fall in love with her. Lucky and Aldo would sometimes be mentioned as her companions but often exaggerated for a white steed and fierce wolf-dog.
The one thing the stories all had in common was the slow-burning passion that began as a spark and ignited into a fiery wall of deep love between two unlikely beings. But, only the person who knew the true story was a Beorning named Grimbeorn.
He would know, after all, being the only son of Beorn and Ornella.
Grimbeorn the Old, they called him. Having inherited his mother's silver hair and his father's stern and gruff exterior, he was called an old man since he was a child. It was Grimbeorn who would tell the story of his parents for the first time when he was forced to hold a large procession when Lord Elrond and much of his house stayed at his lodgings on their way to Minas Tirith for Arwen's wedding.
He repeated story just as his mother told it to him yet when they left and retold the tale, it became legend. He never tired of telling their story to anyone who would listen. He was thankful his three children felt the same way as they asked to hear it constantly.
Tonight was no different. He returned home from a long day of patrolling the grounds to find his children waiting for him eagerly in their beds.
"Father-" Langhar, his eldest daughter, began.
"Yes, yes," He nodded with a deep chuckle, "The story."
"Can you tell it a bit slower this time?" Sterkist, his middle son, asked.
Grimbeorn opened to mouth to say yes when his very pregnant wife entered the bedroom, lit candle in hand and the other resting on her large belly.
"Now, children," She said with gentle authority, "Your father needs his rest as do you."
"Perhaps I can tell it not too fast nor too slow?" Grimbeorn offered as he sat on the edge of Langhar's bed.
He looked over at his wife, a twinkle in his onyx-black eyes. She hesitated but relented, nodding with an affectionate rolling of her eyes. The children quickly sat up in anticipation, their mother sitting on Sterkist's bed to listen to the story with them.
"You love our grandparent's story as much as we do, mother," Sterkist teased.
"I have never denied that," She smiled, reaching over to playfully tickle her son.
He squirmed with a giggle, hopping onto her lap and slinging a small arm around her belly. Langhar scooted to cuddle against Grimbeorn's side who wrapped an arm around her small shoulders. The three looked towards the Beorning Cheiftain, waiting for him to begin.
Grimbeorn glanced over at the open door, his eyes locking onto a painted portrait for his mother and father that hung in the center of their beautiful home. His eyes softened, a barely visible smile on his face. He turned back to his family, opening his mouth to tell the story. He could almost hear his mother's voice speak alongside his in that moment.
"Once upon time, there was a silver clover..."
The End