Title: Yearning Hearts and Tangled Destinies
Author: Legolustbunny
Rating: Soft R
Disclaimer: I don't own any of Middle Earth, Legolas, Will Turner, or the Black Pearl. Will return them once I'm done. J
Chapter One –
Nighttime glistened like a fine layer of effervescent fairy dust through a shimmering layer of moonlight varnish, dripping pools of quivering mercury droplets down the crushed satin skin of Lothlorien's fabled and powerful tree-plant sentinels. It was as though the moon herself wept the silvery blood of the elves down through the indigo plains adance with the twinkling mistletoe of starlight. The heaven rich greens of earth and flora faded into the shadows, misting over imperfections with wide brush-strokes of distilled peace. Deceptive in its placid beauty, the forest maintained a calm demeanor even as its wooden heart broke for the anguished pain sheltered within its walls.
Hidden from even the sharpest Elven eyes and ears, two dainty feet clad in embroidered silk and speckled with the most delicately perfect pearls the sea had ever produced, made not a sound at all as they tip-toed through the quietly waving ferns that blanketed the forest floor. Slender ankles swept up to milky calves sculpted to perfection, swathed in periwinkle lace that appeared to mock the pull of the earth with whimsical defiance. The owner of the long, shapely legs leading up to the voluptuous beginning of a faultless hourglass figure had been more generously blessed with elegant female curves than many of her race and Fate had decreed or rather, lavishly bestowed, an inherent grace and nobility to this particular she-elf's every poised motion. Her shoulders and back were frosted with swaying ringlets like a delectable pastry liberally garlanded with golden silk spun to the fineness of a spider's web. Nestled among the blonde curls was the exquisite face of a celestial being, with eyes like two blueberry jewels sparkling from an oval bowl of peaches and cream and revealing the tender emotions of her heart.
In the velvety silence, mingling voices singing songs of mourning for Gandalf the Grey were all that kept the owner of the silken shoes from abandoning herself to the unhappiness kept deep in her heart. The poignant tales of grief and loss reminded her that duty was a cruel and pitiless Master, denying her not only the proper amount of time to weep for a man she had viewed as a dear father, but also that the man who held her soul hostage in his brilliant cerulean orbs would be once again called away from her to fulfill his heroic destiny.
Legolas Greenleaf. Son of Thranduil and Princeling of the Silvan Elves.
He had lived a thousand summers beyond her own and she had grown from an innocent elf-child in the shadow of his presence. Her heart leapt beneath her breast, causing her to pause and reach out for the comfort and strength of the trees. She, herself, was no inconsequential elf. No mere warrior maiden or woman of the court. But her true identity had always been hidden even from the world of elves and in the eyes of Legolas, she was simply a daughter of the lesser court. A child who had laughed when he teased her with games and taught her how to hold a bow made of a willow branch he had cut and whittled just for her. He did not know her true heritage and she feared that he would be unable to shake away those memories of her childhood, to see the magnificent woman she had become.
She faltered in her resolve as she remembered the dearth of reaction in his handsome face when he had seen her. Her soul had cried out against the ash and dirt marring his flawless skin, the weariness that hung heavily over his shoulders. Their trials must have been enormous to wear down even an elf of Legolas' potency and courage. But his eyes had rested on her for only the briefest of moments, the heartbeat of a wild bird, and then he had looked toward his equally weary companions without a sign of recognition.
A branch reached down to caress her cheek with a single, broad leaf. As though the forest sought to comfort and urge her on. Inhaling the fresh night air deeply into her lungs, the elegant sky blue lace of her gown stretching over her generous bosom reminded her that she was no longer the androgynous youth he had known and she regained some of the daring that had driven her from the safety of the court. The Fellowship would depart come the break of morn and she would once again watch Legolas fade into a dangerously uncertain future. This was her moment to seize, to throw down her pride if needed and declare the truth of her emotions, the strength of her love, and the depth of her passion.
Light shimmered through the trees as her destination neared, each of her steps bringing her closer to him. Breath caught in her throat, fluttering its butterfly wings as it fought to reach her lungs and deliver the life-giving oxygen that she needed. Even as she relented, drawing the scent of earth into her body, her heart ached at the unmistakable presence she felt as surely as the weight of the bejeweled silver chaplet winking from the tresses of her flaxen mane. The voice that broke the silence was not unexpected.
"I had feared you would come." Out of the darkness, the Lady of the Light appeared in all her gleaming splendor. Her expression was without reproach, always loving and full of wisdom. "Warning after warning, have I given you. The course you follow is foolishness."
"I am grateful for your care, Lady." She curtseyed low, averting her eyes from the Queen's shimmering form. "But I cannot allow him to leave this land, possibly to death's hungering arms, without declaring my everlasting love for him. My heart cannot bear this burden any longer, my Lady."
Galadriel reached out one slender hand and lifted the younger elf's face, "You need not bear this burden alone, my daughter. Alatariel."
It had been the length of a man's life since she had heard her true name from her mother's lips and her heart leapt with joy at the acknowledgement of familial bonds. Unable to keep the hope from her own azure crystal eyes, she searched her mother's beautiful face for an indication of what the Elf Queen wished her to do.
"Follow your heart, daughter." Leaning down, Galadriel brushed a warm kiss over Alatariel's forehead and smoothed the waves of her daughter's silvery corn silk hair. "He is restless and grieving for the loss of Gandalf. Comfort him."
"Thank you, mother." Alatariel curtseyed once again, pulling reluctantly from her mother's touch and making haste toward the clearing where the Fellowship had taken their rest for the night. Hope sang through her blood and skin, so loud in her ears that she bade no notice to the sound of her own footsteps against the soft earth.
Ferns swept away to reveal the clearing and she counted the sleeping occupants, her teal orbs searching for the ever-familiar blond tresses. When she found no shape resembling that of her beloved, she frowned into the darkness and made bold by stepping into the openness of the clearing. An empty blanket and sleeping mat still rolled tightly into a bundle were all that lay where Legolas should have been.
"Bathing, perhaps?" She murmured, her musical voice no more than a lilt on the breeze. Pulse dancing against the confines of her veins at the thought; she hurried toward the nearest spring. Oh, to be the water that coursed over such fair skin as his. Her cheeks flushed as her mind wandered into realms she had always denied herself, believing that it would never be her fate to know the hidden jewels of a man. She would not give herself to any save Legolas.
A voice pricked at her excellent hearing and she instinctively quieted her step, not wanting to be heard or to disturb whatever clandestine meeting was taking place within the safety of shadow. Creeping silently through the underbrush, she skirted the edge of the spring and peered into the small clearing. In the light of the full moon, she could see every detail as plainly as midday. The play of muscles across a man's back and shoulders as he moved, an arm's length above the ground and not alone. In the silence, a female's soft moan was as deafening as a herald of trumpets.
"Legolas." It was breathy, almost inaudible and the female from whose vocal cords the exclaim emanated was hidden from view by his shoulders.
"Don't speak." The voice of Legolas whispered quickly, his profile visible for a moment as he shifted his weight over the female's body.
Alatariel was frozen still as a dappled roe caught in the sights of a skilled hunter, unable to move for fear of being discovered and unable to wrench her eyes from the sight of her beloved as he buried himself to the hilt inside the unknown woman. She caught a glimpse of a face, nearly hidden behind pale waves of hair, and covered her mouth with one hand to prevent the sound of her horror from alerting them to her presence. The she-elf beneath him was a simple handmaiden, well known for her skill with men and her willingness to satisfy any number of them.
Pulling away from the clearing, she fled with the speed of a descendent of Mearas, heart breaking and shattering into pieces. Her mother had been right in her warnings. Alatariel had never held a place in Legolas' heart and she would remain forever alone in the tomb of her heartbreak.
"That was magnificent." The she-elf's voice was too breathy.
Legolas couldn't remember her name. The woman who lay before him with the come-hither eyes of a mortal whore and the provocative lips that had driven him to a failed attempt at soothing his aching heart and body. Even with the languid weariness of post-coupling seeping into his muscles, the gnawing pain of loss remained undiminished. There was something else nagging at the recesses of his mind with the insistently pricking fingers of a forgotten idea allowed to fester and become a hidden, cerebral parasite.
In the moonlight, he swept his eyes over her supple form once more and tried to recall why he had found her desirable enough to pull her into the shadows. Her shoulders were too broad, her hair was golden silk but too thick and heavy in his fingers. A nose that was a little too prominent and eyes too dark for his liking. He had imagined her with a narrower taper waist, more elegantly sculpted legs, and ripe breasts that would fill his hands to overflowing.
Then there was her voice. Not the right words, not the voice that his mind whispered to him that he should be hearing. Not the woman he should be laying down in the velvet moss and filling with his essence. She was tainted by the world and he could almost taste the sweat of other men left behind on her used skin.
Too dark eyes fluttered suggestively as her hand drifted down over his bare chest to brush featherlike against his thigh. "Tell me one thing, Legolas, son of Thranduil."
He didn't answer, trying to imagine her words cast in a different tone. In a voice filled with the music of the birds and the wind.
"Who is Tari?" One eyebrow arched delicately in the dim light. "You whispered her name at the height of your release. Who is she?"
Legolas rolled away to hide his surprise that she had stumbled across the secret yearning he had managed to hide even from himself. That she had been able to give a face and a name to the woman who should have been lying in her stead.
"A human, perhaps?" The she-elf continued, stretching languidly as she reached for her previously discarded gown.
"An elf. A lady." Legolas answered tersely, slipping into his own tunic and leggings. "And no one that concerns you."
"She must be quite fair to have captured the desire of the Prince of the Silvan."
Legolas turned away, catching the sight of his own face in the smooth surface of the bathing pool and searching the reflection for understanding. He had tried to explain it away, the sudden rush of desire that had coursed through him when he had seen her again. So much time had passed and yet he could still see the joy of youth in her beautiful face. Shining eyes looking to him with the same childlike devotion that he had basked in when she was but an elf-child. But she was no longer that child. He had been taken back by the full curves of her breasts and hips, desperately envying the tightly clinging fabric as it swept over her skin. Even weary from their travails, he had ached to pull her into his arms and hear the most enchanting sound in all of Middle-earth. Her rich laughter. Unbidden images had come to him as he sought to concentrate on the negotiations for rest and sustenance for the Fellowship. Now, when they bore the fate of the world in their hands, when they had already lost one of their ranks. Now was no time to imagine the heat of skin, the depths of fire at the joining of her legs, and the ecstasy of her beautiful face as he brought her to climax again and again.
"Legolas?" A warm hand brushed his shoulder and he shook her off.
"Leave me." He ordered sharply as he adjusted his tunic.
"If you cannot have her." The she-elf smiled with the satisfaction of ensured conquest. "You know where to find me."
He didn't answer. Knowing that she was right. That more time spent in this forest would only drive him back to her willing arms to sate his desire for a childhood friend who was no longer a mere child. He could not have Tari, could never pursue any thought of her touch. His heart longed to dream of a different time. Before the end of the Age of Elves came with death's finality, of a time when the One Ring would be but a dark memory over the land of Middle-earth. But even with the possible reign of peace, he knew that she was beyond his grasp. There was power in her eyes that he had sensed without understanding, secrets behind those lips that he heard only the whispers of. A truth that he did not know even as he knew it would prevent him from knowing the sweetness of her honeyed depths.
The dawn no longer sang its hushed music for Alatariel, no longer held the allure of fire and beauty splashed in a careless spray across the sky. She met each rising of the sun with the resignation of one who has no reason to hope for yet another breath of life. Living on borrowed time and merely awaiting the end of her unimaginable pain, yearning for the end, for the softness of death or oblivion or simply the emptiness of an immortal life without reason for living.
In the safety of night, she wept a thousand diamond tears onto silken pillows as her memory tortured her ceaselessly with what she had witnessed. The shattering of her heart repeated night after night in the painful memory of Legolas' coupling with the handmaiden. Her body doubly mocked her when it continued to burn for his touch, twisting her much enlightened imagination into placing herself into the memory. Imagining that it was her body he lay over, thrusting deftly into the liquid heat that ached between her thighs. Only able to dream what pleasure his touch would elicit in her traitorous blood.
Tortured sleep left her weary and hurting, seeking solace in the breaking day where she had always found her most perfect joy. But this ruby dawn did not comfort her. Despite the pain in her soul, she found herself fearing for the safety of her beloved even as she cursed her fool heart for giving itself too willingly to another.
"These are dark times." Her mother's voice was soft in the stillness of dawn.
"They are." Alatariel agreed without a trace of emotion in her voice, both shamed and sad to admit that she had been such a fool.
"The orcs grow increasingly brazen, daring even to enter the forest in search of bloodshed. A grim future awaits the race of men and the Fellowship is in grave peril." Galadriel stood motionless at her side, gazing out into the tumble of vermilion clouds pouring over the horizon. "Our time is coming to an end and we must take our leave. A great battle has been fought and many have fallen. Both elves and men."
Alatariel held her tongue. Desperate for news of Legolas and equally desperate to erase the beauty of his face from her memory.
"They now ride to Mordor, where they have little hope of success."
"Mother, please." Alatariel could no longer keep her tears at bay, feeling them trail down her fair cheeks in warm tracks of salt and water. "What have you seen?"
The Lady of Light smiled with a great sadness in her azure eyes, "You believe your love of him to be foolish because he sought release in another."
Alatariel hung her head with the heavy weight of shame, drawing her eyes down to her feet with the strength of all the horses in Lothlorien.
"But that was not the cause of my warnings for you. It is not his destiny to journey with his people to the Undying Land."
Fear drove like a stake into Alatariel's wounded heart, her delicate fingers tightening around the fabric of her gown even as she searched her mother's face for the truth of her words. "You have seen his end?"
"I have. And there is none who can save him."
"That can't be! Mother, please! Tell me there is a way!" Alatariel cried.
Galadriel studied her for a moment before relenting, "There is but one in all of Middle-earth who might stay his fate. If they reach him in time."
"Say the name and I will not rest until I have sent them to him. Give me a ray of hope that I might hold as a beacon in these dark times." Alatariel bravely fought back her tears. "My love remains unbroken even as my heart falls in pieces inside of my body. If there is a way then I will see it done. I will see him live even with my last breath."
"Then it is time." The sadness in the Queen's eyes deepened.
"Time for what?"
"For you to embrace who you really are." Galadriel reached out to stroke the side of Alatariel's cheek. "In you lies the power to save the one you love. You must reach into your heart and find a way. His life is in your hands alone."
Alatariel's eyes widened, glittering like sapphires in the brilliance of the morning, bright with the washing of fresh tears and filled with the hope of eternal spring. "Mother?"
"I have kept you sheltered from this world for fear of those who would seek to use you. From the ever watching eye of Sauron himself. You hold vast power within you that even the greatest evil has not foreseen. You are our last hope for this world."
Humbled by the sudden burden of responsibility now resting on her slim shoulders, Alatariel could only nod mutely and blink away the tears as her mother took her leave, trailing the warmth of tranquility behind her. The forest began its chorus of birds and woodland creatures, filling the air with familiarity and the sound of home. Her heartache began anew as she realized that she would have to leave the shelter of her beautiful home and journey out into a world dark with evil and hate. The thought filled her with dread, as she had never set one delicate foot beyond her mother's realm. And yet?
The fate of Legolas hung in the balance. His very life and blood were now in her hands. Clutching them to her breast, she vowed that she would not abandon hope nor her beloved. She would leave her home and travel the length and breadth of Middle-earth to ensure that he would know the everlasting peace of the Undying Land.
Her resolve fortified, she cast her thoughts over the available options for travel. Even the swiftest footed of the Elven horses would not bring her to the battlefield soon enough to prevent his fall into the arms of Death. She would need to journey to the shores of the sea and then take sail, letting the wind bring her to the trade routes of the River Anduin and the city of men, Minas Tirith. Even then, there was a chance she would arrive too late.
"I must find the fastest ship in all of Middle-earth." Alatariel frowned, her creamy porcelain skin creasing faintly across her brow. The fastest vessels had already been filled with warriors sent to battle with men against the darkness spreading over the land. There was little left for her that would carry her as fast as her heart wanted to fly.
A new thought appeared in her mind as she gazed out over the trees. Her mother spoke of power untapped and unknown. The idea began to take root and grow, its buds unfurling into blossoms as it found fertile soil and nourishment in her imagination. If there was no ship fast enough to carry her to her beloved, then she would call one to her. Conjure it from the depths of her own desires if need be. But first, she needed to hasten to the shores of the sea and the only possible hope for her dearest Legolas.
"Jack!" Will Turner's words were cruelly ripped away and swallowed up in the belly of the tropical storm that had caught the Black Pearl by surprise on their first day at sea following the endless days of repair work that had been needed after Jack's reclamation of his rightful spot at the helm of the boat.
Jack's lips moved, forming unheard cries for help even as they were snatched from his throat. A great wave reached over the bow of the ship and wrapped icy tentacles around the Captain's bedraggled form, ripping him away from the wheel and hurling him out into the crashing waves around them.
Clenching his teeth against the lashing rain, Will fought his way hand over hand to the spinning wheel and grabbed hold with all his might. Muscles strained as he attempted to gain control of the ship, as though he was trying to ride a bucking Mustang stallion with nothing but a bit of twine around the creature's neck. The Pearl swayed to the starboard side, turning Will's stomach nearly inside out and carrying him further away from where Jack had been swept over. And further into the dangerous waters of the Bermuda Triangle.
All that was left for Will Turner was to hold tightly to the embattled ship and pray that both he and Jack would manage another legendary escape.
A storm more fierce and punishing than even the eldest of the elves could remember pounded in from the endless horizon and drenched the waiting party with its furious, torrential rains scooped up from the resource of the ocean. One lone figure stood against the ferocity of the hurricane with the firmness of inexorable resolve. Graceful arms raised to the heavens and golden hair whipping about her head with the frenzy of a thousand coiled snakes vying for food; the daughter of Galadriel kept her eyes tightly closed and continued to shout her demands to the waters before her.
The exotic perfume of her magicks permeated the air, overpowering even the tangy salt of the sea spray as the ocean coated them with its damp and briny spittle. Magick slipped its ethereal fingers through the tough leather the party of elves wore as protection to tickle their skin and tangle provocatively in the long cords and braids of golden hair.
Wind buffeted Alatariel severely but she denied it even the barest smidgeon of victory against her. Her own fear had been washed away by her unbreakable determination to bend the very reality of Middle-earth if necessity had ever so briefly pondered adding it to the cosmic list of impossible feats required to barter for the fate of one elven Princeling. The painted canvases within the walls of her mind were vividly colorful murals of what could be happening, what ill fortune could befall her beloved if she did not reach deep inside her soul and into the soul of the land to call forth power that had not been wielded in as many millennia as there were pebbles dotting the powder fine, black sand beach beneath the soles of her snug deerskin boots.
A final, bone-chilling shriek burst from the saltwater lips of waves driven at their resonance frequency before the storm seemed to burst into a million bits of rain-shaped shrapnel that painfully bombarded the battered the elves hunkered down on the beach. Then there was silence even more unnerving than the angry protestations of the waters. It was heavy and expectant, as though an empyrean sperm had impregnated the quiet, unfathomable womb of Silence with a child of dread and apprehension.
Alatariel dared open her eyes. Dark lashes heavy with salt and rain fluttered like the sodden wings of a bird, dripping and shaking themselves free of the weight of water. Before her was the peaceful sight of a ship drifting languidly in a suddenly irenic oceanscape. She was an unparalleled beauty of a ship, with elegant lines both sleek and curvaceous, sweeping sails shivering in the soft breath of the wind as she bobbed lightly amidst the white tipped surf. The dark wood and black sails were seductively mysterious, a lady dressed in widow's garb but still managing to whisper sweetly provocative promises of adventurous dreams and rich conquest just out of reach.
"My lady, what is this otherworldly vessel?" One of the escort guards approached her uneasily, his pale blue eyes focused suspiciously on the ship that had appeared from the violent heart of the storm. He was reluctant to trust the magicks that had been worked upon the shores, not because he distrusted his Princess but because he feared for the safety of such a wondrous creature as she.
"That," Alatariel gifted the guard with a brilliantly sparkling display of perfectly white teeth, "Is the fastest ship in all the world. I called her to me that I may reach the battle in time."
"Should we prepare to board her?"
"Immediately. There is not a precious modicum of time to waste."
In the blink of an Elvish eye, the beach transformed into a teeming hub of activity, buzzing with voices and sounds as the elves prepared the narrow wooden boats they had used as shelter from the storm to carry them out to the washed and glistening briny flanks of the ship.
Alatariel could barely restrain her impatient anticipation long enough for one of the guard to hold out an elegantly carved alabaster hand to aid her in climbing into the first of the small fleet of sleek boats, ornately carved with runes and symbols of the ancient times of Middle-earth. She reached out five fingers of brushed ivory skin, luminous and iridescent from the heady charge of the magicks, a powerful intoxicating agent running through her bloodstream. Her touch was purposely gentle, as she could not afford for too much of the magicks to bleed through skin and soak into the guard's blood. He would be unable to handle the tremendous weight of power and with too much contact, he would undoubtedly be caught in the hungering jaws of unbreakable addiction.
It was not a moment too soon that the tough leather sole of her embroidered travel slippers touched down on the brine soaked boards of the ship's deck. Daintily making her way past bits of seaweed strewn over the wood and the occasional abandoned fish heavy its slick body in a desperate attempt to return to the sea. Quickly, she ordered the elves to gather the fattest creatures for food and spare the rest by hurling them back into the safety of depth and water.
"My lady!" A shout came from the bridge of the ship. She heard the rustle of weapons being drawn and hurried forward as rapidly as her petite feet would allow.
Huddled against the solid stock of wood baring the ship's wheel and still clinging desperately to the spokes, was a man in the soaked and tattered remains of unusual clothing. Frowning with compassion and concern, she knelt beside him and reached out to brush the sodden hair from his face. Almost violently, he pulled away from her and clung even more frantically to the wheel. His whole body was racked with such shivering that she ached for him, knowing that his trials had been a result of her doing and her wishes.
"Find the captain's quarters and take him there. Make sure he is fed and given dry clothing." Alatariel waved the guards away, watching hopefully as they carried the shaking man away and down into the depths of the ship.
Her hands rebelled against the chill of the wind swept helm but she turned her gaze to the sea and offered her thanks to the earth and ocean. For bringing her the ship that would speed her to her beloved. Behind her elegantly dainty shoulders, she could hear her kinsfolk hurry about the business of loading their supplies onto the ship and take their positions to steer her toward Minas Tirith. A few days' time would bring her to its shores. A few days' time was all she had before she would be helplessly watching her love fall in battle.
Suddenly restless and unsettled by the sight of unending horizon, she pulled away from the prow of the ship and returned to the main deck. Inquiring of the unknown passenger, she was reassured that he had been duly taken care of and was sequestered in the captain's quarters. Grateful for the loyalty of her guard, she quietly made her way to the cabin within the ship's breast, pausing at the door to rap her knuckles softly against the wood.
"My lady." One of the guard immediately opened the door, his face etched with concern. "I'm afraid that the stranger speaks an unknown tongue. We have not been able to decipher his ramblings."
Alatariel nodded with understanding, "Let me attempt to speak to him. Many a time I have understood even the woodland creatures. Perhaps I can begin to make sense of his speech."
"As you wish." He bowed deeply, holding the door open wide for her as she passed through the threshold and then standing at attention outside the cabin to prevent any interruption.
The stranger's back was turned, his eyes turned toward the darkening night beyond the windows of the cabin. She took notice of his strong, lean build and the smooth definition of muscle and vein within his forearms. A man who was not afraid of hard labor. She imagined that his hands would be rough and calloused, unlike the smooth hands of Elven men. Hands worn and battered by a lifetime of harsh tools and use.
"Sir?" She spoke the first word, maintaining the distance between them out of respect for his understandable confusion.
Instantly, he turned around with an almost wild expression on his face. "I can understand you! The others spoke nothing but nonsense. Speak again!"
Alatariel stood in stunned astonishment. The man's hair was dark as chestnut and there was a dappling of hair in a careful pattern over his face. But the eyes were strangely familiar despite their dark color. The very sweep and shadow of his cheekbones startled her. The resemblance to her love, Legolas, was uncanny.
"Who are you?" He demanded, taking a step toward her. "Where am I? Where's Jack?"
"I am sorry." Alatariel shook herself quickly from the daze. "I do now know this Jack that you speak of. Is he a friend?"
"He is the captain of this ship." The stranger answered defiantly.
"I have merely borrowed this vessel. It will be returned to its rightful place once I have reached my destination." She tried to assure him gently but her words only seemed to agitate him further and he began to pace across the breadth of the cabin.
"I don't understand. There was a storm…I remember the storm." He pressed one hand against his forehead in obvious struggle.
"Do not attempt to understand. Accept that this is where you have come and that I will return you when I can. Please. Trust me. You need not fear me or my kinsmen." She closed the distance and reached out to him, anxious to comfort him and ease his fears. He stiffened as she took his hands, clasping them in hers and meeting those hauntingly familiar eyes, but after a few moments the tension in his shoulders eased and he nodded slightly.
"Who are you?" His voice was lower, huskier than it had been before.
"I am a friend, that is most important. I mean you no harm and I am sorry to displace you thus. I assure you that it is the most desperate of circumstances that have caused me to do this." She could feel heat blooming across her cheeks, unable to pull herself away from the touch of his skin. As she had guessed, his skin was rough with labor but she did not find it unpleasant. On the contrary, she could feel her heart beating faster as his calloused fingers brushed against the palms of her hands.
Brown eyes that shone with intensity bored into hers. "I feel as though I know you from somewhere. What is your name?"
Alatariel could feel something pulling her closer to this stranger. The heat building between them. Remembering to smile, she met his eyes again and felt herself drifting into a far off world. "You may call me Tari."
"Will. Will Turner."
"A pleasure to meet you, Will Turner."
"The pleasure is mine. Lady." There was unabashed curiosity in his doe brown eyes as he bent his head to whisper the ghost of a kiss against the back of her hand.
Will's intuition informed him that it was odd for any thoughts of Elizabeth seemed distant and far away. It had to be that he was in a different world now and who knew how many fathoms and ages he was away from her. This was a world of men who appeared to be human but were not like him in too many ways. It wasn't just the strange language that they spoke amongst themselves or the fact that their ears bore pointed tips, and each and every one of them had long, blond hair that must have been spun from the finest silk. Amongst all of these strange new people, the woman who appeared to be their leader was the most mysterious of them all.
She alone could speak to him in his own tongue and he was grateful that she seemed to be determined to watch over him. A few of the men had given him looks that were none too friendly as they had provided him with food and clean clothing. The tunic he wore was made of such fine cloth that he scarcely felt comfortable in it and had abandoned it as soon as he was left alone. Sitting along the edge of the bed in the captain's quarters, he fingered the soft cloth curiously, wondering at the skill of such a weaver.
They were on a mission of great import, that much he had gathered from his brief conversation with the golden haired woman who must be some sort of Goddess. He couldn't imagine a human woman with even a fraction of her beauty. Finding himself lost in the depths of her crystalline blue eyes and yearning to know the silken perfection of her skin. Again, part of him knew that it was wrong somehow. That he shouldn't be hungering for the taste of her lips or aching to see her eyes flutter, lips parted with pleasure.
"Will Turner?" Her voice was a sweet chord of heavenly chimes that entranced him completely until he realized that he was still bare-chested, awkward as baby bird struggling with the first stretching of its wings.
Tari barely remembered to inhale the warm, musky air within the cabin; frozen by the sight of the strange human bathed in the honeyed glow of the candles lighting the room. The deep forest leggings were Elven and familiar, as was the tumble of cloth clutched in his rough, bronzed hands. She was started by the fact that his chest and arms and what she could see of his legs were the same rich hue of darkened gold. Auburn highlights burned red through his curling locks in the flickering light, his dark eyes searching hers from the face that could have easily been another's.
She was drawn to him, unable to speak or think, or do anything but swallow shallow breaths and pray that his skin wouldn't burn her away should she allow herself to reach out. As if under a spell, she watched her own pale hands pull the soft tunic from his hands, trembling with the uncertainty and anticipation. They were two white doves floating through a gentle breeze on a summer day in search of a safe place to nest. Lost in the sight of ivory on bronze, she was started when skin collided with skin and suddenly the heat of his body was burning into her palms.
Never before had she touched a man in this manner. Skin to skin. Her heart was pounding at a gallop within her chest and she wondered suddenly if it would break free of the confines within her body and leave it behind for wilder pastures. Every inch of her skin was on fire and the moment her eyes met his, she was filled with the certainty that she was falling. He was the summer sun beneath her touch, bright and beautiful in all its fiery glory.
"My lady." His voice was as rich and colored as his skin, eyes the color of fertile earth and flecked with the hint of celestial fire.
"Do not speak." Afraid that he would pull away from her, Tari hushed him quickly, shivering as her fingers brushed against the velvet of his lips. She was burning away and yet, she knew that whatever exquisite pleasures could come from his skin and lips were yet to be discovered. "I feel strange. Warm. The heat of your skin is intoxicating." She felt his heartbeat increase within his chest and looked up into his heavenly eyes for reassurance that she hadn't erred in her words. "Have I spoken wrongly?"
"Nay, Lady. Your voice is salvation to a blackened soul." Will's head was spinning with the proximity of this beautiful woman and the innocent expression of desire that had fallen from such luscious lips. He was doing his best to pull his eyes away from the generous swell of her bosoms, straining against the fabric in an accelerated rhythm. An instant before he managed to pull his willpower up by the bootstraps and drag his gaze away, he noticed the telltale half-moon shadows dotting the elegant fabric of her gown. It was incredible but the evidence was standing before him. This angel, this goddess, was feeling the same desire that coursed through his veins. This time he met the sky blue of her eyes with a frantic question, searching for wordless permission and approval to act upon his aching desires. Inky lashes fluttered as she looked up at him, lips parted in the very incarnation of his errant fantasies.
"I wish for things I do not know the words for." Her voice chimed delightfully in his ears, the sheltered innocence arousing him to the point of delirium. "This gown is suddenly restricting. Tightening around me until I can barely breathe. I wish to remove it."
Will could do no more than nod dumbly and try not to lose consciousness as she turned around, swept her golden mane over one shoulder, and gestured toward the line of silken lacing criss-crossing down her back. Fumbling with the slippery strands, he wasn't sure how he managed to untangle the lacing with such clumsy fingers. Every inch lead to the exposure of more ivory skin, flawless and lustrous in the warm light. His hands stopped at the bottom, barely able to move for fear of waking from this dream.
Pale, slender fingers slid the sleeves down her trim arms, caught in the curves of the fabric to tug it over rounded hips and released it to pool in a puddle of shimmering silk at the end of perfectly tapered legs. His breath caught in his throat as she turned around, completely naked, and faced him without shame. Pert breasts were islands in the river of her flaxen tresses, the pale pink of her attentive nipples standing out against the flow of gold and ivory.
Tari glanced down at her body, almost surprised that her skin was being consumed in the flames of some unseen fire. Something primal and basic was guiding her actions and words, and she was powerless against it. Leisurely, she brushed her hair away from her chest, shaking it lightly to send it cascading down her back in soft waves. Almost shyly, she turned her eyes back to the human.
"I desire you to remove your clothing, Will Turner." She hoped that it didn't sound too much like an order that she would give one of her guard. Heat flooded her cheeks as she followed the path of his hands when he complied with her command. Such rough, strong hands. They slipped briefly over slender hips, her eyes caught by the shadow play of his muscles and drawn down to his waist. He was standing before her in glorious nakedness and she was suddenly afraid that she would swoon at the sight of him.
There, nestled like a treasure in the dark patch of curls between his hips, was something that she had never seen before. Suddenly regretting her sheltered upbringing, she longed for the intimate knowledge of a man's body that the looser court females enjoyed. Her hands ached to touch and her lips hungered for the taste of him but she was struck motionless by her own ignorance.
"Tell me, Will Turner." She met his eyes with as much pride as she could manage. "I have no experience with men. What is it that you desire me to do?"
Will swallowed down a groan, almost pushed to the edge by the knowledge that she was a virgin. Offering herself to him with dignity and honest desire. He took a step forward, too lost in the haze of lust between them to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Careful to be gentle, he was conscious of the rough skin of his palm as he placed his hand against the side of her face. A shiver raced through his body as the head of his hardened member rubbed against the taut skin of her abdomen.
"It is about feeling, my lady." Her breath lingered with his as he pulled even closer, bringing their lips to a hair's width apart. "Do what brings you pleasure."
"Pleasure." She repeated softly, licking her lips daintly. The tip of her tongue brushed against his bottom lip and caused another shiver to slice through his body.
"Yes, my Lady. Pleasure."
Tari rested her hands against his strong shoulders, shivering almost uncontrollably as his lips slid down the side of her neck ever so softly. Leaning her head back instinctively, she was overwhelmed by the contrasts. The softness of his kisses along the base of her throat and the hardness pressing enticingly against her. Despite her inexperience, her body was trying to direct her movements. Hips rolled forward to push against him and pull him down to the warmth spreading between her legs. Somewhere deep inside her, she ached to feel his heat and every cell of her being screamed for this nameless joining.
Rough skin slipped down, sending jolts of unbelievable pleasure zinging out from her right nipple to the rest of her body. She arched her back further and tightened her grip on his shoulders.
"Do you enjoy that?" His heady voice lapped over her already overloaded senses, his hand once again slipping over the hardened bud. This time, he filled his palm with the swell of her breast and flicked his thumb repeatedly over the nub until she was writhing in his arms.
"Will." She gasped, eyes half closed in the fading light. Then the room was spinning and she felt the smoothness of cloth against her back, the softness of the bed. The weight of his body settled down on top of her and for a brief moment, she felt his rod dance against her inner thigh. Instinctively opening her legs wider, she strained against him to quench the aching heat inside her.
She was shocked when she realized that his torture with his lips was not over, trailing velvet kisses once more down her neck and then lower. Slick heat engulfed the same nipple that had been the previous source of pleasure so exquisite it was almost painful. His tongue rasped against the sensitive skin until she was moaning beneath him, thrashing and clutching him until her fingernails left marks in the smooth skin of his back. There was no thought left in her but to be filled, to be completely, to have this man deep inside of her.
As though he had read her mind, she felt him shift his weight and opened her eyes wide, determined to pay attention. He caught her eyes with his and held her gaze, moving between her legs slowly and gently.
"This may be painful, my lady." He whispered softly and she could feel the tip of his member pressing against the opening of her female chamber.
There was pain. But the cry that escaped her lips was from the thunder of pure pleasure rolling through her muscles. She could do little more than hold onto him, riding the waves of physical ecstasy that swelled with each thrust deeper into her body. His expression changed like quicksilver until she saw a new urgency deep within his beautiful brown eyes. They widened ever so slightly, pulling her further into bliss until she thought she would drown in the sensations coursing through her.
The moment his lips met hers, fervent and hungry, she felt the fire that had been building within her explode into a raging tempest of such sweet rapture that it was nearly unbearable. She could see the mirror of her own climax in his eyes as he buried himself one last time, so deeply inside of her that she could barely tell where the boundaries of their skin separated them. Finally breaking the kiss, they remained tangled in each other arms, chests heaving with the labor of their coupling and lost in the languid afterglow of mating.
To be continued…