Author's Note: There can be no forgiveness because I have been far too neglectful. A bout of personal problems has hit like a thunderstorm and I was left wavering upon the brink of abandoning my writing for good. But it seems that I'm drawn back by my love for this story and for you, the readers. Updates may be slow in coming, but I will see this through to the end. I hope you can forgive me for the length delay.
WARNING: The beginning and end of this chapter is rated R for sexual implications and a bit of angst. Nothing too graphic, but you have been warned.
-
-
-
By the Sea.
Chapter Twenty: Rising Sun.
-
-
-
Dawn was approaching, though it could not be seen through the grey clouds that swirled in the distance.
He closed his eyes, feeling imaginary warm hands sliding up through his tunic as they caressed his bare back. Whispered words of love trickled into the sensitive folds of his ear as the hands came around to his front, encircling him within soft warm arms as the palms caressed the taut muscles of his chest; fingers curling in the fine hair that was peppered there. The hands tapered down to the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the dents with reverence. "I love you... I love you so, I can scarce breathe." Her voice echoed within him, resounding in the depths of his soul. He groaned quietly, feeling her hands work their way down to his tightening groin, through the top of his leggings before—
"Lothíriel," a wanton sigh escaped him as he remained with his arm propped against the wall above his head. He opened his eyes to the window, the view of the plains before him... The hands were gone; her voice vanished, evaporated into thin air. Melancholy simmered upon his brow.
"Still brooding?" Éothain remarked casually, entering the small library.
Elfhelm started but turned with a smirk, "What if I am?"
"You've been too quiet since your return from Edoras," Éothain paused, "Has something happened?"
The air grew still as the Marshal stared at his comrade and friend.
How could one expel the truth of his folly? How could one admit to the ungainly thoughts that plagued him so fiercely? That, within the deepest corners of his heart, he wished to possess the body, mind and soul of someone that did not belong to him; a woman that he lusted after and longed for, even in his waking hours. It would be madness to do so. And even if he could, there were no words of regret to absolve him of his countless sins. How could he tell his friend that his very own hands and fingers sought personal gratification each night, but that he always dreamt of her in the throes of his lonely passion. And that in the end, in his mind, her hands always replaced his own and brought him pleasure... Every thought, every dream, every time he spilled his seed in her name was a crime and a curse.
It was something he had to endure alone. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
A barking laugh was the only response he received. Swiftly changing the subject, Éothain gestured towards the scrolls upon the desk as he removed his riding gloves, his cheeks red and hair windblown from his recent arrival at the fortress of Aldburg. "Still working on the guard rotations?"
Moving away from the window, Elfhelm nodded absently and grimaced at his hidden nether-regions as he lowered himself into the sturdy wooden chair. He motioned for his friend to mirror his actions in the seat across from the table, before pouring them each a goblet of wine.
Éothain toasted his friend and sipped the rich liquid, dearly wishing for a mug of ale instead but knowing that ale and paperwork did not mix well.
"How are the Western borders?" Elfhelm questioned thoughtlessly.
"Did you not receive my tidings?"
"Aye, I did; but I would hear it from you."
Snorting, Éothain took another sip. "All is quiet on the Eastern front. The men are restless. Only a few skirmishes with the more daring Orc tribes," he shook his head, "It is good to be free from—" he stopped, catching the distant glaze over his friend's face. Holding back a groan, Éothain leaned forward and waved his hand in front of the Marshal's face, snapping him back to attention.
Blinking, Elfhelm flushed. "Forgive me. Continue."
Scowling deeply, the Rider folded his arms. "You were brooding again."
"I see you take great pleasure in reminding me."
"What is it?" Éothain demanded succinctly.
"Noth—"
"—And do not say nothing is the matter!" He interrupted fiercely.
Expelling a deeply embedded sigh, Elfhelm sank lower into his chair. "I am tired."
"Ha! A likely tale."
"Tis the truth." He had found no rest for his thoughts had been with her. Always with her.
Swirling the wine in his goblet, Éothain pondered the faraway look he received. "You have been like this since your return from Edoras," he prodded again. "Would it have anything to do with pale peach skin, raven hair and sky blue eyes?"
Elfhelm scowled uncomfortably. "Too bold, Éothain, too bold."
"You are pining like a moon-calf," the Rider accused.
"I do not pine!"
"Prove it. Go and take your frustrations out in a brothel. You need a good tumble, my friend."
"What I need, I cannot have," Elfhelm mumbled darkly.
"Do not do it, Elfhelm," Éothain murmured quietly, "Do not tread on this path of ruin."
"Gamling said much the same," the Marshal frowned down at the stack of scrolls in his vision.
"The Captain knows?" Fear pepperer Éothain's voice.
"Aye; a folly on my part but I was put in my place. It is why I have returned."
"Good, the Captain is wise." Éothain nodded, thankful that the Captain had enough sense to steer Elfhelm away, lest something untoward happen.
Fingering his jaw, Elfhelm turned and peered out of the window once more, imagining his fingers tangled in midnight black hair; blue eyes gazing up with adoration as he moved above and within—he stopped, shaking himself away from another blasphemous reverie. Ever since that damn kiss, he had been acting like an unschooled virgin. "Why is there a tendency to overly romanticise the people we love?" He found himself asking quietly.
Tilting his head, Éothain shrugged and followed his friend's gaze out of the window to the darkened clouds. "I do not have an answer for that, Elfhelm," he replied softly.
"It was like the awakening of spring..."
"What was?"
"Realising the love I had within. The love I had for her. It was all so new and fresh, blossoming—but fleeting, as spring always is." Elfhelm laughed ironically, "Béma, I have lost myself in a dream, Éothain!"
"Mayhap the Valar will be kind enough to reunite you with your lady-love in another world and time..." The Rider settled his goblet upon the desk before standing. "But for now, perhaps it is time to awaken from this dream, brother."
A vision of his love laughing, dressed in blue silk with dark hair tumbling about her pale shoulders and down her back, flickered before him in the rumbling clouds. A mirage dangling out of his reach. "Yes, perhaps you are right," he murmured softly. "Perhaps it is time."
-
-
-
The sky was ablaze, burnished by the rising sun. Delicate colours of amber and pale pink streaked the fluffy clouds that rolled by above her head, casting a comforting shade from the dazzling morning that would soon follow the spectacular golden globe of the sun.
Lothíriel chuckled quietly at the rolling sea waves that lapped teasingly at her bare toes. Her gown was sodden beneath her from the damp sand, but she did not care a wit. She was too enamoured by the beauty of the balmy morning as she sat before the sea, to notice such trivial things as wet clothing.
A contented sigh and yawn caused her to look down at the tightly wrapped bundle that rested in her arms. She smiled down fondly at the curious grey eyes peering at her with fascination. At her father's encouragement, she had taken the child into her care for the remainder of the day. Whatever the circumstance he was borne from, he was a precious child and he was her nephew. It gave her much joy to care for him, contrary to her prior unwarranted outburst.
Unable to resist, Lothíriel gently raised the child and placed a gentle kiss upon his brow. He burbled and twisted his head with a wrinkled nose. As he did so, Lothíriel had to admit that her brother's son would be a heart breaker once he came of age. The boy was positively adorable in every respect! She laughed and caressed his soft rose petal cheek with the index finger of her free hand. "Yes," she murmured to herself, "You will certainly break hearts, little one."
The babe replied with a gurgle and bubble of spit.
Grinning, Lothíriel wiped away the spittle with the corner of her sleeve before resuming her watch of the rising sun. Moments later, the peace was shattered.
"I knew that I would find you here," a familiar voice spoke out, breaking the tranquillity of the awe-inspiring morning.
"Erchirion," she acknowledged softly.
He sat down heavily beside her, his feet free from the restraint of boots upon sand. With a lingering gaze at the child in her arms, he cast his eyes upon the spectacle of the sea before him.
They sat in silence for a number of minutes before Lothíriel spoke, "I am sorry, dear brother; for my harsh behaviour. Can you forgive me?"
"I have been forgiving you since you were a babe, little sister. Why should I stop now?" He chuckled wryly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I understand. You were worried for the child's welfare. But if you choose to take him into your house, he will be happy with you in Rohan."
"And you?" She accused softly, rocking the child in her arms and dismissing the ache in her heart at the loss of her own daughter.
"What of me?"
"Will you be happy?"
Erchirion smiled sadly. "I am always happy, can you not tell?"
"Brother," Lothíriel reprimanded softly, "You cannot fool me. I see pain in your eyes when I should see pride for begetting such a fine son."
"Lothíriel," her brother mimicked before growing serious. "Do you wish me to fall to pieces over my bastard son and his dead mother?"
Appalled, she shook her head. "Never."
"Then cease your questioning and accept my wishes."
Frowning, Lothíriel placed her cheek against his shoulder and found herself being held when she should have been the one to comfort. "And he is not a bastard," she mumbled sternly, "He is perfect."
-
-
-
Only the sound of the rushing sea waves coming from the open balcony doors could be heard in the airy chamber. Night had descended swiftly upon them that day, but the hours had been filled with much contemplation and thought for the young Queen of Rohan after the encounter with her brother upon the beach. There was so much to consider...
At length, Lothíriel could stand the silence no more and she spoke up, startling her husband out of his own reverie. "May I be frank?" She asked, lacing up the simple cords of her nightgown together before she began to unravel her hair from the prison of it's thick braid.
She bit her lip when Éomer eyed her closely as she combed her long fingers through the dark tresses of her hair. Though he had not spoken to her during the remainder of the day and Lothíriel was at her wits end, a simple look from him sent a delightful shiver down her spine that she could not ignore. It bothered her that he could affect her in such a manner, especially when she did not understand it's meaning.
Éomer nodded, seemingly caught in his own thoughts as he sat down at the end of the bed to remove his boots.
"How can we take the child to Rohan? What would we say to our people?" She posed the questions somewhat hesitantly.
Our people. Éomer's eyes glinted as he pondered the question momentarily. "Your father and I have discussed this at length," he finally responded. "It would be best if we took him in as an adopted son; an orphan he will be named, but that will not matter if we take him into our house... The people of Rohan will not question our authority nor the authenticity of such claims. They know that only a son born of my blood will be heir to the throne. It will be of no consequence."
"Would that be wise; to lie?"
He stayed quiet for a few seconds, continuing the mute task of removing his boots. "Nay," he answered softly, "It would not be advisable, but I can see no other options. Your brother does not wish to keep him in Dol Amroth, the child would only be scorned wherever he went." Éomer paused, glancing at her in askance. "What say you to Erchirion's request? Do you wish to accept?"
As her husband's dark eyes bore into the depths of her very heart and mind, his gaze reminded Lothíriel of being stabbed by a jewelled dagger that could plunge into the very core of a soul. It seemed that he could see all that was written in the secret tomes of her mind. Catching her breath, Lothíriel exhaled slowly. "I am..." She frowned, trailing off as her husband rose from the edge of the bed, before manoeuvring himself to stand before her.
His face alluded to nothing but Lothíriel took note of his pensive form. "You are?" He prompted, his voice coarse like the thatched roofs of his homeland.
Swallowing, Lothíriel tore her eyes away from the allure of his beckoning brown pools. She looked at the floor with new-found interest. "I am uncertain; it may not be a good environment for the child."
"How so?" Gently, he clasped her chin and forced her to look at him.
Lothíriel reluctantly allowed herself to be swept away by his beguiling and enchanting manner. "Your memory has not been fully restored and until that time, I do not think it would be appropriate to make such decisions," she conceded. "Éomer," Lothíriel boldly took his hand, squeezing the appendage with purpose. "That child is no toy; he breathes and feels. He lives! One cannot make such decisions about adoption lightly. We would have to give this child everything; all our love and devotion, which I am more than willing to give, but are you ready for such a commitment? Will Rohan be so accepting of their King's adopted son? There is so much to consider, so much we must determine."
"Your claims are just, Lothíriel," he said gently. "But can you turn your back on your brother?"
Lothíriel frowned bitterly. "That is another thing." He gave her a questioning glance and Lothíriel obliged him with a thin smile. "I cannot take my brother's son from him..."
"Do you despise the idea of adopting this child?" He asked belligerently, pulling away from her to pace their chambers.
"Of course not!" She cried indignantly, thinking back to the loss of their own child. "I am not unwilling but... I know my brother," the sad intonation of her words caught Éomer by surprise. He halted his steps shook his head in confusion. Lothíriel offered him a dejected glance as she moved to stand between the doorway of their chambers and the balcony. The wind blew softly against her cheeks, soothing them in a kindly gesture of comfort.
"Lothíriel?"
Sighing, Lothíriel turned back to her husband, speaking so quietly that he had to strain to hear her words, "I know my brother more than he realises. Beneath the veneer of joviality, he will be heartbroken if we take his son from him." She plopped down onto the nearby chair, staring at her hands desolately. She was startled from her thoughts as Éomer swiftly knelt before her, his brow furrowed in thought.
"I understand your words, but we must also think of the child," he said slowly. "If the condition of his birth is found out, it would only bring him misery. People will whisper and set him aside from any further children you brother may have as a husband."
Lothíriel chuckled wryly, "Our life is such a quandary. What a fine mess we are both in!" Her hateful laughter subsided as tears pricked her eyes. Éomer saw them glisten and before she could even protest, he placed a kiss upon her brow and gathered her into his steely arms. She tried not to be startled by this first outward gesture of affection, but it gnawed at her nonetheless. Her insides trembled and quailed when she felt herself being drawn against his burly chest, all rational thought flowing from her mind. What did he mean by his warm actions towards her? Only time would tell...
Gently, he placed her upon the large bed and backed away. "Sleep; we will find the answer in the next rising sun."
Lothíriel watched morosely as he sat down on a chair by the hearth. She reclined and slowly but surely, felt her eyes droop shut.
-
-
-
Hips moved in rhythm, sweat-slicked bodies twined together like woven straw. Sharp sapphire eyes smouldered. Her ebony hair tangled in his fists as he thrust. The scent of jasmine mixed with sex permeated the humid air that cocooned them. Oh Gods! Soft, feminine moans brought him ever closer... Ever closer to release.
Gasping, Elfhelm sat up from the dream that had enthralled him. Another day, another rising sun and another heated dream. Grimacing, he rubbed his face and scowled as he caught a whiff of his night-time endeavours on his fingertips.
Lowering his his head in shame, he breathed heavily. "Béma, woman, what have done to me!" He whispered harshly, slamming his fist into the empty space beside him. Her space...
Struggling with the coarse sheets he rose, naked, and paced the room. "How, Éothain, how do I shake myself from these thoughts?" He muttered to himself urgently, running a hand through the sodden strands of his golden hair. The exchange with his friends had been taken to heart, but how to go about it? Even now she haunted him, her smile, her laugh, her searing touch.
How would he ever exorcise her from his mind? Her lips had been burned into his memory for all time, their sweet taste he could still recall.
That one single kiss had been a mighty mistake, had awakened something almost as dreadful as Sauron himself. Unquenchable lust. He was only a man after all. But Béma, he lusted after her—loved her to the point that he wanted her beneath him! His King's wife, his Queen...
His beloved.
Growling, Elfhelm clenched his fists and resisted the urge to throw something. Instead, he threw on his apparel and made his way towards the stables.
For him, there would be no peace in the rising sun this day.
-
-
-
AN: Thank you to all the people who have reviewed this story so far. And thank you for your support, it is greatly appreciated.