My bow shall sing with your sword: 3. The rite

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3. The rite

"My lord?" The voice was quiet but, as usual, the Mistress of the Ceremony would permit no resistance. She laid her hand on Legolas' shoulder and firmly pulled him away from Eowyn. "You must first be properly joined. And she must be prepared for you, my lord." Legolas stepped back reluctantly, watching as, with much ceremony, the elleth placed a delicate mithril circlet on Eowyn's head. He noticed that his lady was wearing a pale elven gown that revealed her lovely shoulders and the velvety cleft between her breasts. It is Arwen's dress, he thought. Arwen must somehow have known… "Come, stand beside her, my lord," said the Mistress of the Ceremony. Joining their hands together, she recited the ancient formula: "May the union of the Lord of Eryn Carantaur and the lady of the threshing floor be fruitful; may the womb of the lady be filled; and may the woods and the fields and the gardens of Eryn Carantaur be equally blessed." The assembled company murmured its assent. Legolas raised Eowyn's hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm. Some of the elves began to sing softly. "Unlace her gown, my lord," said the Mistress of the Ceremony. Legolas gently brushed away Eowyn's hair, carefully undid the silken cords, opened the bodice, and began to slide the gown off her shoulders. Eowyn instinctively raised her arms to cover her breasts. Legolas took one of her hands. "Do not be afraid, melmenya," he said softly, "you are my lady and my people will honour you." Then he leaned closer and whispered, "And I will not ask you to do anything you do not wish." Eowyn nodded her consent, the gown fell to the ground and he saw her naked for the first time—even more beautiful than he had imagined. Though slender, she was shapely—Her body would raise a dead elf, he thought-her limbs were delicate but strong, and her hair fell down to her waist in soft waves, like a river of pure gold. "You must undress his lordship, my lady," said the Mistress of the Ceremony. Eowyn, blushing, untied the sash at Legolas' waist, slid the embroidered robe off his shoulders, and ran her hands gently over his muscled chest, his stomach, and down to the top of his silken leggings. Legolas trembled as she knelt before him and began to untie his laces. Slowly, she pushed open the fabric and her hand accidentally brushed his erect penis as it sprang free. They both gasped, and she pulled her hand away. For a moment, she simply stared at him, fascinated—then she stretched out her fingers and caressed him, gently. Legolas caught her hand: "You will undo me, hiril nín," he whispered. Her blush deepened. Taking both of her hands, then, he brought her to her feet and pulled her into his arms. She could not be ignorant of what was expected of her, but Legolas knew that humans were strange about sex and he needed to ask. He pressed his lips to her ear. "Are you sure, meleth nín?" he whispered. "You can still say no." "I am quite sure," she whispered back. He began to lower her to the floor, but again the Mistress of the Ceremony interrupted him, this time holding a mithril goblet towards Eowyn. "Is that necessary?" asked Legolas. "It is a part of the ceremony, my lord." "What is it?" asked Eowyn. "It is a potion to increase your desire, my lady," said the elleth. Legolas frowned, but Eowyn took the goblet and drank. "Very well my lord," said the elleth, "you may continue now." The guests put out their candles, leaving only the threshing floor bathed in light, and the watching elves began to sing softly, as Legolas lowered his lady to the floor. "I will make it as loving as I can, melmenya," he whispered, stroking his fingers across her stomach, over her mound, and in gentle circles between her thighs, making her laugh with delight. But, within moments, the potion began to torment her and she arched her back and tried to ride his hand. "Please, my lord," she whispered, "I need you; I need you inside me." "Does it hurt?" he asked softly. "Yes," she whispered, "it burns..." He entered her gently and began to thrust, lifting himself on his hands to watch her response. "Oh yes, my lord," she moaned, "yes, yes... Harder." Her voice was breathless, "Yes, yes, oh yes!" and her head thrashed from side to side. "Harder! Please, harder! Oh! Oh please..." Harder. Legolas braced his arms and thrust desperately. His own needs, denied release by the potion, were threatening to drive him to madness. But Eowyn, writhing and sobbing beneath him, was already approaching completion. He felt her body ripple around him; he felt the spasms grow stronger; he felt her warm, wet essence bathe him; and then... He felt her joy, flooding his mind, filling his heart, touching his spirit! Ilúvatar! Legolas could hear his guests cheering and clapping their hands on the table; he was still thrusting, thrusting, thrusting—but slowly now, breathlessly, completely exhausted. He thought he might die; but then it took him by surprise. His member, like a mighty carantaur with roots deep in his thighs, and his back, and his armpits, dragged his spirit down into his groin and... "EOWYN!" he screamed, "EOWYN! Ai! EOWYN! Meleth nín!" … "Dear Valar!" said the twins, simultaneously; "we must find ourselves a woman." … Then the Mistress of the Ceremony covered the lovers with a thick, velvet blanket, for whatever might pass between them now was no one else's business. Still lying between Eowyn's legs, Legolas listened to the sounds of approval coming from his guests. Some were clapping, others were singing the praises of the lady whose passionate hunger had so aroused her lord. And he knew that his guests, their blood fired by what they had just witnessed, would soon be making their own sacrifices to Ilúvatar. It had gone well. All was as it should be. He had the Valar and Eowyn to thank for that. "Are you alright?" asked his lady, softly. Legolas, his heart too full to answer her easily, raised his head and smiled. "Melmenya?" She reached up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and blushed, "You are still hard…" she whispered. Legolas, unsure what she was asking, looked at her questioningly. She cleared her throat. "Did I not satisfy you?" He smiled radiantly. "Oh melmenya! Could you not tell?" "Well, yes, you seemed to—er—but then why are you still so—so aroused?" "I love you." "But do you not need time to recover—afterwards?" Legolas grinned. "It is true what they say about men, then? Sometimes, I do, for a few moments, melmenya, but not tonight. Certainly not tonight! Do you need to rest, meleth nín?" Eowyn closed her eyes and shook her head, tightening herself around him. "Oh, melmenya!" he whispered, "is it the potion again?" She nodded; and he pressed his hips forward, to bring her relief. … Eowyn lay quietly beside the sleeping elf, wishing that the noisy antics around them would stop. Legolas was completely exhausted! He needed to rest. And she needed to think. Why had she done it? After she had been so horrified by the idea of the rite, why had she had simply taken Legolas' hand and followed him out onto the threshing floor? How could she have let him undress her in front of the entire company—she blushed crimson—and how could she have undressed him? Gods, she had even fondled his—his penis in front of Aragorn and Prince Imrahil and those two appalling brothers of the Queen. And then she had let him take her, in full view of the entire company. And she had enjoyed it. Gods, she had enjoyed it! She had howled like a warg… She could only be thankful that Eomer had not been there to see it. Or Faramir. Gods! She had publicly betrayed Faramir. Why? Well, she thought ruefully, that wine he gave me did not help me say no—and I must ask him about that—But, in truth, I would have done it without the wine. In truth, I did it because the thought of watching him make love to someone else was unbearable. And yet her feelings for him had started so innocently. She had been sitting in her garden. It was late autumn, the nights were just beginning to close in, and it had really been too cold to be outside in her thin gown, but she had been reluctant to go back indoors to face Faramir and his 'secretary'. Legolas had come looking for her. "You are cold, hiril nín," he had said, and had taken off his cloak and wrapped it round her shoulders. They had sat in companionable silence as the sky darkened and one by one lights appeared all over the city. The palace was brightly lit; a functionary had worked his way around the courtyards lighting lamps, and had paused to light two lanterns on the gates of her garden. But still Eowyn could not move. Then, softly, Legolas began to sing. The song was not elven but human, in the common tongue, and its melody was haunting: The water is wide, I cannot get o'er And neither have I wings to fly Oh give me a boat that will carry two And both shall go, my true love and I. I leaned my back up against an oak, Thinking that he was a trusty tree. But first he bent and then he broke, So did my love prove false to me. O love is handsome and love is fine, And love is charming when it is true; But when it is old, it groweth cold And fades away like morning dew. And as his beautiful alto voice held the last note, Eowyn thought: He knows; he knows and he is being so kind… And she shivered—though not from cold—and Legolas drew her close, to warm and comfort her, elven fashion. And suddenly, looking at the city lights that glittered like a second sky, she was happy. For the first time in years, it seemed, she was happy. And that glorious feeling, that happiness, was attached, in her heart and her mind, to Legolas. And after that night, the elf's presence, even the mere thought of him, was enough to make her happy. And she had wanted to be with him, to be close to him, and to make him happy, ever since. And when he had chosen her, when he had run to her and taken her into his arms, and carried her, like a new bride, into the centre of the threshing floor, and kissed her as if he loved her-loved her—then she would have let him do anything he wanted. I would have let him take me sprawled across Faramir's knees... And he had been gentle and loving and passionate and-when he had sensed that she needed it—even a little cruel, for the potion had continued to torment her for hours and her lovely elf had done everything in his power to ease the pain. He had been everything she had ever dreamed of. She looked at him fondly. Legolas lay on his side, completely naked, pale skin glowing, wayward strands of blond hair falling over his face. Some people thought Legolas effeminate—even some that had seen him in battle and should have known better—but Eowyn could see nothing effeminate about him. True, his beautiful face was hairless, but elves did not have beards. His hair was long and soft and silken, but Eowyn found that intensely erotic. And his body! Gods! She had never seen-nor felt the effects of-muscle like it. Before Legolas, Eowyn had been intimate with two men, but neither had aroused such aching desire in her-even before she had drunk the potion. She blushed. The moment she had unlaced his leggings and seen him she had had to touch him—and she would have kissed him, too, and taken him in her mouth, right there, had he not stopped her. She smiled. He did not stop me later… Eowyn stretched out her hand and touched him gently, running her fingers down his soft length. Immediately he began to harden, his penis thickening from the root and rising across his belly. Eowyn could wait no longer: she bent over, kissed him gently, and took him into her mouth. "Mmmmmmm." Legolas murmured contentedly; then Eowyn felt his hand in her hair. "I am sorry, melmenya," he said. "Is it hurting again?" Sadly, she could not keep him in her mouth and reply. "No—No, I think the effects have worn off now. It is just—I just wanted…" But she stammered, for she had not the courage to say to him, I love you, Legolas, I love you so much. "We will need to talk, meleth nín," said Legolas. "Not now; but we will need to decide what we are going to do; what is best for everyone—" "I want to stay here with you." "Are you sure Eowyn? Will you give up your husband and your palace in North Ithilien, and court life in Gondor, and come to Eryn Carantaur to live in a tree with a wood elf?" "Do you want me?" "Want you? Of course, my love. I have always wanted you." "Then I will. I will stay." "I will come with you to North Ithilien and we will talk to Faramir together—unless you want me to talk to him alone?" Eowyn shook her head. "Very well, we will come to an agreement with Faramir, then I will bring you home." Eowyn kissed his cheek. She liked the sound of 'home'. "Eowyn?" "Yes?" Legolas gave her one of his most appealing, dimpled smiles. "Remind me what you were doing when I woke up…" … Maranwë ran quickly down the main staircase towards the kitchens. She was late. It was almost dawn and she needed to heat the water before the serving ellyth began clearing the banqueting hall. There will be a lot of scrubbing to do today, she thought. But as she passed the banqueting hall a movement caught her eye. Maranwë turned to look, then opened her mouth to cry out, instinctively wanting to warn the victim, though in truth she had no liking for her. But, before Maranwë could make a sound, intense pain burst across the back of her head and she fell to her knees. Then another blow sent her into oblivion. … Dawn broke through the carantaur trees and filtered into the banqueting hall. Míriel picked her way carefully through the sleeping guests. She, and three other serving ellyth, had been sent to clear the banqueting table and lay out the breakfast food. Míriel looked longingly at the velvet-covered couple at the centre of the threshing floor. What might it have been like to spend a night with Lord Legolas? But what chance had a serving elleth? Even the ellyth who had been chosen for the ceremony, daughters of important families, had been disappointed if the rumour she had heard in the kitchens was true—that Lord Legolas had chosen a woman as his lady. And then, they said, she thought proudly, he had performed the rite with exceptional vigour. Elleth or woman, she thought, she is the luckiest lady in Middle Earth. She crossed to the table and began clearing away the debris, stacking the soiled plates ready to be carried back to the kitchen. She was concentrating so deeply on the problem of moving crockery without waking any of the guests that she did not see the body until she had almost fallen over it. The elleth was lying face down on the ground, the lower part of her body hidden beneath the table. Míriel had never seen death before, but there was no mistaking it now—she could see the thin leather cord that had been twisted around the throat, see the livid discoloration of the face, and she could see enough of the expression—Oh Valar! she thought, pressing her hands to her mouth as she recognised the unfortunate victim. And immediately she realised three things: that Lord Legolas must be protected from seeing this, that the elleth's death must not be allowed to spoil the harvest rite, and that, therefore, she must get help as quickly and discreetly as possible, before the guests awoke. And, lifting her full skirts, she ran as fast as she could to the kitchens, where she knew she would find the Captain of the Palace Guard. … "Where is Maranwë?" asked the Steward of the Household. "She did not arrive this morning, Master Eö," said the cook. "And I am worried, for she is a conscientious girl and not the sort to be late." Eö sighed. At this moment his only concern was the crockery and the silverware for the banquet tonight. "Feärwen," he called to one of the serving ellyth. "You will have to take Maranwë's place for now." The girl knew better than to protest. I will have to send someone to look for Maranwë, Eö thought. Perhaps one of the palace guards could—the Steward's train of thought was broken by a commotion in the main part of the kitchen. A very agitated serving elleth—Míriel—was trying to persuade the Captain of the Palace Guard, who had been taking his breakfast at the kitchen table, to follow her to the banqueting hall. Eö sighed again. What now? he wondered. …

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: ningloreth

Status: General

Completion: Complete

Era: 4th Age

Genre: Drama

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 01/18/11

Original Post: 07/08/04

Go to My bow shall sing with your sword overview

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