3. As Shines the Moon in Clouded Skies
"Sometimes she gallops o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats . . .
And then, anon, drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes
And being thus affrighted, swears a prayer or two and sleeps again."
Wm. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet - Queen Mab
She awoke to the sound of his voice. She listened for a time, unable to understand his words, but alarmed by his tone. At last, she rose and tiptoed barefoot into the next room, unable to ignore the pain in his voice. His door was ajar, and she slipped inside.
Thranduil lay on his back with his eyes open and the sheet half covering his chest. His gold hair spread out across the pillow, and his head whipped from side to side as he muttered. "Agar . . . gwannath . . . iuitho vegyl lîn! Nae . . . Adar nîn!"
She approached cautiously. "My lord? What ails you . . .?" He made no answer, and it became apparent to her that he did not see her, obviously in the toils of some evil dream. His voice rose and fell, becoming practically a sob. She said, "My lord, you must awaken."
He did not hear her, and unable to bear the sight of his distress anymore she shook his shoulder, timidly at first and then harder. He came to with a gasp. His eyes snapped into focus and his hand shot out, clasping around her wrist with a grip like iron. Just as quickly, his eyes softened again as he saw her face. "You come to me . . .?" he said with a hesitant smile.
"You spoke in your sleep, my lord," she whispered. "You seemed in fear."
His face fell again. "It is an old memory, of no importance." He did not let go of her hand, though.
They stared at each other silently for a long time. Sigrid found herself fascinated by the way his eyes glittered in the darkness. He seemed to be transfixed as well, although what he saw in her eyes she could not begin to guess.
At long last, Thranduil swallowed heavily and licked his lips. "Sweet one, my pledge of safety does not extend to this bed, merely your own. You might wish to get back to it. That is, if you do not intend to stay here until morning. I am made of flesh and blood, not moonlight and star dust. And even Elven flesh has its limits."
Sigrid understood the import of his words, and she agreed with the wisdom of them. But she could not force herself to either move or speak, nor to rise from the side of the bed where she sat. Something about this beautiful, compelling being drew her heart like a lodestone, and she would stay, no matter what he would require of her.
Without a word, he brought her hand up and put it to his cheek. His skin was as smooth and beardless as her own, but the muscles beneath that skin felt as hard as steel, tempered by the constant show of grim strength. "You see? This is flesh," he whispered.
Still clasping her wrist, he moved her hand down to his chest. She could feel the measured rhythm of his heartbeat under the ribcage, slow at first, but speeding up beneath her palm. "And this . . . flesh."
He took her hand lower still, down below where the sheet covered him. She felt for the first time, the rigid length of him; the evidence of his need for her. "Flesh . . ."
Oh yes, she thought; flesh indeed. This would pierce her body, and by all rights she should be afraid, but she was not. She could only stare down into his unearthly beautiful face, as hypnotized as a bird caught in the eye of a snake in the old wives' tales of her youth. Her rational mind, the part trained by Asa, demanded shrilly of her what she thought she was doing; she was no common slut to be giving herself to a perfect stranger! Yet, her heart said the opposite, and her body felt an emptiness that cried out to be filled.
"You will stay?" he whispered, and she nodded, wondering if she had gone mad. "Oh, Rodyn . . ." he groaned, and pulled her down to him.
Before she had a chance to think, he had rolled on top of her. His trembling hands undid the ties of her night dress and forced it down off her shoulders. Bare skin joined to bare skin, and she realized that he had been naked beneath that sheet. He rained kisses upon her neck, her breasts, her belly, laying siege to her body with his lips and hands. His erection pressed insistently against her thigh. She could not help tensing as he pushed her legs apart.
"Forgive, me, sweet one; you make me forget." He paused and put his first and middle fingers into his mouth, wetting them. He probed her with them one by one, easing and making her ready for himself. She gasped as he found a sensitive spot with his thumb and stroked slowly.
"Oh, please . . ." she moaned.
"Me?" he whispered softly.
"Yes . . . you!"
He positioned himself between her spread thighs and guided the tip of his hardened flesh to her entrance. He lowered himself to her chest, his breath soft against her face.
"The maiden dies now. Breathe out that last breath into my mouth, as I claim you." He stopped her lips with his own as he pressed forward.
He was big, and she felt pain as he took her, slowly forcing his way ever deeper. But it was no more than she could bear, and her very body cried out to be filled to its limit.
"Na vedui . . ." he sighed, when he had fully sheathed himself and they were joined tightly together. "A perfect fit."
She could only lie trembling, passive, as he began to rock his body into hers. The pain of invasion disappeared, to be replaced with a slowly building heat. Lost in passion, her elven lover began to murmur endearments in that strange, lilting tongue. Such lovely sounds, to match the lovely sensations he dealt her body. "Come with me, sweet one," he whispered. "I will wait for you. Come with me . . ."
She felt it approaching as he cupped her buttocks in his hands and pulled her even closer to him. She wrapped her arms around the small of his back and urged him on. It began as a melting in the core of her belly and spread, until she felt as if she had flown apart. She moaned and gripped his shoulders. As her shuddering pulsation died away, she felt him tense and thrust into her hard. He buried his face against her neck, stifling his cry of release.
"Oh, my lord . . ." she breathed, stroking the golden head with the palm of her hand.
"Thranduil," he muttered sleepily into the hollow of her throat. "Anyone in my bed must call me Thranduil. It is a rule of mine. You did well, sweet one. Sleep now."
They lay together, still entwined as he softened and slipped from her. His breathing became more regular, and soon she knew he slept. "The Elf-king has had my maidenhead after all," she thought lazily as sleep claimed her as well.
* * *
To be continued . . .
* * * * * * *
Sindarin: English translations:
Agar . . . gwannath . . .iuitho vegyl lîn! Nae . . . Adar nîn!: Blood . . . death . . . draw your swords! Alas . . . my father!
Na vedui: At last
Rodyn: Valar, gods
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.