It had been raining for days.
Arwen smiled as she looked out onto the streets below, at the people that worked and the children that played in puddles growing larger by the hour.
Aragorn was out with Aldamir, inspecting the City, meeting with advisors and generally busying himself with tasks that Arwen, for the large part, found quite boring. She’d spent some time with Aldamir’s wife and daughter, and a few of the other women who were distant kin to her husband, but as the storm approached, she politely excused herself preferring to take in the storm in the comfort of her own chambers.
Arwen settled into the large, high-backed and well-cushioned chair and closed her eyes, listening to the patter of raindrops on the roof. She missed rain such as this. In Gondor, it rained only often enough to supply the crops with enough water to grow…there was not an overabundance of rain. As she listened, and darkness crept over the mountains to plunge the valley into night, Arwen found herself hearing, with even more clarity, the carrying sounds of the laughter of the children. Absently, her hands brushed across her flat stomach and she wondered when it would be her child that she would hear playing in puddles, her child that would sing with such sweet, innocent laughter as droplets of water soaked hair and clothes.
Arwen shook her head and pushed the melancholy from her mind. But the thoughts, and desperate desire for a child of her own, had become foremost in her thoughts of late.
Even Aragorn could sense it. It was so very difficult to hide anything from her husband.
So when the time came for Aragorn to examine his Northern Kingdom, Arwen jumped at the opportunity to accompany him, hoping it would distract her from her melancholy thoughts. Gondor, for all its beauty and decadence, could sometimes feel like a polished stone cage.
They’d stopped and visited with the hobbits, and Arwen positively enjoyed playing with the children born to the diminutive members of the Fellowship. She’d even decided to make Sam’s oldest, Elanor, one of her maids – much to the little girl’s excitement - and shock of her parents.
Arwen smiled, remembering the feel of the littlest child as she held the babe in her arms; The sweet smell and the wide eyes that stared at her, and everyone, in wonder. Arwen whimpered at the memory wondering again when it would be her time; Her time to share in the fulfilling feeling of bringing a new life into the world. The adoration on Sam’s face as he held his babe was unmistakable – and after sixteen years, and many children, the affection in his eyes had not dimmed for his latest creation.
The Queen of the Reunified Kingdom sat in quiet contemplation, and, she admitted to herself, more than just a tinge of jealousy at the ease in which the hobbits were able to bear children.
Seeing Aragorn playing easily with the children only heightened Arwen’s longing to hold a child of their own blood in her arms.
Even Eowyn had born Faramir several children in the years since their marriage and the pride in their offspring was unmistakable.
Then there was the Regent’s daughter. She was so very like Aragorn in appearance. If one did not know any better, she could be his very own child. The bloodline of the Dunedain was so close here in the North Kingdom, it was at times difficult to tell close kin from mere friend.
Before Arwen could reminisce herself further into despair, the door flew open and in walked her husband, dripping wet from head to toe. Arwen’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a giggle as she stared at the drowned rat that was her husband.
“Go ahead,” Aragorn began, moving to peal layer after layer of the soaked clothing off his body. He began with his boots, yanking them off and dropping them in disgust in the middle of the floor. “I know this will amuse you to absolutely no end.” Next came the leather surcoat he wore and it slid none too easily off his soaked body. He tossed it in disgust onto the floor beside his boots.
“What – happened?” Arwen breathed, as the laughter, she poorly attempted to conceal, quickly spread to her eyes in betrayal.
“Aldamir and I were riding through the lower city when the road washed out and spooked the horses,” Aragorn struggled with the fastenings of his tunic, his cold fingers unable to slip the knots from the small holes keeping the garment closed.
Arwen stood and walked slowly toward her husband, careful to avoid the huge puddle he had created simply by standing in one place. She batted his fingers away and began to pull the fastenings apart. “Well that is ruined,” She commented dryly, watching as the elegant garment fell into a large mop at their feet. As was common in the North, even the nobles wore leather surcoats which covered the finer silks of their undergarments.
Lightening crackled across the sky and cast the room in a momentary flash of bright light. Arwen scowled. “You were out riding in that?”
When Aragorn moved to unfasten the silk tunic, carefully avoiding the question,
Arwen’s fingers batted his hands away yet again. “Let me.” Arwen breathed as
she stepped closer to get a firmer hold on the ties. Aragorn watched with
darkening eyes as she slowly unfastened his shirt and then trembled (completely
unrelated to the cold) as her fingers trailed along the shirt’s edge, taunting
him with her light touch. When the palms of her hands flattened at his shoulder
and pushed the wet garment off his back, he licked suddenly dry lips, his
breath quickening.
“It appears you’ve caught a chill, husband.” Arwen smiled coyly, eyes dancing.
“It happens when one falls into a large puddle.” He quipped, catching the sparkle in her eyes and returning it with one of his own.
“Well then,” Arwen’s hands began to rub at his shoulders and a new kind of heat began to burn beneath his skin. “Perhaps we should move you to the fireplace. Soak some warmth back into these bones.”
Aragorn glanced down at his still sopping breeches and Arwen followed his gaze, highly amused. With a small smile, Arwen’s hands slid slowly down his chest to halt at the waistband. “Well, yes. These must be removed before I will let you anywhere near the furs.”
Aragorn’s fingers slid up her arms, dancing lightly across the skin. “Then by all means,” Aragorn’s voice deepened and Arwen trembled with the all very familiar sound, “Remove them.”
His eyes searched her face as she lifted her gaze, smiling as their eyes locked and her fingers moved for the fastenings.
“We mustn’t delay. Wouldn’t want you to – catch a chill.” Arwen’s light touch was torturous against his skin as she pulled open the ties and pulled the wet leather down over his hips. Arwen was quite amused that he’d shed his normal regal velvets for the traditional leather of the Dunedain…while they remained in Arnor. The nobles of Minas Tirith would explode in fury should the King decide to wear these garments at court.
“Indeed no.” Aragorn slid his hands around her neck and stepped out of the wet breeches.
When Arwen tilted her head to make a smart remark, his mouth descended, stealing the words from her lips before she was able to voice them. A small moan escaped her as his lips danced tenderly across her skin. Her hands, still resting on his hips, circled playfully, drawing a muted groan from his lips.
“Come, husband.” She pulled out of his embrace and slid her hand into his. She backed toward the fireplace, and the plush furs that lay before it, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “We must rid this – chill – from your body, lest you become ill.”
“Valar forbid that.” Aragorn breathed, leaning ever so slightly towards his wife as their bare feet reached the plush furs. “It would be – difficult – to remain confined to bed.”
A sleek eyebrow raised in amusement. “Oh, I can think of many way’s you would enjoy being confined to bed.”
She allowed herself to be pulled into his arms, the silk from her garment tickling his bare skin and sending gooseflesh erupting across his body. He leaned into the circle of her arms and playfully nipped at her lips. “If you intend to warm me, I fear you are far too overdressed, my love.”
She murmured a response as her hands came to rest against his chest when his mouth covered hers, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth and sucking lightly. His hands had moved to the long, sleek column of her neck, one finger trailing an intoxicatingly slow path around the sensitive tip of her ear.
Arwen whimpered and secretly praised the Valar that he’d discovered just how sensitive an elf’s ears were. And he loved to play with them. Just a simple, innocent caress of the delicately tipped flesh was enough to drive her mad with desire - and he knew it.
With little delay, she felt the ties at the back of her neck being slipped apart as his hands slid down her neck and around her shoulders. Parting the fabric, he drew the thin silk over her back and down her shoulders. Callused hands followed the shimmering material down her arms until it caught on the swell of her breasts. When his thumbs brushed across the silk-covered peaks, hardened in anticipation, a soft moan escaped her lips.
When he freed the delicate mounds from their covered prison, he was delighted to find no further hindrance as the silk continued down her legs to pool at their feet.
She could feel the raging hotness of his growing arousal against her stomach as
he pressed the length of his body against her.
"So, did your Regent fall from his horse as well?" Arwen asked with a smile as she wiggled beneath her husband teasing hands.
Aragorn bent to press a slow kiss to the swell of her breast and whispered, "Yes, his horse was spooked as well." His tongue flicked across the hard peak and her breath hissed between her teeth. When his lips finally closed over the taught flesh, her hands flew into his hair.
"Which means," She said breathlessly, refusing to drop such an amusing subject, "He was not thrown from the horse and you are withholding the information to keep your pride."
His teeth closed around her nipple and tugged, drawing a shocked gasp from her lips.
“But that, ohh,” She breathed as his tongue began to lap at her, alternating between suckling like a babe and blowing on the damp skin, “Really isn’t important – right now.”
The only response she received was a muffled grunt. She clutched at his shoulders with a slight gasp when one strong arm wrapped around her backside and the other tightened around her upper back. She was lifted into his arms and laid carefully and tenderly on the soft furs. His body half covered hers as he followed her to the floor, his lips never leaving the delectable softness of her skin.
Her hands delved into his hair, tugging and he glanced up at her, eyes darkened with growing passion. “Kiss me, Estel.” She whispered, voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
Their eyes locked, his tongue flicked out to pass across a well-loved nipple. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the pebbled flesh before rewarding her with a lopsided grin. “I am.”
She giggled, and then wiggled beneath him as his fingers trailed a ticklish path down her stomach, kneading the muscles there before delving into the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. A soft pant escaped slightly parted lips when one finger probed the delicate, wet folds that lay beneath.
“So ready, melda.” She could hear the strain in his voice, feel the trembling in his fingers as one digit, then another slipped within.
She could do nothing bug tug frantically at his hair as his fingers moved in slow circular motions, set to drive her mad with desire. When his thumb found the aroused nub above where his fingers delved into her, her hips arched against him. Slow, circular motion followed, with an occasional flick across the highly sensitive bundle of nerves, causing her to tug almost painfully at his hair. Intense, crystalline eyes watched her squirm beneath his touch, nearly undoing his restrained desire right then and there.
“Release it, Arwen,” His voice was low, hypnotic as his fingers worked her toward an explosion that had built slowly beneath his expert touch. “Release it for me.”
Her head tossed from side to side, fanning her dark hair beneath her in a striking contrast to her smooth porcelain skin.
His lips covered the closest breast once more, licking, suckling and then blowing on the sensitive flesh in an effort to drive her body completely over the edge. She glanced down at him and saw him watching with intense dark eyes and whimpered. Her hands fell to her sides, gripping the furs tightly in clenched hands as the first wave of release coiled within her body – ready to spring. “Close, melda,” She whispered. When his fingers delved deeper, a strangled breath hissed between her teeth.
“Yes,” He murmured, watching her body tense beneath his touch. “Let me see it, let me feel your release.”
“Estel!” She cried, hands flying to his mussed hair once more. She tugged as the familiar tension snapped and her world became a flickering spiral of light, aided by the flash of light that swept into the room from the storm outside. Sounded faded away and all that was left was the intoxicating scent of him, his sweet touch pulling, ripping the release from her trembling body. She collapsed into the furs, panting heavily and it wasn’t until she opened her eyes, that she found him staring at her with a small smile.
“You never disappoint,” He said, sliding his fingers from her slowly, savoring the feel of her.
“One of these days, very soon, I will make you cry out beneath me, husband.” Arwen swallowed another gulp of air, forcing her heart to cease its frantic beat. “I will watch you come to such a release as you just caused for me.”
Her eyes darkened as she felt his unrelenting hardness press against her leg. She opened her arms, beckoning to him and he wasted little time in covering her body with his own. “But now, you have waited far too long in taking your own pleasure – I will not delay it with-”
“Think you that I do not feel pleasure when I watch you squirm beneath my touch?” He asked quietly, eyes dark. “It is the most selfish of my pleasures, melda. I could watch you in such passionate, glowing release for the rest of my life, and it would not be enough.”
She twisted a strand of damp hair away from his face, her heart fluttering at such an honest and open admission. He was always such with her. In one thing, however, they had not much discussed – it was a topic that was not uncomfortable, but – saddening, as the years passed. And it tugged at her heart until she gave voice to that which her heart most desired – next to her husband. "Give me a babe, Estel," Arwen whispered, nearly too low for him to hear. But when he glanced up at her for confirmation to what he thought he heard, she simply brushed her fingers across his cheek.
He settled his weight between her thighs and bent to press a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. "I'll do my best, love."
One hand slid beneath her hips, the other flattened at the small of her back, and pulled her against him, knowing she was more than ready to receive him. When her fingers slid slowly down her body to part her wetness before his eyes, he groaned and wasted no time in plunging his entire length within her in one fluid stroke.
Her hips arched sharply, driving him deeper, as his fingers tightened around the smooth skin of her backside.
“Yes, melda,” Arwen whimpered and slid her hands up his arms in an attempt to pull him over her. After a few moments, he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her against his chest, nearly into a seated position on his thighs. His thrusts gathered strength and momentum as tension spread through his muscles. Long, smooth legs tightened around his hips as they found the all familiar rhythm. Their breathing quickened while their bodies moved as one, frenzied thrusts meeting and matching in a dance as old as the world itself.
Arwen’s fingers dug into his back, as her own muscles tightened again with
mounting desire. It was always like this with him. Always so passionate, he
always worked so carefully to give her more than one release.
Whiskered lips nipped and bit at the smooth column of her neck, the contrast sending jolts of desire straight through her bones. When his mouth finally descended, he captured one swollen lip and then the other, stealing her breath. She could feel his body tense as they kissed and she titled her hips, drawing a strangled groan from his lips.
“Soon, melda,” He grunted, tightening his arms around her body. One hand delved into her hair from behind and tugged, drawing a shocked gasp from her lips. “Soon. Ah.” His head fell to her shoulder as his body tensed almost to the snapping point.
“Estel,” Arwen whispered, dragging her nails down his back. He groaned, and arched his hips sharply, the feel of her nails on his skin triggering a release that, he knew, would render him unconscious in its intensity.
Raging heat exploded, spilling into her body, into her womb, as he cried out her name. Momentary flashes of light blinded him as he struggled for breath. His hips slowed and circled, drawing another release from his wife moments after his own. “Melda. Estel. Yes.” She said urgently as the familiar warmth spilled into her and slowly spread throughout her body.
She collapsed boneless into the furs, exhausted and turned her head to brush her lips against his cheek. He lifted his head from her shoulder and stared for a moment, waiting for his eyes to uncross.
“Mélanyëva. Vanya Undomiel.” He breathed before he collapsed beside her. He pulled her into his arms and sleep immediately claimed their weary bodies, sending them into dreamless slumber even as the storm outside continued its relentless onslaught.
Translations:
Melda - beloved
Mélanyëva. Vanya Undomiel.” – “I love you, My beautiful Evenstar.”