Warning: has Adult themes
The brilliant rays of sun were reaching through the green boughs above, extending their grasp to the forest floor below. Not so much as a leaf crinkled beneath the light footed movements of the elleth. Narilvrin spread her fingers through the warm sunbeams as she tracked the Ranger’s movements. Although her main concern was that the man did not stray far from the rest of the company, she still had an urge to give Aragorn his do revenge. The Elf had been able to see the Ranger for some time now and plotted her footsteps carefully. From above I will be given a better vantage...Thought the Elf as she leapt nimbly into a low spread branch and moved rapidly to the upper boughs.
Aragorn searched uninterestedly through the dry wood that lie around his feet, knowing that he need not search any longer for firewood. There was another reason that stayed his trek back to the others. The words of his companion weighed heavy on his mind. He trusted in the Elf’s keen instincts and knew what had been spoken was verity for he too had a strange feeling about him, though not nearly as perceptive a one as any Elf. He set about scouting the area once more, walking hither and thither around what small expanse of the woods his feet could carry him.
Through many branches did the Elf bound past before pausing above his target. Aragorn, as Narilvrin had reckoned, had little intention of searching for the proposed firewood. Narilvrin felt glad now that she had chosen not to inform the others and nearly regretted telling the Ranger of the impending evil she felt. It was indeed more than a bit worrying to the Elf, for the air had been growing steadily fouler with the passing time. Very little had been seen of the creature Gollum in these times, as well, which lead Narilvrin to believe that she was not the only one who sensed the approaching terrors. No doubt, Gollum had hidden or fled as not to be caught up in anything dangerous. It was true that the One Ring had done much to the creature, but he still feared for his life.
A sudden breeze brought a new scent to the Elf, one she wished not smell again. It came from the depths of Isengard, a most impure and fetid place of late. What has Saruman the Betrayer conjured to set upon us now, for I am sure it must be he? What putrid weapon shall he wish to unleash upon our Fellowship...and without the guidance of Mithrandir? She sighed into the defiled breeze. At least I know now who is again conspiring against us...
Feeling that the Ranger had no reason to linger here any longer, and not wishing to ponder the sources of the putrid air further, the Elf plucked a remaining acorn from a branch of the tree she stood in at present and tossed it lightly towards his target. It struck the man softly across the shoulder. Aragorn spun around. With a look of slight confusion, he scanned the area around him for signs of an attacker. Finding no threat, he narrowed his eyes, glancing around him suspiciously. Something brushed past the side of his arm.
“Who is out there?” Asked Aragorn, firmly. “Show yourself.”
A familiar musical laughter rang through the trees as another acorn connected with the top of the man’s head. Aragorn closed his eyes in concentration, an attempt to track the whimsical assailant. The Ranger was rewarded with an acorn straight in the nose.
Aragorn’s reactions to the Elf’s mischief were indeed amusing. Narilvrin could not help but openly laugh and ceased attempts at suppressing her mirth. The Ranger deserved every acorn that came his way. Aragorn, by now, had realized that his attacker was no enemy and certainly no threat, but was still befuddled as to the exact source of the small projectiles.
Feeling the mild delight at the Ranger’s expense begin to lessen, the Elf leapt down from the safety of the trees, landing no more than a foot behind Aragorn without so much as a sound. Narilvrin tapped her friend on the shoulder. Aragorn spun around, somewhat startled. Skilled Ranger though he was, he was no match for an Elf. With a smile, Aragorn began to head back to the camp. Scooping up the Ranger’s fallen pile of firewood, Narilvrin followed behind.
“We are not yet even.” Said Narilvrin, with a grin. “Icy waters and acorns do not weigh out equally to me.”
“I did not expect it to be so, nevertheless it is comforting to know that you, Legolas and Gimli have forgiven me.” Aragorn replied, rubbing the place upon his nose where the acorn had struck.
“We would not have held it against you. Moreover, although the Dwarf denies it, he should have foreseen the founder, and I have been proven the right in having said a Dwarf’s sense of balance is certainly very minuscule.” Aragorn chuckled as they walked back, although not nearly so genuinely as was habitual. The growing sense of danger was plaguing both minds. Aragorn looked towards Narilvrin.
“What news have you about this rankness upon the air?” Narilvrin frowned at the question.
“I know that the creature Gollum has been scarce of late and....and that the source of this foreboding feeling resides within the dark tower of Orthanc. Whatever will be assailing us, is urged by the hand of Saruman.”
“This is ill news.”
“Indeed...but the others will ponder as to what has become of us, if we tarry longer.” Said the Elf, dashing ahead after disposing of the heap of firewood into the arms of Aragorn, who followed soon afterwards. She did not wish to discuss the topic further. Not now that she knew Aragorn would distress over it. When the threat grew more imminent, Narilvrin knew she would not be able to hesitate to inform her comrade. It was important, furthermore, for she did not want to endanger the others, or, more importantly, the Ringbearer.
As the two approached the camp, they caught wind of an argument.
“You have more...I am sure of it.”
“He does not...so please, calm down.”
“Fine, very well.”
When Narilvrin and Aragorn emerged from the trees, the Hobbits had already started their meal. Pippin had insisted that Merry had gotten a larger share of the stewed rabbit and Merry insisted that he had not. And so, the others had gone about trying to persuade the determined Took otherwise. At long last he had given in and focused now on consuming his breakfast.
“It’s a pity that we do not have second breakfasts. I see no reason not to.” Pippin said, a mouth half full of food.
“Indeed it is, Pip. But I don’t think we have time for such.” Merry answered, sighing.
“Your words are true, young Hobbit.” Said Boromir. “Time is sparse.”
The Fellowship nodded their agreement. All knew it was an important task that had been appointed to them. All knew Middle-earth was dependent upon the outcome of this one journey. Frodo, who was burdened most of all, knew too, what would happen were he to fail. The visions shown to him by the lady Galadriel flashed all too vividly in his mind while he heard her wise words ring throughout. If only Gandalf were here, I would not dwell so on what I know is to come, sighed the Ringbearer.
‘I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had ever happened.’
‘So do all who live to see such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’
Yes. I cannot change what I did not decide. I will go to Mount Doom...I shall destroy the One Ring....that is what I will do with the time given me. Whether it takes my life or not, this task was appointed to me and I will not fail. Frodo thought to himself. Oh Bilbo...how I longed to journey with you...away from the Shire...but now I long for nothing more than to know I will return. A light tap on his shoulder awoke him from his brooding.
“Mister Frodo? Mister Frodo, sir?” Sam looked down at the bemused Hobbit with a look of concern.
“Oh, what is it Sam?”
“We’re leaving now, Mister Frodo. We’ll be journeying by boat again...although I think I’d rather use my own two feet. You can always trust your own feet, Mister Frodo, I always say.” Frodo smiled warmly at Sam’s uneasiness.
“Yes, Sam.” Frodo gazed at the faces around him as he stood. “I think you are not the only one who is not looking forward to the boat ride. Legolas and Narilvrin seems a bit uncomfortable, and Gimli, no doubt, does as well.”
“Well who wouldn’t, if you don’t mind me saying? And all three did manage to tip just the other day.” Sam shuddered somewhat at the thought of having to enter the boat and more so at the possibility of plunging into the swift waters, but was able to smile as he recalled just why the Dwarf and two Elves were so reluctant to continue in their boats. Legolas and Narilvrin walked up silently behind the two Hobbits, listening intently.
“I would not say that I took part in tipping the boat. It was the fault of that Dwarf’s bullheadedness and the help of a certain Strider, as you call him, that urged the boat to dispose of its passengers into the Anduin.” Narilvrin said, picking up the bucket used to dowse the fire. Once at the bank, she filled it with water. Striding up besides Pippin, she whispered something in his ear and handed over the bucket. The young Hobbit smiled gleefully, whistling quietly, as he approached Aragorn, who was preoccupied with loading the boats.
“Strider!” Pippin yelled suddenly. The Ranger turned around in alarm, wondering what could be the matter. There was a splash of water and a high pitched Hobbit laugh. “Haha, Strider, take that! It was a little gift from Narilvrin, but she so graciously allowed me to perform the honors.”
“I was more than happy to, Peregrin.” Chimed Narilvrin, patting Pippin upon the shoulder. “Good show I believe are the words you used last time, mellon nin.”
“Narilvrin...” Mumbled Aragorn as he glared in the Elf’s direction. Narilvrin grinned happily before proceeding to enter the boat.
“Hoho, Narilvrin, using messengers now, are we?” Said Gimli as he cautiously followed the Elf into the boat. Narilvrin smiled broadly as she waited for the others to settle themselves into their boats.
The Fellowship was soon on their way again. At midday the looming forms of the great stone kings could be seen far in the distance by the sharp eyes of Legolas and Narilvrin. The Argonath. They were still a ways off, but the Elves estimated that they would no doubt pass through them and land near Amon Hen by night fall.
Their estimations held true, for though the sky was not yet dark, it had become tinted with the beautiful purples and pinks that the ending of day wrought. The beginnings of the sunset. The sunlight was yet warm and bright as it was fading, and the stone Kings stood tall and proud beneath it. A magnificent sign they had been of the greatness of Gondor...although they now signified a power lost. The west bank of the mighty Anduin was no longer possessed by the kingdom of Gondor, but rather Rohan. As were the grasslands. Great and proud though the past kings were, their eyes looked on with a tinge of what Narilvrin thought sadness. The elleth sang softly into the wind:
“Ai, dim gon heneth palanda
beleg erein iauro tiro a hi cirith.
A dolen na aglar hi dór.
Si firith na anor mí annún.”
And suddenly she felt again the ominous presence. Would the foulness of Isengard be here soon? Narilvrin’s heart sank with the setting sun. It would be a dangerous business, trying to take on the current of the Anduin at night, so near to the falls of Rauros. Narilvrin could hear the booming of the falls from where she was. Aragorn told the others to bank their boats, and so they did. They were to camp at the base of Amon Hen this night, though Narilvrin wished they would not, although she knew they had little choice. Something was drawing ever nearer...what foulness had Saruman sent to destroy them?
Soon they had tied up the boats and set up camp. A dim fire was lit and everyone enjoyed a light meal before rest. Narilvrin claimed the first watch again. Aragorn placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder before the Elf entered a nearby tree.
“You look distressed.”
“We should not linger here...eryn peda nin.” Said Narilvrin, leaping into the branches of the tree. “Aragorn, galadhad peda fuinon...dagnir a sereg na nev.”
All of the Fellowship was all resting, save Narilvrin, since Legolas had finished his watch earlier. The elleth sat in the tree with some difficulty because of the ominous air about her that clogged her senses. A sigh escape her lips and drifted into the breezy night air, and if by chance, it came to land on Boromir, waking him from his light slumber. He’d had trouble resting, thinking of his beloved Elven Lady and saw the dark and dreadful future that beheld the fate of the Elf maiden. Taking a deep breath, he gazed through each of the treetops, and yet he had found nothing until he came to the last one and a revelational sight was there to meet him.
Upon a thick bough seemingly covered with strange, golden leaves sat Narilvrin, shrouded with her own aura of white firelight, her flame red hair billowing about her pale face tinted of silver, and her eyes a tempest of green and gold glints. He wondered if he would again feel and taste the skin of his beloved and of her fervent flame once more. As if summoned, she slowly turned her head to gaze in Boromir eyes, pain and longing veiling her once solemn but mirthful eyes; her fair slender hand came up and beckoned to him in a way that only he could understand, and she clasped whatever she held in her other hand. The Gondorian stood and stepped carefully to the tree and waited for Narilvrin to gracefully jump down, his eyes more than of masked concern.
The Elf maid came down from the branch and with a look at the others most likely to Aragorn and Legolas, she strode off with Boromir into the woods, ever wary of what may lie ahead of them. Narilvrin glanced everywhere her glinting eyes could pierce, awaiting some kind of trap or ambush, looking then at Boromir with assurance on her face. Worry covered Boromir’s features as a question of thought went his mind and the Warrior quickly looked up, and it seemed that a flash of different emotions were upon his fair face, realizing it was Narilvrin conversing with him. Let this be our last chance once more to swim in the bliss that we know of… Narilvrin again felt the stab of pain in her heart, and came closer to his face until she was two inches away, touching his hand ever so lightly to arouse him from his paralysis and placed the grey-blue necklace in open hand. Boromir brought his hand up and caressed her cheek, seeing Narilvrin close her eyes as a tear cascaded down to encounter the calloused hand. The Lord lightly brushed the tear away and leaned inwards ever so slowly and halted when his lips were only less than a breath away, gazing at Narilvrin’s closed eyes as if asking for something he knew he could have. A miniscule nod was his answer as Narilvrin finally opened her eyes that now glinted fiercely from tears. Barely audible words poured from her mouth, pleading for something, only one could give her, but Boromir had heard whatever she had said to him. Pushing her against a large tree, their lips coupled as the Gondorian’s tongue slid past the Elf’s barrier and into her mouth, where a slick and wet tongue awaited his own; an aggressive war was fought in their mouths until they broke for breath, a look of some relief. Boromir moved his hand from her cheek to fall upon her slender hips, pulling Narilvrin to him, and soon his mouth and tongue was at the Elf’s ear, licking and suckling it gently that brought forth moans through the breezy night air as the elleth felt the arousal of her beloved’s erection against her most sensitive spot. The Warrior’s hands went to cup her breasts after opening her jerkin and silken shirt and kneaded them gently, warmth spreading throughout his body as he felt the warm aura emanated from her; Narilvrin broke from his embrace only a while to shed her clothes, her pale skin glowing translucently in the night, as Boromir did the same ever finding her body more desirable than before. They laid themselves upon the forest floor, and with Boromir atop of her now, his eyes once again beheld the translucent-silvery beauty of the Elf’s skin and her curvaceous body in the midst of him, a desire building heatedly in his loins no longer suppressed. Gently placing his steamy mouth upon Narilvrin’s own, Boromir roughly thrust his unusually large erection inside of her, feeling her arch against his muscular chest and gasped excitedly into his mouth. With one hand upon her shoulder and one on her hip, he then began to thrust slowly until it became unbearable in their heat and soon was thrusting into her uncontrollably, unable to help himself; Narilvrin then hooked her legs upon Boromir’s hips and dug crescents into his back, whimpering some unknown request into his ear. Abruptly he stopped and sat up on one arm to support himself and beginning again, thrusting into heated places he had never reached before, hitting spots that caused Narilvrin to moan loudly. Finally with a deep cry, Boromir let his seed flow into the Elf maiden’s hot core, spent from their second union. The elleth felt her beloved’s fluid spread throughout her, its feeling of fire engulfing her entire being. ‘It was the second time we had united, and it would not be our last’. Thought Narilvrin as she felt something stir within her womb and the grey-blue glow from the necklace not far from Boromir’s hand.
“Ai, sad stone eyes gaze afar.
Mighty kings of old watch over this pass
and hidden is (the) glory (of) this land.
Now fading is (the) sun in the West.”
“Eryn peda nin.” = “(The) forests speak for me.”
“Aragorn, galadhad peda fuinon...dagnir a sereg na nev.” = “Aragorn, (the) trees speak of darkness...battle and blood is near.
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.