13. Into the Glittering Light of Day
Éomer's skin smells of sunshine. He tastes of the sea. His hair is silky to touch and yet coarse, heavy in my hands. It falls mussed in waves around his face, golden in the half-light of the lamp. I am fascinated with his mouth, as always--those lips, full and slightly parted. He exhales my name repeatedly--into my mouth, into my ears, upon my neck. His hand moves down my body and then he strokes, slowly, evenly, repetitively, against the increasingly slippery wetness between my legs. I can only whimper and clutch onto him. I am flying, falling, trembling, shivering. Oh, please do not stop.
He smiles slightly, leans forward, catches my lower lip between his teeth and gently pulls before releasing it. He says hoarsely "Now, my love, I think that you are ready."
"Please, Éomer, yes," I beg of him.
He raises himself on one arm. Now he is the one trembling; his eyes are open but unseeing. With his other hand, he guides himself into me. He thrusts and pulls back, slowly at first, then again and again, lovingly, controlled. At last, he pushes more forcefully, all the way into me. I am ready for pain, but there is none. Oh, Éomer, you know exactly what you are doing. He shudders hard, all fire and wind, utterly consuming. He murmurs something unintelligible in Rohirric, his voice deeper and harsher than it sounds in Elvish. Beautiful voice, beautiful language. Struggling for restraint, he stops and whispers in my ear, "Did that hurt, love?" No. Do not stop now. "Are you well?"
I am beyond rationality. Beyond feigning sweetest or compliance, I struggle to protest in a harsh gasp, "I will be, Éomer, if you will please move. " I shove my hips up against his, willing him to permit me to feel the weight of his body pressing against mine again.
He grins gallantly. He is the sorcerer now, at once teasing and magnanimous. He begins to move again, tenderly nearly reverently, then controlled, deep, even strokes. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I feel that he is as lost and disconnected from any reality outside of us as I am—more urgently pushing, thrusting, grinding, harder, faster. After a while, our world expands and explodes: altered and fragmented. Finally, together we slowly drift back from that fleeting and evanescent indefinable state of bliss to reality, whole again, but one.
"You liked that, love," he states, delighted and boyish, pleased with himself.
"Liked it?" I croak. What a strangely commonplace expression to use to describe the ecstasy he has wrought. He looks at me with soft eyes languid, but joyous. " Éomer," I moan.
"You surprised me. We came off together," he whispers back to me, his voice worshipful. "That doesn't always happen," he insists. "Almost never the first time, I would think."
I cannot answer. I am still too far lost within him. He is strong or brave to be capable of speech so soon. "I love you, so much, so much," he breathes. "Love you," I finally manage shakily.
He eyes are merry, warm, "I know you do," he says smiling affectionately, exultant. "Remember, I can read your thoughts."
"What did you say in Rohirric just before you entered me?" I ask, alert again and curious.
His blush is deep enough to be visible to me in the lamplight. "I love it when you blush. What did you say?" I press.
"I said that it was the horseback riding," he answered, studying my face cautiously.
"What did you refer to?"
Reluctantly he answered, "Its common knowledge in Rohan that years of horseback riding often makes a girl's first time easier."
"I am relieved to hear that," I answer. "It did not hurt at all and there was no bleeding. I was afraid that you would think I was not a virgin."
"Oh, no, my love. It was completely obvious that you were."
"What!" I say jerking into a sitting position, slightly insulted. "What should I have done that I did not do?"
Now he is laughing, "Do not be ridiculous, Lothíriel. You were lovely, perfect. The best ever," he answers sincerely, pulling me down to him again and kissing me.
I am suddenly aroused again, "So, you think there is still more that you would teach me?"
"Yes. If it pleases you, my love, there is more…" He moves his hands to my breasts and begins to cover my face, my eyes, and my neck, with soft kisses.
Lothíriel stood in her dressing gown on the balcony outside of her window and looked down and across the city that she loved intensely for what she had found there. Minas Tirith glittered in the morning sun, dazzling stone walls and whitewashed houses, set against a backdrop of the blue sky, astonishing as a dream. She turned to go back into the room but stood arrested by the sight of Éomer in her bed, relaxed in sleep, incredibly handsome, yet such a boy, profoundly natural and pure. He stirred with a contented sigh and reached out feeling the empty space next to him in the bed. "Lothíriel?" he said quietly.
She hurried back into the room, closing and latching the windows behind her. "I am here, my love," she answered climbing in back into the bed and moving into his arms, allowing him to pull her body against his. "Éomer, you have inspired me."
"In what way, my love?" he asked, sleepily amused.
"I would like to try to force you to feel as overwhelmed and helpless as you made me last night."
"That is only fair. I am your willing victim. Do your worst, fey princess."
There was a rattling sound at the window. Someone was trying to open it from the outside. Both Éomer and Lothíriel awakened and sat up in the bed, less alarmed than curious. Neither made a sound as they exchanged glances.
"Lothíriel. Lothíriel, let me in. I am standing out here in my shirttails," said Erchirion. "Lothíriel, are you awake? Let me in."
"Patience. I am coming," she answered scrambling out of bed and looking around, on the floor, and under the bed for her robe.
"Here." Éomer found her robe on the other side of the bed and tossed it to her. Pulling it around herself and fastening it, she hurriedly opened the window, nearly knocking her brother over.
"Careful," Erchirion grumbled, stepping into the room. He looked over at Éomer, without surprise, but, with an evil grin, said, "Good morning, Éomer. You are looking smug today."
"Do me a favor, little sister," he pleaded, turning to Lothíriel. "Will you loan me a dress, please?"
Looking at Erchirion's long legs and bare feet, sticking out beneath the shirt that reached nearly to his knees, Éomer answered drolly, "Sorry, old man, I am sure she would like to help you out, but she has none that will fit you."
Lothíriel gave Éomer a grin and said to Erchirion, "Size could be a problem. I am quite tall and slim, compared to most women. You will have to give me more information, if I am to find something that will suit."
"Hold on," Éomer interrupted. "Some negotiations are in order here first. A dress in exchange for a clean shirt and stockings."
"Sorry, old man, you are much thicker than I am. I doubt that I have a shirt that will fit you," the slender young man taunted.
"Do you want the dress?" Éomer growled. "You may not have any meat on your bones, but you are broad enough in the shoulders; anything without swan decorations on it will do."
"It's a deal. But, it appears that you have an affinity for swans," Erchirion answered, gawking at the tattoo on Éomer's bare chest. Éomer actually blushed. Lothíriel sighed.
"Tell me who is the dress for, Erchirion, and I will do the best I can."
"Melliel, the daughter of Húrin of Minas Tirith," Erchirion answered shyly.
"Whew," Lothíriel whistled softly, "Your boldness makes Amrothos appear shy by comparison. What were you thinking?"
"I guess I was not thinking overly much, but it proved to be worth the risk," Erchirion said, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Her parents think she stayed over with you."
"I wonder what she thinks." Lothíriel mused aloud, flipping through dresses in the wardrobe. "This one should do well. If she does not like it, she will just have to climb out the window and look for herself."
"Thank you very much, sister. Come over and get a shirt, Éomer. The balconies are connected." He exited out the window. Then he popped his head back in and smiled kindly. "I am leaving these windows open. This room could use a little air," he said with a crinkling up his nose mischievously.
"Oh, no," Lothíriel groaned in embarrassment. Éomer laughed.
A soft knock on the door followed immediately. Lothíriel went to door and unlatching it, opened it a crack, and peaked out.
"Good morning, Irilde…Yes, I am awake…Thank you…Could you please order us tea and bread or rolls. Erchirion will have some with me… Oh, ask them to send extra of everything. We are famished and so thirsty…Yes, thank you…Yes, if someone could fill the bath that would be wonderful. Thank you, Irilde." She closed the door behind her and flipped the latch again, turning to lean her back against it and exhale deeply.
Éomer grinned, "You are so smooth."
"I can be when I have to be," she smiled happily. "I am glad that I do not have to be with you, love," she said, tears sprang to her eyes that glistered with a fierce, bright joy.
A little less than an hour later, both couples had bathed, dressed, and were lounging about Lothíriel's room, chatting amiably over tea and toast, when there was another knock on the door.
Lothíriel hopped up. Opening the door, she stuck her nose out to see Imrahil. "Papa," she squeaked surprised.
"I would like to come in," Imrahil said not waiting for a response, but instead deftly sliding by her into the large chamber. "Good morning, Éomer," he said levelly. "Erchirion, Melliel," he nodded.
"Papa, Melliel stayed over with me last night," Lothíriel said quickly.
"And Éomer, just happened to stop by to have breakfast in your bedroom," he said arching an eyebrow, his handsome face inscrutably fixed on that of his daughter. "Dissembling does not flatter you, Lothíriel. I have always appreciated your honesty, however, impertinent its expression," he smiled wrly.
"Imrahil, I am the one at fault here. I asked her if I could accompany her home last night, well knowing that she would not refuse me," Éomer said quietly, stepping forward and taking Lothíriel's hand.
"Thank you, Éomer," Imrahil said, with a teasing half-grin. "I am not here in the role of irate father. What I would like to discuss concerns all of you and has little to do with any views I may or not may have regarding how you choose to spend your evenings. Although, I would be a hypocrite to pretend I have forgotten entirely what it means to be young and in love."
"Crawling in and out of windows, partially clad, within the full view of one and half levels of the city, rather than using the hallways of your own home, demonstrates a reckless lack of prudence," he continued, looking pointedly at Erchirion. "Melliel, you are an adult and what, if anything, you wish to reveal to your parents about where you spend your nights are not my concern. But I would appreciate it, since you are here now, that you hear my concerns." The young woman nodded.
"Yes, sire. Thank you," she answered maintaining a stance of quiet dignity.
"Do I need to remind you, Erchirion, that Húrin is ever mindful of the distinction of his house and not least among his concerns is the reputation of his daughter?"
"No, father," Erchirion stated, while, much like Éomer had, he assumed a protective stance by putting an arm around the young lady's waist.
"The whole lot of you remind me of livestock on a farm in the springtime after a long, cold winter," the Prince chuckled.
Erchirion and Melliel manifested ill-concealed displeasure, at the crude, seemingly offhand, remark from the usually so urbane prince. Éomer answered unperturbed, "Not a bad analogy, Imrahil. A few short weeks ago, everything was dark. Now, for the first time, we see a sunlit future. It might have been predictable that such a situation could provoke certain types of reactions."
Lothíriel could not restrain a giggle at Éomer's easy response to what to most Gondorians would have considered rudeness. She could see by the twinkle in Imrahil's eye that he had foreseen the effect on the individual parties involved.
"To finish my point, this 'sunlit future' depends upon alliances with and support of diverse elements throughout Gondor, Arnor, and its neighboring lands. Few of the leaders of those areas would approve of your liberality of decorum and disregard of custom. It would be unconscionable if the lack of acceptable deportment and good judgment of any in this household were in any way to reflect negatively upon the king and his innermost circle. Comport yourselves with that in mind. Erchirion, I would not want to be forced to send you and Lothíriel to Dol Amroth knowing that you want to be here," he lectured. "Any comments?"
"I will ask Melliel's parents for permission to court her, father," Erchirion volunteered.
"I will be here less than a week, but perhaps, we could at least announce our betrothal," Éomer said controlling with great effort a satisfied smirk.
"Consider it done," Imrahil replied. "Let me know if there are any details of Rohirric custom of which I should be aware. Also, Éomer, a small, but formidable guard of warriors of Rohan planted themselves in front of the house an hour or so ago. You might invite them in for a decent breakfast."
"One more thing, I would appreciate it if the rest of you would go down to the dining room, where the staff, apparently aware there might be need," he said ruefully, "have laid out a substantial breakfast. Lothíriel and I will join you shortly."
After the others filed out, Imrahil closed the door, "Lothíriel, we need to talk about something rather sensitive. You should be aware of your inability to control the transmission of certain powerful thoughts and emotions into the consciousness of others. I am sorry your mother is not here to help you and I am afraid my gifts are unequal to yours and those of your brothers. Perhaps, if Amrothos were here…" Imrahil explained gently.
Lothíriel clapped her hand over her mouth appalled. "Oh, papa, you not saying that when Éomer and I were making love…"
"I am afraid so."
"I am so sorry, papa. How awful!"
"I barriered myself as strongly as I could and then had another couple of strong drinks and was able to go to sleep. However, there are others nearby—thank Eru, many fewer than there will be a month or so from now—including Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir, almost certainly, and I am not sure about Aragorn, who may have perceived a good deal more about your intimate relations than you would have wished," he said.
"How can I ever face them?" she gasped.
"With some degree of embarrassment," he replied. "Undoubtedly, the sting will lessen with time."
"What can I do?"
"There is abstinence," he said deadpan. Seeing her face droop so sadly, he could not continue with his cruel joke and quickly added. "I can think only of Mithrandir. Would you like me to ask him if he will speak with you?"
"Thank you, papa. I think it would be less embarrassing for me if I approach him myself," she said, swallowing hard.
"Then I will leave it to you…"
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.