eldalieva
Harem Frishna, Keeper of
the Blue
Registered: Apr
2002
Location: Losin' it. Oh wait, LOST it.
Posts:
43 |
I think it's
hilarious the way the whole Harem is starting to trickle in
here! To make everyone at home, I've decided to repost my
complete "Litany" trilogy: now available in one post!
Enjoy!
Ariel: do you check your PMs here?
I.
Litany
After a restless night, it is almost dawn when
you quietly let yourself into Frodo’s room. You climb up on
the bed and kneel down next to him, sitting back on your
heels. What is this emotion that comes over you at times like
this? Desire? No…although it can become that. Compassion?
Yes…but not in the strictly charitable sense of the word. It’s
as though you need to be next to him, to touch him, in order
to remember, to fully understand that it is true, that
it did happen. For then you could be inside him,
and not here, where your knowledge of him always seems finite.
Watching in the halflight, you know he is deeply
asleep. He has not stirred, you can just detect his breathing
if you watch closely enough. You reach forward and slowly fold
the quilt down, exposing his bare back. Leaning forward on
your right palm, you run your left hand under the warm, heavy
edge of his curls. You can feel, but not see, the mark across
his neck.
“From the chain,” you whisper, almost
inaudibly.
With your fingertip, you outline a circular
depression just above his left shoulder.
“From the
spider.”
Now the light in the room is growing, so you
can see the last token you’ve come looking for: a long-healed
but still visible scar over his right side, running parallel
to his ribs.
You stroke it with the back of your hand,
so lightly you barely touch him. You do not speak the words,
only mime them: “From the whip.”
It is true. It did
happen. Moved by pity, you place the flat of your palm on his
back, between his shoulder blades, as if to establish his
physical presence. “Our poor beloved. It was a long time ago.
You’re here now.”
With a sigh, you run your
hand down his spine, coming to rest in the gentle valley of
his lower back. Leaning forward over his shoulders, you brush
your lips against his back and almost unconsciously begin a
litany, moving lower and kissing him upon each reflection.
“For taking the burden upon yourself.
For Amon
Sul.
For Moria.
For Shelob.
For Cirith
Ungol.
For Orodruin.
For doing what no one else
could.
For being our own.
For your peace at
last.”
Finally resting your cheek in the small of his
back, against the soft, warm skin there, you close your eyes,
just for a moment. You have not found what you sought. Your
knowledge will always be finite. But your love is
boundless.
You stay this way until he stirs underneath
you, and makes a soft breath-sound in his sleep. You raise
yourself up, and quickly fold the quilt back over him, as you
found it. You leave the room as quietly as you entered it,
shutting the door behind you, and if any part of what passed
broke through the veil of his sleep, you know he will remember
it only as a dream.
II.
Sleepwalking
Late in the day, near dusk, you happen to
pass each other in the long, shadowy hall at Bag End. You have
not seen him since you were in his room at dawn, but of
course, he believes he has not seen you all day. So you
are not surprised when he reaches out as he passes you and
grasps you around the waist, nimbly spinning you around to
face him. You expect just a greeting, or a kiss, but then, he
surprises you.
“You were in my room this morning.”
“Was I?”
He holds you at arms length, shaking
his head.. “You’re a terrible liar.” A slow smile, rich as
cream, spreads over his face. You match it with your own. This
is a game.
“Only when I choose to be.”
“And
when is that?”
“When I’m trying to be charming.” You
run your hand over the buttons of his shirt.
“It’s
working.”
“It always works.” First button.
He
steps closer to you. “So you were there.”
“You
must have been dreaming.” Second button.
He encircles
your waist with his left arm and with his right hand,
thoughtfully traces the shape of your mouth. “No…I don’t think
I was.”
“Then I must have been sleepwalking.” Third
button.
He lays his cheek against yours. Softly: “Are
you sleepwalking now?”
You close your eyes, pressing
up close, your hands inside his open shirt. “I may be.” Almost
faint, you rest your chin on his shoulder.
Barely a
whisper: “And where are you going?”
“Wherever you take
me.”
“Wherever?”
“Yes.”
“And what will
we do there?”
“Whatever you ask of
me.”
“Whatever?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Your legs are
trembling. He wraps both arms around your waist to keep you
from falling. He brushes parted lips against your neck, the
top of your shoulder. You inhale sharply and wrap your arms
around his neck.
Breathlessly: “But you mustn’t wake a
sleepwalker.”
“Then I will carry you.”
He lifts
you up and your wrap your legs around his slender hips. He
carries you to his room. Where you began the day in
melancholy, you will end it in his arms.
III.
Remains of the Day
It is too early for fires to be lit,
so you find it cool in his room, but the freshness of it
against your flushed face is welcome. The room is purple with
twilight, and when he seats you on the edge of his bed and
kneels down in front of you, you can just make out the curve
of his face, the faint azure shine of his eyes. He places his
palms on your thighs and stretches up between your knees to
kiss you. Placing his hands on the bed, he uses the weight of
his body to lay you down. You bring your heels up to the bed
and push backwards, so that you can lie down fully.
And he surprises you again by rolling away from you,
onto the bed, and sitting up and back on his heels. Confused
and breathless, you look up at
him.
“What…?”
“Turn over.” He puts his hands on
either side of your waist and gently rolls you over onto your
stomach.
He brushes his hands through your hair,
sweeping out the combs that held it in place. Gathering the
length of your unbound hair into a loose skein, he lays it
above your head.
He kisses the nape of your neck. You
shut your eyes and stroke the cool, sweet-scented bedclothes
with your palms.
He unbuttons the back of your dress.
The day had started off mild, and you had not put on the shift
under your dress. When he unbuttons you, your back is
bare.
He runs his warm hand down the length of your
spine and rests it in the curve of your lower back. You begin
to understand what he is doing as you feel his lips brush you
between the shoulder blades. Softly, he speaks:
“For
your compassion.”
And he kisses you again, further down
your back.
“For your kindness.”
Again…as you did
to him this morning.
“For your wisdom.
“For your
beauty.” (And oh, this time he parts his lips and licks your
skin, ever so lightly.)
For your love.
For being
my own.
For our peace at last.”
He rests his
forehead in the small of your back. You shiver at the light
tickle of his breath on your skin. You press your face into
the bedclothes, breathless, and clutch at the quilt,
astonished and almost ashamed by the revelation that he heard
and felt everything this morning…and waited all day to
make this gracious acknowledgement, this gesture of gratitude.
It is so like him. Your heart is so full, you could
weep.
You take a breath and begin, “You didn’t have
to…”
He opens his eyes and the lashes brush against
your back like feathers. “Yes I did.”
You roll over
onto your back and look up at him, kneeling beside you in the
deepening darkness. Beyond the window, in the garden, you hear
soft call of the day’s last songbird. “Why?” you
ask.
“Because I must,” he says, placing his hand
against your cheek. “Because you are so dear to
me.”
“Oh…” you whisper, afraid that now you will
cry. You reach up to him and pull him down to you, and bring
his lips to yours, and caress his neck, his face, his hair…and
the songbird’s note drifts from the garden one last time
before night falls on Tol Eressëa.
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04-14-2002
04:58 AM
