#watchwarden revion

[calirph]

𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐍

in the lord of the rings: the rings of power 1.01.

[angel-e-v-a]

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The safety of your embrace (part 1)

Arondir x reader. This is part one of two.

Set before the beginning of series one. Descriptions of nightmares and sleep troubles.

This fic is dedicated to @eowyn7023.

*****

Your heart is pounding as your strides carry you across the stone-walled corridor that cuts the barracks in half, both your bow and quiver slung around your shoulders like you’ve gotten used to carrying them wherever you go since you’ve arrived in the Southlands, two years ago. You don’t mind the weight, just like you’ve easily gotten used to being far from home, and to do without the simple luxuries of living in a large village -food prepared according to your taste, a comfortable mattress, scrolls to read on rainy days in front of the fireplace- and the company of your friends; those things you could give up relatively easily. 

Conversely, there’s something else you desperately need, a privilege many would find unjustified in your situation…  but that you desperately need to maintain, or everything you have done since you left home will have been for nothing.

The Elf you were anxiously looking for finally appears, a few steps from you, as he speaks to another soldier who, judging from his rain-soaked clothes, has just returned from patrol duty. You remain at a distance, not wanting to seem as if you were eavesdropping, nervously waiting until the soldier is dismissed, and you can finally approach.

It takes you a moment. “(name), sir; I transferred here from the troop of Caerleon yesterday.”

“Excuse me, watchwarden Revion?”

He turns, and looks at you strangely for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Yes, of course, (name). You went out last night with Médhor, yes? Anything to report?”

Médhor, one of your new comrades, guided you and two other soldiers who had just transferred from other settlements to explore the area you’d be tasked to patrol, so that you could move on your own and find your bearings without getting lost. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir; it is another matter I wanted to ask you about.” you explain quickly; you don’t know Revion well yet, since you only met briefly yesterday, but you can still read the impatience on his face, which suggests that the watchwarden is too busy to waste more time than it is strictly necessary listening to the complaints of a newcomer “I believe my previous commander sent you a note about me? About a… request I had made?”

Surprisingly -since he had completely forgotten both your name and your face, you had no reason to believe he’d remember any other information that concerned you- Revion knows what you are talking about. “Ah, yes; you requested a private room for yourself, did you not?”

“I did, sir.” you confirm, already wincing internally; even after your brief acquaintance there’s no mistaking the clear look of disapproval on the watchwarden’s face, but you force yourself not to blush as you plead your case “And I had been assured I would receive one; but now I have been told differently.”

“Yes; I am sorry, some adjustments had to be made. With the arrival of more soldiers, we have barely enough space for everyone to sleep as it is; you’ll have to share your room with one or more of your comrades, like we all do.”

Revion looks sincerely apologetic as he delivers the news, which you appreciate, even though it does not help - not at all. “But…”

“I am sorry; I have to go now…”

“Sir, wait. Please, there has to be a way…”

“There is not. (name)...” the watchwarden sighs as he rubs his eyes, but this time you can see he is more impatient than regretful, as if he felt the matter was closed, and so there was no reason to discuss it any longer - which is probably true, but… “Did you sleep alone while you were stationed at Caerleon?”

“I did; first in one of the soldiers’ dormitories, and then, when more Elves joined our troop and more space was needed, in a smaller room that had previously been used to store lumber.”

“That doesn’t sound comfortable. Nor hygienic, to be honest.”

“It was perfectly serviceable, I assure you. Sir…” you hesitate for a moment, already aware that you are more likely to sprout wings and take to the air, leaving the Southlands behind as you soar towards the sky, than to have your request satisfied, but you can’t help insisting. “I do not want you to think ill of me; I know we are not guests in an inn, and that it is normal for soldiers to share quarters. I am not asking out of presumptuousness, or because I do not want to associate with others; I like to think I am all but an arrogant person, and I enjoy having a good relationship with my comrades.”

An Elf appears from the end of the corridor you had come from a minute ago; he makes to walk to the watchwarden to talk to him, but Revion stops him with a gesture, his gaze still focused on you. “And why, then? Why would you ask for such a prerogative, if it is not because you prefer your own company to that of your fellow soldiers?”

He won’t do it; he is asking out of personal curiosity, probably, not because your answer has any possibility of swaying him. You sigh inwardly, hoping against hope you still have a chance, just one out of as many as there are stars in the sky. “That I cannot tell you. But I need to sleep by myself; please, sir. I do not ask for much, I do not care if the room is small, or insalubrious; let me sleep in a storeroom, or on the kitchen’s floor; I can even carry my bedroll to the stables, I’ll be more than fine. I know I am asking much, since it is against the rules and I have been serving under you only for one day, but it would mean the world to me. I will never ask for anything else; put me down for night patrol duty for the next six months if you want, or reduce my pay…”

His voice not unkind but firm, the watchwarden tells you he has no intention to do that - any of that. “You have been recommended to me as a capable soldier, (name); your previous commander spoke highly of you in her letter.” he tells you, resting a hand on your shoulder “And nothing would make me happier than seeing that you are worthy of those compliments. Whatever problem you have with your current sleeping arrangements, I trust you can solve them. Being a soldier does not just mean risking your life in a fight or spending hours practising swordplay every day; it’s also forgoing your personal needs for the greater good.”

The watchwarden’s reasoning is flawless, which is why you can simply nod in acceptance while Revion, pleased the matter has been satisfyingly dealt with, leaves you to talk to someone else, while you remain still, for the first time feeling foolish and helpless in the armour you have been proud to wear for two years, wondering how long an Elf can remain awake without losing their mind. 

Later, after a lunch you have shared with a few of your new comrades, you are once again crossing the corridor, at a much more sedated, unhurried pace, the straw-filled mattress and the blanket you have just been assigned awkwardly carried under your arm. It is only early afternoon, the sun having barely begun its descend towards the horizon, and in an hour you’ll have your first archery practice session, led by Revion himself, which means it is your chance to to make a good impression on him after your previous blunder, but you can’t help thinking about tonight, dreading the approaching night-time like a young bride who has been forced into a marriage to a groom she does not love. 

You wonder if telling the watchwarden the truth regarding the reason for your request of a private room would have changed things; probably not, you try to comfort yourself, not unless Revion had gone through the same experience and agreed that it wouldn’t have been fair for your roommates to pay the price for your troubles. But most likely, he would have ordered you to find a way, not caring how you do it as long as you bother no one else and follow the garrison’s rules; he is that sort of leader.

The room you’re to sleep in, you have been told, is the fourth along the corridor; lingering for a moment out of the door, you sigh and enter, ready to meet your new roommates… 

“Oh. Hello.”

The only Elf present in the room smiles at you, looking friendly but curious until his gaze falls on the mattress and the blanket under your arm. “You must be one of the new soldiers, yet? Are you sharing this room?”

“I am. Err… nice to meet you.”

The room is mostly similar to the ones the soldiers of your old troop occupied, a fairly large space occupied by four wooden beds, each with a small chest in front of the footboard to hold the occupant’s possessions; a little table with a water basin is standing in a corner near the window, a couple of stools and pegs on the walls to be used when necessary. 

Simple, clean, functional; you could find nothing to complain about your sleeping arrangements even if you tried, but at the same time you are already dreading the moment you’ll have to go to bed.

The Elf your arrival interrupted as he changed his shirt is still looking at you with intent; he is tall, his skin dark, his hair shaved shorter than that of most Elves you know; you’re about to introduce yourself, already sure whatever good impression you could make on him and the others who share the room will no doubt be swept away after a single night spent under the same roof, when your gaze meets… and suddenly you have a name to associate to that handsome, open face.

“Wait, I believe we know each other! You are Arondir, are you not?” 

“I am… Forgive me, but I cannot remember your name. I remember you had your own shop as a soaper, and your mother played the flute during the village festivals…”

Hearing him mention your mother is less pleasant than a lance penetrating through your ribs, but you force yourself to smile as you remind him of your name; you had never been exactly friends, even in a relatively large village like the one you were both born and lived in, but you did know each other. You remember vaguely hearing that Arondir had enlisted to go patrol the man-inhabited lands under the Rhovanion, but you never thought you would meet again when, a long time later, you decided to do the same thing.

Maybe you should have…

“So you enlisted? Is this your first post?” 

“It’s my second; I’ve been stationed in Caerleon for two years before coming here, yesterday. And, err… I think I will be sharing your room…”

It’s only then that, turning to observe the rest of the room, you realise that among the four beds, the only one with a mattress and a blanket is the one Arondir is standing close to, while the other three are unused.

“Oh… you had a room for yourself until now.” you realise; you’re not quite sure how it makes you feel, to know another was granted -no doubt by happenstance, given that the Elves who gave you the mattress and blanket mentioned a few soldiers had left a few weeks ago- the favour you would give half of your blood to receive “I am sorry, Arondir, I do not want to be a hindrance…”

“Not at all; to be honest, I am glad to have some company.” he answers kindly; if he actually is annoyed at having to share the space he had until now enjoyed alone, he’s very good at hiding it “Please choose the bed you prefer.”

The four beds are arranged in a row; Arondir’s is the one at the far right, the three free ones next to his. Your first instinct is to choose the one farthest from his, even though only a few yards of distance will afford you no privacy in an otherwise empty room, but the last thing you want is for Arondir to think you’re avoiding him, or that you find his company distasteful. In the end, well aware of how pointless the choice actually is, you place your mattress and blanket on the free bed in the middle. 

“I will be seeing you later.” Arondir says, kindness in his voice, as he steps away from his bed; you nod, forcing yourself to smile, and see him leave, his stride unhurried but purposeful. 

Now alone, you quickly prepare the bed for when you’ll go to sleep tonight; then you quickly leave to retrieve your bag from the guards at the main gate, who you had entrusted it to since you had been called on patrol soon after your arrival, and empty it arranging your clothes and other personal belongings in the chest. Finally, you retrieve one of your daggers from your belt -part of a pair, twin of the one you always carry inside your boot- to hide it under the pillow; in this way, even in the event Orcs assaulted the barracks at night and one attacked before you had time to rise, you wouldn’t be completely helpless. 

There, all in order, you think to yourself, but your satisfied smile quickly withers in a grimace when, thinking of Arondir, you realise that sharing your room with someone you already knew, no matter how superficially, is probably the worst thing that could have happened to you. After all soldiers are allowed to write home, even though letters take weeks or even months to reach their destinations; what if your new roommate decides to tell his family and friends back in Beleriand about your night troubles? If the whole village, or even just the rest of the troop you are now part of, were to become aware of what happened to you, you would die of shame. From the little you remember of him, Arondir doesn’t seem the sort of Elf who takes pleasure in sharing rumours about others, but in a confined environment like the one of the barracks there is very little one can keep from their comrades. And if Revion were to learn about it…

Damn it. And damn me, for not having the strength to overcome this. What shall I do? I need to check the stables and the kitchens, maybe I will find a nook hidden enough no one will know if I go to sleep there…

You’re still lost in your musings when the long, deep note of a horn fills the air; the call, for all soldiers, to report for duty at the training grounds. It’s your first session under Revion’s command, and the last thing you want is to be late; you close the chest, grab your bow and arrow from where you had placed them on the bed, and run out of the room. 

The first days after your relocation to Ostirith go better than you had dared to hope. You do your best during the daily training sessions, and soon realise, to your great relief, that you have nothing to envy your new comrades, since thanks to your previous commander, who made someone who barely knew the hilt of a sword from the blade into a competent fighter, you are at least at their level regarding both swordfighting and the use of bow and arrow. When watchwarden Revion, who understandably pays particular attention to the training of the newcomers, meets your gaze at the end of your second session and nods in approval, with even the hint of a smile on his lips, you feel the urge to pat yourself on the back. 

Most of your new comrades have served together for decades, but fortunately you find your place among them relatively easily; you go on patrol in the woods and mountains surrounding your base, get to know the mortals of the communities you are tasked with watching over, and take part in a skirmish against a rogue band of Orcs, both you and your comrades fortunately surviving with only minor wounds.

Either because of your previous acquaintance, or as a natural consequence of your state of roommates, a friendship begins developing between you and Arondir. You often sit together in the kitchens when breaking your fast or having supper -rarely just the two of you together, but you soon realise the meals you have shared with him are more numerous than the ones you have not- and spend many peaceful moments talking, you telling him about the people and places he knew at your village, and him in exchange giving you guidance as you get used to your new commission. 

Roommates. At least this is how compatriot and comrade would describe the two of you, unaware of how little time you have effectively spent by his side at night.

You dread to think what Revion would say if he found out, but you did find another place to sleep, on your first evening after discovering your request had been denied. The tiny storage room is near the kitchens, its door almost hidden behind a heavy cupboard you can easily slip behind if you walk sideways. Even better, you found some heavy crates inside, containing foodstuffs and kitchen utensils, and you moved them to form a barrier between the point you settle to sleep in and the door so that, even if someone were to suddenly enter while you’re inside, the crates would hide you, as long as you remain still.

Of course, it’s tiny. So tiny you have no space to actually lie down, no matter how much you toss and turn and try to move the crates to secure just a few inches more, without giving up on your protective barrier. 

If only you were a Dwarf, you think more than once, or even better, a fox or a tiny critter for whom a hole in a wall or the hidden space in a woodpile would be enough. Instead, you belong to one of the tallest peoples among Eru’s children, which makes it naturally harder for you to find an appropriate sleeping space. As far as your new shelter is concerned, for example, you can either lie down with your legs bent, or sleep sitting up, neither of which is exactly comfortable, especially if one is at the end of a long, tiring day spent patrolling, working and -more often than not- fighting… and only a few hours away from another day like that, come dawn. 

Still, that cramped space affords you the necessary privacy - even more important, it is quite far from the dormitories, which means that any noise you make while in there won’t be heard by your sleeping comrades, including your watchwarden. It is the perfect hideaway… or at least, one where the positive aspects outweigh the negative, and so you feel you have nothing to complain about. 

And so it begins. Every night you make a show about preparing for bed like all your comrades do, including Arondir, who is obviously the one you need to beware of the most. You put on your nightclothes, bid your roommate good night, curl up in your bed while he blows up the candle… and then you remain vigil, eyes wide open and mind alert in that darkness that invites rest and peaceful sleeping, waiting for the right moment to leave. Fortunately, Arondir seems to be the sort of person who falls asleep almost immediately after settling down -how you envy him!- which means that it takes you only a few minutes to hear his breathing get slower and deeper - an evident sign your roommate has reached Irmo’s realm.

You are safe. 

Walking as lightly and silently as you have been taught to do while on patrol -and if you were asked what are you more afraid of, to be ambushed by a band of dozens of Orcs in the woods or to be caught while you abandon your room at night and then questioned about the motive, you are not quite sure what you would answer- you rise from your bed, take your pillow, blanket and knife and tiptoe out of the room to reach the kitchens.

Once there, you take advantage of the solitude nighttime affords you and prepare a sleeping draught, made with herbs of which you have brought plenty from your previous post, and that healers use to make patients sleep before an invasive procedure, or to soothe pain. One of them once told you an unfortunate Elf who had drunk that same concoction remained fast asleep while his leg was amputated.

Lucky him, you have morosely thought more than once, since you haven’t been afforded the same relief.

Having drunk your draught, and made sure to leave no trace of your passage in the kitchens, you reach the little room on the back, close the door and arrange yourself as comfortably as you can as you wait for sleep.

And then, of course, the nightmares come.

Father, wait!Go! Take your sisters, get them to safety!

No! I’ll stay and fight with you!

(name), there’s no time! You three go, your father and I will stall them as long as we can!

You scream -loud enough to wake yourself up, loud enough to feel your throat sore afterwards- and you toss and turn, almost fighting in your dreams that battle in reality you were forced to abandon, so much that sometimes in the morning you find bruises and scrapes on your skin, the memories of that fateful, terrible day still vivid inside you. Nightmares cannot hurt you, you’ve told yourself plenty of times, and the rational part of you knows and accepts that truth, like it knows and accepts that it was your parents’ choice to sacrifice their lives to protect yours and your sisters’, and that even the most formidable warrior, which at least at the time you were far from being, couldn’t have fought alone the dozen Orcs that had pursued and reached you. 

It was not your fault; everyone who knew what had happened told you, even those who would have had no reason to lie to spare your feelings, but it is not enough - it never could be, even if every creature in Middle-Earth spoke to absolve you from the blame you have made yours. To be honest, you have reflected more than once during one of the frequent, long vigils not even your sleeping draught can guard you from, the fault is not even the worst of it: it’s the loneliness. Why did you have to survive, alone out of a family of five? Not your parents, capable warriors who had defended the village against countless attacks and would continue to do so for the centuries to come if given the chance to, not your middle sister, who was meant to be wed in less than a fortnight, not your youngest, who had started an apprenticeship as a healer and would undoubtedly do much good in your community once she had completed it. 

No, they all died, and you, the soaper, survived, fainting after she had taken a blow to the head and consequently been overlooked by the Orcs who thought her dead. Eru had His reasons for wanting you to survive, you have been told, but what those reasons are you still do not know, and loneliness and guilt become more unbearable in your heart by the day - and by the night.

During your two years as part of the Caerleon garrison you were able to keep your night troubles secret from your comrades, having convinced the watchwarden that being the only female in the troop it would have been appropriate to give you a room for yourself, especially after you had offered to double your night shifts, the ones no one else was happy to cover. Closed door, a sleeping draught -that sometimes is able to protect you from the nightmares, or at least prevents you from waking up with a scream on your lips- and as much distance from others as you can, so that your screams do not arouse anyone; you have made do for two years, and you can - and you are determined to continue to do so.

That is another reason why you make sure to volunteer for as many night shifts on patrol as you can; you have no reason to fear nightmares if you are to spend a vigil night, huddled in a blanket on top of the watchtower, looking for approaching Orcs and other signs of danger, and after that you’re allowed to rest safely -only for a few hours- during the day, when other soldiers have no reason to visit the dormitories. It would be your fifth night shift this week, (name); I understand you feel the need to prove yourself as a newcomer, but it would not be fair to give all of them to you, the Elf in charge of the schedules tells you, and you force yourself not to insist, even though you’d happily tell her that showing off is the last of your intentions, and you’d happily only cover night shifts for the next century; it would solve most of your troubles. 

Your main problem -your main threat- is obviously Arondir, since as your roommate he is more likely to discover what you are up to than anyone else. You’re always as silent as you can be when you leave your bed at night, so as not to wake him, and since the window of the little room where you sleep faces east, you’re able to wake up at dawn and quickly return to your bed before he opens his eyes, arranging blanket and pillow, and then yourself, to look well-rested in your bed after a comfortable night of repose.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you’re completely safe; Arondir might wake up at night, either because nature calls or for whatever other reason, and realise you’re not where you should be, and even that your absence lasts for most of the night. What if he suspects you’re up to something? What if he follows you out of the room without you realising, or leaves to look for you? What if -oh, Eru, no- what if he tells Revion? You are technically not breaking any rules, but you doubt the watchwarden would appreciate you going against his explicit order to sleep in the dormitory like all the other soldiers; could you be dismissed because of this? That would add insult to injury, being prevented from doing your duty because you suffer from nightmares, you really can’t imagine a fate worse than that…

Well, no; the worst possible thing would be being pitied for it; that I really couldn’t bear.

You spend the first month of your stay at Ostirith plagued by fear of being discovered, but Eru seems to be watching over you. No one apart from the nightmares comes disturb your sleep at night, and you and Arondir soon find yourselves becoming good friends, from simple acquaintances that you were before, his kind smiles and readiness to help you whenever you need it making you reasonably sure he has no idea of what you are doing, or at least finds nothing suspicious about it. 

Time passes. Life at the outpost is hard, you miss your home and friends, but you go on, form solid friendships with your comrades, and even earn -he would never tell, but his occasional nods and pats on the shoulders are reward enough- the watchwarden’s respect. You go on patrol, and learn to know the woods and mountains surrounding the garrison like the back of your hand; you get acquainted with the Men of the nearby village of Tirharad, and to bear the evident mistrust and barely-concealed rancour most of them treat you and the other Elves with. You train tirelessly, even asking Arondir, who is clearly the best archer among all of you, for help to improve, and fight Orcs, time and time again, get wounded, heal, and go out again. For each one you kill ten more seem to take its place, but you order yourself not to be discouraged; maybe the decisive battle against the children of Sauron won’t be fought and won in your presence, or even in your lifetime, but Morgoth take you if you won’t do your part, to take out as many of his servants as you can.

You owe it to your family. Because when one day you’ll see them again, safe and sound in Valinor, you want to be able to tell them that while you couldn’t protect them when they needed you the most, you made sure the Orcs paid dearly for what they have done. And then, perhaps, you’ll stop feeling guilty.  

All things considered you don’t have much to complain about, even though you haven’t seen a soap bar worthy of the mane in two years and the winter in Ostirith is the coldest and most unforgiving you’ve ever experienced. You sleep perhaps three hours per night, which is bound to take its toll even on someone like you who is used to long periods of vigil sooner or later, and given the narrow space and uncomfortable position you spend your nights in sometimes you wake up feeling more exhausted than the evening before, and yes, you have noticed the sleeping draught has started losing its effectiveness, since nightmares have gotten to plague most of your nights rather than just half of them, but it’s nothing you cannot bear and deal with. You are a soldier, after all, and a more than decent one at that; you have killed countless Orcs, you remind yourself firmly, you can’t let what are after all simple images in your mind discourage you, no matter how painful.

Yes, everything is going well; at least until you find yourself locked out of your hiding place.

The roof collapsed. 

“It was bound to happen sooner or later; this old building has not been renovated in decades, the roofs in particular are in a terrible state.” Médhor, who had been a master builder in his previous life before enlisting, comments as he observes the scene, his eyes upturned: the little space available between the crates has been filled with wood-planks, rubble and brick fragments, and the abundant snow that fell last night, the ultimate cause of the collapse. You look on from the door, forcing yourself to keep the panic rising in your chest under control. Had you been here last night, and not away on patrol for the fourth time this week, the crash could have killed you, but the last thing you feel at the moment is fortunate.

“And… now we’re gonna repair it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The roof; shall we… fix it somehow? I mean, we cannot very well leave the room like this…”

Your comrade’s answer is a shrug of his shoulders; according to the watchwarden there is not much use for this room in any case, since the crates can be moved somewhere else without leaving them in the way, and you all have more pressing matters to attend than cleaning a room that would remain empty in any case. The roof will be repaired, to forbid snow and rain from doing any more damage, but the debris will be left where they are. 

You tell Médhor that you’ll follow him in a minute, but once your comrade has left you remain where you are, observing the tiny room in disarray in front of you, doing your best not to yield to terror. You will never manage to move all the timber and stone by yourself, especially not since you’re already occupied from dawn to after sunset, you’d have to work alone, and you have no place to hide all the debris you’d be disposing of; and fortunately you never left anything that could be traced back to you in the room during the day, or Médhor -or worse, Revion- would have suspected you had spent your nights there. Nevertheless, you are in trouble: you need to find a new place to sleep, and you have to find it now, since your next night shift is no less than three days away, but where?

“I see.”

“Good thing no one was here; but I guess no one would have had a reason to. Are you coming to lunch, (name)?”

You skip lunch in order to search through the garrison, but with no results; you try the stables, which are so packed with their equine occupants there is no space for a mouse to sleep, let alone a grown Elf - not to mention the stench is abominable. You could drag your blanket outside, sleep on the porch or huddle against a wall, but it has been snowing intermittently for almost two days, the white softness covering the ground and the mountain peaks all around Ostirith; it is so cold in the morning you sometimes find the water in your washing basins turned to ice. You’d surely catch a cold if you slept outside, not to mention the Elves on guard duty would easily spot you, which would lead to more embarrassing questions than you’re interested in answering.

You have no choice but to return to your bed; still, you reason with yourself, no one says you actually need to sleep in it. 

There are certain plants in the woods of the Southlands, whose leaves can be used as stimulants, either when one has to remain vigilant when on duty or for recreational purposes; their effect is less intense on Elves than it is on Men, but a few of your former comrades took them to remain awake while on patrol. Your old watchwarden disapproved of their use and you would wage your pay of a year Revion would be as well, but you ask discreetly around, a few hard-earned coins change hands, and soon after you find a small pouch hidden under your pillow. 

That night you abstain from drinking your sleeping draught for the first time in months, but even with that, the effect of the leaves goes well beyond what you expected. You have been munching them for barely a few minutes -the taste is pungent, vaguely acrid but not unpleasant- and suddenly you’re unable to stay still, your mind rushing and your body begging to do the same. 

In the end, unable to control yourself, you reach for your cape and boots and sneak out of the room, after making sure your roommate is fast asleep. Arondir lies composedly on his back, the gentle moonlight filtering through the window and falling on his fair face; you’re not sure what dreams Irmo has filled his mind with, but given the peaceful expression on his handsome -very handsome; even for an Elf your roommate is exceptionally fair, and the ladies of Tirharad seem to have made an exception in their resentment against your kind to giggle as he walks by and sigh in delight looking out of their window when they see him work hard to repair a toppled wall, naked skin glistening with perspiration despite the cold day- face you can guess it’s something nice and safe, the opposite of the nightmares that plague you. How I envy you, mellon nín.

You feel better once you’re outside, free to walk and release the energy the leaves have excited inside you. You spend a tedious but peaceful night walking around the garrison, careful not to be seen by the soldiers on guard duty, and at dawn you slip back to your room, in time to wish Arondir a good morning, looking like a respectable roommate who has spent a resting night sleeping by his side.

You do it again on the next night, munching the leaves as if your life depended on it; this time you have borrowed a scroll and, locking yourself in the latrines -that have fortunately been cleaned yesterday- and lighting a candle you spend the next six hours reading an interesting essay on the war strategies of the First Age and their application.

The next day, to your enormous relief and joy, you are ordered to depart for a night patrol shift that will last two nights rather than one -an almost unheard of situation, except in time of war- since a few of your comrades have been called away on a special mission. 

“I’m sorry, (name); I wish there was another way.” Revion tells you, openly apologetic, and you remain impassible as you tell him that it is not a problem, and you are ready to do whatever you need to help your troop - and you are, truly; the watchwarden does not need to know that in your heart you are literally crying with joy at the thought you will be excused from having to sleep in your bed for the next two nights. 

You doubt there have been many soldiers who have prepared for a double night shift feeling in as good a mood as you; you are even whistling softly, which earns you a few irritated glares from your comrades.

You’ll be safe for the next two nights, forced to stay awake at night and allowed to rest for a bit during the day, when even if you awoke crying and screaming, no one will be any the wiser. That is very good… even though there is an important factor you have not considered, a tiny but determinant flaw that threatens to make all your efforts go to waste: the fact that at the moment you present yourself for the first of your two nights of patrol, you haven’t slept, even a short doze, for almost three days, and no one, not even an Elf, can go so long without rest and not suffer the consequences. 

Tiredness falls on you like a wet blanket only an hour after the start of your shift; with a jolt, you realise you had started nodding off, leaning against the parapet of the footbridge, only a few seconds away from falling face forward from a height of eighty feet. Thank Eru, no one noticed, you realise after anxiously looking all around you, but they could have, and the soldiers you are on shift with are two you know less well than others, and who could decide to refer the matter to the watchwarden. Also, most importantly, you have been tasked with making sure the garrison is kept safe from Orcs invasions and other dangers; the last thing you want is to miss an impending attack because you were napping.

You order yourself to remain awake, even taking a quick break to splash icy cold water on your face, but to no avail; you are tired, more tired than you ever remember being, your mind feels sluggish and even your body is feeling the effect of staying so long without rest. 

And worst of all, your shift has barely started, which means dawn is still a long way away; you’ll never resist until then. Oh, Eru; you’re going to fall asleep while on patrol, the highest shame for a soldier. Revion might decide to dismiss you, and your comrades will be all too happy to tell the whole garrison what you have done, and that you have woken up screaming…

Fortunately, you still have the leaves - or at least some of them, about a third of the original amount. You are pretty sure that quantity should have lasted you for a week at least, and that you’re not supposed to take them for two nights in a row, let alone three, but it’s your only chance. Furthermore, in the afternoon a band of Orcs was sighted less than half a mile from Ostirith; you are not the only guard on duty, but if your fellow soldiers were put in danger because of your inattentiveness you will never forgive yourself.

And so you take the leaves. Made sure you’re alone -fortunately the footbridge runs all around the watchtower’s circumference, which means the three guards on duty have to be positioned too distant to be able to see each other- you retrieve the pouch from the inside pocket of your shirt, and put the whole content in your mouth.

For the first time they taste bitter, almost unbearably so; and while they do their job, and keep you awake until the sun appears behind the mountains at east, you doubt you would have noticed if a whole herd of Mûmakil had come stampeding from the woods, and you can barely concentrate enough to place your bow and quiver in their place in the armoury and then tell the cook that yes, you’d be happy to eat some bread and cheese for breakfast, thank you very much.

And then, finally, you’re dismissed, free to go to your room to rest; you have met Arondir briefly in the kitchens and he told you that he was leaving for Tirharad -he also mentioned what he was going to do, but you were not lucid enough to catch it- and would only return in the afternoon, so at least you know you will not be disturbed as you sleep, or heard when you wake up screaming.Closed the door behind you and taken off your boots, you don’t even remove the blankets before laying down; you have fallen into a deep, dreamless -and thank Eru nightmareless- slumber even before your cheek hits the pillow.

[tmrrwppl]

ROP thoughts

Clari and John want like... 5 minutes along with Revion/The Watchwarden...

:-|

I tried to tell them they just look alike and this is a fucking 4th wall break but do they listen? No.

Russell is encouraging them, which makes it 20 times worse.

[incorrectringsofpower]

Revion: Irony is a blade that cuts he who wields it most especially.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The safety of your embrace (part 2)

GIF by lasaraconor

Arondir x reader. This is part two of two.

Set before the beginning of series one. Descriptions of nightmares and sleep troubles.

This fic is dedicated to @eowyn7023.

*****

You wake up hours later, already late for your next assignment, feeling even more tired than before. Your head hurts as if a band of Dwarves were pickaxing it, and your movements feel sluggish; when at midday you reach the kitchens for lunch, you spill a cup of light ale on your clean uniform and it takes you several seconds to realise you’re supposed to do something about it. 

Later that day you have an archery practice session, as usual monitored by Revion; you have barely the strength to draw the bow, and not only none of your arrows hits the centre of the target, but one of them even misses the straw filled sack altogether, something that hadn’t happened since your first month after enlistment. The watchwarden, who had unfortunately chosen that very moment to walk beside you, meets your eyes with an unimpressed gaze; you look away, blushing furiously, already dreading the night to come.

By sundown you can barely keep yourself upright, and have stumbled into your comrades -or a wall. It hurts- at least three times because you couldn’t concentrate on your movements enough to avoid it. You have just realised that you have no more leaves, nor the time to ask for more and have them delivered to you, to keep awake during your second night shift, but in your heart you know that even if you did, if you put a whole tree in your mouth, it would change nothing. Elves are the most resilient and durable of the Free Folks, but even they need sleep, like they need food and water, to live; both your mind and body are at the very limits of their endurance, and if you don’t allow yourself to rest you’ll lose your mind, or worse you’ll fall asleep in the middle of the day in front of everyone. 

How could you do this to yourself? You are a soldier, and you are responsible for the security of every other Elf living within it, like each of them is also responsible for yours; the inattentiveness and physical weakness brought by the lack of sleep could put dozens of Elves at risk in case of Orc attack - or Men rebellion. You didn’t choose this, you would happily sleep soundly seven hours per night if you could, so as to carry out your duties to the best of your abilities, but you can’t. Nightmares keep plaguing you almost every night, and even during your brief day naps, and the insomnia, caused by the fact you always struggle to go back to sleep after a bad dream, is not the only problem; you don’t rest well, waking up still tired and not back to full strength. 

Every night is worse than the one before; like even the best weapon gets rusty, and its blade dull, if a warrior keeps using it for years without proper maintenance, an Elf, or any creature actually, needs to take care of their body and mind in order to function. You aren’t, at all, and you haven’t for some time, and you shiver to think what consequences that deficiency might have. 

Unfortunately, you still haven’t found a new place to sleep away from your room, which means that tomorrow night you’ll be in trouble; you need sleep, at least one night of long, uninterrupted rest, otherwise you’ll lose your mind and won’t be able to help your comrades in case of necessity. Revion has already noticed there is something wrong with you, both with your results during training and your behaviour in general, and the last thing you need is for him to suspect something is amiss - or to dismiss you from the garrison because you’re not at the same level as the others. You need to find a solution, quickly; but how?

Still, you are not even sure you’ll reach tomorrow night, because it’s the one approaching that scares you the most - your second night shift in a row. You present yourself at your post, ready to do your duty even if it means paying it with your blood…

… and you fall asleep.

The night is calm, less cold than one would expect in the middle of the winter, a myriad of stars casting sufficient light to make the guards’ work easier. You’ve tried everything you could think of -walking back and forth in the hope that the movement of your body would also keep your mind active, pinching yourself until it hurts, even filling your waterskin with cold water to sprinkle on your face- but Irmo’s power is inexorable and impossible to avoid, and after you have fought valiantly for an hour the Valar comes to take you in his arms, filling your mind with pleasant dreams in which you are still young, and innocent, in the company of your family, your heart free from guilt and shame…

“(name)! (name), you need to wake up!”

So deep was your sleep, it takes you a while to wake up, even though as a soldier you have been trained to be ready for battle at any moment, and when your eyes finally open, and you become vaguely aware of the hand urgently shaking you by the arm, you need even longer to realise the thing in front of you is Arondir’s face, looking worried and anxious. “You need to wake up! Revion is coming!”

No nightmare has ever made you scream like you’re about to do now; now that your roommate, comrade and friend -this is what you are by now, but you’re not sure that will be enough to earn you his silence regarding your unjustifiable conduct- has found you sleeping, deeply even!, when alertness and vigilance is of the utmost importance. You hadn’t even realised he would be on duty tonight as well.

“Arondir, I… I can explain…” you babble as you let him help you up to your feet; you don’t remember sitting down, which means you must have fallen on your rump while already fast asleep, your quiver abandoned on the stone pavement “I am so sorry, I… I didn’t mean…”

Arondir quickly interrupts you. “It’s alright.” he says, and then winces, as if realising the absurdity of words “Médhor came to warn us, the watchwarden is coming up for a surprise inspection; you need to be awake.”

Surprise inspections are a habit of Revion’s, you have been informed by the comrades who have been serving under him longer than you have, the watchwarden visiting the soldiers on guard duty in the middle of their shift -or even in the middle of the night, when he could be in his bed sleeping- to make sure they’re carrying out their duties satisfactorily. You hurry to assume the correct position, sword by your side, eyes focused on the fortunately silent and still plain in front of you.

“Thank you.” you murmur, unable to look your friend in the eyes, and he simply pats your arm before returning to his post.

Revion joins you five minutes later. “Something to report, (name)?” “Nothing, sir; all quiet.”

“Good.”

You let yourself sigh in relief as soon as the soft sound of the watchwarden’s steps has left your ears, but you know you are not safe - far from it; Arondir might not be the sort of Elf who talks ill of his comrades behind their back, especially not with the watchwarden, but the simple fact that he, a respected and stalwart soldier, saw you sleeping while on duty, makes you burn with shame. What if he decides to write home about it, tell his family and friends, until the whole village knows? You don’t think you could ever overcome the humiliation…

You somehow survive the night without falling asleep again, but once more, when you rise after the few hours of rest you had been allowed, you feel worse than before - exhausted, confused, awkward. Can an Elf die of tiredness? You’re not sure, but part of you would not mind finding out - at least, in that case, you’d be allowed to rest as much as you need. 

Despite the burning shame, you force yourself to confront Arondir, who you at least owe your thanks for having saved you from Revion’s ire; you meet near the stables on a cloudy, melancholic morning, the sort of day you don’t expect good things to happen in.

“There is really no need; I know you would have done the same for me.” he says simply, in that kind, modest attitude he has. Arondir is the sort of Elf who doesn’t ask for thanks or praises; he simply does what he thinks is right, whatever the consequences “I have been meaning to ask, (name)... are you well?”

“I am, thank you. I, err, it was my second night shift in a row, and sometimes I get sleepy when I eat too much at dinner…”

“You don’t need to justify yourself either; I’m not blaming you, and I’m not the commander.”

“No, but you are probably the best soldier in this garrison, and my friend; I know what I did was inexcusable, but I’d hate for you to have a bad opinion of me.”

Arondir reassures he never could; he knows well what it means to feel exhausted, dearly wishing the dawn -or the sunset- would come soon so that one could go rest, and regardless you are comrades, you should always support and help yourself when you can.

“Maybe next time you’ll be the one saving my hide, after I fall asleep.” he jokes, before quickly sobering up “To be honest, I wasn’t only speaking about last night. Forgive me, but you seem… out of sorts, so to speak; distracted. Not in the sense you don’t pay attention to your duties, mind you; rather… as if there was something that worried you. I thought that perhaps you had received ill news from home.”

If only you still had people to write to you from home. “No, it’s not that. Well, I…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to; but if you need help, or just… someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

It’s so kind of him, so generous to offer to share his time, most of which is already occupied with duties and worries, with you, not because he cares about your problems but rather out of simple interest in your well-being. Gratitude fills your eyes with tears, and for a moment you are actually tempted to accept his offer - to tell him how fatigued, drained, you are, unable to sleep and even more to rest, of the nightmares that plague you and of how you fear this will end up affecting your job as a soldier - it already is, to be honest.

You wish you could tell him. There is little Arondir, and anyone else for that matter, could do to help you, since the pain and sorrow are in your heart and it’s up to you to come to terms with them, not forgetting the loss of your family -you never could- but learning to live and be at peace despite it, but sharing your troubles with someone… have a friend listen, sympathise and even embrace you and offer you a shoulder to cry on… that would be a treasure more precious than any of the richness of the Dwarven Kings.

“I’m fine, really; simply a bit tired.” you reassure him, forcing yourself to smile and begging in your heart he doesn’t know you well enough to perceive you are lying “But thank you, Arondir; I appreciate it, truly.”

He doesn’t insist, simply smiling and nodding in good-bye as he leaves, and you sigh in relief, trying desperately to ignore the presentiment that you haven’t convinced him, not at all, rather that you only managed to make him worry, and suspect there is something wrong with you, even more than before.

Your only hopes are the latrines, you decide that night at dinner. The cubicles are even more cramped than your previous hiding place, not to mention the smell is unpleasant even when freshly cleaned, but you have no other choice; tired as you are, you know you will easily sleep sitting, or even standing, so the lack of space is not an issue, and if someone feels the call of nature at night and comes knocking at the door, you’ll pretend you were also using them for their original purpose, hide behind the corner, and then return. Since the latrines are closer to the dormitories than you’d feel safe with, you prepared a rag to gag yourself with, and suffocate your screams should the nightmares wake you up for the umpteenth time.

And so, that night, you huddle in your bed, feeling almost guilty as you enjoy the softness of your mattress, turning your back to Arondir and listening carefully for when his deeper breathing will reassure you he has fallen asleep.

And so you wait, and you listen.

You listen, and you wait.

And you fall asleep.

Arondir is not taking longer than usual to drift off; the fault is only yours, and of the tiredness that makes it impossible to resist the comfortable bedding you’re lying on. You don’t even realise you are giving in, and it’s your breathing that deepens, and in a matter of minutes you are sleeping, in bed for the first time in months, peacefully huddled under your blanket.

It’s the most blissful sleep you remember having; pity that it only lasts an hour.

“No! No! Sister…!”

“(name), help! Please!”

“No… no…!”

“Squeal like a pig, Elf! I’ll put your head on my spike!

“Let her go! You monster… take me…!”

“(name)? Are you…?”

The abundance of blood on their clothes, the lack of life in their eyes; you struggle with all your might, but the Orcs keep you still while one of them raises his axe above your youngest sister’s neck, to make good on their promise, while the other… the other is being… 

“(name), you need to wake up. You’re having a nightmare…”

… eaten…

Your scream is the howling of a wolf. It is the roar of a lion, and the cry of a hawk. It is pain and fear and shame and hate -for yourself- all in once, a sound that could not be depicted in words, an instinctive, uncontrolled shout erupting from the hiddenmost part of you, inexorable like blood gushing from a deadly wound, and the ground approaching after a high fall, and the oncoming darkness at the end of the world. You scream, you scream because you can’t help it, scream because there is nothing else that you can do, you scream because your mouth and your throat and your whole body and your mind are not yours anymore, you’re nothing more than a puppet at the mercy of what happened and that you were too weak to stop it…

We died because of you. Why did you not help us, (name)? Why did you not try harder? Did you not love us? You might as well have killed us with your hands…

You struggle, still fast asleep, fighting desperately against something -or someone- pressing you against the mattress, and your hand instinctively slips under your pillow. Then it’s a lash of your arm… a groan of pain… and your eyes open to embrace the darkness of the room, not less than three of your comrades peeking in from the open door, identical expression of horror and fear on their faces, and Arondir standing in front of your bed, cradling the wound on his arm the dagger in your hand has just inflicted.

“Please tell the watchwarden everything is fine. Yes, I’m sure. Go, I’ll take care of her.”

Such is Arondir’s quiet, comforting authority, that your comrades -most of the garrison by now, since your screams first and word of mouth then made it so that the rest of the dormitories are all but empty, and two dozens of Elves have gathered in front of your door- promptly disperse, returning to their beds and leaving you and your roommate alone. 

“I am so sorry…” you murmur, your voice forced down to a whisper by shame, but Arondir gently refuses your offer of help and quickly cleans and bandages the wound, that is fortunately little more than a scratch, by himself.

You remain in bed, sitting cross-legged with the blanket around your shoulders, shaking for something that has nothing to do with the cold of the winter night. It’s over, you keep repeating in your mind, your life is over; you’ll be forced to leave your post, leave the Southlands, leave the army, and return home, to your now lonely house and empty shop, with nothing more to do than making sure other Elves can clean themselves after a day of work and smell nice when meeting a suitor or attending a festival. There is nothing shameful about that, and you actually enjoyed your job as a soaper, but having to return to such mundane, humble tasks because you had been too weak to succeed as a soldier, and your nightmares had led you to be dismissed, would be a shame you would never overcome. 

Still, you should have known. You couldn’t even defend your family, what made you think you could help defend the whole of the Southlands?

The sob that escapes your mouth is tiny, barely audible after you have been quick enough to press a hand to your mouth to suffocate it, but Arondir hears it nonetheless, and he can feel his heart break for you. Having taken care of his wound, he approaches slowly, as if you were a doe ready to bolt at the least sign of danger; and in fact, you already mean to leave - at dawn, making sure no on sees you, so as to spare both yourself and the watchwarden the indignity of the discussion that will lead to your dismissal. 

In the end, you see him sit next to you; neither speaks for a while, but then Arondir’s hand takes yours, and you feel ready to cry again. “I am so sorry…” “There is no need; it will heal.”

“Still, it’s my fault; and I gave you, and everyone else, such trouble, I should leave…”

“Don’t you dare.” Arondir quickly interrupts you, looking for a moment as stern as Revion does in his worst moments, but then his kind smile returns “Do you want to tell me what ails you?”

“It was just a nightmare; I’m sorry I worried and hurt you, but I feel better now. You can go back to sleep…”

“And what about you? Will you return to bed, or leave like you have done so often until now?”

Silence falls in the room, and for a whole minute you actually struggle to breathe.

“You know.” you murmur in the end, without a questioning tone.

“I do.”

“How?”

His tone low, even soft -and why does it bother you? Why does it fill you with shame that a person you trust and care for feels the need to be tender when talking to you?- Arondir explains that ever since you transferred to the garrison, every time he woke up in the middle of the night, either because he had to use the latrines or a noise had disturbed his sleep, he inevitably found your bed empty. He never saw you leave, or return for that matter, and when he woke up in the morning you were always there, yawning or getting ready by his side, but when once, out of curiosity, he rose to touch your mattress, he found it cold, which suggested you had not simply left for a few minutes to follow the call of nature.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong… anything you could find reprehensible. I swear on my life.”

“I believe you, (name); that I never doubted, even though I was curious.” Arondir admits, almost embarrassed “It was because of your nightmares, yes? This is not your first time, nor is it an occasional event; you suffer from them.”

You can only nod.

“Regularly?”

“Yes. And I often wake up… screaming, or fretting.” you admit; you don’t quite know why you are telling him, why you are sharing with a person whose respect and trust is so important to you the most painful and humiliating side of your life, but the words are uncontrollable as they spill from your lips, as if you couldn’t stop talking, as if confessing your plight were as desperately important to you now as a cup of water for a person dying of thirst in the desert  “Most of the time, actually.”

“Most of the time? But…” realisation blossoms in Arondir’s lovely brown eyes “(name)... how often do you leave your bed at night?”

You can’t even meet his gaze as you answer. “Always. This is literally the first night I spend here in the room; I leave as soon as you fall asleep, and return at dawn. I used to sleep in the little room whose roof collapsed recently, and I planned to go to the latrines tonight, for lack of a better option. That is also why I offered myself for as many patrol night shifts as I could; I munched on leaves to keep myself awake, and I drink a draught that sometimes helps me sleep without nightmares - or at least used to; I fear I have built an immunity. And I had thought about gagging myself, because the latrines are so close to the dormitories, and… and…”

And, you have finally run out of things to say; you sob again, and then Arondir’s arm is wrapped around your shoulders, gently drawing you close, and soon you are crying, softly but desperately, against his chest. You cry for your brave, generous parents, and for your sisters, who had so many plans for the future they didn’t get to live, and for yourself as well, you who could not defend any of them, and who you know will bear that guilt until the end of your days. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so embarrassed, I should let you return to sleep…” you babble miserably in the end, but Arondir’s only answer is a gentle shake of his head; he’s now holding you with both arms, rocking back and forward, a hand resting on the back of your neck. You are so close you can feel his heartbeat against your ribcage, the steady, tranquil sound finally lulling you to peace.

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Yes, thank you; I’m sorry you had to witness this, Arondir, I swear I’m usually stronger than this.” you murmur, drying your tears on your sleeve as you try to regain a little composure.

“I know how strong you are.” your friend reassures you; having let you go, he’s still holding your hands in yours “And I’m sorry you felt you had to go to such lengths to hide how much you were suffering. (name), there is nothing shameful about having nightmares; most Elves suffer from them, especially soldiers.”

You assure him you’re well aware, but since it would be unfair to keep your fellow soldiers awake as you scream and toss and turn, you simply wanted to make sure your crises wouldn’t be heard, or witnessed, by other Elves. You have learnt to live with your nightmares, but no one has to suffer because of them but you. 

“I’m sure most of them wouldn’t mind; we are comrades, it is normal for soldiers to support each other, and help in moments of need.”

“True; but sleep is important for soldiers, and… I didn’t want Revion, or my previous watchwarden, to know; they would have lost any respect for me, and probably put me on indefinite leave, which is the last thing I want.”

Arondir accepts your reasoning with a nod of his head; for a minute you see him lost in his thoughts, and you’re about to suggest you both return to sleep, or at least try, when he looks at you and “What are your nightmares about?” he asks. 

Ah.

“Why does it matter?” you ask miserably, gaze lowered on your naked feet.

“Of course it matters. As far as I know nightmares, especially if repeated like in your case, are the symptom of a disquiet of some kind, something you fear or are anxious about. If we were able to go back to the source of this unease, we could find a solution that allows you to sleep better.”

You manage to smile; hearing him say we, and sound sure and nonchalant as he does it, as if that problem were his to share and not yours alone, is a gift that fills your heart with warmth, and for which you will never be able to repay him. If only that were enough, if only the kindness and empathy of a friend were all you need to keep the darkness at bay, and allow you to sleep peacefully, even just once a week… or a month…

“Thank you, but there’s no need; and it wouldn’t work. The source of my nightmares is not something I fear might happen; it took place already, and there’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do to change the outcome.”

Silence again; Arondir is still holding you, the firm but gentle clasp of his hands feels like a rock you have grabbed in the middle of a stormy sea.

“I lost my family about two years and a half ago. We had left the village to go visit some relatives a day’s walk away; we thought we would be safe, my parents had chosen the safest road, and took their swords with them only out of habit.” you explain quietly “A… a rogue band of Orcs stumbled upon us; I do not know where they came from, there had been no sign of their kin in the area for decades. My… my parents stayed to fight them, to give the three of us a chance to run; they told me to protect my sisters, but…”

But they were too numerous, armed unlike the three of you, and then your youngest sister tripped over a rock…

“... but I could not; I let them down, all of them, and they died, and for some reason I alone survived; and now I have nightmares, almost every night since that day, because Eru and Irmo are punishing me for my weakness. It hurts, and I am ashamed, and I miss them so much, but I deserve it, I deserve much worse for letting my parents and sisters get killed, but I wish I could see them only once more, and tell them I’m sorry and that there has never been a moment since then I haven’t missed them…”

Every time you think about your family you invariably find yourself crying; this time is different, and not because you have already wept all your tears while held in Arondir’s embrace. Your suffering goes beyond tears, beyond physical pain; it’s knowing you have let the people you loved the most in the world down, a hole in your fëa that allows you walk and work and live a normal, even a content, life, but that grows inside you until, one day, it will swallow you whole, leaving only an empty husk behind.

Arondir looks at you; it takes him a moment to realise that right now nothing could comfort you and absolve you from the guilt you took upon yourself, not even if he swore on his life you have no fault for what happened, not even if every Elf in Middle-Earth promised you are a victim as well, and that you deserve kindness and empathy, not reproach and shame. He can’t free you from your pain, maybe no one can except yourself, and he dearly hopes you will find the strength to forgive yourself or better, to understand you had nothing to be blamed for in the first place, or that pain will destroy you… not last, because you need rest more than any creature he has ever met. He can’t help feeling guilty: a warm friendship has been born between the two of you, and you have been sharing a room for two months, but how can he not have noticed your bloodshot eyes, and the evident effort even the simplest tasks took you these last days?  

You are more than tired, more than exhausted; you are worn out, fatigue and anxiety gnawing at you with such ferocity Arondir is vaguely surprised you are not tearing at the seams or missing a few pieces, like a worn garment or an old working tool.

But you are neither; you are an Elf, a good, hard-working, kind one, a person he has grown sincerely fond of, and he wishes dearly there was something he could do to help you…

“Have you really slept in that tiny closet for more than two months?”

“Every night I was not on patrol, yes.”

“And you’ve had nightmares for two years, ever since you enlisted?”

“I have.” you admit tiredly “From before that, technically, since I became a soldier about four months after my… after it happened. At my previous garrison I had it easier, I had a room for myself, but here… I fear the anxiety I feel during the day has made my nightmares even more vivid and painful; I… I don’t know what to do.”

“You could go home.” Arondir suggests, and immediately regrets it when you look at him, completely unimpressed; you have just realised how horrible you must look, bloodshot eyes and untidy hair, but you don’t care, not now, not with him, even though you don’t linger to wonder why exactly.

“You think I did not think about it? I know it would be infinitely easier if I was still in the village, living alone and working at my shop; but I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity feeling sorry for myself. I know that even if I killed every Orc from here to Ost-in-Edhil my parents and sisters would still be lost to me; but I want to do my part, and if I can protect even just one Elf, making sure they do not suffer the same torment as my loved ones, I will feel a little better.”

“You really do? Feel better, I mean.”

“Sometimes.”

You sigh; you are so tired you can barely talk and keep your eyes open, not to mention dawn must be only a few hours away, but the mere thought of trying to sleep scares you. Still, Arondir deserves better than to spend the rest of the night comforting you, so you tell him you actually feel tired and want to go back to bed.

“Are you sure? What about your nightmares?” your friend objects, clearly unconvinced; you can see how tired he is, fatigue evident on his fair face.

“I’ll manage. You’ve done more than enough, you should sleep for a few hours at least…” 

Arondir meditates on the matter for a minute. “There’s something I’d like to try.” he proposes then slowly, not so much unconvinced but strangely… awkward, as if fearing his words could be misinterpreted “And that could help you sleep well. It helped me, years ago, when I still lived with my family in the village and couldn’t sleep.”

“What is it?”

“It’s better if I show you.”

His dark eyes ask for a permission you don’t hesitate to give with a simple nod. A moment later Arondir rises to close the door of the room, returns to you and gently pushes you on your back, an arm already holding you around the shoulders while your heads touch the pillow. A moment later the blanket covers you both, and the Elf in front of you gets comfortable on the tight space of the bed before slipping his arm across your waist. 

He looks at you, almost afraid of your reaction, but you’re too surprised -too flabbergasted- to decide what to do, or what to say. 

“You really think this would help me sleep better?” you ask in the end. 

“I… do, actually. My mother did it with me when I was younger, and I did the same for my brother. Feeling you’re not alone, and that someone is there to protect you, should ease your sleep and ward you from evil dreams.”

Part of you would like to point out you’re a few centuries too old to believe that sort of pretence; there has been a time when you thought your parents’ embrace could shield you from any harm, but he is not your father, nor your brother. You are Elves, for your kin chaste physical intimacy is as natural as breathing even among those who are not related by blood or marriage, but while not inappropriate or awkward, Arondir’s embrace does feel a little… odd. 

You are so close you can feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.” 

“Are you sure? Because I can leave if you…”

“No. I mean, I am sure. This is fine.” you decide, and almost reflexively, you snuggle against Arondir’s body, firm and warm and safe, a shield against any danger that might threaten you - even those who only exist inside your mind “More than fine, actually. Can we… I mean, I’d hate to impose, but would you please remain until I fall asleep?”

Arondir -now your bedmate rather than roommate- has rested his chin on the top of your head, literally enveloping you with his body, but you can still feel him smile. “My friend, I can remain as long as you want me to.”

Your legs intertwine; your cheek rests against his shoulder, your chests pressed against each other close enough you can feel each other’s heartbeat. You close your eyes, sorely tempted to abandon yourself to the security and solace of Arondir’s embrace and at the same time feeling almost embarrassed for it, as if you were stealing from the house of someone who had offered you a bed for the night. There are so many things you would like to tell him, but they can wait, and you have the strong suspicion your friend knows them already.

This time sleep is not a black hole you fall in; it’s a soft cloud enveloping and supporting you, and you let it, sleeping and dreaming peacefully for the first time in longer than you can remember.

When you finally wake up, content and well-rested -a sensation of wellness you actually struggle for a moment to identify, so long it has been since the last time you experienced it- you remain with your eyes closed for a minute, enjoying the warmth of your bed, and the full light filling the room…

Wait. The full light? But the sun at dawn can’t… what time is it?!

“Good morning.” Arondir greets you softly, smiling as he observes you raising your head from the pillow, moving carefully so as not to break his embrace “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, but… oh, Eru… it’s already past noon!” you cry, horrified, looking at the position of the sun out of the window “I was meant to go on patrol this morning, and we are already late for archery practice…”

“No, you are not.”

“What?”

Arondir, perfectly calm, explains that this morning, as you slept, he intercepted Médhor as he and the others prepared to start their day and asked him to relay a message to the watchwarden: you would both be taking one of the free days you are allotted every month. 

“You as well?”

“Well, I did not want to leave you alone.”

He spent the little free time he had taking care of you - resting, which probably did not hurt, since Arondir works harder than most soldiers in the garrison, but you can’t help thinking it was a waste, and that there were better ways he could have employed those hours. “I’m sorry…”

“(name), stop apologising for things you do not need to. Now, what say you and I go have some lunch? I’m sure they have put aside something for us in the kitchens.”

You are hungry, indeed, more than you remember being for many days, as if now that your mind has rested, your body were also demanding attention to its needs. You take a minute to wash your face in the basin and put your clothes on, and then follow Arondir towards the kitchens.

“Do you feel better, (name)?” Médhor asks as he meets you in the corridor; both him and the soldiers close enough to hear your conversation smile kindly at you, empathy rather than blame in their eyes, which fills your heart with an odd mixture of gratitude and guilt.

“I do, thank you. I am sorry I… disturbed all of you, last night; I, err, had a dream…”

“You needn’t apologise; we all suffer from nightmares once in a while.” one of your comrades points out, while another pats your back in comfort. 

“Yes; most soldiers do, I think. There are draughts you can drink, to help you sleep.”

“I find it easier to sleep with an open window… or if I take a walk before going to bed…”

You assure them you will remember their advice, and Arondir smiles at you.

“You see? No one thinks there is something wrong about you; we are comrades, (name), supporting each other is natural.”

You tell him that you’ll try to remember.

A few minutes later you are both sitting in the kitchens, eating bread and a soup one of the cooks has warmed for you on the fire. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this: well-rested, yes, more alert and focused, but your body feels stronger, healthier, as well, as if a few hours spent lying on a mattress were enough to counteract two months of nights squeezed in a tight, crammed space where you did not even have the space to lie down. It doesn’t work like that, you know it well, and it will take you more than a single night of rest to return to your full strength, both mentally and physically. You can’t very well expect your roommate to spend every night of the next century sleeping in your bed, and sooner or later, as you get used to his calming and protective presence, your nightmares will return; if you don’t find a way to control them, to stop memories and dreams from controlling your life, you will lose your mind.

Still, it’s a start. And knowing that you’re not alone, that the Elves around you understand what you’re going through and are ready to offer help and sympathy rather than to blame you helps as well - it helps more than you could explain in words.

Your foot touches Arondir’s under the table; your gazes meet, and he smiles at you - a smile you can’t help but return as you enjoy your soup. “(name), I…” 

“(name)? The watchwarden wants to see you, as soon as you are done eating.” a passing soldier informs you, making all the quiet joy you were enjoying in your heart evaporate. 

The moment of reckoning has come.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“There is no need; or better, there is, but this is something I have to do alone.” you admit with a sigh, before smiling at your roommate, this time without having to make an effort for it “I will see you later.”

“Of course you will.”

Revion’s tiny office is at the end of the corridor where you first spoke; having quickly reached the door, you square your shoulders, remind yourself you have nothing to feel ashamed for -you still believe you do, in your heart of hearts, but every bit of self-confidence helps, even if you limit yourself to think something without feeling it- and knock.

“Did you ask for me, sir?”

“Yes, (name); come in and close the door.”

You obey, walking to stand in front of Revion’s desk, perfectly tidy and well-organised despite the numerous scrolls and maps placed on it. The watchwarden observes you from above his intertwined fingers; there is no reproach or anger in it, but its intensity makes it hard to hold his gaze nonetheless.

“According to Médhor, the roof in the small room behind the kitchens will be repaired within a couple of days.” he says in the end, his tone inexpressive, as he finally lowers his eyes to a scroll you know he has had for at least three weeks “We will find a place for the crates held within, and I am sure the others will help you move your bed there.”

Silence.

“I could not hear you, (name).”

“Y-yes, sir; thank you, sir.” you stammer; he knows, you realise without the need to ask, either he has from the start or he has realised once he heard about last night. He knows, which means he’s also aware you disobeyed his orders of sleeping in your bed like all your comrades, and this is nothing less than a catastrophe “I-I am sorry, sir. I really am, but…” “But you had no choice, did you? I was on patrol last night, but I was told you screamed loud enough to alert the whole dormitory.”

“The room is farther away; it would have been unfair to disturb the others for a matter that is mine and mine alone.”

The watchwarden nods in agreement. He sighs, before resting his back against the chair, and looks up at you again. “There is a healer, in a garrison not far from here, that specialises in sicknesses of the mind.”

“I am not crazy, sir.” you tell him, not caring how disrespectful you sound as you do it.

“I never said you were, (name); nor do I think it. But a soldier who is not at her full strength could have repercussions on the security of the whole troop, and this is a situation we both want to avoid.” Revion points out, more gently than you deserve “Also, you might find it hard to believe it but I actually care about the well-being of my soldiers. There is nothing shameful about having nightmares, but I know how debilitating they can be, and I’d rather have you serene and calm, as well as physically healthy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. The healer I was telling you about is a trusted friend, and very experienced in helping soldiers in your situation; I will ask him to come and talk to you, and I am sure you will follow his directions to the letter, doing nothing less and nothing more.”

“I will, sir.”

“Good; I hope you enjoy your day of rest. You are dismissed.”

You nod, stand on attention, and turn to leave; on the door you linger for a moment.

“Thank you, sir.” you murmur, turning your head only partially “I appreciate it, truly.”

You can’t see him, nor feel it in his voice, but you know Revion is smiling. “I’m sure you do.”

All things considered the talk went better than you dared to hope, but you sigh nonetheless in relief once the office’s door is closed behind you. 

Who knows, perhaps a room to yourself away from the dormitories is everything you need, and the best you can aspire to; or maybe the healer will actually find a way to make you sleep peacefully once in a while. The guilt and shame for the loss of your family still envelop you, as resilient and impossible to eliminate as the scar of an old wound; you are not quite sure you want to make the pain go away, not if it means forgetting the love you still hold for them and the nostalgia for their absence. But punishing yourself for their death will amount to nothing, at least as long as there are other soldiers who need you at your full strength; until there is a war to fight, and comrades to support and protect, you will take care of yourself, for their sake if not for your own.

I promise. So that perhaps, one day, you can love me again.

You cross the corridor at a half-run, your body feeling lighter and stronger than it has in a long time; the light of the mid-afternoon sun envelops you as you step on the porch.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The music of the forest (part 2)

Adar x reader. This is part one of two. NSFW!

*****

In the following months, an unspoken friendship develops between you and Adar.

You spend every afternoon of leave with him, if nothing else, you keep telling yourself, because you wouldn't know what else to do in the little free time you are granted, and you used to go walk and play in the woods even before you met him.

You don't need to formally make arrangements, and the small glade where you first saw each other becomes your meeting place. Every time you reach it, on time or slightly late after watchwarden Revion has assigned you a task to complete before you can go, he is there already, patiently waiting while sitting on a rock or on the grass. He doesn't smile, but as he stands and says, every single time, "I am glad to see you." you know in your heart he is sincere.

You walk together in the woods you have grown to know like the back of your hand during the last half century. Adar teaches you to recognize the footprints of the various animals who live all around you, and sees how happy you are when a timid doe or an elusive fox approach and let you pet them.

You play for him every time. You have assured you he doesn't need to keep asking to make you happy, but he insists he enjoys listening to your violin; you have never had such an attentive, loyal audience, and on your part you do your utmost to offer a valido performance, choosing your best pieces as well as your favourite.

Adar asks you about your life, the family you left at home when you enlisted and the events and the circumstances that made you the person you are today. You doubt to be a particularly interesting topic of conversation, but he seems to really care, so you gladly accomodate him.

On his part, he never tells you anything, to the point that months and months after the two of you first met, and while he could almost write a book about yours, you know absolutely nothing about his life. You have no idea where he lives, how he occupies his time when he is not with you, what caused the terrible burns and scars, decades old but still painful-looking, that disfigure his body.

You don't even know his real name, you keep thinking one night as you lie in your bunk in the barrack two full hours before Arondir will come call you for your guard duty; you have gotten used to the absurdity of Adar as a proper name, but that still doesn't sit well with you. There is nothing wrong with being reserved, you can respect his privacy and obviously your friendship -because this is what you call it in your heart, a very different relationship from those you share with Arondir and your other comrades or the Elves back in your village, but one that is important for you nonetheless- doesn't give you the right to demand to know every single thing about his past, but you can't help fearing his silence and reluctance to share his life with you are due to something terrible that has happened to him, or maybe something he has done, and that could take him away from you...

Or perhaps he simply doesn't trust, or care about, me enough to be honest and share his secrets; that would be a simpler, and less dramatic, hypothesis, but that would break my heart nonetheless.

There is one thing you know, obviously; he told you he is a father, and he has mentioned his children more than once. He clearly cares about them very much, which is something you can approve of, but he never told you their names, how many they are, or actually anything else about them. He really is a most mysterious person, and maybe it's because you have always been curious, but you find yourself more and more attracted to him, spending your days waiting for the moment you will meet again, and when something unexpected happens, or you find some simple joy in a savory dish at the mess hall or when you and your comrades improvise a ball game between a scouting mission and a patrol shift, you wish you could share it with him, with that melanchonic, introverted Elf victim of a dramatic and painful past whose testimony he still carries on his skin, but who is still gentle, and thoughtful, able to appreciate the simple pleasure of your music and, you like to think, of your presence and friendship, just like you appreciate his.

"Has something happened to you?" Arondir asks one day, as he sees you reporting for duty after a leave, your violin as usual by your side.

"Oh, no; I am all right, thank you."

He smiles. "That is good to hear, but I meant something good. For a while you have seemed... happier, more serene, as if your life has changed for the better; what is your secret?"

You simply smile, privately lamenting your comrade's intuition; but maybe, you reflect some days later as you see him steal away to walk hand in hand with Bronwyn, the two of them enveloped in the kind of silence where words are not needed because each of them can understand what the other thinks and feels with a simple look, no one better than him could understand and empathize with you, knowing that we do not decide who our hearts care about, and that feelings can force us to make the hardest choices.

One night, after a pleasant afternoon spent with Adar, gathering mushrooms in the woods -he has found more, but he has made you take most of it, since his children don't eat them- and then sitting next to a clear stream listening to the susurration of its waters, you feel yourself suddenly inspired; you need to sleep, in anticipation of the long patrol duty tomorrow, but instead you silently leave the dormitory, and reach the watchwarden's tiny office. Then, at the light of a solitary candle after you have found a piece of parchment, quill and ink on his desk, you write a new musical piece, quickly and more easily and more happily than ever in the past, and in the end, as you look at the lines of notes -Revion obviously didn't own any manuscript paper, but you have made do- you know that this is your best composition ever, and that nothing you have ever written, or will write in the future, will ever make you feel what you feel right now, because it is known that nothing inspires better than what is important for a musician, and nothing and no one has even been as important in your life as the Elf who for almost a year now has filled your heart with his presence, and who has dissipated loneliness and melanchony from your life.

A few months pass, and the timid sweetness of a new spring paints the Southlands; green and brown of every gradation colour the woods, tree branches bend with the weight of fruits, and you and your comrades receive unexpected news.

"We are going home." Revion announces to the soldiers gathered around him "Orders from the High King arrived, the occupation of the Southlands is to end in a forthnight. We shall all pack our bags soon."

Many of your comrades are happy, and an impromptu celebration is organized in the mess hall; a somber Arondir leaves without uttering a word, while you return to your duties, wondering what this will mean for you, and suspecting you already know.

A few days later you are free to leave the barracks again; you happily take your violin and your new composition, and run to the small glade you have come to love as much as your old home in the Greenwood.

It is an unexpectedly warm day and you have worked hard all day with your comrades building a sturdier wall around one of the smallest settlements in the region; because of this, you feel unpleasantly hot, perspiration on your forehead and back. You have lived as a soldier long enough not to care about fatigue or its effects, but knowing that Adar will see you in this state saddens you. Not that he ever gave you the impression he notices what you look like, your clothes or the way you wear your hair, but still...

You have arrived a bit earlier than usual, and for the first time Adar is not there waiting for you. Not far from there is a small waterfall, clear and cool waters falling from a steep drop among the mountains into a small lake surrounded by bushes and wildflowers. You could use the time before your friend's arrival to bathe and make yourself presentable, you decide, and without wasting time you walk in the direction of the waterfall, the rumble of its waters reminding you of a predator growling to scare away a rival.

Your clothes lie on the grass among the bushes next to your violin and its bow, the only things you have carefully laid on the ground instead of simply letting it fall. You stand under the shower of cool water, happily cleaning grime, sweat and mud off your skin and hair, taking your time and relaxing like you rarely can do. Even though you have no soap or other toiletries, it is really pleasant, since at the barracks you have to make do with a bucket of water and before that, at home, you had to fight your siblings for the tub...

So pleasant, actually, that it takes you a while to realize you are not alone. Someone is nearby, close enough to look at you through the water screen, someone whose gaze is way less innocent than that of a deer or a fox made curious by your presence...

"You can come closer, if you want." you offer, without looking behind your shoulders, where you know he is, hiding among the trees all around the lake; some, including watchwarden Revion, think you are too brazen for a soldier, but you wouldn't have dared to utter those words, not unless there was something so important at stake. Still, you are shaking like never before in your life "I don't mind, truly; I'd be happy if you came."

Adar hesitates for a whole minute before stepping closer. No matter how long he lived outside Elven society, he knows spying on someone who is bathing is shameful behaviour, and he does feel guilty, even now that you are deliberately letting him see you, but he couldn't help it: when he passed by the waterfall to reach the glade and he saw you... It was as if he had lost control of his body, his deafening heartbeat, his hands that suddenly need to touch, to caress, to explore, to feel, to savour, to worship...

"Do you want to bathe together, Adar?"

You receive no answer, and you wouldn't hear him approaching anyway because of the rumble of the waterfall, but soon you perceive his presence behind you, and then his hands are on your shoulders, and then one arm encircles your hips, pressing your body against him. He is as naked as you are, you realize, and then you feel his voice in your ear.

"You are shivering."

"And whose fault is it, you think?"

"(name)..."

"I am fine, Adar. Actually, I am... more than fine. I... I really want..."

You have no words to describe what your heart yearns for, nor the courage to utter them, but fortunately Adar understands it anyway, and what's more he is of the same mind. You tilt your head to the side to allow him access to your neck, that Adar kisses reverently, the feeling of his mouth on your skin as delicate as that of a butterfly's wings, even too delicate for your liking, even though you can perceive the desire, the hunger and the greediness under that.

A moan, a sound unlike anything you have ever uttered in your life, escapes your lips, and Adar appears to -rightly- interpret it as approval and encouragement. A moment later his hands start moving on your body, caressing and stimulating until you are a mess, breathing hard and moaning his name as his agile fingers play with your nipples or explore the warmth between your legs. Your legs are shaking so hard you would probably fall were it not for him, and please, you are about to plead, please, I cannot resist anymore, I need it, I need you..

And then, suddenly, Adar stops; his hands fall by his side, and he takes half a step back to separate your bodies.

"No...!"

"I could..." Adar hesitates "... blindfold you, if you wish?"

"... why would you do something like that?"

"So... you wouldn't have to look at me."

It takes you a while to understand the meaning of those words, but once you do, you feel your heart shatter. You have enjoyed his ministrations without even looking at him or touching him back, and because of this he must have thought...

He couldn't be more wrong, and, you decide, as pleasant it is to have him spoil you, you will do your best to convince him how much you desire him. You slowly but confidently turn until the two of you are eyes to eyes, and you let your gaze wander over his body, and while pity fills your heart seeing the extent of the abuse and torture he must have suffered -by whom? Why? Did he escape, or was he let go? So many questions, but none of them matters now- you know you have never seen anything more beautiful and perfect than Adar, standing there in front of you, his naked body glistening in the afternoon light, rivulets falling from his dark hair along his chest. There is so much you still don't know about him, but right now, in this fleeting and precious moment, you know he is letting you in, closing the distance he has kept you at, and for that you are grateful. And happy.

You give him ample time to look at the front of your body and then "I do want to look at you." you state, looking him in the eyes "And do much more, and... I don't want to look at anything but you."

No other words are needed. As you are still face to face your fingers interwine in the manner of lovers holding hands, and you wordlessly offer Adar your mouth to kiss, which he does eagerly. He is awkward at first, as if so long has passed since his last time he doesn't quite remember how to do it, but soon the uncertainty slips away, and a fierce, almost brutal desire blooms between you. His tongue slips between your lips as Adar holds your face in his hands and you, determined to make him forget his earlier doubts, move yours all over his body, driven by an hunger that is inflamed, and not quenched, the more you discover the beauty of his skin.

It is less than a minute before you feel his desire pressed against your belly; you move your hips, and you hear him moan your name - the most erotic sound you have ever experienced, and it is enough to make you wet between your thighs. Part of you would like to make him desire you, to make him beg for the sweet release you also crave, but you cannot - you cannot resist your own impulses, and your impulses tell you to move a hand between your and Adar's bodies to gently cup his manhood. He sighs and whimpers when you pull, and then groans feeling you stimulate the tip, and soon the water falling above you is no longer the only thing soaking your fingers.

"Lay with me." you ask, barely separating your mouth from his. Adar doesn't answer, but given the eagerness with which he takes your hands to draw you towards the meadow, he clearly doesn't disagree.

You lay under him, under that perfect, abused and for this even more beautiful, body, Adar's hair falling around your face like a dark curtain; you smile as you welcome him between your legs, and he lifts one around his hips to find the right position.

"You are..." he begins, and then stops, suddenly bashful.

"Yes?"

"I... I don't know; it may sound presumptuous, but you are a gift I never thought I would receive. You are something I didn't know I wanted until I couldn't do without it."

You simply smile while you still caress him the way you have already learnt he likes, and you see pleasure and arousal colour his handsome face. "I am here for you." you promise "Do what you want to me, I am yours as long as you are mine."

Adar obeys. Your lovemaking lasts hours - or at least this is what it appears to you, as if time has stopped to make you both give and receive your pleasure without any urgency or preoccupation. He sucks on your chest as you hold his face in your hands and moan his name, and then lets you return the favour when you kneel next to him and take his manhood in your mouth.

The first time you see him reach the pinnacle of ecstasy you stop and stare, trying to engrave in your memory the beauty and the genuineness of it, the perfection of an emotion lived to the fullest, unrestrained, uncontrolled, too intense to hide to himself and to you. When instead you are the one to take your pleasure, your control shattered by the simple pressure of him inside you, white stars explode behind your eyelids, and Adar's arms are quick to hold you so that you don't fall.

You lay together on the grass, not far from where you left your violin and your clothes; Adar welcomes you in his arms, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder while you both listen to the birds' song, and the waters' susurration, and your heartbeats slowing down.

You don't know who he is, not yet; but you have fallen in love with him, and you accept it, the sweet and the sour of it, whatever road it will lead you on.

"Thank you." you whisper in the end as you search his eyes with yours; you are still caressing his skin, not with pity or compassion but driven by the awe of one who sees a miracle taking place before her eyes - and even better, becomes part of it "It was beautiful. And sweet."

"It was. More beautiful and sweet than I remembered it could be."

Hearing him mentioning a -or more?- previous lover should put you in a bad mood, but it doesn't; it is hard not to feel content, and happy, with the way he affectionately kisses your brow and plays with your hair and presses his hips against yours, as if he is not yet sated with your lovemaking. You would like to give him the melody you have composed for him, and you will; but unfortunately there is something important you have to discuss first.

"I have to return home soon." you quietly say as your fingertips run along the scars on his chest and legs; at first he had stiffened, tense like an animal who smelled a predator, but now you know he likes it, and you intend to give him all the pleasure you can, all the pleasure in the world "New orders came; the Eldar must abandon the Southland within a fortnight."

It is unexpected news, and Adar reflects on it for a while, his fingers idly running through your hair, especially the strands closer to your chest; there is no selfishness in him, and he knows how much you love and you miss your friends and family in the Greenwood, but he knows that if he doesn't open his heart to you now, he will not have a second chance, and he will regret it forever.

"I don't want you to leave." he states in the end "I want you to remain here. With me."

"Why?"

"Because it will make me happy. Because you have become a parte of me I cannot live without."

"All right. Then, I will." you answer simply with a smile, and Adar smiles back at you, but there is sadness and uncertainty in his eyes; it is too soon yet for him to fully know your heart, and to know that you love him, truly and deeply, enough to leave everything you know and you hold dear to be with him, if he asked you to.

He will know; he will learn to know your heart, and he will discover it beats at the same rhythm as his, but for now he decides to trust you, and that is enough.

"Come." he says in the end as he stands, and he offers you an hand to help you do the same "I want you to meet my children."

You do not return to the barracks; not that night, at the end of your leave, nor the next day or the one after that. Your comrades fear something terrible has appened and look for you until the day they are to return home, but find no trace of you. Arondir keeps his ideas to himself, but he is the only one who suspects you have left of your own free will: everything you own is at the barracks, including your bow and dagger and all your clothes and your coin, but you must have your violin with you, and you can be content with that.

He had noticed you seemed happy.

Unlike your other comrades he elects to stay in Tirharad with Bronwyn. He never meets you again, but he starts hearing voices, fragments of stories whose veracity no one can attest and that soon pass into legend; stories of an Elf maiden who has left her people to be with her beloved, and who now lives with him among the Uruks she once had fought and considered enemies. An Elf who has learnt to respect the sparkle of life in those wretched creatures; to call them her friends, her people, her children, and who together with her lover protects and attempts to educate them, to teach them the beauty of the world, kindness, peace, and music.

Naneth, they call her.

Mother.

Tagging @starlady66 and @elvenenby !!!

Raise your hand if you would like to be blindfolded by Adar.

[incorrectringsofpower]

Watchwarden Revion, to Arondir: It's terribly important to remember just what terrible people all Men are.