A happy Ending for Eöl

Chapter 5: Redemption

Eöl was pacing up and down his smithy, trying to take his mind off the seductive way she moved against him and the sweet smell of her most intimate spot, still lingering on his fingers. He froze for a split second as he heard her scream, then leapt to the door with an extraordinary agility, that only elves were capable of, his black hair caught in the gust of his move, grabbing a bow and a quiver on the way. As he reached the source of the noise, he was barely out of breath, but the scene, unfolding in front of him, made him struggle for air. She was lying on the moss, half naked and defenceless, straddled by a giant orc that was squeezing brutally her exposed breasts, smearing her blood over them. She didn't move – her pale arms spread on the ground, her eyes fixed on the sky, she was about to faint. There was some argument going on between the big orc on top of her and another, smaller, hairy one, who demanded in a shrilling voice:

„Don't ruin the pinky flesh. Master pays good for young and pretty ones for his games..." and unceremoniously kicked her in the head, just behind her ear.

Before the sickening sound of his iron-clad boot meeting her skull died out, both orcs were agonizing with elven arrows in their necks. For the other three slavers Eöl had something else planned – he drew his sword and taking advantage of their surprise send two heads rolling to the ground with a swift, barely perceptible swing of his silver blade, black blood sprouting from the ugly openings and tainting the spring grass. The last intruder looked around in disbelief, trying to locate the aggressor, but he was late – an elven blade sunk deeply in his chest with a repulsive noise. Usually, he would take more time with orcs, enjoying the practice and the triumph of the kills, but he was worried about Ahinora's condition.

He was walking the lands of Arda since ages, yet he had never felt fear before. As he saw her fragile bruised body, her pale face and the open wound on her scalp, as he felt her precious blood streaming beneath his fingers, draining her life and her light, he whimpered and sensed the cold grip of horror and helplessness strangling his elven heart. For a brief moment he felt vulnerable and weak, he felt mortal.

He gathered her carefully in his arms and carried her towards his home, unaware of the tears streaming down his face.

As he closed the door of his home with a kick, he hurried to his bedroom, gently supporting the precious weight in his embrace. He laid her on his enormous bed and let out a terrified groan as he saw her face – pale and still, covered in dirt, orcish and her own blood. Her dark long hair was matted with dried blood and leaves stuck to it, a horrifying open wound gaped on her scalp, where the iron boot met her soft skin. He winced as his eyes fell to her bare breasts and saw the swollen purple bite of the beast. Her breath was shallow, and her eyes closed, she was unconscious and losing more blood. He closed his eyes and regained his composure, went to the kitchen to get hot water for the bath – first he needed to remove the orc filth from her.

The bathtub was steaming and the replenishing scent of kingsfoil filled his bedroom as he started carefully peeling her blood-stained clothes off. She was still lifeless in his attentive hands, and he proceeded undressing her with eyes closed – the last thing they needed right now was another uncontrollable outburst of his desires. His fingers were gliding along her supple skin and despite his efforts to steer his mind in another direction he felt a stirring in his groin. He ignored it, lifted her, and carefully placed her in the bathtub. With her tempting body submerged in the murky green water he opened his eyes and started washing her head injury, eyebrows knit together in concentration. After carefully cleaning her wounds he took a large towel, closed his eyes again and pulled her out of the water, wrapped her and laid her on the bed. He tucked her in, opened his eyes and focused on her injuries, summoning the light of Valinor and his elven powers. He muttered incomprehensive ancient words, touching the wounds gently, and Eru's blessing surged through his fingertips. It didn't take more than a blink of an eye, but it exhausted him greatly, and he laid down next to her after making sure that her bleeding had stopped and that her breathing evened, slipping from unconsciousness to deep sleep. Yet again he painfully felt her fragility and the fleetness of her life and shivered at the thought that he was so close to losing her.

Pity and fear he had never felt before overwhelmed him as he watched how she stood at the doorstep of Mandos' halls. Fever burned her bruised body as it started fighting the orc's taint. She was thrashing in his bed so violently, that he grabbed her wrists as gentle as he can and cushioned her face, afraid that the wound on her head might reopen. Feeling the restraint in her moves she opened her eyes, blank and unseeing, and let out a terrified scream. He let go and removed himself immediately, desperately regretting the way he treated her before. There she was, delicate, weakened, and poisoned, about to leave Arda and step into the mysterious realm, destined for the children of Men, and yet he hadn't got the chance to tell her how he felt about her. How the last weeks spent with her were worth more than the long centuries of his isolated contemplative existence, how he wanted to share her burdens and comprehend her ways, to frolic with her in the forest under the moonlight, to have her, smiling lovingly and wanting him with all the heat of her scorching mortal passion, and one day, when the time is right, to enter the halls of Mandos holding hands with her.

She was somewhere dark and cold, lost and wandering, as she heard someone calling her. It was not a voice, but a thought, a feeling – warm and gentle as a mother's caress on the bruised knee of the child; she turned to follow it and among a grey sea she saw a land of such unspeakable beauty, bathed in otherworldly light, that her heart ached, heavy with longing. The salty sea breeze wafted the call of seagulls, the enthralling distant scent of forests and unseen flowers, unspoiled by human presence. Following the enticing voice, she found her way out and opened her eyes to find herself in a large room, attentively tucked in fine bedsheets, her body aching. It all started coming back to her - she squeaked at the memory of the orcish abuse and warily looked around. The flickering candles lit the fine shaped features of the man, lying next to her – eyebrows furrowed together in worry, dark circles under his eyes, soft skin, lips pressed in determination and surprisingly - a single white strand among his glossy black tresses – Eöl did not look at peace even as he slept. The relief that overwhelmed her as she recognised him made her sigh with joy and longing and she crept closer to him just to examine his face. He was more than handsome, the ethereal beauty of his kind was mixed with obscure melancholy, and it made him even more attractive – as if he was harbouring a secret knowledge, hunger for something out of his reach and it denied him the serenity of his race.

She traced his chiselled cheekbones with her fingertips, growing bolder and moving down to his neck. He was wearing his usual knee-long black tunic, skilfully embroidered with silver thread at the rims and tightened around his slim waist with a warrior belt. She touched his shaped chest like a dragonfly touches the water – shy and tender, blushing at her recklessness. She jerked as her hand got caught in his iron grip and she met his cloudy grey eyes.