Whispers In The Stream by just_jenni

---

Chapter 2-Spring Rain

---

It fell in torrents—wet, gray, cold rain, bouncing upon the river-surface like silver beads dropped on glass. She had been screaming for an hour but the sound of her frantic voice was lost in the fog and the rain, smothered like a gray cloak cast over a child’s string of bells. She sniffled but did not feel the tears on her cheeks. They were deadened by pelting shards of cold rain hitting her face.

Turning her attention from her misery, determined not to dwell on the uncertainty of rescue, Haleth concentrated on her predicament, and stared down at her feet which were caught in the sucking mud of the riverbank where she had led her horse to drink. It had just started to rain while she rode through the southern pastures of Thargelion and down into the river valley, heading toward the Dwarf Road. There had been no one in the vicinity when her mount had stepped into the unexpected bog and become stuck. She had jumped from the horse and freed it, but it immediately ran away in fright, leaving her alone and hopelessly trapped.

“Stupid, flighty damned Elvish animal,” she cursed as she watched its white flanks disappear into the fog. She called for help regardless, knowing that it would probably be only a waste of her energy.

“Help! Help! Someone, please!” she cried. “Is anyone there?”

To her horror, she saw that her feet had sunk lower into the mud, and it reached her calves. The enormity of the situation struck her like a heavy blow and for a split second she almost panicked. But she swallowed firmly and resolved to steel her mind to remain calm and lucid.

In an hour of calling for help no one heard her. She could not see more than a few feet in front of her because of the fog, but she knew she was not far from the Dwarf Road.

‘If I cry out every five minutes for five minutes at a time, I will have a good chance of being heard by someone on that road,’ she thought. She was a frequent traveler in the south of Caranthir’s lands, and she knew how light the traffic was on the road, but she hoped that someone would hear her cries before she was sucked below the river’s surface.

Her thoughts turned to Caranthir. Since the winter festival she had not seen much of him. The kiss they had shared had been too intense and had frightened her. She felt drawn very strongly to the Elf-lord and at this point in her life, full of uncertainty and doubts about her own abilities to cope with all her obligations, she did not want to become involved in a relationship with Caranthir. She felt that in such a pairing her personality might be crushed beneath his, and that she would not have any resistance to him once she submitted. Not only that, but she was striving to learn how to be a good leader of her people at every opportunity that presented itself. If she forsook them for him, she felt she would be going back on a moral obligation.

However, it had been winter at the time and that was not a good season in which to undertake a long journey, so she decided to stay in Thargelion for the present. Her plan to leave in the spring for Dorthonion remained, although she was not as determined to lead her people there as she once had been. The lord Caranthir’s presence, even as a memory, was always with her however much she wished for it not to be. It was for that reason that she tried to avoid him.

‘I would be no less than his thrall if I became his wife,’ she thought, ‘and that I could not abide.’ So she had run away from him, though she knew not why she was weak and had stayed in his lands with her people, but she had not seen him since the night of the kiss. She had gone back to her home and had put away the Elven cloak he had given her, intending never to wear it again. Such riches had nothing to do with her or her life.

Haleth stopped thinking and counted to three hundred and then she started screaming. She screamed out the numbers until she had reached three hundred and then she stopped again and rested her voice. Her body ached to sit or lie down but she knew she could not do that in the deadly sucking bog or risk being pulled down faster and further.

After three hours, she had sunk to her knees. She tried to keep as still as possible while she continued to scream for help. Suddenly, she heard a horrible screeching noise as of large birds above her head and then a terrible cracking of branches. She looked up into the swirling fog but could see nothing. However, a large bough from an olive tree broke off and came crashing down next to her on the mud between her and the water. She saw it appear out of the fog when it was about five or six feet above her and she felt lucky that it hadn’t hit her in the head.

‘Or maybe I would have been luckier if it had,’ she thought, ‘especially if it knocked me out. Then I would have been unconscious when the bog claimed my life.”

She realized with a start that the bough could be her savior. She stretched forward carefully and grasped one of its branches with trembling hands. She pressed down on it very carefully to test whether it would sink, and was thankful when it did not. She very gingerly leaned her body forward and tried to pull her legs up and out of the mud. She could only manage to free about an inch of leg, but that tiny victory gave her an overwhelming sense of relief such that she wanted to burst into tears.

She lay forward upon her savior bough and resting her head on top of its leaves, she fell asleep.

“Haleth,” the deep voice, soft to hear like velvet was to touch, whispered in her ear.

“Is this a dream…?” she asked, sleepy still but awakening.

“Haleth,” it said again, more sharply this time, a note of concern reaching into the depths of her consciousness, causing her alertness to grow keener.

“My lord—Caranthir,” she sighed happily, and tried to pull herself awake, but not succeeding. She felt strong hands on her, clasped about her waist.

“Here, help me,” she heard the sweet, welcome voice say, and then more sounds, some rustling and some grunting, and the sound of something plopping onto the water surface. Something jiggled her body, and she felt a strong pull around her waist. She could feel she was being stretched. She tried to open her eyes. Redness shone against her lids. Was the sun shining now? More jiggling and pulling ensued and then she heard a great, sucking sound and a huge plop and her legs came free. Oh, Blessed Beor, she was free! Then blackness overtook her and she fell into a swoon.

When she next awoke it was to the sensation of water enveloping her skin, warm and soothing. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the kindly face of an Elf-woman who gently began soaping her neck and shoulders. The scent of lavender assailed Haleth’s nostrils and invigorated her senses.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“You are in Lord Caranthir’s house,” the Elf-woman said, her voice soft and pleasant. “In his bathtub.”

Haleth started violently and abruptly sat up. “No. Oh, no. I cannot be here,” she cried.

“But my lady, he has given up his room to you until you have recovered fully,” said the Elf-woman, a look of concern crossing her pale face. “I have been asked to look after you until you are well.”

Haleth softened. “He has not—seen me?” she asked, her hand flying to her chest as if to cover it in modesty.

“No. He has not seen you since you were rescued,” said the Elf. “You have been sleeping on and off all day. It is now early evening. Do you not remember?”

“No, I remember nothing,” Haleth whispered, blinking her eyes and trying to will her memory to come back.

“You were awake a few minutes ago and I decided to give you a bath to wash off the mud from the bog that had coated you head to foot,” said the Elf-woman. She stood, and Haleth could see that she was very tall and though willowy, she looked to be an elleth of great strength, capable of lifting and carrying a small mortal woman such as Haleth.

Haleth relaxed and leaned her head back to rest upon the rim of the white porcelain tub, and looked around the spacious bathroom. It was well-appointed, its floor tiled in white ceramic that mirrored deeply everything that stood upon it. Solid gold cornices graced the corners of the room, with the sweet faces of children carved into them. White curtains billowed at the tall windows, which had been opened in order to let in the waning sun’s rays after a day of heavy rains.

The Elf-woman took a white towel from some shelves at the foot of the bathtub and brought it to Haleth.

“If you would step out of the water, I shall wrap this around you so that you can dry yourself if you feel strong enough,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Haleth and raised her body out of the water, holding gingerly onto the sides of the tub. She took the towel and held it about her shoulders. “What happened to me? Why am I here?”

The Elf-woman relayed the story of how Haleth became trapped in the bog and how two Dwarves who had happened to come down the road from the mountains had found her. They had heard the screaming cries of large vulture-like birds circling over the spot where she lay, and had gone to investigate. They spotted her white riderless horse grazing nearby, its reins hanging loose and they became concerned for its rider so they made a thorough search.

When they came across Haleth they knew immediately who she was, and one of them took the horse and rode to Caranthir’s home to tell him of the discovery. He came straight away to rescue her, and with the help of the two Dwarves, managed to free her from the mud.

Haleth gazed at herself in the mirror, and at the Elf-woman standing behind her. “I remember nothing at all of that,” she said in wonder.

“It will come back in time, I am sure,” said the Elf, brushing Haleth’s wavy tresses away from her face.

Haleth watched her reflection while the Elf-woman brushed her hair until it was dry and shone like satin. Somehow, in this room with its warm glow that emanated from many candles and a cozy fire, she thought she looked rather pretty. Her hair was a bronze color—not blonde and not quite red—and her eyes were deep blue and shone with intelligence. Today her skin was flushed, giving her an attractive glow. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose, but not as pronounced as they would be in summertime.

“Would you like me to arrange your hair for you?” asked the Elf-woman.

Haleth shrugged. “What for?” she asked.

“Lord Caranthir has told me that if you gained strength enough this afternoon, he would like you to join him for dinner,” said the Elf.

Haleth felt a welcome thrill of anticipation course through her and she thought for a moment. She felt feminine and attractive for once, and very much alive. “Yes. Very well. That would be nice,” she said, willing her voice to remain even. She was annoyed with herself for feeling such an attraction to Caranthir at the mere mention of having dinner with him. Was it because of her accident and the fact that she was now more acutely aware of the difference between life and death and the realization that she was truly mortal?

But she assured herself that nothing about her resolution had changed. She was still more committed to her people than to him. But was it the thought of losing him through death when she was trapped in the bog that made her realize what that loss would have meant? Her people would have been left leaderless. And she would never have known Caranthir in the way that deep within herself she ached to know.

The Elf-woman smiled. “I will fix your hair in a becoming style,” she said, “half up and half hanging down around your shoulders. I shall lend you one of my daughter’s dresses, if you like. She is your size, I think. Unfortunately your clothes were ruined in the bog.”

Haleth gave a short laugh that was more like a derisive snort. “My clothes—such as they were—were not more than a few tatters of rags,” she said. “I shall quite like to wear a dress for a change. Thank you.”

The Elf-woman nodded and both women beamed at each other through the mirror.

They stared at each other across the long expanse of table. They were seated in his dining room, languishing over a formal dinner that neither of them was interested in eating. There were many dishes laid out upon the polished walnut surface.

‘This room could hold an army,’ Haleth thought, her silver wine cup held to her lips, her gaze taking in the vast space in all its ornate splendor. It was a huge room, a crystal chandelier suspended from the center of the ceiling, casting golden candlelight upon the two lone diners.

“Haleth.” Caranthir’s voice echoed across the room.

She came out of her reverie slowly, her somnolent gaze finding him seated at the opposite end of the table. ‘This wine has gone to my head,’ she thought, ‘for I feel stirred by his beauty. He has never looked more magnificent.’ She stared at Caranthir, noting his black braided hair, its reddish highlights brought out by the purple color of his formal robes.

“Haleth!” The look on his face showed his concern. He stood abruptly, leaving his meal untouched, and came to her side, sitting upon the chair next to her.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. She tried to bite the rim of her cup in order to bring herself back to reality, but her teeth slipped and she bit her lip instead. Her focus returned with a start. “Yes?” she asked, her brow furrowing in pain, her tongue emerging to lick her bleeding lip.

“I am worried about you, Haleth,” said her concerned host. “Are you fully recovered as you told me you were, or are you only trying to please me by saying so?”

She could not take her gaze away from him. His hair, braided and pulled away from his face, allowed her to see every feature, every plane of his perfectly sculpted countenance. His eyes were the most beautiful thing about him, she thought. Tonight they shone large and dark. He looked youthful because of his helpless expression.

“Oh no—I am fine,” she replied. “I feel very well indeed.”

“Haleth,” he said, repeating her name for the fourth time, as if he could not stop himself from saying it. “You are not yourself.”

“How would you know me, my lord?” she asked. “You have not seen me for nigh on three months.”

“And I have missed you. It is not my fault that we have not met before now. Have you not considered my offer from the winter season? Why have you not spoken to me of your decision? You torture me, Haleth, by forcing me to wait so long to hear it.”

“I…” She faltered. She looked down at her cup and looked up at him again. “I…was afraid,” she said.

“Afraid of me?” he asked. “But why, Haleth? Have I not told you before—I am the one who will go on living after your death. I am the one who shall miss you all the long years of my life. You can live in comfort, in riches, in this house—“

“To be cooped up like a bird?” she asked. “Until my life is spent? To see nothing of the world except this place, forever, as beautiful as it is? That is not my wish.”

His dark eyes widened in surprise and he slumped in his chair. “But you need not be chained to this house, or to these lands,” he said. “If we were to marry, you will be free to roam where you will, and you can still be a leader of your people.”

“And if I choose to lead them to Dorthonion, I may do so?” she asked, her voice and countenance a challenge to him. “What, then, would be the point of marriage?”

“Of course you may lead them wherever you wish,” he said, picking up her hand from the table surface and holding it to his lips. “As long as you come back. The point of marriage, for me, is to bond and be one with the woman I love. It is not to keep her in a cage.”

She sighed and stared at him. ‘He is so tempting…’ she thought.

He stroked the back of her hand with a gentle finger. “I think only one thing will convince you,” he said.

“And what would that be, my lord?” she asked. She leaned closer to him as if drawn by an invisible rope that pulled them together.

“First, you must stop calling me ‘my lord’,” he said, rising to his feet as gracefully as a cat, while still holding onto her hand. He bent and swept her into his arms in one fluid motion.

She gasped and dropped the silver cup. It rolled across the white linen tablecloth, spilling a single drop of red wine onto its pristine surface, like a drop of blood upon a virgin’s bed.

Swiftly, he carried her up the sweeping staircase to his bedchamber where she had lain only hours before. He laid her gently upon the white and gold coverlet and sat beside her, caressing her cheek and smoothing her hair away from her forehead.

“My Haleth,” he whispered. “When I thought I had lost you this morning…” His voice trailed off into silence, his eyebrows knitting in distress.

“I remember nothing of this morning,” she murmured, gazing up at him in wonder.

“You shall remember this night,” he said, and took her into his arms again to devour her mouth in a kiss of such passion that she was lost in an exquisite torrent of pleasure, igniting her.

She remembered the touch of his lips from three months ago although she had not seen him since, and the way his breath felt in between his kisses. The smell of his hair was intoxicating, like inhaling the scent of lavender for the first time. Her hands flew to his braids and she ran her fingers through them, trying to unravel the strands.

“What are you doing?” he asked, breaking the kiss, his lips next to hers, soft on her cheek like the petals of a flower.

“I want to feel you all over, to experience every touch from every part of you,” she whispered, bold now and unafraid. “You are such a wondrous being.”

He smiled as if enraptured with her, his lips curving in a sensual smile. He allowed his body to touch hers in a gesture of familiarity that endeared him to her. In a moment he sat up and began unraveling one side of his hair while Haleth loosened the other. When his hair was unbound she stroked it with her fingers until it tumbled, gleaming, about his shoulders, its ends falling to mid-torso.

She sat and loosened her own hair, letting its waves unravel loosely down her back. She slipped her hands beneath the collar of his robe and began to unclasp its silver fastenings, and slipped it from his shoulders when it was undone. She marveled at his smooth yet muscular chest, his nipples peaked and sensitive when her fingers gently drifted over them.

“Ai!” he cried when she did so and when she licked the tip of his pointed ear with her curious tongue.

Clad in only tight leggings of soft gray suede, he stood and let her untie their lacings. She let her gaze linger upon his taut, slender belly, narrow waist and slim hips, and she lowered the garment very slowly so that she could savor the sight of every exposed inch of his wondrous body. Unlike the men of her tribe, some of whom she had seen naked, Caranthir had very little body hair—in fact, nothing at all above the navel, and below just a faint covering of dark hair surrounding a beautiful cock of perfect proportion. She gasped in wonder and dropped her trembling hands.

He sat quickly beside her, gracefully kicking off the leggings from his slender feet. “You are not afraid of me, are you?” he asked, his eyebrows arched in concern. “Shall I darken the room?” He stood and moved to smother the flame in a sconce on the wall.

She stared at his back, transfixed by the fluid movement of his sculpted buttocks. She trembled, disbelieving that it had come to this and she was in his bed. She loved him passionately but she did not know how to tell him that.

“No, no,” she whispered. “I have never…” She started to explain.

“You have never made love before?” he asked, his voice soft and caring. “You are a virgin?”

“No,” she said. “No, I am not. When I was sixteen I had a lover…but no, it is not that. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you. It is as if you are not real.” She could not help but stare unabashedly at the exquisite Elf before her. The combination of his appearance in the candlelight, made ethereal by the golden glow as if he were surrounded by a halo, and the wine she had consumed, made her become mesmerized by him.

His dark eyes flashed. “I am real, I assure you,” he said and bent to kiss her again. “I will show you,” and he took her lips forcefully, deepening the kiss this time, his tongue probing the depths of her mouth. When he broke the kiss he sat up and began to unfasten her dress. It was a simple garment, and it came off quickly. Her petticoats and shift soon followed.

He slipped his hand beneath her underpants. She felt his warm flesh sliding over her buttocks, moving swiftly to her belly. She gasped when she felt his touch briefly between her thighs, before he pulled her undergarment all the way off. Her tongue touched his ever so slightly—she tasted his flavor—like a mixture of apples and oranges—before his lips devoured hers again.

They lay together in their nakedness. She could feel the silky hardness of his length against her thigh, and she reached down to wrap her fingers around it, and to stroke it and feel its throbbing heat.

“Oh Haleth,” he sighed. “I love you so.” His tongue sought her ear.

His fingers slid between her thighs and explored the warm flesh before drifting to the crevice between her buttocks. He pulled her tightly to his body and she guided his arousal to her mound, where he thrust and pressed his aching need against her.

Haleth’s breathing became heavy. Her desire was exquisite. She grasped the tip of his member between her fingers and felt the wetness oozing from it. She stroked the sides of his shaft and positioned it at her entrance, her body trembling with need.

“Wait,” he moaned. “Oil—there is oil in the drawer.”

He pulled away slightly and stretched his body so that he could reach the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer, searching for the elusive vial.

Haleth shivered, admiring his catlike stretch and she trailed her hand along the smooth expanse of his skin from flank to shoulder. “You are so lovely, Caranthir,” she murmured.

“Haleth,” he whispered, turning to her with the vial in his hand, and gently stroked her neck just below her chin. He poured some of the oil into her hand so that she might smooth it onto his straining shaft. “Please touch me,” he said.

She could not resist. Before she used the oil she shifted her body lower so that she could take his length into her mouth. It was smooth as satin, warm and delicious. She sucked and licked until its taste caused an aching in her loins and then she let it slip from her lips.

Caranthir groaned at the loss of contact, but quickly Haleth repositioned herself and took his shaft in her hand and slicked the oil over its length and down onto his sac, kneading it carefully in her fingertips. “So beautiful…” she said, breathless with desire.

She quickly guided his cock into her, crying out with pleasure when it filled her completely and pressed against her sweet spot.

He gave a lusty moan and thrust into her, taking care not to hurt her, but pumping ardently, and after a few bucks of his hips he spent himself, crying out with passion when he came.

Haleth climaxed immediately after him. “Oh, Caranthir, my love!” she cried, tears of joy bursting from her eyes, her body trembling from the long-awaited release. “I love you! The Gods curse my stubbornness in not telling you before now!”

He took her face between his hands, and kissed her softly, tenderly. He kissed her a long time, his caresses gentle, yet attentive, tasting her lips as though for the first time.

“Haleth,” he whispered, his lips gentle against her ear, his breath blowing a tuft of her hair upwards, like a drift of sand upon the beach. “Should we marry right away?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said happily, running her hands through his glorious black hair. “Yes, we should. The sooner the better.”