Beacon by polutropos

Beacon

For Silm Smut Week Day 2, Prompts: Canon ships, Established relationships, Pregnancy, Tender sex, Teasing, word: trace, and Writing Challenge #1 (no sex organs named) and #5 (pov female character).

Headcanon: Eärendil will be inspired to seek Valinor and builds Vingilot for this purpose after his sons are born. He is currently crew on one Captain Ríaras' ship. That ship is named Alphovral (Swan Wing). They are searching for new lands where the refugees of Beleriand can settle.

Eledhrim = 'Eldar' in Sindarin
Izray = Primitive Adunaic, 'beloved' (let's pretend it's Taliska)
Ýneg = 'Twelve' in Sindarin. Surely the Elves with their base-12 system would have a boardgame game called this?
Aerandir is one of Eärendil's canonical companions on Vingilot's journey to Aman.
Belain = 'Valar' in Sindarin.

Read Beacon

Eärendil was at sea when Elwing discovered she was carrying their child — children, it was now clear, for in only seven months her stomach had swelled to enormous size. Four little feet, four tiny fists, twin flames kindling inside her.

Though she had wished for it, the thought of bearing children into this fragile world had filled Elwing with dread, at first. She imagined herself a young tree branching too soon. Her roots, which she had believed were mighty and deep, now seemed brittle and famished. When the storm came — and it would come — the gales would tear her from the earth, and her new branches, starved for nourishment, would crack and break in her fall.

So Elwing had cast her thought out like a beacon over the seas, searching for Eärendil to tell him, seeking his comfort. But it had never been easy for them to share thought in the way of the Eledhrim, and she had not found him. As new life increased in her womb, so too did her fears.

The searching tendrils of her thought at last caught his when Alphovral docked at Balar on the way back to Sirion — but already the news had found him, for by now the rumour of the arrival of not one but two heirs of all the Houses of Elves and Men had reached every dock and every home on Sirion and Balar, a dram of hope for a parched people. So it was that when Elwing found the current of Eärendil’s thought it was already whirling like an unruly tide, choppy with excitement, spitting up foam like shouts of joy.

Early the next morning, Eärendil flew off Alphroval even before her mooring lines were cast ashore, his sea legs nearly tripping over themselves as he ran to Elwing. Then she was cocooned in his strong arms, and his lips, sun-chapped but warm and smiling, opened to hers. After kissing her mouth, he dropped to his knees to cover her round belly with a dozen more. This was all much to the delight of all those who had gathered to witness their Lord’s return, but Elwing knew it had not been for their benefit. Eärendil never feigned or performed. He did not need to; he had simply to be himself and he was admired for it, as though he we born to be loved.

For all the thrill of their reunion, exhaustion claimed them both as soon as they fell into bed. Eärendil slipped into sleep with the conclusion of a story left untold, and Elwing followed shortly after, not bothering to tuck herself beneath the sheets.

She found she had been swaddled in them in the morning, when she blinked open her tired eyes to see Eärendil’s brilliant blue ones gazing back at her. She had not slept so well in all the months he had been gone, and the joy and warmth of the moment burst forth as laughter. Hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Eärendil brushed them away with a thumb and kissed the dampness from her cheeks. “I made you breakfast,” he said. “Fruits from the south: pomegranate, melon, and honeyed lemon water.”

“Good. I am famished,” Elwing said, then added with a glance down at her belly: “They are famished.”

Eärendil grinned and caressed her stomach, gently tugging her nightdress up with the motion. He slid one rope-calloused hand over her bare skin. He was dressed in nothing but his sleeping trousers and she could not keep her hand from straying to explore the hard, smooth plane of his chest. Her fingers trailed up to feel the trace of a beard — never more than a trace, and now that he was back among his people, he’d soon shave it off. (“Alas!” he would say. “I will never look the part of a thick-bearded lord of Hador’s house. I fear no one would accept a boy as Lord of Arvernien, so Elda I must be.” But boyish or not, the scruff of a beard on her lover had always delighted Elwing.)

His other hand grazed the inside of her thigh, and she drew in a sharp breath at the frisson of pleasure it elicited; but when he leaned in to nip at her lips with his, she gently kicked him away.

“Enough!” she laughed. “I said, they are famished!”

“Of course, of course. No sympathy for their father’s needs,” he said teasingly. He pushed himself off the bed.

“No, nor for their mother’s.” Elwing smiled, one hand instinctively reaching for him. It fell to the sheets, still warm from the heat of his body.

Sleep had conquered them both the night before, and now a ravenous need for food put off the fulfillment of other desires. But stars! she did want him. She had been as an unquenchable flame these past few months, and no matter how she tried to bring herself pleasure her body demanded more. Now it thrummed in anticipation.

He appeared in the door frame holding the promised tray of fruits and lemon water, as well a generous helping of cheeses and bread.

“Thank you,” she said, and, “Love you,” when she realised she had neglected to thank him before.

Eärendil set the tray down on the bed beside her and crossed the room to prop open a window that had blown shut in the night. The air that drifted in was cool but not unpleasantly so.

Even in the coldest nights of winter, they had once curled up in nests of pillows in Lady Idril’s solarium, every window open. He’d said, with a troubled crease between his brows, that it was because walls reminded him of mountains, and mountains were a trap. Perhaps, in some deeply buried place, walls had reminded Elwing of caves. But she had told him that she liked the air because it was in her blood to love the open sky. Her mother had been a Wood-elf, she said — and had Eärendil heard the songs about her grandmother Lúthien, who danced beneath the stars? She was the most beautiful Child of Ilúvatar! But Eärendil was a boy of ten then, and simply nodded, not knowing how her girlish heart had secretly hoped that he would say he could not believe that, for—

“You are the most beautiful woman to have ever lived.”

Elwing, deep in recollection and with a large mouthful of bread halfway to her mouth, froze and slanted her eyes to the side. Eärendil was propped on his hands against the window frame, watching her with a rapt expression.

“Do you know that?” he asked.

“Stop watching me eat!” Her protest was muffled by the bread and the back of her hand over her mouth. But she returned his smile with her eyes.

Eärendil came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “Do you not like the melon?” He popped a cube of the green fruit in his mouth.

“I do,” said Elwing, “but our babies tell me they do not.”

“Ah, well, we won’t argue with them.”

“Tell me about the journey,” Elwing suggested. “Before you fell asleep you were telling me...” She could not remember. “Something about the deserts?”

Eärendil smiled, the timid way he always smiled when he was about to talk of some aspect of his life she was not a part of.

“Stop pretending you’re not excited,” she said. “I know you’re dying to tell me.”

“I am not pretending, izray.” He tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "It was not all excitement. Many long and windless stretches with nothing to do but best Aerandir in Ýneg again and again. The man will not admit defeat!”

“Much like someone else I know,” Elwing said, then more sincerely: “It is good. Such a trait is precious in these times. Keep him close.”

Eärendil chuckled and took another piece of melon before launching into the full tale, growing increasingly animated as it went on. First he talked about the strange lands they visited along the southern coasts: of deer striped gold and black, and insects as large as his hand, and lagoons bursting with pink birds; of deserts with dunes high as mountains. No, he answered when she managed to slip in a question, nowhere suitable to settle, not yet, but they were close, next time. He was sure.

Then their journey took them further out to sea, and his tale turned to talk of stars and currents and winds that Elwing might have been able to follow if she’d paid any attention to Círdan’s lessons in their youth, but she was more interested, as she had been then, in observing Eärendil’s gestures and the pink glow rising on his cheeks as he spoke of them.

“…Captain Ríaras believes I am ready to captain my own ship,” he said at the end of one breathless sentence, and paused for Elwing’s reaction.

“Oh?” Her voice came out tremulous as the sudden skip of her heart.

“But not now!” he hurried to add. “No, no, nothing about ships until our babies are born, and then not for some time yet.” He set aside the tray of food, which Elwing had finished picking over, and stretched himself out in the narrow space on the bed beside her, tucking his feet beneath the blankets and tangling his legs with hers. “But never mind, we can talk of that later.”

Elwing swallowed around the tightness in her throat. It should not have been a surprise, but she realised she had been indulging the hope that their children might anchor his restless soul. The sea was ever in his thoughts, and after his father had followed its call West, it had taken hold of him more fiercely than ever. The voyage of Alphroval, one of the few Falathrin ships to ply the open ocean, had been for him but a step towards a greater ambition.

Once, he had dared whisper that ambition: that he might reach the Blessed Realm and plead with the Belain for forgiveness and aid. It was bold, brazen even, to entertain such a thought. To Elwing, it was no different than wishing for death. She had awoken screaming the night he shared it with her, shivering, her vision blurry with the memory of soaring through bitter cold darkness.

She reached between them and threaded her fingers with his. “Yes, later.”

They held each other’s eyes, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin, and he leaned in closer still to touch his nose to her cheek. Her lips parted, inviting him to claim them, but he hovered a moment longer, fingertips trailing down her spine, pulling her closer and fitting his hips around her belly so she could feel the evidence of his want for her.

“I love you,” he whispered, grazing her lips with his.

The light, teasing touch sent a gale of pleasure whipping through her, flushing out all trace of doubt and fear, and she tightened her arms around his shoulders, arcing her hips, shuffling to fit the firmness of his arousal between her thighs. They were both already panting, grinding hips, hands racing over clothing to expose more skin. Eärendil explored the new shape of her, and everywhere he moved she chased contact with his body, straining for friction.

Her chest bared, her sensitive and swelling breasts pushed up against his chest and she gasped, forced to pause at the dizzying rush of desire that unfurled inside her.

“It’s so much,” she said.

Eärendil chuckled, pulling back and clasping her hands in both of his. “Slower?” he asked.

“No, no,” she said, “I need you.” And indeed, her pulse seemed to throb through her entire body, but especially in the aching mound between her thighs. Her lust took command of her actions, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, pushing down. “Now.”

Through hooded lids, she caught him grinning up at her as he slid his palm over her, rubbing and pulsing through her braies.

“Ah! Aah!” Elwing cried. “I’m going to—!” Already she was shuddering towards completion — but just as the surge of her release reached a peak, he removed his hand, tugging her braies down to her ankles. She kicked them off, narrowly missing Eärendil in the process.

“Careful!” he laughed.

He pulled up her knees and supported her trembling legs with his hands on her ankles. His head ducked down, nothing but his mussed-up golden curls visible above the mound of her belly. Elwing’s eyes squeezed shut, she clutched at the sheets, mouthing curses. He had her still teetering maddeningly on the brink of climax.

One cheek scraped along her inner thigh, gentle as sand dragged from underfoot by the retreating surf. Eärendil reached up with one hand, feathering the lower curve of her breast with his thumb, and in the same moment fitting his lips over and around her. The pressure of his sucking stole her breath, and she could not keep from rutting against his mouth. He squeezed her breast and thrust his tongue inside her. A spike of pleasure pushed a cry from her lungs, loud enough she was sure it carried through the open window to the street below, but she could not care. She cried again, and again, as he withdrew his tongue, fluttering, then plunged into her once more. One hand continued to tease her breast while the other forced its way beneath her to grip the yielding flesh of her ass. He held her hips firmly against him as he carried her up, up to an impossible height of pleasure, suspending her there in weightless flight above the earth.

Her fall, when it finally came, was gentle, easy, like sliding into a pool of still water. Entirely sated in spirit and body, she sank into the bed and drifted back to sleep in his enveloping embrace.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to Chestnut_pod's brilliant Elvish Name List for saving me the bother of coming up with a ship and OC name myself. Amazing resource!