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Faltering words, sunk in emotion, fell soft into the air between them. To kiss him deeply was a delight she relished, and so she lost her wits for one moment, drinking in the taste of his mouth, warmed and encouraged by his hand upon her waist. Moments were savored in exploration, until at last she wrested back her self control, and broke away following a soft moan of longing.
Now was not the time for ardor of that kind, he had spoke words that echoed in her ears, and needed answering. And so she trailed her lips to his ear and whispered lowly. "Do you truly not know, melethmir?" She asked, kissing and nibbling his earlobe playfully for a moment before she rose up and away and sat back upon his hips. Her head tilted, moonlit eyes eclipsed in desire, but there was still the curious artist, who reached her fingers out to wipe his lashes of their unspent tears. "If you do not know why you deserve this, I shall tell you."
Her hand reached for his free one, where she brought it to her mouth, and looking him in the eye she kissed his fingers. "I remember a young scholar," she began, with a soft voice reserved typically for tales and legends that were shared. "who overheard a pair of elves discussing the sensitivity of elven ears, and began to take notes." A fond smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she pressed a kiss to his palm before she went on. "This scholar thought he'd playfully tease one of them, and after some banter reached out to test his newfound information. He thought it would be lighthearted, a little fun to jest about. He could not have known she would stiffen and flinch, that this particular elleth had spent the last five centuries avoiding just that sort of thing."
Another kiss pressed to his palm, gentle and apologetic, for still she wished she had been stronger then. But maybe if she had, they would not be here now, and for this she would trade nothing in the world.
"This scholar," she went on. "Could have shrank back, looking at her oddly. He could have been offended, for he had meant nothing by it, and her reaction had been bizarre. He could have stepped away and never spoken to her again, chalking up her stiffening to the eccentricity of elves. But he did not." She opened his palm and held it to her neck, there but with no pressure. A show of the trust she held for him, her hand leaving it to drift down to his wrist. "He decided to befriend this elleth. He wrote her letters, every one something she read over and over, unsure when they would end. She believed her friend would not last, for the lives of men move so swiftly, and surely one day he would find a maiden for whom his words would turn to wooing. So she treasured every one, so that the day the letters stopped, she at least would have the memory of the kind scholarly boy who was her friend a while."
Slowly, she pulled down his hand, dragging his fingers along her neck, then to her collarbone. "But the letters came, year after year, never failing. He won her trust so wholly, her friend whose hands turned from scholar to warrior, whose heart now bore sorrow. She wept for him with his struggles, and wished someone would offer him a moment of respite. Of peace. For though she loved his letters, she could not help but wonder: was there no one who loved him enough to take that gentle heart of his for their own? to let him rest? Was there no one else who appreciated those words and that heart than her so many leagues away?"
Her eyes were lost a moment, her free hand spread across his chest, over the beat of his heart, a moment spared as she recalled that letter in particular. It had come with news of his brother's death, and with it she had held the letter as close to her chest as she wished she could have held him. She had held him since to make up for it, but still she never would forgive that he had grieved that fact alone.
A deep breath, her eyes returned to his, and her mind moved from the death of Boromir, to the happier times. "Then, one night, reunited in a way she never expected, he kissed her under moonlight, changing everything." Both her hands moved his to her breast, where she made his fingers lightly squeeze. "Most men would not have been so patient with her. Eager to express love and desire, and she would have let them, believing herself unworthy of anything else. But it would have been too quick, and again any other would have been offended when she cowered like a child again, or worse . . . lost herself to memory and laid there without a reaction. But he was patient. . . careful," she released his fingers, but only to let him move as he desired, her fingers lightly skimming over his hand. "He eased her into it, resisting his own temptation which no doubt he had." Her eyes sparkled with knowing. He had tried not to make it show, but she knew he had restrained himself for her sake.
"Tell me then, Faramirë," she ran her fingers down his jawline. "Could he be anything but deserving? Not just of words, but of every love she could give him? Every aspect of herself? Every sentiment of gentle love and soothing peace, every appreciation?" She slid his hand down, across the planes of her stomach where she lifted her nightgown enough to tuck his hand upon the bare skin of her lower abdomen, holding his fingers there. "I would give you everything." She whispered, taken aback at her own declaration, but unrepentant. "I would give my fëa if i could, entwine myself within you, and pull you within me so we could never part."
Her hand stilled, every conviction in her gaze, every word of sincerity painted there and laid open for him to see whatever he wished. "Do you understand now? Not only do you deserve every word and sentiment I say, but how could I ever do otherwise?"
