Until the story gains momentum, updates will probably be short (sorry!). Warning: this is not a true sequel to Ever and Ever. The story will center around Eomer and Lothiriel...but Calahdra will play a major role, I promise.
P.S. I hope this preface doesn't break too many hearts.
-Whisper
A pair of lace curtains tear back and forth as the gale strikes. The tenant of the room in which the curtains are adorned wakes at once... but she does not move. For just a moment, as she inhales, she can feel a warm back pressed against her own. Phantom muscles tense and relax next to her as thunder rolls throughout the night. A memory flickers in her consciousness, but a gust of wind tamps it out much like the candle beside her bed. The flames trigger another memory, but this too is stomped out. Suddenly overwhelmed by nostalgia and hidden scars, she turns to face whatever demon lays next to her. But as she exhales, the feeling is gone, and she is alone.
The woman stands, swiftly pulling a blanket about herself. She strides to the open window, which still clangs and swings back and forth in the onset of the storm. As she reaches for the window pane, a chill seizes her. She looks back to her bed, convinced once more that she is not alone. But she is. She is as alone as she has been for two years.
Already rain has drenched her hair and face. With sudden resolve, she pulls open the tall windows and steps out onto a balcony. Although besieged by wind and water, she stands firm and wills herself to fade away into the storm.
"To drown," she whispers, repeating these heavy words as she has for days.
She remembers the letter, the way its words struck her, and the way that mere parchment became so heavy.
To my dearest- My last letter was too short and too soon, I fear. Much has occurred between then and now that could not be explained in as few words as my last correspondence. To put it plainly, my father has decided to make the voyage to Valinor. I fear that there is little time before I will be at last forced to marry. By my count, I have six more months of delay before I will have no other option. I have given this much thought; perhaps too much thought. Though many know somewhat of what lies between us, too few know the truth. There are no more loopholes, my love. There will be no more unexplained trips to Minas Tirith so that I can find some reprieve from the pressures of society. I fear that the distance and time that lies between us has grown too great, my dear. At our parting, I promised you that immortality would bring with it a gentler passing of time. But the age of the immortals has passed, and the age of men has brought with it bitter curse for those whose time is ending. We too feel the brittleness of old age, and we too feel the change of flesh and feeling as the seasons change. Great tidings were set in motion at the close of the War, and now, as elves must sail Perhaps love is as dangerous as the sea. Was that not the choice we were faced before our betrothal? For me to sail, or to spend what little time your life would allow in love and in passion? In my mind, both are mediums in which to drown, and it seems that we will do just that. I understand that your task has been set to protect Eomer King in Dol Amroth until he sees fit to leave. I could not ask you to part him, at his leave or otherwise. Dark tides still ebb, my love. I fear that Eomer may need your protection now more than ever. My work, too, is not yet done. Every month a new family empties its lodgings in Mirkwood and comes to settle in Ithilien. There is much growing to be done, and the scouts are young and need much training. I still return to Mirkwood every few fortnights or so, and it is during these visits that eligible bachelorettes are paraded around me like cattle. My hands are tied, my love, and my heart is broken. No matter what may transpire, I wish you all the happiness that I can. I would never forsake you, and no forced marriage will ever sever my ties to you. If at any moment I might be able to seek asylum in Gondor, I will find you. I promise you this: I love you yet more than anything and everything in this world and the next.
-Yours.
The woman sobs as the words echo throughout her head in his crystalline voice. Her tears are quiet, though, and they melt away into the raindrops coursing down her face.
Some time passes, and she grows immune to the cold and the drenching. Staid, she stands alone, watching the east as if it holds all the answers.
A pair of arms reaches out from behind her and gathers her middle. She recognizes the scent, and the way the hands hold her. She has grown so habituated to this touch, this gesture.
"Calahdra," the man whispers, "Come inside. Come to bed,"
The woman turns, and sheepishly returns inside as he asked.
"What were you thinking, standing out there like that? You'll catch cold and you'll be no use at all,"
It takes the woman a moment to adjust to this guttural language. For what seems like hours, she has been thinking solely in Sindarin.
"It felt nice," she tells him, and he gives her a furtive glance before settling beside her. He is quiet as he surveys her angled face, the shadows under her eyes. Her damp hair clings to her chin at sharp angles. No matter how many times he tries to convince himself otherwise, she is not the beauty he had once seduced. She is haunted, now, and the ethereal grace he had so yearned for is now hidden under pallid skin and scars.
He shakes himself of this thought. She is his, and that is all that matters. He came to her chambers after he dreamed of what they had once done, and he will not leave until he has taken from her what he wants.
"Come," he says, taking her jaw into his hand. "Let us make love,"
She looks up into his eyes, and for a moment she thinks as an elf would. "He is so young, and so human. He thinks that sex is a cure, an antidote. But it is not. It is nothing,"
But she says none of this aloud, and she never has. Instead, she nods. "Yes, Eldric,"
And so he does, mechanically acting out the process until he selfishly achieves his own fulfillment. And, as always, the woman fakes her own climax, all the while fighting back the bile and guilt in her throat.
When it is over, the man leans over her and pushes her hair from her eyes. "Do you love me?" he asks.
For a moment, she is tempted to tell him the truth. She is tempted to tell him that she never did...that she used him then like he uses her now. "You were my pet," she would say "And I led you about thinking you would bring me pleasure. But you did not...you could not. Instead, you brought me only pain. And now... now you are all that I have. All that is left in my life is a leash and collar,"
She says nothing. She tells him "Yes, I love you,", but it means nothing. The words are empty, and so too is she.