Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18 - Winter’s Chill

The mead hall was never a dull place, and tonight was especially lively as the musicians struck up a pleasant tune. The men of Rohan were in a particularly cheerful mood as they settled into a milder disposition that the winter seemed to bring about. There were no crops to take care of, no horse or cattle breeding to see to, and even the soldiers had more time for friends and family. Life slowed to a relaxing pace, as their worries were fewer.

The cold wind brought in a larger than normal crowd. Gathering in the tavern had more advantages than naught. Warmth was the most inviting reason to someone who just came in off the street. Once inside, their priorities shifted to liquor. The men of Rohan believed in warming themselves from the inside out. Tonight, there was not an empty seat to be found. The patrons lined up along the walls just to get out of the cold, and enjoy the usual bitter ale and warmer winter drinks.

Laughter spiked here and there, like sirens amongst a sea of robust men, deep and hearty. Every now and then, someone would jump up, and shout out an announcement. Someone was celebrating a birthday. Another’s wife had just given birth to their fifth child. From somewhere on the left side of the tavern, a young man claimed that he was to wed in the spring. That one in particular got the crowd in an uproar of congratulations and toasts until someone else announced that the same lucky couple was expecting their first child by the end of the spring. The cheers halted as they thought about that for a moment. Then, as if they all came to the correct calculations, they raised their mugs once again, howling and whistling, a few shouting ‘at-a-boy’ praises.

Théodred and Eomer joined in with the celebratory hollering, each time taking a hearty swig from their mugs. Legolas, however, sat on his bench, staring into the yellow liquid in deep concentration, and then swallowed the contents without taking a breath. He had just finished his fourth glass.

His hand, though it had looked as if it was run over by a wagon, was no longer throbbing thanks to his inebriated state and Eowyn’s doctoring. Without the distraction of pain, he was left with thoughts of his empty heart. Try as he might, no amount of ale or injury could get Lúta out of his mind.

Legolas had watched other men as they suffered from loss like this. Some men stayed angry for as long as they could, hoping misery would erase their wounds. Others took on twice their usual workload to keep themselves occupied. Some men sought female companionship with a woman who did not mind if he was a blundering fool. It usually ended badly for those poor souls, regretting their decisions just as soon as the haze lifted, and they were sober enough to realize they made matters worse. Legolas thought about this for a moment. He had never been with anyone but Lúta. He knew her mind, her body, her likes and dislikes. He knew this because they had grown together in this way. The thought of bedding a woman that he knew nothing about seemed intimidating … or did it? Could he involve his body but not his heart? The men did it all the time, especially those that had no commitment. Suddenly, the thought was quite enticing. Sex without emotional attachment seemed wrong somehow, but then he would never have to feel the emptiness that he felt right now.

Someone set another round of drinks on their table. Legolas stared at the frothy head on the mug as it rose well above the rim of the glass before spilling over the sides, and slowly slipping down to pool on the table at the base of the mug. He stuck his finger in the foam, swirled it around, and then sucked it off his finger.

Suddenly the table next to theirs erupted with a cheer for some reason unknown to Legolas. The men jumped up and began singing to the tune that the musicians played. As they did, one of the men bumped into Legolas, nearly knocking him from his bench. His reflexes were slower due to the effects of the alcohol and he threw out his injured hand to grab the table to from falling. The sudden jarring and sharp pain ignited his anger, and he stumbled to his feet, addressing the man who he thought was responsible for reminding him of his injury.

“W-watch what you’re doing,” he stuttered. His elf eyes were blazing with anger.

The man he was addressing stood up from his seat. Legolas watched him rise, and it seemed he would never stop growing, or was the ceiling coming down to meet the man’s head. Everything looked like a blur.

“Were you addressing me?” asked a very tall, very muscular man with full beard and shining brown eyes. He curled his fingers into fists and then stretched them out straight again, his knuckles cracking and popping as he did.

That was a familiar sound to Eomer, and his attention shifted from the singing patrons to Legolas. The elf was standing straight, though teetering back and forth a bit, and looking up at the behemoth in front of him. The man whom he seemed to be challenging looked down at Legolas as if he were nothing more than a pestering fly that he could swat away easily. Legolas lifted his swollen hand to the man. “Have you no respect for an injured soldier?” he accused.

The man narrowed his eyes into slits, obviously not concerned about the elf being a soldier nor his injured hand. “Tell it to someone who cares,” he answered, and some his friends chuckled quietly as they watched. The man, who seemed as though he would really rather ignore the elf, shook his head and smiled with only one corner of his mouth, “You’re lucky I am in a good mood, so why don’t you just sit back down before that changes.” Without waiting to see Legolas’ reaction, the man turned his back, and sat down on his bench.

Legolas’ anger and stupidity was reason for his bad decision to tap the man on the shoulder in an attempt to continue their conversation. “I d-don’t believe I was done with you y-yet,” Legolas stammered, his words slurring together. Eomer wondered just how much Legolas had to drink. Unfortunately, it was enough for him to think he could take on this seasoned Rider of the Mark.

The man lifted his tree trunk sized legs over the bench and swiveled around to face Legolas. “So, you are not through with me?” he challenged. He started to stand again, but his friend, another well-built man, put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Easy friend,” the second man said soothingly. “It is too cold of a night to get thrown out of the tavern because of this milksop. Just ignore him. He’s drunk.”

Legolas turned to the second man and eyed him, “Milksop?” he said through his teeth, his eyes tapering with animosity. He opened his mouth to spurt out a stream of derogatory remarks, but Eomer jumped to his side and grabbed him by his shoulders.

“I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself,” Eomer warned his friend. Then he smiled to the men at their neighboring table. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s had a rough day, lost his girl, almost lost his hand, and now he seems to be losing his good judgment. Let me make it up to you. Next round is on my friend and me.”

Legolas’ head wobbled as he turned it towards Eomer, “I’m n-not buying them a-anything.”

Eomer took a coin from his pocket and one from Legolas’, tossing them onto the men’s table, “My humblest apologies.” Before giving Legolas another chance to say or do something they would both regret, he forced the elf to walk with him, away from their table, leaving Théodred behind. The prince had his back turned to the excitement, and hadn’t known what almost happened. Eomer shouted at him before he got too far, “Théo, I’m taking Legolas out for a bit of fresh air,” he yelled above the increasing noise of the tavern.

Théodred nodded and waved, “I’ll come with you.”

“We’ll lose our seat,” Eomer called back, but it was too late. As soon as Théodred got up, he waved to some men nearby who quickly took the prince’s offer.

“I think we’ve had our fun for tonight, or at least Legolas has. Let’s get him home.” Théodred followed them outside.

A blast of cold air hit them as soon as they exited the tavern. Eomer and Théodred tightened their coats around their bodies and shrunk inside like a turtle drawing into its shell. “It’s colder than a wraith’s breath,” Eomer said as he shivered.

“I can’t remember any winter ever being this biting.” Théodred walked on Legolas’ right side, talking across the elf to his cousin.

“It’s times like this that I wish I had the tolerance of the elves. Legolas, you are not affected at all by this bitter chill,” Eomer said as he shivered slightly.

“No, only the biting words of love lost could freeze my bones and believe me, I am like ice inside,” Legolas confessed.

Théodred knew what the elf was feeling right now. “Everyone has been jilted by a lover at some point in their lives. Unfortunately, Lúta was your first love, and that can be the hardest to recover from. We have all been there, my friend, and hopefully the right one will come along some day.”

Théodred’s smile was genuine in that one moment out in the cold street. Legolas noticed the glimmer in his eyes as he thought about Rawynn. He truly did love her and Legolas saw it clearly, “What you have now is what I thought Lúta and I had.”

“No doubt what you had was special, but she wasn’t the one.” Théodred roughly threw his arm around Legolas’ shoulder, “When you find her, there’s no warning, no sign. You’ll just see her and you’ll know. You’ll look at her, and no sunrise will ever be the most beautiful sight you’ve seen. You’ll hear her speak, and no longer will the winds blowing across the plains call you home. Then you’ll kiss her, and know that every breath you take is because of her. She will be your sunrise, and always first in your waking thoughts. The sound of her voice will call you home, and home will be wherever she dwells. That’s when you will know, my elf friend.”

Théodred’s words seemed to sober Legolas slightly. What he said made sense. What he said … well, some of it he had felt for Lúta, most of it actually, but now he wondered if it was too much for her, “I don’t think I’ll be handing over my heart so easily anymore. When an elf loves, we tend to give it all at once. Our emotions are very strong, perhaps too overwhelming for a human to understand.”

Eomer laughed, “You love to love.”

Legolas smiled, “Yes, but when that love is refused, the pain is just as strong.”

Théodred released his friend and watched to make sure Legolas was walking well on his own. Satisfied that he would make it home without any help, Théodred stopped, “Well, all this talk of love has set me in a mood. I’ll leave Eomer to get you home safely,” he smiled deviously, “The wind has chilled my bones, and a warm bed is calling out to me, but not this way.” They said their goodbyes, and Théodred went off to find Rawynn.

Eomer and Legolas walked the rest of the way in silence, each deep in his own thoughts. They stopped outside of Legolas’ room, and Eomer patted his shoulder, “Get a good night’s rest, and everything will look better in the morning.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Legolas replied. Then he slipped into his room, kicked off his boots and striped off his shirt. He was too tired to do anything more and collapsed on his bed, succumbing to the alcohol, and entered into the realm of elvish sleep.

* * *

Several weeks had passed. Winter was at its midway point. The weather had been unpredictable, and so had Legolas. His mood switched rapidly from being an uncommunicative by-stander, to that of an argumentative opponent. He was spending a lot of his nights at the mead hall, with or without his friends. The bar maids had all taken up a special liking to him, especially once the ale had a hold of him. He admitted that he liked the extra attention, but that was as far as it went.

“Forget her, lovey,” they would croon, “We’ll give you all the affection you need and then some.”

Legolas would laugh it off, kiss a hand or two, and make them swoon. He also found that his ale now came from the kegs of better brew, leaving the wargs piss to the rest of the patrons. It was a nice trade off, he thought, just as long as the servants didn’t expect actual payment for their offerings; though one of them was a very sensuous temptation.

These were all just games though, safe enough to play without being burned. Still, it had been quite some time since he had someone to warm his bed. His mind told him no, that it was too soon, but other parts of his body had other ideas. Sooner or later, he would have to give in to the temptations.

The time that he dreaded the most was coming back to the ghastly silence of his room. It was very lonely, especially when left to his dreams. Sometimes they were lewd and seductive, and he awoke with a throbbing ache. Those he could control and find his own means of relief. Most were merciless nightmares of his past, quick flashes of his father being overcome by orcs, or of Elhadron’s lifeless eyes staring up into his own. Lust or death, he thought, a fine line divided the two.

This particular night it had been lust that woke him, the coquettish bar maid with the playful brown eyes. In his dream, she had been exquisitely playful. When he woke, he looked down to find the sheet tented in a most peculiar place.

“This is ridiculous,” he chastened.

Legolas looked to the window of his room. It was still dark outside. Maybe it was not too late to go back to the mead hall and find the kittenish woman who haunted his recent dreams. He got up and went to the window. At a better look, he could see a very faint glow in the horizon. It was later than he thought. The sun would be up soon.

When he came home last night, the wind had been howling, but now it had died away. A still chill settled inside the King’s home, and Legolas wondered how the others faired. It was always colder in Meduseld lately, and not just the surrounding air. Legolas was constantly worried about the coming days. He could feel a shift in the atmosphere around him, and it was disconcerting.

Legolas realized that he had fallen asleep with his trousers on again. Too lazy to change into clean clothes, he simply laced them up and reached for his shirt. One whiff and he decided he didn’t want to put on his shirt from last night. It smelled of ale and smoke from the crowded tavern. He glanced at the wardrobe across the room, but it seemed too far to walk. Instead, he grabbed his robe, draped haphazardly over the post at the end of his bed. Usually, he only wore it to the bathing room in the morning. Right now, he did not feel like being in the confined space of his bedroom, so he slipped into his robe and loosely tied it. It would do, he thought. He was only going to the hall to check on the fire. It must have gone out. The damp cold air was almost too chilly for him, and he knew the others must have been turned to ice.

Legolas liked the velvet robe. It was deep red—a favorite and common color used throughout Meduseld—and trimmed in fur. The robe felt very comforting against the bare skin of his chest. It reminded him of his father, who wore one similar. He could remember sitting on his father’s lap, and playing with the gold embroidery that decorated the edges of the dark green robe. Such short-lived memories, he thought sadly.

As Legolas left his room, he almost collided with one of the servants, a young woman named Audwyn. She was carrying a bucket of heated water to the bathing room, and some of it sloshed out onto the floor. Legolas reached for her arm to steady her, “My apologies. Here, let me help you.”

“Oh no, quite alright, my lord,” she said and looked to his fair face, “Will you be requiring a bath? This one will be occupied soon, but I will start a second tub if you like.”

He turned his head left and then right, sniffing as he scrunched each shoulder, “Is it that obvious?” he laughed.

“Enough so that I know you were at the mead hall last evening,” Audwyn jested in return, “The smell of smoke covers your usual aura.”

“My aura?” he asked.

“Oh yes, everyone has one. I have a keen sense of smell, and I tend to notice these sorts of things.”

“And just what does mine represent?” he asked curiously.

Audwyn closed her eyes and leaned forward, sniffing delicately, “Yours is quite intoxicating … of fresh turned earth and moss, with just a hint of pine.” She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her and she blushed, “As I said, my sense of smell is heightened more than average.”

“You should have been an elf then,” he said.

Audwyn’s eyes quickly scanned his chest where the robe had slipped aside, “I most certainly would like to know what it’s like to have one,” she said dreamily, and gasped at her slip of tongue. “Oh, I mean, what it’s like to be one. Hmph, silly me.”

She was not helping his mood, especially after waking from his arousing dream, but he was not complaining. Instead, he smiled genuinely and nodded, “Perhaps I will have you draw me that bath after all.”

“As you wish,” she smiled and bowed before delivering her water.

Legolas made his way down the hallway and exited into the main gathering hall. Just as he thought, there was no fire in the hearth. Théoden never used to let this happen, but now he did not check. It seemed the cold did not affect the King anymore.

Legolas picked up a few logs from a nearby pile, and placed them on top of the warm ashes, noticing that there were no glowing embers. The fire was completely spent. As he took a torch from the wall to light the logs, he noticed a heap of pale blue satin and white fur lying on the divan, his favorite place to sit and read. It was Eowyn, probably come to sleep by the fire. Her room, no doubt had become too cold. Legolas quietly walked to the fire pit. After some time, the kindling caught and eventually lit the logs, which started to crackle and pop loudly. The heap of blue satin and fur moved and stretched like a cat waking from a nap, and Eowyn blinked as she opened her eyes.

“Legolas, I did not hear you. Is everything alright?” she asked groggily, her voice cracking.

Crouching next to the fire, he looked over his shoulder, his face thrown into shadow, “All is well. Go back to sleep if you can. I did not mean to wake you, but the fire went out.”

“It must be close to dawn, and besides, I’ve slept long enough.” She sat up, her bare toes touching the stone floor. She gasped through her teeth, and pulled her legs back onto the sofa, tucking her feet beneath the fur throw as she noticed Legolas’ bare feet, “How can you walk on this frozen stone without any shoes?”

Satisfied with the fire, Legolas stood up, and gave a nodding gesture to her feet, “I could ask the same thing of you. I don’t see your slippers.”

She reached beneath the throw at the end of the divan, and drew out a pair of pale blue slippers that matched her robe, “I fell asleep with them on. They must have slipped off.”

Legolas joined Eowyn on the sofa, bending his knees and crisscrossing his legs like he usually did. He slumped forward and watched the orange yellow fingers of the fire reach higher above the burning logs. The frolicking flames lit the hall, and shadows danced all around them. Eowyn caught a glimpse of anguish flit across his face as the light from the fire illuminated him, “Are you sure you are alright?”

What could he really say? ‘Yes, I’m fine outside of waking to a painful cockstand every morning.’ He chuckled at the thought, and Eowyn raised an eyebrow, “All is well.” Then he turned the question on her, “What about you? Why are you sleeping in the hall?”

Eowyn sighed heavily, “I could not sleep. My thoughts keep me awake more than naught.”

“What worries you? Has Grima—”

“No,” she interrupted, finding his name disgusting to her ears, “He has left me alone, but it’s my uncle that I fear for now. He hardly leaves his rooms anymore, and I know this is Grima’s doing,” she whispered carefully as if the shadows were listening, “Legolas, he gains more control over my uncle with every passing moment, but there is nothing I can do. The King hardly listens to anyone anymore.”

Legolas nodded, “Théoden insists that every decision is his own doing, and the proper thing to do, but I cannot see that these are sound choices. Sending the blacksmiths away, and now sending half of our armories … it is as if he means to disarm the city, and that has me worried also.”

“When I snuck into Wormtongue’s room, I searched as well as I could. I was sure I would find something … some poison or incantation, anything besides that strange talisman made from my hair. I found absolutely nothing. It puzzles me how he has gained so much control over the King.”

“It puzzles me too, but we must find out somehow and put a stop to it. If Théoden only knew what was happening, I have no doubt that he would expel Grima from Rohan altogether.” As he finished speaking, he felt Eowyn shiver slightly, and he moved closer to her until the sides of their thighs touched.

Eowyn noticed and smiled at him. She had always been very relaxed in Legolas’ company, but sitting here side by side in the dark, in front of a warm fire … it almost seemed romantic. In order to break her thoughts, she looked at his hand, which she mended a few weeks ago, “How is it?” she asked pointing.

“All healed up,” he replied, laying his hand on his knee, “Within just a few days. I’m an elf, remember. We heal quickly.”

“And what about the elvish heart, does that heal just as fast?” She had been meaning to ask him how he’d been since Lúta left and broke his heart. He had seemed distant since that time.

Legolas remained silent, as he stared into the fire. Of all the things wrong in recent days, he couldn’t deny the fact that Lúta was at the root of his misery.

Eowyn examined his face, saw the loneliness and grief. He did not need to speak for her to know the turmoil in his heart, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It’s only … I know how much you love her.”

“Loved,” he corrected quickly.

“The mind may be able to block out the pain, but the heart cannot change so easily,” she continued, “but like any wound, it will heal in time.”

Legolas nodded and leaned down to pick up a stick that he used to move the logs around in the fire. As he did, his robe fell open, exposing his bare chest. Eowyn had only ever seen him in his uniform or in the casual clothes that he wore when at home and not on duty. His muscles were much more pronounced than she had imagined. The light from the fire illuminated his alabaster skin, and he glowed like an apparition, accentuating his toned stomach and chest. She had never imagined that any elf could look so muscular, but it was obvious that Legolas worked very hard at his craft of archery and swordplay. He had always intrigued her, but never more than right now.

After toying with the fire, Legolas sat up straight again. He sighed and let the stick fall to the floor, “She told me to go back with my own kind, Eowyn. She said I did not belong here, and I admit that sometimes I wonder if she was speaking the truth.”

“No, Legolas, you belong here. I believe that and so should you. Everything happens for a reason, and there is a reason that you came to Rohan.” Eowyn could hardly bear it. The anguish on his countenance was undeniable. Legolas’ heart was grieving for the loss of his first love. She reached for a lock of his wheat colored hair covering his face, and tucked it behind his ear. Her finger lightly grazed his cheek, and he felt the chill of her skin. He reached up and took her hand.

“You are so cold,” he said with concern, and brought her icy palm to his chest.

Eowyn’s heart raced quicker than the strides of Rohan’s fastest steed. He was so warm and smooth, yet hard beneath the velvety skin, “Legolas—” she started, but he interrupted.

“You are chilled to the bone,” he said and pulled her against him to give her some of his warmth.

To say she never thought about Legolas would be a lie. Eowyn had considered him from time to time. He was very captivating with his piercing blue eyes and long flaxen hair. He had a smile that could light up the darkest heart. He was also the best friend of her brother and cousin, and Théoden considered him family. It was these thoughts that kept her from dwelling too much on his handsomeness. Yet now, as he held her, she forgot about all the reasons not to feel anything but friendship towards him, and thought about the one fantasy that haunted her dreams in the darkest hours of the night … a kiss … a first kiss, and allowing Legolas the honor.

After a while, she sat up again and smiled, “Thank you,” she said shyly, “I’m much warmer now.” Their eyes caught in each other’s stare. Then her sight traced the bridge of his nose, his high cheekbones and pointed ears, his straight jaw, and finally settled onto his slightly parted ambrosial lips, “Legolas, there is something else that worries me. I have heard my uncle talking about a betrothal … for me.”

“What?” Legolas said shocked, “To whom?”

“I do not know. No names have been spoken, but I have my suspicions.” Eowyn’s eyes dropped to her lap.

“Théoden would never hand you to Grima,” Legolas said, knowing whom Eowyn was referring to.

“I don’t know about that. Wormtongue has suggested so many ideas that my uncle has made into orders. As I said, Grima has more control than we first imagined, and I fear this might be part of his plan. It would explain a lot of things, his hidden stares, and that … that thing I found in his room.”

“Well, I won’t let him make that decision,” Legolas demanded, “I would not let that happen.”

“But what if it is not Grima? What if he is someone reputable? I will have no choice but to abide by my uncle’s rules. I am of age to marry, Legolas, and by confirming a betrothal, that will mean one less burden for the King.”

Legolas shook his head, “That is not a reason to marry. You should be free to choose for yourself and—”

Eowyn held her hands out to Legolas, palms up and inviting him to take them. When he did, she squeezed and looked away, “I’m not asking you to rescue me. I’m asking you to … I’m want you to . . .” she stuttered, “Legolas, I’ve never been kissed.”

This didn’t really surprise him. Eowyn took great pride in her innocence, and he knew that she was saving those moments as though they were precious gifts, “I figured this much, and when you are betrothed—”

“Legolas!” she interrupted, obviously aggravated, “I want my first kiss to be with you!” It was not exactly the way she meant to ask, but . . .

“With me? But why? Why not save it for the man you will marry?”

“If what my uncle plans for me are true, my betrothed will be a stranger, and … I never wanted my first kiss to be with a stranger,” she admitted.

“Oh,” he replied, unable to think of anything else to say.

They sat quietly staring into the fire. The silence growing between them was becoming uncomfortable. Finally, Legolas gave a whispered answer, “Alright.”

It occurred to him that she must have been building up the courage to ask this of him. She asked so suddenly, and it caught him by surprise. A kiss was one of many intimate moments two people shared. Of course, she would want this to be with someone she knew and trusted. All of her other intimacies she would experience only with her future husband, whomever that might be, but a kiss … well, that could be shared between friends.

He shifted so that he was facing her and smiled softly, “I would be honored, Lady Eowyn.”

She looked relieved, and at the same time nervous. Legolas cupped her face and closed the distance between them. He could almost hear her heart pounding wildly. He still held her hand in his, and brought it against his chest so she could feel the rhythm of his own heart. Her breath hastened with anticipation. Her eyes closed and lips parted. Then they touched, supple lips melting together, sharing the same breath, tense muscles becoming more limber as they gave into the intimacy of a first tender kiss.

After a time that felt like an eternity, Legolas released her and lowered her hand. Her eyes remained closed, but she smiled shyly, and turned her head to the side, “That was nice, but not what I expected.”

Eowyn opened her eyes and found him frowning with his head cocked to the side. Realizing what she just said, she laughed nervously, “Oh … no, I didn’t mean it that way. No Legolas, it was much more than what I had anticipated. It was … it was truly magical.”

“Oh,” he said with relief. Then he knitted his brow as he regarded her, “So, you have thought about this, have you?” he teased.

Eowyn blushed and looked to her lap wishing she could crawl beneath the divan and disappear, “A time or two perhaps.”

“Well, my sweet Lady Eowyn,” he whispered as he reached for her chin and brought her attention back to him, “You need no further instruction. Your kiss was perfect.” His words made her blush even more.

Embarrassed by her admittance that she had dreamt of him, Eowyn quickly seized the moment, and reigned in her emotions. She gestured to one of the windows as it glowed orange from the rising sun, “Time to get our day started.”

Legolas smiled wide, his dimples prominently showing, “Yes it is.” He stood from the divan, and offered her his hand, helping her up. Then he bowed and kissed her knuckles, “A good day to you.”

Eowyn laughed. Legolas was never so cordial with her, but right now he seemed the perfect gentleman, “An to you, sir,” she answered between snickers.

Legolas straightened from his bow, releasing her hand, but his face had lost some of its playfulness, “Eowyn, I meant what I said about Grima. I will not let him convince Théoden to give him your hand.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. It had been the right decision to tell Legolas about her concerns. She knew he would watch out for her.

With that, the intimacy of the moment dissolved back to friendship as if nothing had happened, and Legolas made his way back to his room, remembering that a bath had been drawn for him. As he walked through the hallway, he gave Lúta a quick thought. Although his heart still ached over his loss, it was not as intense as before, and he knew he was past the initial pain. He could move on now, but he decided that he would not share his heart. Just like Eowyn entrusting him to her first kiss, Legolas’ heart was too precious of a gift to give away so easily.

He reached his door and turned the knob, only to find the servant, Audwyn, in his quarters. She had just finished making his bed and was leaning forward, adjusting the pillows. She stood and eyed him from head to toe, “Your water has been drawn. Perhaps my lord would like help preparing for his bath?” she asked as she bit her bottom lip.

He felt his body respond immediately. Well, he thought to himself, he’d sworn not to involve his heart, but it did not mean other parts could not be involved. Along with the new dawn, a new chapter began for Legolas. Time to see if Théodred was right about all the women who swooned by his mere presence. He raised a brow, and gave Audwyn a devious smile, “I believe I will take you up on your offer.”

He could hear her release a breath she’d been holding in anticipation of his answer, and she seemed to relax, “Would my lord like me to assist with his bathing, or shall I help you undress too?”

Legolas walked towards her, and wrapped a hand around her waist. He pulled her to him so she could feel, as well as hear his answer, as he whispered in her ear, “First of all, you will refer to me by my name, and second, I would prefer you be there from beginning to satisfying end.” He took her hand and pulled her along with him as he entered the hallway. Then they walked hurriedly to the bathing room together, and disappeared into the steamy room, the door securely locked behind them. All of Legolas’ inhibitions were permanently swept aside and winter’s chill was forgotten for the moment.
- 17
- 18
- 19
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Last Wood Elf