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The Leaf on the Autumn Wind	By : Manelwen Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 995 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Leaf on the Autumn Wind
- 2-Merely Coincidence
- 1
- 2
A/N: Yes, this is a super-weird pairing, I hope you guys will marvel at my originality. J/K. That
was my egotistical muse possessing me. Please, feel free to say nice things and shower me with
good reviews *whaps muse* I mean, please R&RSVP!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own it, the great and brilliant mind of Tolkien does. Not me. I am not that
brilliant, or else I would have taken over the world with my brilliant plans that include Orlando
Bloom, Brad Pitt and a can of whipped cream! Whoot! *whaps muse until she lays in a bloody
heap*

A Leaf in the Cold Autumn Wind.
By: Manelwen the Great.
Email: One_simple_kiss@hotmail.com

Up high on the brow of the mountain, Gwahir nestled in his eerie and watched the comings and
goings of both humans and elves-even the halflings were blessed by his keen sight but uneventful
were their doings. Romance blossomed and died as the seasons of time changed, and every so
often, the lord of the winds would interfere, but loathe was he to intercept the doings of such
boring creatures. Would they know the wonders of the wind beneath his wings, the exultation when
he drifted higher and higher, only to tuck his wings and careen towards the earth.

On a day like that, a day where Gwahir was particularly restless, he spread his massive wings and
lifted himself out of his nest. Ignoring the calls of his brethren, he drifted towards the open plains
in search of game or at least something to distract his attention from his nest.

There his golden eyes fixed on a stallion galloping across the field. It was being followed by four
riders on the backs of black beasts, their hooves flashing as they churned the ground beneath them.
He watched as the white horse fell, its rider being thrown to the ground and the four circled their
prey. The rider was obviously unconscious, or perhaps dead but as he swooped in closer to
inspect the situation, he realized he was just knocked unconscious. His glorious golden mane gave
him away to Gwahir, who knew the sight of elves as if they too had wings. Mind, he did not feel
such affection as he did to his winged brothers, for many a-time was an elf seen shooting down the
aviators of the skies.

He was hesitant to help, and then stretched out his wings to find higher skies but the flash of a
sword made him stop. The four were planning on killing the elfling, that was for sure, but for what
reason did a man of to slay a defenceless elf. Crime! Murder! He thought and against his better
judgement, swooped down to intervene.

**

Legolas was caught unawares as he traversed the paths of Mirkwood, it was odd that someone
could catch him like that but his mind was occupied. It was four bandits that lurked beneath the
branches of a great, gnarled tree that blocked his road. They knew his worth; he was the Prince and
Heir of Mirkwood, the elvish realm. His father was said to have hoarded treasures that could sate
the greed of men, if that were indeed a possible task.

He broke from the group, galloping his horse hard across the plains but the beast stumbled and fell.
It broke its neck as it landed but was not so lucky and was thrown, smashing his head off a rock. In
that minute of respite, the bandits fell upon him and drew out their swords. He was haonsconscious
and did not realize that one by one the men had been lifted from their horses and dropped to the
ground, with holes in the stomachs.

Standing slowly, he wiped the blood from his mouth and looked up in time to see firm claws grasp
his shoulders. He screamed as he felt himself lifted into the air in a powerful gust of wind and as
the ground grew further and further from his boots, Legolas was less prone to struggling lest his
carrier fumble.

It was a half an hour of flying before he was dropped onto a small ledge. A majestic eagle settled
beside him, glowing golden eyes regarding him cautiously. "Who are you?" Asked the elf,
swallowing back his dizziness and the affects of his concussion.

The eagle tilted his head, ruffling the great crown of brown feathers before opening its beak to
speak, "I am Gwahir."

Legolas knew that name, for it littered the pages of stories. Fantastical tales told to young elflings
that the prince of Mirkwood was no less taught than any other child. "Lord of the Wind."

Bowing its beautiful head, it settled down and regarded the young prince carefully before
answering, "Aye, that is me. Known as many things, but Gwahir is what I liked to be called. And
you, elfling, what is your name?"

"Legolas Thranduilion, prince of Lasgalen." He bowed eloquently, "It is a pleasure to meet you,
lord."

"Gwahir will do, young prince." The eagle responded gruffly, ruffling its feathers against the chill
breeze.

Legolas shivered as the wind ripped through his light tunic, "As Legolas will do for me, Gwahir."

The eagle turned its head towards the large, vacant nest, "Go and sleep, there is a storm rising and
so I cannot deliver you to the halls of Mirkwood until it has passed."

Nodding reluctantly, Legolas climbed into the massive bundle of feather, tanned animal skins and
hay. It effectively blocked off the cold wind that whistled through the eerie, and when the elf was
warm enough he poked his head out to see the eagle was still perched on the edge of the mountain.
As the Lord had predicted, the pewter clouds spewed a furry of white snow across the passes of
the mountains. The wind gusted but miraculously, did not penetrate the eerie. He looked around the
niche in and took in the scratches on the walls, obviously the markings of Gwahir's hatchlings. The
floors were littered with tufts of fur, soft feathers and leaves and it acted like a carpet. In the
farthest corner, a smaller niche was made that held the telltale signs of a fire long gone out.

"If you wish, you may light the fire." Gwahir spoke suddenly, making the elf jump.

"I would like that very much." Legolas scampered out of the warm haven and to the fireplace. It
took only a few minutes before a fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace. "Why do you have a
fireplace, Gwahir?"

Gwahir peered at him with amber eyes, "Sometimes my children are born as walkers and must
gain their wings. They are much more vulnerable with their pink flesh, and so the fireplace keeps
them warm as much as their feathered sisters and brothers do."

"So they-you can become a walker like I am?"

The eagle shook its head, or what looked like shaking, "No, once they get their wings and feathers,
they may never loose them again. It is like you elves deciding whether to keep your immortality or
not. But I am the exception and may turn in and out, though I do not do it often."

Legolas was suddenly curious, but decided not to ask if he would change, "That is fascinating.
Why do you not wish to change and join us?"

"I would rather die than give up the feeling of the wind beneath my wings. If you were to have
wings, young Legolas, you too would feel the same." The eagle stood on its spindly legs, steely
talons clicking on the rock floor. He settled near the fire, beside Legolas and blocked out what
little wind managed to find its way into the eerie.

He contemplated the thought of having wings, of just spreading them and taking off to wherever he
felt he wanted to go. The idea was definitely attractive, but Legolas sighed sadly as he thought that
it would never be so. "You are lucky, Gwahir. Whilst you fly to where ever the wind takes you, I
am stuck in my father's dreary halls."

"And so, another reason I detest the thought of losing my wings."

The eagle nesting beside him was certainly impressive, but Legolas felt uncomfortable beneath the
gaze of those lidless golden eyes, "I think I will go back and sleep." he pointed to the nest and
slowly stood.

**

Gwahir was captured by the beauty of the elf as he slept. Such serenity had escaped him before,
but now he could only appreciate it as Legolas rolled over and in his sleep, pushed back locks of
golden hair that tickled his face. Pouting, rosy lips drew slightly apart in sleep and pale skin was
flushed with dreams at the eagle could barely comprehend.

Was it love the young elf dreamed of? Love had always been illusive to the majestic Lord, for the
basic instinct of an eagle had dulled his sensuality and need for love and companionship over
thousands of years. It had been almost three-thousand years since his life mate had been killed and
he had not taken a mate since. The need to reproduce was not as strong as it had been that long ago,
and so he did not look to have a mate, but silently, desperately, looked for a friend to console in.

Could this elf be the one? Could he possibly revive those long dead feelings inside of the Lord of
the Wind? A small stirring inside of Gwahir's mind tickled his senses and he realized that it was
hope that had stirred from its dormancy.

Suddenly, his home was a lot smaller than he thought it originally was. He remembered vaguely the
beautiful halls of his home before he retreated to his eagle form permanently. Was it possible that
his wings and feathers had become a mere prison to him?

He shifted his taloned feet causing a drift of snow to blow passed him and on the delicate elf.
Legolas groaned and snuggled deeper into the nest, shivering. Gwahir stood and on his clumsy feet
he walked to the nest and settled on its edge, wings out-stretched to protect the elf from the
onslaught of snowy gales.

**

Legolas slowly woke, pushing the hazy veil of the dreamworld back to look into the fierce face of
Gwahir. He was certainly a sight to behold, massive wings covering the majority of the large nest
and talons that were the length of his arm and as thick as his torso dug deep into pile of sticks.
Glossy brown feathers moved up and down as the eagle breathed deeply in his sleep.

He ran his hand along the glossy feathers, marvelling in the downy quality of it. The feathers of his
wings were as long as Legolas was tall, and tipped with a golden colour that could only be
rivalled by the colour of the eagle lord's eyes. "Beautiful." Whispered the elf in awe as he touched
the warm feathers of the eagle's breast.

Legolas blinked in surprise as he was met by those amber eyes. They were no longer guarded, but
still held cautious, as was befitting of the shrewd lord of the Wind. "I-I am sorry!" Stuttered the
elf, falling back into the bed of feathers and tanned hides.

"You did nothing wrong. No feathers were pulled, or even ruffled for that matter." It was a joke
that Gwahir was trying to make, but Legolas was so caught up in his own horror he did not pay
attention, "It was nothing, Legolas." He said, his voice holding a note of tenderness that cut through
the elf's dismay.

"Could you...could you change...for me?" His curiosity had overridden his manners.

Contemplating, the Eagle Lord glanced over his shoulder and tucked his wings around his body. "I
will do so, but you must vow never to tell a soul what you see."

Legolas nodded, unable to conjure the right words to say.

A piercing scream ripped through the Eagle as bones, muscle and organs shifted and shrunk. The
elf watched in disbelief as the eagle grew smaller, its body slimming and the glossy feathers
falling away. From beneath the feathery down of Gwahir's breast grew two arms that stretched as
his legs grew longer and the talons retracted. As the feathers fell away from his face, the skin grew
over his beak, that was already beginning to shrink. His wide golden eyes grew smaller, and some
small feathers remained to form his eyebrows.

Gwahir collapsed as the rest of his transformation finished, leaving him breathless. But when
finally the shifting and cracking bones stopped, he stood and smiled at the astonished elf.. He was
a hand taller than Legolas, with a mane of brown hair tipped in gold but two long brown feathers
curled from his temples down his back, the tips touching the small of his back. Golden eyes, the
same colour as they were before he changed. His face was the epitome of sensuality, as opposed to
his stoic eagle form. Lips that were crimson and full were pulled into a soft smile.

As he said he could never do, his wings still adorned his back. They were tucked tightly into his
back, the tips of his wings brushed the floor around him. Reaching out with strong, well-muscled
arms, Gwahir took the young elfling into his arms.

He marvelled in the touch of the golden haired elf. He had long forgotten how it was to be touched,
held and to touch as well. His lips sought out Legolas's own and drew him into a soft, yet
powerful kiss that left them both breathless. Breaking off the kiss, only because the need for air had
become almost overpowering, the gasped and looked deep into each other's eyes. "I have not done
this in thousands of years, Legolas."

It was as if the Elf took all control and urged the great lord down onto his soft bed. Showering his
soft skin with kisses, the ancient lord gasped as the fires of passion were painfully stoked.
Sweetly, ever so softly, the Lord was taught what he had forgot so long ago with the death of his
lover.

TBC?
Depends on the Reviews. ;)
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The Leaf on the Autumn Wind