"And you have my bow
"And MY axe!"
They would not be leaving until sunrise. Legolas penned a short
note to his father.
There was so much he wanted to sayso much he wished he
had said before he left Mirkwood. But there was no time now to
find the right words. Instead, he rehearsed the bare factsthat
the One Ring had been brought to Rivendell; that it must be destroyed
in the fires of Mount Doom; that the Halfling, Frodo Baggins,
a cousin of Bilbo Baggins, had volunteered to take it; that Frodo
would, if he were to stand any chance of succeeding, require an
escort; that the remainder of the company consisted of Men, Halflings
andValar help thema Dwarf; and that his own
skill with the bow, and with the knives, would therefore be essential
to the success of the quest.
Forgive me, Ada, for accepting this task without consulting
you. But the Dark Lord poisons Mirkwood. This may be the way
to defeat him.
He sat for several long moments, deciding whether to add a final
sentence. Then he took up his pen again and wrote:
I love you, Ada.
Valandil will deliver this for me, he thought.
He entered the Hall of Fire, looking for his lieutenant.
The Mirkwood elf was standing close to the great fire, watching
a young elleth dance in its amber light. The tune was haunting
and her movements were slow, intricate, and perfectly graceful.
Legolas paused, admiring the lines of her slender body, the drape
of her silken gown over the slight swell of her hips...
She turned, their eyes met and lingered; she smiled.
And Legolas, suddenly feeling closely confined and in need of
meditation, entrusted his note to Valandil, left the Hall of Fire,
and went outside to walk beneath the trees.
"Good evening, your Highness." The dancer had sought
Legolas was a young elf, in the prime of his child-fathering
yearsstrong of body, fair of face, and royal of bloodand
he had never wanted for a willing mate. And it occurred to him
now that his feelings of frustration might just be cured by something
other than meditation.
He gave her his most winning smile. "Are you following
"No, my lord! How could you think it?" she replied,
but her eyes told him she lied.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing..." said the dancer, boldly. "Nothing
that you have not bestowed on many an elleth before me..."
"And what would that be? A kiss?"
"My lord!" She pretended to be shocked. "A smile."
"But a laugh," she said, "is even better."
"Are you sure there is nothing more I can offer?"
"You are the son of a king," she said, softly, and
her sudden loss of confidence was a clear admission of her hopes.
"And you are a very beautiful elleth..." He lifted
her chin. "But what is this doing here," he said, playfully,
"on your bosom?"
"What is it?" she asked, smiling. "A fallen leaf?"
"No..." Slowly, he slid the straps of her gown down
her arms, lowered the offending fabric, and exposed her pretty
breasts to his eager touch.
This was a game they had both playedwith other partnersmany
times before. He clasped her to his chest, his arms locked around
her waist. Her hands, forcing themselves between them, found his
lacings and pulled.
"Wait," he gasped.
He drew her out of sight, behind a mighty beech, and stood with
his back to its trunk. "Now."
She opened his leggings.
Butwhether because of the wine, or his earlier mood of
melancholy, he did not knowhe was no longer ready for her.
And he was uncomfortably aware that his penis was not impressive
at rest. He reached down and stroked it. "Here," he
said catching her hand and replacing his fingers with hers. "Make
She was certainly not impressed.
But she was a servant and she did as he asked, with her hand,
and then with her mouth. She was no innocent!
Legolas closed his eyes and sank back against the tree, automatically
resting his hands on his hips and tilting them upwards. Her touch
was light at firstpleasurable. Then, as his body began to
respond, and she became more committed to her task, her
fingers seem to reach inside him, drawing the blood from his belly
and his legs, and from up under his arms, filling him, making
him rise, making him grow...
"Oh, your Highness!"
He smiled. They were always surprised. "Come here."
She took his hand and he raised her to her feet.
There was a stone table, covered with fallen leaves, not three
yards from where they stood. Devouring her mouth, her neck, her
shoulders, he pushed her roughly over it; she pulled up her own
gown; and he thrust inside her.
He had never had a mate who moved like she was movingsometimes
meeting his thrusts, sometimes avoiding them, and, all the while,
kissing and biting and laughingand, though they drew it
out as best they could, it did not take long.
"Valar," he moaned, "I am going to fill
you." He bit down on her neck, trying to hold himself back,
but to no avail. "You are safe, little one," he whispered.
"My seed will not grow in your womb..."
As they walked back to the terrace, he drew one of his white
knives, cut a clasp from his tunic, and gave it to her as a keepsake.
For some reason he was sure that he would never lie with her