A Ranger's Love
Notes and Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. As if Tolkien's family would frequent a place like this. -.- I have never bothered with romance before, but if you appreciate this, Nightless follows the same characters. My other stories actually involve conflict. This is the fourth incarnation of this piece, though only a few words have changed.
"Come," the Ranger said, dropping a finger across her waiting lips. He took her lightly by the hand, grasping it gently as if the cool digits might crumble beneath his touch.
Laughing, she followed him, swaying with his step as he led her through the clearing. Tufts of grass caught at the soft soles of her slippers, but he guided her past the brambles and fallen moss-covered trees, never letting so much as the ragged hem of her dress snare upon a twig. The sun shone yellow overhead, and she could feel it on her face, warming them both with the same kind glow.
He stopped and pulled her towards him, both hands clasped in his. She smiled broadly, innocent for once, and trusting. He grinned back, coarse features broken by the stubble on his chin.
"I think I love you," he confided, now that they were alone. He pushed dark hair behind her ears, separating locks with careful fingers. She never seemed to notice when the ashen tangles hung before her eyes. She sidled closer, nestling her head against his shoulder before she spoke. "A little further," he promised.
They sat beneath a bowing tree, the girl cradled against his arm. She flicked a willow wand occasionally, scratching faint symbols in a patch of drying earth or teasing his cheeks with the elastic bough. He stripped smooth the jointed ends, showering them both with its thin leaves. They talked for ages, lapsing into silence whenever it seemed right.
He was on top of her, gazing lovingly at the scars between her temples. She looked back, mayhap sadly, her gray eyes unable to find his own. Still she tried, and raised a hand to trace the lines that crossed his brown visage. The touch was comforting, and the sight of her pale skin inviting as the sleeve slipped away from a softened, milky arm.
She was blind. He loved her more than anything.
