A/N: Legolas' POV, and my attempt at slightly more intimate matters. Ahem. Nothing graphic though. Part of the Whispers of Leaves, The Care of Trees. Oh, and Legolas' age is never really revealed in the book although there are hints of him being around 500 years old...which to me isn't that old for an immortal. Keep that in mind.
Warnings: R, for sexual situations but there's nothing terribly graphic or explicit in it.
Oak Trees
There is a simple sweetness in the air as we travel down the river towards a goal that none of the fellowship is ready to achieve. The quiet river almost hums as it flows beneath the boats, like a nurturing mother guiding her young. And yet, the air is fouled by a threat tainting the security we still retain from Galadriel's wood. It makes me anxious. It blackened the peace with a growing sense of doom.
However, it was not hard to forget as Gimli and I talked of things, both past and present. Tales of my childhood made him laugh, as I was a mischievous lad and a favorite of my elders. I think the wonder of the Wood made us both nostalgic for our homes, often times losing the both of us to silent thoughts of our past. In those quiet moments, I was regaled with tales of dwarf lords and ladies, hidden worlds deep within mined chasms, and adventures that are only rivaled by stories of the elves.
It was one of the many nights we spent along the river, laying beneath the oaks that still bore their leaves despite the myriad of colors that they flashed and waved to the wind. Aragon had claimed the night's watch, saying that he could not sleep. Ever since the absence of the black riders he had been edgy, as if he preferred a tangible enemy to the ones that lurked in the back of our minds. Even the hobbits became restless, and the indomitable Samwise showed signs of unease.
Sleep has never been a necessity for me, so when we all retired to our bedrolls I found my eyes wandering. The hobbits were clustered together, the young Sam throwing a protective arm around his master, ever watchful even in sleep. Haunted even in his dreams, the heir of the Steward of Gondor writhed, tangled among his blankets like he was trapped beyond any saving. It was the figure of Gimli that I found myself watching; the deep breathing of his chest, the inhalation of cold fall air and the soft puff of breath as it curled around his face.
Providence, or perhaps something sweeter had placed him beside me. I could see the deep lines in his face that grew as he chuckled in his sleep. My hand was a hairs-breadth from his lips when I realized what I was doing. I could hear my father's voice in my head, trembling with rage as I even contemplated the unthinkable with the enemy of our....his people.
Not even the threat of death that had been looming in my heart and the resulting yearning for life, could spur my hand to move any further. Leather rustled in the night, and I looked up to see Aragon staring at me. For once, I couldn't read his thoughts but I could feel mine as the guilt of forcing my touch upon one who had neither asked for it nor wanted it became bitterly strong. I didn't stay to listen, and ducked into the forest, taking solace in the mass of trees surrounding me. There is a simplicity to trees. Their lives are slow, and war like the good are mere phases in it's entirety. Despite the many layers, there are no secrets when they whisper to each other.
"Could you not sleep, friend elf?"
I did not turn to reply, facing him would be to much. "No, I am far from slumber tonight."
"As have I. There is something in the air that beckons to the living and I could not bear to sleep."
Years of patience could not stop blood rushing to my cheeks, he knew of my indiscretion. "My apologies Gimli. Rest assured I would not have molested you."
Once more that night, his face creased with a smile as he knelt beside me. One callused thumb caressed my heated cheek. "I forget that you are still young among your people. I thought my hints would have been enough to spur you into action." His finger roughly grazed my lip, stopping any protests that I was not a child. "I wonder what could motivate you to do something?"
Suddenly, that darkness that had eaten away, sparking a flame of fear swept above and beyond any and all of the voices in my head until I heard just one. Elves are not like the gods in their mortality, we have death among our kind. It is not a death by old age, but one of violence, where the soul is torn from it's home by a bloody sword or an arrow. I did not want to live another night without feeling what it was like within his arms.
"Kiss me."
I cannot tell you who said the words, but an instant later I was tasting his lips. Somehow they were coarse and soft, sweet and salty, and utterly desirably. My fingers tangled themselves in his beard, running the amber strands between my hands.
Laughter rumbled in his chest, vibrating against my own heart and I paused to look at him curiously. "What amuses you so?"
"If I had known that two words would have motivated you so, I would have spoken them sooner." His black eyes glittered. "Although perhaps this discovery is better now than possibly never. The patience of dwarves are..."
Whether it was the impetuosity of my 'youth' or not, I silenced his monologue with a firm kiss, fumbling with his ties only to find a layer of chain mail beneath his tunic. Groaning in frustration, I struggled to get it off him only to have the sharp scent of metal flood my nose. With a grin he pulled off the metal and his leather undershirt to reveal his massive chest.
I paused to study the image, tracing my finger where my eye lingered since it was an experience I doubt any of my people had encountered. Relishing the moment, I watched the muscles flex under my fingertips, creating little tracks in the dense hair curling on his chest. Looking at him mischievously, my tongue flicked across his small red buds making him shudder.
"Elf." The dwarf pulled me forward. "You have far too many clothes on."
Swift and sure hands relieved my clothing of their home, to be piled haphazardly some feet away. To think that such a creature is deemed filthy and disgusting by my people. How could hands like his be seen as anything but creations of something wholly good? Muddy creatures indeed, Father if you could only see.
Decades into the future I will not be able to account for this night accurately. Pleasure, pain, sweetness, bitterness, fear and indescribable joy all mingle into a moment of clarity that explodes as we clutch each other in a frenzy of passion, lust and love. To this day I have a fondness for oak trees that I have for none other.
We lay in a nest of crushed, dead leaves and a pang of guilt once more threaded its way across my stomach. To avoid his eyes, I wove a crown of deep red leaves, braiding the stems until it formed a circlet. I dropped it on his head with a smile. Neither of us made promises, but the circlet was a simple gesture of love. An elf wishing to declare his or her life to another would offer it to their beloved.
He drew me near, brushing a stray lock out of my eyes. "What is it, Legolas? Regrets already?"
"Gimli, son of Gloin, I swear that no regrets linger. It's just," I gestured to the surrounding forest. "I did not picture our joining in a place such as this. You deserve the great beauty of the Lorien or Rivendell."
"What greater beauty is there than this, lying with you under your trees on my earth? It has no rival."
"Mayhap there is one."
His smile matches mine as we once more taste of each other. The world of Middle Earth trembles as it threatens to fall under a darkness that bleeds into the waking mind, and yet for the time being, there is no fear here.
-fin-
A/N: I'm tempted to continue this...let me know what you think. Reviews
are loved and craved.