A Hint of Dawn

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. All characters from the LOTR books or any other of Tolkien's works belong to him.

Also, this story is rated T for occasional strong language and mature themes. I am not fully sure if it is the right rating, so be warned.

This story is going to go by a hybrid of book–Tolkien lore, movie-lore and my own ideas. For the purpose of this story, some Tolkien-lore is overlooked, like the fact that elven lovemaking means marriage, wherever and whenever it happens, and other elves can immediately tell the elf is married. Seeing as you probably read the summary before reading this, I'm sure you understand why. Let us hope Tolkien will forgive me.

That said, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!

Prologue: Chance meetings

Amariel sighed quietly, readjusting the strap on her shoulders as she moved through the forest. It was eerily quiet, yet she had grown used to this by now. It was always quiet in the forest these days, quiet and dark. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of leaves above, or snap of broken twigs in the distance. Usually the latter sound sent her skittering up a tree, fearful of whatever might meet her. It had in actuality happened now, but a minute passed, but she soon found there was no danger. Only a lone deer grazing in the distance. Even so, her abrupt movements had caused her satchel to move the other way, making it's strap on her shoulder glide from the comfortable crevice it had found. Now it simply would not remain in place.

With a quiet huff of irritation, Amariel pulled the strap up her shoulder once more in a jerked move, causing the bottles inside it to clank against each other. She froze as the sound seemed to echo in the silent forest, then felt a twinge of guilt.

The sound of the contents within had reminded her of why she was here, of her own cowardice. She wondered if perhaps she should go back, return to her family who most surely would notice her absence soon, if they had not already. But then, she didn't want to. She had gone for a reason, seeking the reprieve of the forest. One glance around made her almost want to laugh at that thought however.

Mirkwood, a reprieve? The forest was dark and dank, infested with spiders and poisoned by evil. In truth, it was quite the wonder that she even dared go out here alone, particularly considering her reason for leaving the palace in the first place – fear. She should fear the forest more, and yet here she was. What was it Legolas had said? "You let petty fears overrule the real dangers you face.". Perhaps he had been right in the end. After all, here she was in Mirkwood, all alone, fleeing a celebration. The celebration of her own mother, no less.

A deep sigh escaped her lips at that. Her mother. Legawen – green maiden. It was such a harmless name, one that did not promise danger of any kind. And yet if one only judged by the name, one would not be ready for the personage that carried it.

For her mother had been a leader, an unofficial queen of the silvan people. She had been beautiful and talented, quick in words as she was in arms, brave in the face of danger. In short everything Amariel longed to be. And yet, had she succeeded at all?

Amariel was shy, unsure of what to do or say when faced with opposition. The only weapon she could use well was the bow and arrow, for she could never meet an enemy face to face. And as for talents? She had grown up in the shadow of her family. In the shadow of her father, a strong unwavering leader of the people. In the shadow of her mother fair and beloved lady of the silvans. And even in the shadow of her two brothers, Aglar, strong like his father, skilled with words like his mother, and Legolas, kind and brave, a born fighter of and for the people.

Compared to them, she had no talents, no particular skills. All she had learned to do was hide. To move swiftly and silently from any scary situation, be it danger in the forest, or simply prying questions or disapproving stares. She had even learned to escape the palace altogether on days when dire need arose. That is my skill, she thought. The skill of a weakling.

This day was one of the days she had use for her "talent". It had been the anniversairy of her mother, and they had held a banquet in her honour. Sindar and silvans alike had arrived from all over the forest, to pay homage to the queen they had loved so dearly, and speak with the royal family, offering their condolences as was custom. She had hated standing there, having so many look up at her, having so many speak with her. It was not that they were cruel, or even unkind. No, in fact it was the opposite. They were all kind and caring, and when they looked at her she saw love in their eyes, like they had for the rest of the royal family. But with her it always felt different, for the love was not aimed at her. When they looked at her, they saw only her appearance, and her looks which she inherited from her mother. They loved her for that memory, not for her. How many times had she been congratulated on her countenance, told that she carried on her mother's legacy? She did not want anyone to misunderstand. She loved her mother, and she was thankful that she inherited her likeness. It was a compliment after all. And yet, when she was reminded of it, it still felt wrong.

The truth was, she did not carry on her mother's legacy, or even her father's. Her brothers did, like she never could. So why then, had she drawn the longest straw at their births? Why had she inherited the beauty of her mother when she was least deserving of it? And particularly when she thought about what she had done, or failed to do. It seemed like mockery to her that Iluvatar had bestowed upon her her mothers likeness when she would one day be partly to blame for her demise.

And so the undeserved compliments had become more than she could handle. As soon as the main banquet ended and the guests moved to the hall of trees for socialization, she retired quietly and snuck out of the palace.

For a moment she wondered what her family would say, or in particular, her brother, Legolas. He was the one that always found her, searching with his patrol. Perhaps he would bring up their old joke, the one that he used whenever he found her wandering around in the wilds after a convenient flight. But then, maybe he wouldn't. This time she doubted he would, not with extra weight in her bag. The weight of dorwinion, the finest wine on Arda. Atleast it was according to her people. She wouldn't know what others thought. She'd never been outside of Mirkwood, nor met any foreigner except for maybe one or two human merchants of Laketown. No foreigner other than… those men.

She drew her cloak closer about her at the memory, tendrils of fear snaking up her back despite knowing none of them lived today. Her father had never introduced her to anyone outside of the races she belonged to by heritage. To a certain extent, she did not mind. She had only seen the merchants of Laketown at a distance when she was but an elfling, and it had been by mistake. Perhaps not on her part, for Amariel had fully intended to see these people she kept hearing of, but it was not intended by her father. She understood why now, her memory of her last encounter with that foul race all too clear in her mind. Today she only wondered why they had not lectured her harder for such utter folly and recklessness. Either way it was a major reason to why she had not chafed overly at her father's overprotectiveness - she had no desire to know any more of the human race, and the wanderlust of her younger years had been quickly subdued when she'd heard they had all but taken over the world, with only a few exceptions.

But that still left the other elven races unknown to her. She had met none other than the mix of races Mirkwood provided, which was sindar, silvans, and avari who finally moved west. But they were all similar in coloring, though the avari could often have darker tones of skin, their hair was always in tones ranging from brown, to red to blonde, eyes always green, blue, or hazel.

The thought made her want to sigh. Beauty and outer appearance was such a shallow thing, she reminded herself, and yet it chafed at her to know she had never even seen an elf with silver or black hair, even though she'd heard they were a common colors outside of Mirkwood. She wondered how it would look for a moment, and whether the "black haired" elves truly had black hair, or if their hair was simply dark brown and might sometimes look black. When that thought truly registered, Amariel shook her head in exasperation, and tried to push it aside.

This was a foolish thing to be thinking of, for she really needed to be concentrating on the forest, watching out for any spiders or other potential dangers. She knew where she was headed it was safe, as she had gotten an overview of patrolling plans and had chosen that particular clearing since none went there this week, yet it was pretty surrounded by patrols and thus protected. However, the journey there was not as safe. As if to prove her thoughts, something snapped in the woods and Amariel stopped and twisted immediately, aiming her bow in the general direction of the sound. She remained in that position for a while, completely silent and listening.

AHoD

AHoD

With a heave, Elladan stuck his sword in the heart of an orc. Then he whirled, pulling it out to parry another orc that he heard coming from behind. Around him swords clashed and arrows whined as they hit their targets. It was a hard fight. When he disposed of his orc, Elladan was free for a moment and looked around. The battlefield was bloody, yet only orcs were lying dead on the ground. That was because this was their ambush, not one of the orcs. They had tracked them for a long time, down from the high pass and all the way to the borders of Mirkwood. Here, they had finally ambushed them using the cover of the trees to their advantage. Elladan smiled grimly as another orc fell to an elven sword. They had finally gotten what they deserved. He never repented killing orcs; foul beings they were. Then his mind turned to his twin. Usually they fought together, but last he'd seen him, he had been fighting two orcs and unable to stay close.

He spotted Elrohir a moment later, fending off a warg. The rider was dead, hanging of it's saddle. Behind him, another orc was groaning and getting to his feet. With a cry, Elladan ran for his brother, knocking one orc over the head with the hilt of his sword as he passed. When it fell he saw his second in command, Sadron, looking at him, startled.

"I had that one," he growled and raised his sword to finish the job.

"I know," Elladan said, just as he reached his brother. Elrohir only spared him a quick glance.

"Behind you."

Elladan twisted and brought his sword up, just in time to stop the swipe of a warg rider. He cursed, glancing around. The orcs he had originally come for were gone, but this warg and rider would provide more than enough distraction. The warg snapped at him and Elladan jumped back skillfully, flexing his shoulder a little to relieve tension from having held his sword that high. When the orc was on its warg it was in a position of strength and the downward swipes were always much harder to intercept. He would have to get the thing down, then.

He jumped to the side again as the warg lunged at him, then rolled when the orc brought his sword down once more, going below his reach. He came up on his knees next to the warg, and drove his sword into it's side, piercing the orcs foot on the way in. It roared and swung again, and Elladan just managed to draw the sword out and roll away.

"Tonight I will feast on your flesh," the orc threatened but Elladan gave him no chance to continue, lunging at it once more. The next moments passed by very quickly. It seemed one moment he was fighting the orc, getting his foot in the warg's harness to get the traction he needed to push his sword into it's rider. The next the orc fell and he was alone, hanging over the back of the warg. He tried to use his sword again, but the warg jumped and started running and he gritted his teeth. He realized he was stuck, his foot caught on the inside of the harness. Somehow managing to get his sword back in it's scabbard, he leaned down for a knife, when he realized – he had none. He had thrown it to aid one of his fellow patrol members.

All he could do was hold on helplessly as the warg ran. Atleast he had stabbed the thing. It should slow down from bloodloss sooner or later.

Suddenly Elladan spotted his pack. They were heading straight for it, and he tried to focus on bag, but it was hard as the wargs movements were uneven, the ground coming close and far at sudden intervals as it ran and leaped. Then he was above his pack and he dropped, grabbing it with one hand as the other held on. At that moment everything seemed to go wrong. The warg leaped suddenly, twisting and kicking off a nearby tree. The movement tore Elladan's hand from the harness and threw him in into the side of the warg.

Suddenly he was slammed into the ground, before he was airborne once more. Then he hit it again, and he cried out as he was pulled helplessly straight over some roots. He turned his pack quickly, and hooked it around his shoulders. How he did it, he was not sure, but it finally provided him some relief. The pack took the hits to the ground and was scraped as the warg ran. They had left the battlefield by now Elladan noticed with rising dismay. The trees were getting darker and darker as he was pulled deeper into Mirkwood. Internally, Elladan was cursing every chance and stupid action he himself had made to end up in such a dangerous situation. Mirkwood was a perilous place, and he was being pulled further and further in, all alone.

AHoD

AHoD

The sounds she'd heard grew closer, and Amariel jumped into a tree nimbly, pulling her bow back and aiming again. It sounded like something on four legs crashing through the undergrowth, but there was something else to the sound too. Something else was there, maybe an unusual appendage of some sort, yet it sounded big. An orc, she thought and her bow immediately started shaking. Or rather, shook more than it already did. She scowled for a moment at her hands. She knew she should not have drunk that last glass of wine, but the temptation had been too great. Now she was paying for it with her aim.

If it was something too dangerous, she might just let it pass, she decided. Most likely whatever it was would not notice her, and hit some patrol further in that would take care of it. She felt ashamed at her own cowardice though. Who knew what state that patrol would be in? She should stop the beast… if only she could.

Then it crashed through the foliage. A warg, with no rider. Her arrow hit high on the shoulder and it went down unceremoniously, landing on it's side and skidding a couple of feet. It was dragging something by the harness she noticed, as she climbed down carefully to look closer. The warg was still snarling and heaving for breath, snapping half heartedly at her. A bad shot, she decided. It had hit it's shoulder instead of forehead where it was supposed to. She studied the creature for a moment from afar, then felt a surge of relief. It was paralyzed. So the shot was a lucky one in the end, to have hit the spine. That would kill it after a while by blood loss, or if not then starvation. But the warg should get a quick, clean, death.

She unsheathed one of her twin knives, which she always brought with her, and drove it through the warg's throat. It gave a last snarl, then shuddered and fell still.

Then she looked to the thing it had been pulling. It was lying halfway underneath the warg, completely still and quiet. Amariel moved slowly in a half-crouch around the warg for a better look. Then instinct had her leap back, taken completly by surprise.

A black haired elf lay before her, a lone noldor in the middle of Mirkwood. After a moment, Amariel moved forward again and came to a stop before the elf.

He was passed out, his hair slipping out of a single messy braid to fall in his eyes while his hands lay limply at his side. She looked to the warg lying on top of him then, and braced herself against a nearby tree. Then she pushed with all her strength. It was hard, long labor and it gave her time to consider how and why he might have come into their forest unnanounced and unwelcomed. She did not like any of the possibilities that came to mind, and suddenly she was glad he was passed out. Even in her forest, a noldor might prove a dangerous adversairy.

Moments later she berated herself. She had promised herself long ago not to judge an entire elven-race by rumours and assumptions alone. She already thought the silvans, sindar and even avari fools for doing it to one another, with their constant stereotyping and foolish assumptions. Her mother was mixed silvan and avari, while her father was a pure sindar. She knew well that the stereotypes were not fully true. And then, she had heard some good things about the noldor. Elrond was supposedly very wise and respected as a healer, even amongst the Mirkwood elves. He would have no reason to suddenly act agressive towards the elves of Mirkwood after centuries of silence, and from the stories it did not seem in his nature to lash out unnecessarily. She would take that as enough not to brand this noldo as an enemy… yet.

The warg finally rolled away, and Amariel studied the ellon underneath. He was tall and strong, with broader shoulders than she had ever seen in an elf. She thought perhaps it was a noldor trait, as she bent down carefully, keeping an eye on his hands. They did not move.

Carefully, she cupped his cheek, turning his face up, and pushed away his hair to reveal a face that seemed right out of the legendary tales of old, both well defined and regal, dark hair and eyebrows creating starch contrasts on nearly luminescent skin. Even so, there was something slightly earthy about him, something rugged in the hard lines of his jaw, the thick line of his eyebrows.

She tapped his cheek, frowning down at him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, tapping harder when there was no response. "Noldo, can you hear me?" He still did not move. Then she touched his eye, about to examine one pupil when suddenly he groaned, his entire body moving. Atleast he was not paralysed, Amariel thought.

"Shhh," she murmured her eyes flickering around the clearing surreptiosly. There was a quiet skitter of leaves as animals moved in the trees overhead, and she relaxed minutely. No spiders. "Don't move. I'm not sure of your injuries yet." At her voice those dark eyebrows knitted, and his eyes opened. Amariel stilled completely as he looked at her. His eyes were grey… nay, silver, a clear colour that reminded her of a midnight pool, captivating and deep. She could almost see thoughts deep within, as their gazes met and caught, the silver of his eyes flickering as his eyes moved over her, then quickly to their surroundings before landing on her once more.

Finally the noldo squeezed his eyes shut with the faintest shake of his head. "I am dreaming." He spoke in sindarin, with a strange accent she'd never heard before, but she understood him well.

"What?" he opened his eyes again, and again she saw those silver pools.

"You're not real. I am dreaming." When she frowned in confusion he smiled, his lips moving up a fraction on one side. "Don't worry." He said, moving his shoulders. "It is not a bad dream." Then he groaned in pain. "Except for that. Where am I?"

"Mirkwood," she said quietly, glancing around. She should get the noldo to a safer place at the very least. They were exposed here. He nodded, and tried to sit up. Amariel supported him carefully, helping him lean against a tree.

"Are you okay?" He nodded again, and sighed. Amariel collected some herbs from her pack.

"Here," she murmured. "Eat these."

He accepted the herbs with her water pouch, and chewed them before chasing it with water, watching her thoughtfully all along. Finally he leaned forward, getting to his feet. Amariel made sure to help him, but it was not much necessary. He was taller than her, which did surprise her. Royalty were usually taller than the rest, so she and her family were amongst the tallest in their realm. Were noldo in general taller than them? She had a hard time believing that.

The ellon smiled. "Thank you, my lady." He bowed a little to her, and Amariel almost wanted to blush again. Gallantry – well, it was fitting she supposed. He certainly did look highborn, and she might come across as that as well. "May I ask your name?"

At that she paused. Her father had given her careful instructions about this – never give your name to a stranger. She imagined he would add "Particularly not a noldo," if he had thought that situation would ever come up.

"May I ask yours?" she answered instead, smiling at him. There was a pause, then he grinned stepping closer to her. She discreetly took a step away.

"I asked first."

"Is the rule not ladies first?" He laughed softly.

"Sure. Ladies first." He looked at her expectantly, and she realized her own trap. She sighed.

"We should get out of here," she said softly, looking around the forest once more. "I know a safe place we can go." She paused, evaluating him. If he was an enemy, she was helpless. She could tell he knew how to fight, and the sword at his hip was not reassuring. She should have taken it from him, she realized. Then she scoffed at herself. He was an elf. She would take her chances. Either way he looked helpless himself. Other than the sword, he had next to nothing; his pack was torn to pieces, so if anything had survived he was lucky, and he stood lightly favouring his right side, a sure-fire sign she had learned to recognize when somebody was hurt, but hiding it.

He paused when she started moving away, looking back and hesitating. Then he followed her into the forest.

"What are you doing in the King's Wood?" Amariel asked after they'd walked for a while in silence.

"I wasn't in it," the noldo answered. "My patrol and I were pursuing some orcs. In the ensuing fight, I got stuck to a warg and was dragged in here."

"Are you sure you are feeling fine?" Amariel eyed him quizzically. Being dragged after a warg for that long, even with a pack as a buffer, could not have been good for him. He nodded.

"I feel fine. Really, it is quite the miracle." He glanced at her. "And what are you doing in the forest alone?" She took a long time before answering.

"Taking a break," she answered truthfully, feeling his gaze on her. At the prolonged silence she looked back at him, and something must have shown in her eyes for a sudden flash of understanding crossed his and his eyes darkened.

Her eyes were focused on the forest around her, but never once did she let him go out of her line of sight. He seemed to notice her wariness, as he soon started a new conversation, moving on to lighter and safer topics.

They discussed landscapes and animals, friends and perils, and petty fights of their childhood. She had been careful not to reveal her identity, but so did the noldor seem to be, so she supposed fair was fair. By the time they reached her safe spot, she felt more at ease. She pulled out the dorwinion as they sat, and he raised an eyebrow. He did not comment however, and she poured herself a little. She was being careful, she told herself when a spark of guilt ignited once more. She had kept an eye on him the whole trip. He seemed safe though, so she figured she could have a little drink. She had grown thirsty with their walking conversation. One sip could not hurt.

The next glass was not much either. Really, she reasoned, I have drunk far more before. She poured the noldo some as well after he made a comment on never having tasted the wine before. That would not do.

When her third glass was drunken, Amariel wasn't feeling much worried anymore. She knew three glasses certainly weren't enough to bring her over the edge, so she figured it must be her instincts telling her that he was not a dangerous elf. She did have a nagging feeling she was forgetting something however. Had she done something at the banquet before she left, that should have affected her drinking? Or perhaps on the way here… She frowned a little as she poured herself another glass. The elf, noldo, whoever he was, reaching out his too for another drink.

"This is good," he murmured from his perch next to her on the blanket. His blanket – it was a wonder it had survived the trip.

"Yea," Amariel grinned, and he grinned back.

Night was falling when they somehow got in a play fight. He had said something about stereotypes, and noldorin fighting. She had challenged him right then and there. Why, she did not know. Usually, she would rarely challenge anyone. Fighting often gave her terrible flashbacks, and brought back memories she'd rather forget. She only sparred with her brother, and only alone. This time, however, there were no moments of recollection. She'd been uneasy on her feet as they fought, and she suspected it might be the alcohol. Strange – she had not taken that much, had she? He did not seem to well on his feet either, but he disarmed her easily either way. Amariel sighed. That had not even been a real fight.

She flopped down on the blanket again, telling him to rematch when she felt better. He only laughed, and lied down next to her, after a while asking her to tell him of their stereotypes about the noldor. And so it was, that they both laid on the ground, side by side in the darkness. Above them a thick canopy of leaves almost blocked out all light, but through it she could see some stars, and a part of a crescent moon. The red light of the fire flickered around the clearing, dancing over the trees and the face of the noldor next to her.

"Well," Amariel murmured quietly, watching as a soft breeze moved the leaves far above them. "Where to begin? I have to warn you though, this is really bad." The noldo nodded.

"I am ready."

"Well, for starters you are all self-centred, arrogant and haughty." The noldo winced playfully. "You all act like the definition of the high and mighty, and we could never reach you on your elevated thrones, which, by the way, you made yourself. Noldo are untrustworthy, dangerous and backstabbing, so never leave one unattended. And as for lifestyle, you place far too much value on the arts and crafts of stone and metal, forgetting about the forest and life around you. And you spend ages writing unnecessary books about legends better transmitted in song!" She glanced indignantly at the noldor when she said the last sentence, fully agreeing with that one. He laughed.

"Ouch" he murmured, rolling over onto his side and looking at her.

"I told you they were bad," Amariel grinned, but he smiled one of his half smiles.

"So are ours. Would you like to hear them, my lady?" the last part was mocking and Amariel smirked, turning onto her side as well to better look at him.

"Oh, I'd love to, my lord."

"You Mirkwood elves are unsophisticated and rural. You follow an old way which we have long since evolved from, instead learning to do more, to be more. You are not as wise, and not as fair as we, and you are dangerous and prone to rash actions. You would kill others and place even elves in your dungeons if they displease you, which is considered low by the noldor. And your king is as stubborn as his people, clinging to old traditions and as rash as any of you. Therefore, you have no chance of development in your forest, and you would never become as wise as we, nor gain the beauty that comes with knowledge."

Amariel snorted, very unladylike.

"So basically we are ugly, rural people, wild and uncouth. We're bold but foolhardy and therefore dangerous to be around." The noldo nodded, but paused, studying her.

"That was a good summarizing I guess. But I am not sure I believe the stereotype anymore. You certainly do not fit that description."

"Careful," Amariel said sarcastically, raising the last bottle and shaking it lightly. It was empty. "Or you might end up sounding like you actually like a lowly silvan such as me."

"I do." Amariel stared at the noldo in surprise. In the firelight, his dark locks looked like liquid twilight. She laughed.

"A good one," she murmured. "The oh-so high noldo, interested in one of the ugly, wild…" The noldo straightened, and placing one hand on her other side he leaned over her, forcing her to roll onto her back. He frowned down at her.

"You are not ugly," he said slowly, clearly. "Nor do I find you wild. Not in a negative manner at least." His lips quirked, and Amariels mind reeled, lost in surprise and annoyingly slow.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked and his lips raised once more in that half-smile, his eyes hooded. He leaned closer.

"What do you think, my lady?" Coming from his lips the title sounded soft and nearly sensual, and it reached something deep within her. His gaze flickered across her face, and she realized her breath was coming in quick spurts and making her breast brush his with every breath. She forced her lips to move.

"My, a high and mighty noldo having base salacious thoughts," she murmured. "What would your people say?" He laughed, and she felt it reverberate through her. Then his eyes suddenly lowered.

"Does it matter?" he said quietly. "They cannot reach us now from their high and mighty thrones."

Amariel's breath caught at the implications of those words, even as she felt herself respond more violently than she'd ever felt before. She wanted to, valar she wanted to throw caution and thought to the winds, to be with this noldo who did not treat her as if she was made of porcelain, like the slightest word might wound her and the softest touch break her. To him she was not the shadow princess of Mirkwood, valued but pitied, seen but not heard, protected from the dangers of the outside world. To him she was simply an elleth of the woodland realm. Whole. This stranger, this noldo whom she was taught to be wary of, was in many ways more real than her life had been for centuries, a change to the monotony she'd settled into. She studied him. Black, she decided, so dark it seemed to absorb the firelight and night around them. There was not a hint of brown, nor the slightest tint of color to the deep silver regarding her. He was completely foreign. He was handsome.

He seemed to read her thoughts in her face, and his eyes darkened.

"My family…" She murmured, in a vain attempt to persuade herself. He held still, watching her intently. She shuddered, longing and conflict warring within her, and when she looked up she saw it reflected in his eyes. "They cannot reach us here," she whispered, tracing the slight crease on his brow. He closed his eyes, taking her hand in his. Then his eyes met hers once more.

"You should stop me," he murmured, and slowly he leaned closer until his nose barely brushed hers. "One word and I'll retreat."

She said nothing, and felt him pause, his lips barely brushing hers. "One word," he whispered the warmth of his breath tickling her lips. She felt another shiver race through her, and above her he stilled before beginning to retreat.

In his wake her lips felt cold, and suddenly her stupor was broken.

Reaching a hand around his neck, she pulled him closer, her lips meeting his fully. She felt a small gust of air leave him at her action, and his strong arm brush over her side as he repositioned himself to better kiss her. It was long and sweet and warm, before Amariel finally broke it, pulling away slightly to breathe. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her, face so close their foreheads were touching. Amariel laughed breathlessly.

"Now who is the bold one? And perhaps even foolhardy…" she murmured. For a moment an image of her father scowling flickered through her mind. How angry would he be if he heard of this? Then it immediately evaporated as he laughed, a deep rumble that shot through her body once more.

"Maybe the stereotypes fit us as well as you. We are both foolhardy. But right now," he moved one hand to her cheek, cupping it and then leaning down for another kiss. "I do not care."

His lips met hers once more, warm and soft, and suddenly something broke within her, and she let out a sound, wrapped her hands around him and deepening the kiss. Then suddenly what had begun as an innocent kiss turned more passionate, his lips more demanding. She became imminently aware of his hands at her sides as they wrapped around her back, pulling her closer. When he bit her lower lip lightly, she could not help the soft gasp that escaped. Then suddenly his tongue was in her mouth, peremptorily claiming it for his own. She tasted dorwinion in their kiss. One of his hands went underneath her lower back, and she felt her stomach pressed against his. She was flush against him, trapped between him and the cold blanket, her body aware of every part of him against her. And at that moment, she wanted him. She wanted to be loved by him like she had never wanted before. And so she did not resist when she felt his hands go further down her back. Instead she let one of her own wrap around his torso, revelling in the feel of his strong muscles, and pulling him even closer. And when his hand found the hem of her tunic, she did not stop him.