1. A Beautiful Stranger
The prince of Mirkwood sat in a clearing, one he had been coming to since he came of age and stumbled upon it so many years ago. It was a beautiful, secluded place, surrounded thickly by trees so no curious eyes could see through it-not even sharp elven vision. The floor was of soft grass, littered with rocks that one could lean against or sit upon. A stream ran through the clearing, weaving and winding around trees and stones. It was a soothing place where Legolas could be alone, with no need to keep alert, no reason to have weapons with him. It was also a good area to help him think, which was what he was doing.
Legolas sighed. He was thinking, but about what wasn't exactly clear even to himself. His wandering thoughts returned often to the darkness that was descending upon his home, and many memories of how it used to be brought tears to his eyes. He thought of fair Imladris, how similar his Mirkwood used to be to the beautiful valley-city. But now... the elf prince picked up a stone and hurled it into the stream where it landed with a loud splash. Now a shadow falls over my land, as though it were being taken over by Sauron himself, Legolas thought bitterly. He sighed again and fell back, lying flat on the gentle floor and gazing up at the sky. The falling sun cast a warm golden glow that spilled into the clearing. The rays edged over to the stream, causing the water to look like liquid silver. After a few minutes, he sat up and turned his troubled gaze to the dancing stream.
So caught up in his thoughts was the prince that he started violently when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Shh... it's alright, calm down," an unfamiliar woman's voice whispered in his ear, the stranger's breath hot against his skin. Another hand appeared on his other shoulder, and they pushed him gently but firmly back against a lithe form. He tried to look behind him and identify the woman, but was brought up short by a warm mouth against his own. This action startled him so that for a moment he didn't move. But he could feel her waiting for a response, audacious in her search. And Legolas was surprised that he wanted to give it. Rather hesitantly, as though not believing this brazen stranger could possibly be real, he closed his eyes and reached behind him, putting a hand on her cheek. He could feel her relax, and he accepted her kiss more willingly when he realized that yes, this woman was real, and yes, she was really here with him. As a little test, he wrapped his arms around her, molding their bodies together to see what she would do. She jerked back from him and tensed, but not far enough that he could not still feel her. Her breath came heavily, as though she had not expected him to answer her. He did not risk opening his eyes for fear that this was just a dream, so instead he pulled her back to him to learn her by touch alone.
She was still as his mouth returned to hers, and he wondered if she thought he knew what he was doing. Wanting her to think this, he fell back on the ground, taking her with him. Once they hit, Legolas rolled over so that he was laying on top of her, holding her to him and pressing his lips to hers. Then, in an act of pure impulse, he slid them to her neck. Her own hands slid themselves into his hair, but he barely noticed. He could not breathe, his whole body was on fire from her closeness, and did not want to think about it but that he had just met her was unnerving. Instead, he concentrated on her, and moved to place a kiss on what he assumed was her shoulder. His eyes still closed, the elf allowed his hands to explore their own path. Every inch of her was soft, and she tasted of cinnamon, sweet and exotic.
Suddenly, he felt her hands gently prying themselves away from her. He tilted his head in confusion, hoping she would understand. Legolas couldn't have spoken if he wanted to, and he didn't. He was afraid that she would vanish on the wind if he did. He groped around to bring her back, for he felt both cold without her near him and as though the fire she had started would not end. He stilled when he felt her cheek press against his own, and she whispered in his ear, "You can open your eyes now."
At this he shook his head, not speaking, and sat up. He felt light- headed, and could still feel her pressed into him. her scent still lingered about him. He reached out, and when he did not feel her he let out a small cry. He almost sprang to his feet, but then her hands pressed down on his shoulders again. He relaxed against her, and she slid her hands down to his, taking them. He tilted his head back and found her mouth again. For a long while they just sat there like that. Then it was his turn to pull away, and he finally opened his eyes.
At the sight of her, he almost wanted to close his eyes and open them again- numerous times-to make sure, once more, that she actually existed. She was... beautiful, to say the least. Her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders and spilled down her back in a cascade of glossy tresses. Her lips, which he knew were soft, were curved into a smile that he could tell held mischief behind it. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and liquid-like. She gazed back at him, no shame nor fear in her face. She knew what she was doing, and she felt no dishonor. But that only made him want her more. She leaned forward and kissed him one last time for the night.
"I must go," she said softly, and he looked at her with sorrowful eyes. "But, why?" he asked her desperately. She shook her head. "Can you at least tell me your name?" She shook her head again. He began to protest once more, but she put a finger to his lips. "Shh," she whispered. He closed his eyes and bowed his head-when he looked up again, she was gone.
The prince of Mirkwood sat in a clearing, one he had been coming to since he came of age and stumbled upon it so many years ago. It was a beautiful, secluded place, surrounded thickly by trees so no curious eyes could see through it-not even sharp elven vision. The floor was of soft grass, littered with rocks that one could lean against or sit upon. A stream ran through the clearing, weaving and winding around trees and stones. It was a soothing place where Legolas could be alone, with no need to keep alert, no reason to have weapons with him. It was also a good area to help him think, which was what he was doing.
Legolas sighed. He was thinking, but about what wasn't exactly clear even to himself. His wandering thoughts returned often to the darkness that was descending upon his home, and many memories of how it used to be brought tears to his eyes. He thought of fair Imladris, how similar his Mirkwood used to be to the beautiful valley-city. But now... the elf prince picked up a stone and hurled it into the stream where it landed with a loud splash. Now a shadow falls over my land, as though it were being taken over by Sauron himself, Legolas thought bitterly. He sighed again and fell back, lying flat on the gentle floor and gazing up at the sky. The falling sun cast a warm golden glow that spilled into the clearing. The rays edged over to the stream, causing the water to look like liquid silver. After a few minutes, he sat up and turned his troubled gaze to the dancing stream.
So caught up in his thoughts was the prince that he started violently when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Shh... it's alright, calm down," an unfamiliar woman's voice whispered in his ear, the stranger's breath hot against his skin. Another hand appeared on his other shoulder, and they pushed him gently but firmly back against a lithe form. He tried to look behind him and identify the woman, but was brought up short by a warm mouth against his own. This action startled him so that for a moment he didn't move. But he could feel her waiting for a response, audacious in her search. And Legolas was surprised that he wanted to give it. Rather hesitantly, as though not believing this brazen stranger could possibly be real, he closed his eyes and reached behind him, putting a hand on her cheek. He could feel her relax, and he accepted her kiss more willingly when he realized that yes, this woman was real, and yes, she was really here with him. As a little test, he wrapped his arms around her, molding their bodies together to see what she would do. She jerked back from him and tensed, but not far enough that he could not still feel her. Her breath came heavily, as though she had not expected him to answer her. He did not risk opening his eyes for fear that this was just a dream, so instead he pulled her back to him to learn her by touch alone.
She was still as his mouth returned to hers, and he wondered if she thought he knew what he was doing. Wanting her to think this, he fell back on the ground, taking her with him. Once they hit, Legolas rolled over so that he was laying on top of her, holding her to him and pressing his lips to hers. Then, in an act of pure impulse, he slid them to her neck. Her own hands slid themselves into his hair, but he barely noticed. He could not breathe, his whole body was on fire from her closeness, and did not want to think about it but that he had just met her was unnerving. Instead, he concentrated on her, and moved to place a kiss on what he assumed was her shoulder. His eyes still closed, the elf allowed his hands to explore their own path. Every inch of her was soft, and she tasted of cinnamon, sweet and exotic.
Suddenly, he felt her hands gently prying themselves away from her. He tilted his head in confusion, hoping she would understand. Legolas couldn't have spoken if he wanted to, and he didn't. He was afraid that she would vanish on the wind if he did. He groped around to bring her back, for he felt both cold without her near him and as though the fire she had started would not end. He stilled when he felt her cheek press against his own, and she whispered in his ear, "You can open your eyes now."
At this he shook his head, not speaking, and sat up. He felt light- headed, and could still feel her pressed into him. her scent still lingered about him. He reached out, and when he did not feel her he let out a small cry. He almost sprang to his feet, but then her hands pressed down on his shoulders again. He relaxed against her, and she slid her hands down to his, taking them. He tilted his head back and found her mouth again. For a long while they just sat there like that. Then it was his turn to pull away, and he finally opened his eyes.
At the sight of her, he almost wanted to close his eyes and open them again- numerous times-to make sure, once more, that she actually existed. She was... beautiful, to say the least. Her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders and spilled down her back in a cascade of glossy tresses. Her lips, which he knew were soft, were curved into a smile that he could tell held mischief behind it. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and liquid-like. She gazed back at him, no shame nor fear in her face. She knew what she was doing, and she felt no dishonor. But that only made him want her more. She leaned forward and kissed him one last time for the night.
"I must go," she said softly, and he looked at her with sorrowful eyes. "But, why?" he asked her desperately. She shook her head. "Can you at least tell me your name?" She shook her head again. He began to protest once more, but she put a finger to his lips. "Shh," she whispered. He closed his eyes and bowed his head-when he looked up again, she was gone.