Hey, there everyone! This is a one-shot dedicated to WickedGreene13 for being the 200 th reviewer on my main story, The Beautifully Dark Sister. Please go check it out, but rest assured: knowledge from that story is not needed for this one. Thank you so much for the idea and I hope that you like your one-shot!

Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien and his universe, only the two characters this idea (which is also not mine) inspired.

Definitions of names - thanks to realelvish . net.

Lerien – of song

Gordir – soiled/dirty man

The woods were members of horrific stories, easily painting the intrigue of such rooted silence mixed with the anxious fear of what lay hidden in the next bush… on the next branch. In the dark, such stories acquired new bouts of fear, each crack of a twig sounding like Death's bell, ringing to bring you into his crooked hands.

But for those who had never known the outside, it was the trees that were safe. It was a cocoon, capable of shielding and hiding. Trees were ancient friends with wisdom greater even that some of the oldest of Elves. It was the unknown that was frightening. It was the emptiness of a field that gave her fear. The wind howled louder outside of their realm, screaming.

Here it was warm.

Her footsteps were gentle and light as she glided her way through the trees, a memorized path taking over her senses as her thoughts lingered on such fears.

No one knew where she had gone, and she liked it that way very much. She supposed they could track her if they were desperate, but no one would care if a young elleth who sang in the King's court had floated away with a melody on her lips.

Her feet were bare, mud from the last evening's rain digging under her toenails and rooting her to the world, much like the trees around her.

Lerien was young in spirit and in mind, and she knew that the others in Mirkwood looked down at her for her innocence. These were desperate times and she barely batted an eyelash at them. Surrounded by words of King Thranduil and his conviction on the safety of their world dispelled any of the true fears she may have had. It disturbed the others, but she did not care very much.

She paused for a moment in the forest, looking up at the canopy and noting that the sun would soon be setting and the dinner in the palace would be occurring soon. She would technically be needed to entertain Thranduil, but he had other musicians at his disposal and it had been far too long.

Hurrying along the invisible path now, she felt her heart quickening in anticipation. Fires were not to be had in Mirkwood, but little dwellings were perfectly alright to hide any form of light. There was wickedness here, or so she was told, and protecting oneself was paramount. It all seemed rather silly to her, but that was no matter.

Hoisting her pale golden shirts, she ran through the thickets, an excited smile painted over her features as she thought how each step brought her closer and closer…

So distracted Lerien was from everything but the path, she could do nothing but let loose a scream when a strong hand grabbed hold of her arm, yanking her painfully to a stop.

She struggled against the hold for a moment, ready to scream again when a second hand clamped itself over her thin lips and squelching any sound from erupting. "How many times, Lerien?" a voice bemoaned and she stiffened even more at the sound of her name falling from his lips. Her pale gray eyes swiveled to her attacker, seeing a gray so deep and dark that it appeared black in the dying light of the day. "I thought we had agreed that you would not be visiting at such hours anymore? It is not safe to be wandering the woods like this."

Lerien pushed away the hands and turned to face him properly. His brown hair was matted with uncleanliness, specks of forest weaving their way in and out of his tresses in the form of twigs and crushed leaves. Dirt was caked into his neck, almost making him seem as though he had a beard, like the Dwarves of Erebor. Even more dirt was buried under his fingernails and his clothes looked like they had not been washed in months.

"Can I not miss you?" she demanded moodily, sweeping a piece of white-blonde hair over her shoulder.

He exhaled loudly through his nose and tenderly reached for her once more, hand wrapping around the back of her neck and pulling her into him. He refrained from touching her hair, the lack of affection stinging her a little but she allowed him his idiosyncrasies. "Can you not miss me responsibly?" he murmured.

"There is nothing responsible about love," she retorted. "My feelings are not going to be constrained by your precious logic and reason. Love is love and nothing else should impinge upon it, Gordir."

"Then can you please stop frightening me with your unplanned escapades?" he pleaded, releasing her and taking her hand, leading her through the woods calmly and smoothly.

"My love, that would be to defy all definitions made for myself," she teased with a tinkling laugh. She noticed his lips turn upwards a little – or perhaps it was a pained grimace.

His home was her most favorite place in the world, even warmer and safer than the palace. Moreover, it was real and without all of the trinkets to impress others. Only Gordir lived here, and only she was privileged enough to know.

The great tree seemed to groan in greeting when they approached, hand-in-hand. She let go of Gordir and ran at the house, laughing merrily once she was inside. There was a fire already glimmering in the center, the magic of Radagast ensuring that it would never destroy the bark of the tree. How Gordir had managed to befriend the elusive Wizard, she would never know. She hoped to meet him one day.

Gordir entered the abode, tall and needing to hunch a little to make it through the doorframe. He leaned against it for a moment, and she maintained eye contact with him, both of them sharing soft smiles and tender gazes with the other. In his eyes, she felt so… everything. In the palace, people ignored her entirely unless she was singing and only then, their attention would be diverted to things considered more important than the entertainment.

To Thranduil, that was perhaps all that she was. She cared very much for her King and she was very grateful to him – he had given her a life many others coveted. But she was a music box to him, something that could be picked up, twisted for enjoyment and then set aside when bored. A life that had once held so much promise was now nothing but a broken dream that rested on a dusty shelf.

Gordir never looked at her that way though. With his rich iron eyes, she could feel her insides burning and her heart thrumming faster than a hummingbird's. He was named for his filth, for his disregard of normal Elven practices. He had spat on everything that Thranduil had had to offer and was therefore banished for speaking his mind. But she loved him still. He was her reason for smiling and laughing. He was the one who had given her a voice and he admired her like the oldest of songs, full of life.

"I missed you," he admitted and she smiled wider, happy to hear the sound of his stern voice conveying such affectionate feelings. Logic was his truest friend, but she loved it dearly when she was able to evoke the more loving aspects of his personality.

"You could use a bath," she remarked. "Your hair looks atrocious."

He arched an eyebrow playfully. "Care to join me?"

"With the amount of dirt on you, I would need a bath just from taking a bath with you," she disagreed. He chuckled a little. "I will be here when you are finished," she stated. "I will not be kissing you at all until you have taken care to remove that foul smell from you."

Gordir laughed a little more and then left through a hallway towards his bathing chambers.

She did not have to wait long – he was never very studious about his hygiene. He approached her with a soft smile, craning his neck a little to brush his nose against hers. Lerien felt her eyes close, a sigh falling from her lips before he kissed her sweetly. It was careful and warm, lips smoothening over hers in memorized patterns, pouring all of his love into that singular touch.

When he pulled away he showed her his brush, old-fashioned and very unclean. There were no questions as he sat down with his back to her, trusting her implicitly with his vulnerable position. She remembered a time where he refused to take his eyes away from her, anxious about any move she could make to hurt him… It had been the warrior in him, denying trust upon instinct, she assumed. Oh, how happy she was that he had come to let go of that fear around her.

Gracefully, she took a piece of his hair, relishing in the intimate contact for a moment. This was a privilege she thought that she would never have where he was concerned. Hair was more important than anything else, asides from virginity. It was unique to each Elf, every strand being commanded by the Valar and imbuing each Elf with love and strength. There was no greater gift than to allow another to tend to their own hair. The fact that Gordir had given this to her… he would never know how much she treasured it.

The brush went through his hair easily, smoothening the ruggedness she had met in the woods and catching any stray pieces of forest that he had missed in his hasty cleanse. Each piece made her scoff and shake her head, but she did not say anything. She merely continued brushing, feeling his hair get softer and softer from her touch.

Setting the brush aside at last, she began to braid his hair, deciding for a firm, strong one down the middle. He was silent during the entire ordeal, allowing her whatever desire she could possibly concoct. It was an intimate moment, and filled her with such peace and joy.

Once finished, she dropped her hands on his sturdy shoulders, his hands coming up to trap them there immediately and draw them closer around his neck. He lifted her hands to place firm kisses on the insides of her wrists and knuckles. "I never wash it when you leave," he murmured into her skin. "I wait until you are with me again so that you are the one to brush it and braid it."

"If your goal is to prove complete heartlessness to the world, this is not how you would achieve it, my darling," Lerien giggled. "You are quite the romantic."

"I'll blame you for it until the day I die," he retorted, bending his neck back to kiss her passionately against the lips. She felt herself melt into the kiss, wanting to freeze that moment for forever. She never wanted to leave him out here alone – Lerien craved only him in her life. She hated being a hired songbird, caged away in a palace and ordered to have a song. She wanted to fly and sing every song that popped into her head without fear of what others would think of it. She wanted Gordir and his smoldering gaze for the rest of her life and no one else. She didn't need anyone or anything else.

She pulled away and tickled his nose playfully with hers. "Maybe I'll stay then," she suggested. "To prevent your hair from ever reaching such an unkempt state, maybe I should never leave."

The iron in his eyes burned at the thought and she smirked. "Lerien…" he warned. This would not be the first time they had discussed this, but she was determined now to make it the last.

"Do not fret, my love," she said. "Today, I do not tease."

He smiled fuller than she could ever remember seeing before, flashing his perfectly white teeth. Suddenly, he was jumping up from the chair and hoisting her into the air and spinning her in maddening circles, all while she laughed hysterically. He set her down finally and pulled her in for another kiss, hands burying themselves in her hair and making her shiver at the intensity of the touch. Yes – she had made the right choice.

And there it is! I hope that you like it! I had this idea as soon as you sent me the theme of it, and I was so excited to do it! I know that the background and character building it kind of limited, but it is a one-shot after all. But let me know what you think, Wicked!

And for anyone who is curious/confused: Elven hair in my other story, The Beautifully Dark Sister, is an exceptionally revered part of Elven culture and it plays a big role in the story. Wicked had asked for a one-shot centered around the hair tradition, hence this little beauty being created. If you are at all curious about the other story, I urge you to take a look! :D

Love you all lots!

LM