DISCLAIMER: I'm sure you understand the drill by now. I own nothing but the characters you don't freakin' recognize.
SUMMARY: Legolas Greenleaf has found his love, his goddess, but on the eve of their departure to Mirkwood, her past discovers her in the form of an Angel. The lover scorned always returns.
Rating: M for violence/gore/sexual situations
A Brief Note: This story is a sequel to my first Tainted with Memories and Scars. I strongly suggest you read this, as you may get lost in this story otherwise.
What to Expect:
Violence and gore and sex.
Confusing plotlines and odd flashbacks.
Original characters of strange and frightening behaviors.
Legomance…Mary Sue…whatever you wish to call it.
No more notes from me, this is the only time I will ever address you the reader in my story. Except at the end, where I will publicly thank all reviewers. I hope none of you are too put off by this and I appreciate any suggestions or critic you plan to give.
Casus Belli – A Latin expression meaning the justification for acts war.
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Their bodies entwined, her legs tangled with his, and her body laid next to him. Pale skin almost glowed in the afternoon sun, setting her raven hair aflame in blue. Her lashes were not exception to this, and as Legolas Greenleaf stared at his lover's sleeping face, he could almost clearly imagine her as an Angel, stares lining the emerald irises. Part of him wished she would open her eyes, so he could be lost in that sea of green. The other part of him, the reasonable part, told him to wait and enjoy this peace for now. She needed rest. For many weeks, she did nothing but sleep, eat, and make love to him. When he confessed some confusion to her actions, she answered him simply:
"I can sleep with you here," she had mumbled into the bare skin of his chest, "and be undaunted by night terrors."
Occasionally, he asked her about these dreams, these "night terrors," as she called them. In response, she would only smile and direct his attention elsewhere, normally to the bed, where they would spend hours memorizing the curves of each other's bodies. The places that made each other moan and gasp were open territory and, in just a few weeks time, no longer a mystery. And each time before the anticipated connection, prior to the threat of climax, and during the art of foreplay, she told him a tale of a scar. So far, he estimated, he knew at least thirty of the hundreds etched into her back. The ink she had kept silent about. But today was the day, she promised him the night before.
She sighed in her sleep, and against his bare chest, her eyelids fluttered. Something in his stomach tightened, excited by even the simplest of movements from her. Patiently, breathlessly, he waited for her to wake. He studied her expression of utter peace before the smooth lids receded. Wordlessly, she began to kiss his torso, giggling girlishly as she heard him try and contain his gasps. She began to hum, and the buzzing of her lips against his abdomen felt almost too much to bear.
"Let me hear your voice," he encouraged her.
Trinity's lips pulled back into a complete smile, one of pure content.
She kissed his neck, singing softly under her breath she did so, "Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves – "
She worked her way down, inch by inch, until her eyes were level with his breast, the place where his heart thumped unsteadily.
"And the dreams of trees unfold."
Gently, she leaned in, biting his nipple just enough to make him groan.
"When Woodland halls are green and cool – "
Moving lower, she sucked tenderly at the sensitive place just above his navel.
"And the wind is in the west."
He tried not to shudder as he gripped her upper arms, leading her mouth to his. Playfully, she resisted his kiss, and instead moved her teeth and tongue to the tip of his ear.
"Come back to me."
His hands moved up her back, feeling the scars' texture and he struggled against the growing arousal.
"Come back to me," she whispered hotly in his ear.
She settled herself on his lap, running her fingers through his hair. Teasingly, her sweet mouth moved towards his, hesitating until he thought he would drown with his need for her.
"And say my land is best."
Her mouth claimed his in conclusion, and as their tongues battled for dominance, he found himself wondering how she did this almost every morning for the past five weeks. How did she entice him so quickly? How could the feel of her grinding her hips into his feel so right? Her hands began to move dangerously low, over his chest and stomach, closer and closer to the harden organ between his thighs. He bit down on her tongue lightly, and felt her tremble in his arms, a small reminder that this was a day for answers. Then, later, lovemaking.
He drew their mouths apart, though his hands refused to leave her body, "Remember what you promised, meleth."
His voice was a growl.
"I remember, Princeling."
Ceremoniously, she laid on her belly beside him, and he smoothed her long raven hair away. Legolas brushed the tips of his fingers over the ink, tracing the perfect shape of the wing by her right shoulder.
"Where did you get this?" he breathed, cerulean eyes mesmerized by the very sight.
Though he could not see it, he knew she smiled gravely.
"I told you of Thaniel," she began softly, "How he was an Angel, and how he mapped out eternity for us. After my death, I became one of them. I lived in the clouds, I had a lover, and I had wings."
He moved his sweet touch to the other wing.
"But I could not be holy…I could not be selfless and pure."
Dipping his head down, Legolas kissed the place between her shoulder blades. His hands moved over the skin, kneading.
"I killed another Angel."
The heated movement of his palms on her back halted and his breath caught.
"And for that I was exiled. Given a punishment worse than death, worse than simply ceasing to exist."
His mind whirled at the new fact.
"They made me immortal, and sent me on my merry way."
Frowning, he looked up to see her hands clutching the pillow, her knuckles white.
"They ripped my wings off my back with their bare hands."
With a creased brow, he touched the ink again. Sure enough, he could feel the crude rise in her skin underneath. The ink hid it well.
"When I was convicted of heresy, and sentenced to life in exile, they gave me this as a reminder."
His hand traveled down.
"These markings are the sign of the Fallen."
He walked his fingers along the length of her spine, "How is such a thing done?"
She did not answer at first, and when she finally did, her voice sounded strained.
"They drugged me. Tied me down."
Anger built up inside him.
"And then they took a needle and ink. Dipped the tip, put it in the fire…and burned this into my flesh."
He flinched against the white hot rage.
"Amarth faeg," he muttered under his breath, kissing the past wounds, the scars beneath the markings.
Abruptly, she turned over, and looked at him with hardened eyes. Before she could speak, he pressed him mouth to hers, sucking and biting at her upper lip. She moaned, her fingers curling in his hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. Valar, how he adored this creature, this beauty. He took pride in her every cry, when she gasped his name. And at her climax, she shrieked her profession of love before slipping back into her sleeping state.
Afterwards, he watched her, the slight sheen of sweat on her skin, the light of her face. Indulging himself with one last kiss, he pulled himself away.
OoOoOoOoOo
A nightmare stirred in Trinity's bones, making her toss in her sleep. The visions, the feelings gripped her, swallowed her. Even the soft voice of Evalgine in the back of her mind could not shake her. Flashes of pain, sorrow, blood, hate, love, revenges, were all too clear. As it neared its peak, she woke with a scream in her throat. Her eyes studied her surroundings, and it took her several moments to stop her spasms.
Valar, Trinitas, are you alright?
Yes.
Even her mind-speech sounded weak. Slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position, allowing the blanket to fall around her lap. Calm air blew across her bare skin, cooling her thoughts considerably. She glanced down at the empty bed and ran her fingers through her dark hair, thinking of her Elf. Thinking of Legolas' fine blond hair, his cerulean gaze, long fingers, and warrior's build. The strong chest, the taste of him on her tongue.
For the first time in many weeks, she left the warmth and protection of her bed. She planned to take a bath, sink herself into the balmy water, and forget everything, perhaps drown herself for awhile. She frowned suddenly; thinking of the panic Legolas might feel should he find her that way. Lying face down in the water, eyes open and unseeing, she could not do that to him, even if he did know her body would eventually revive. Trinity slipped on the robe, which her lover had thoughtfully placed over the chair next to the bed, and moved to the railing.
Her hands gripped the metal easily and, like a child, she leaned her full weight on it, watching the city of Gondor below her. A soft smile crossed her features as she thought of a distinct remembrance:
"Soon," Legolas had whispered in her ear, "we will depart for Mirkwood, and I will introduce you to my father."
She had been uneasy with the suggestion, "Do you think he will like me?"
"Meleth, none can resist you," he laughed.
Her smile faded as something caught her eye.
Evalgine retreated beyond recall, reinforcing their truce.
With shaking fingers, Trinity reached for the object wrapped around the railing. Even after she held the thing in her hand, she could not look at it.
Ridiculous, she scolded herself. She was well over a thousand years old, and afraid of a mere necklace?
Finger by finger, she opened her hand, and forced her eyes to stare at the silver chain in her palm. Worse yet, she studied the charm, the dove fashioned there, and the single emerald that marked its eye. As she gritted her teeth against the torrent of memories surrounding her, she understood one thing.
Thaniel knew where she was.
And soon he would come for her.
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Legolas stood outside the door, listening for a moment, from beyond the wood, beyond the noise of the city, he could hear her breathing. Carefully, he entered the room, being cautious to his surroundings. If she was asleep, he did not wish to wake her. But he found she was not. She was standing, staring out into the distance at the city. Something radiated off her, an emotion he was not entirely familiar with.
"Trinity?"
She was so far away, but there still. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. But still, he earned no real response.
"Meleth?" trepidation worked itself into his tone.
Her chest was rising and falling. She was breathing and yet dead to him. In her present state, he could not even feel the connection between their minds. He gripped both her arms and spun her around so she faced him. Though her eyes focused on his, he saw little within them.
"Trinity, sweetling, talk to me."
It had been at least a month since her last fit. Gandalf had suspected it was love that healed her, his love for her. Like a fool, Legolas had agreed, but now he saw. It would take more than lovemaking to heal whatever wounds she had sustained.
"I had a night terror."
Her voice startled him out of his thoughts.
He frowned, "How? When?"
"This morning, after you left."
She still had that fathomless expression, but at least she was talking now. He touched her cheek softly and, in response, she gripped the front of his tunic with one hand.
"Then I suppose I shall never leave your side again."
Trinity gave him a ghostly smile, with haunted eyes.
"I love you."
He smiled softly, leaning in to place a sweet kiss on her lips. "And I love you."
He duly noted that her left hand was formed into a tight fist. Hiding something.
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"What did you see in your night terror?"
What did you see, Trinity? What did you see?
"Things," she replied shortly, her jaw setting.
Immediately, she wished she had not said that, since he looked to her then with such pain in his gaze. Hesitantly, she touched his mouth with her right hand.
"I'm sorry, Legolas."
He kissed her fingers, "I know, love, I know."
She could feel the pressure of his hands on her hips, and for the second time that day, excitement stirred.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her quietly.
She smiled, biting her lip slightly so he understood the feeling without her having to verbalize it. He smirked slightly, and bent his head to suck tenderly at the arc of her collarbone. Trinity let forth a breathy moan, and gently moved her fingers over the tip of his ear. Her actions rewarded her with a gasp.
"Mmm," she murmured; he bit down on her skin lightly, "Princeling, I am just perfect. Awake. Finally."
He nuzzled her neck, placing gentle kisses along the way. "I've missed you."
Her control was rapidly fading at the feel of his mouth and hands on her body. The bell like tone of his voice threatened to pull her apart at the seams. In her left hand, the old lover's token seared her skin like a brand.
"Have I been somewhere?" she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.
She felt him smile.
"Yes," Legolas said sweetly, "You've been in your dreams, so far from me yet in my bed, in my heart."
He sounded unsure, as though he thought she would not understand.
But she did understand.
She understood far too well.
"I need a bath," she replied with a grimace, avoiding the subject altogether.
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He sighed, drawing away from her, knowing too well that she would not continue this conversation. He left long enough to locate a servant to assist him, and returned with a young man in tow. Both he and the boy carried two buckets of steaming water. As if completely aware of their return, Trinity opened the door for them and watched as they filled the tub in the adjoined room.
Legolas noted with slight agitation that the boy made frequent glances her way. Trying, he knew, to catch a slip of her robe, a glimpse of forbidden flesh. She seemed completely unaware, and leaned against the doorway, arms folded across her chest, eyes clouded, those slender legs crossed at the ankles. Only after the boy left did he dare touch her, and even then he made sure it was only a slight touch. They hadn't the time to make love again; Aragorn was expecting them.
She sensed his discomfort with ease, "What is it, my love?"
"The boy was watching you."
She chuckled, touching her forehead with one hand and touching his shoulder with the other.
Both hands were empty. Whatever she had been hiding from him was gone, tucked safely away.
"Legolas," she said with a coy smile, "What am I going to do with you?"
He grabbed her wrist, pressing his lips to the pulse point, feeling the delightful throb of life there. Soft and low, steady, not at all nervous, not like him. Each time she looked to him, touched him, it wreaked havoc on his heart. He loved her, wanted her, needed her, but the secrets she kept threatened everything.
"Lock me up, hide me away, it matters not. All I want is to be with you."
Trinity's lips parted, and a look of sorrow eclipsed her features.
"Please, excuse me."
She detached herself from him, dropped the robe, and settled herself in the washtub.
Her frigid formality scorched him from the inside.
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She felt his fingers skim the flesh of her shoulders, the only part of her body left uncovered. Slowly, he laced up the ties of her corset, and with each tug, she felt the rift grow larger and larger between them. This was better, she told herself. By being with him, loving him, she put him at risk. Gradual dissipation would work; it had worked in the past. If he did not love her, did not care for her, Thaniel might let him live.
It hurts.
Legolas moved away and caught her hand in his; leading her out the door, through the halls, until at last they reached the King. Aragorn smiled in greeting, sitting with entwined hands. His exquisite wife, Arwen, stood and greeted them both with a hug and a brief kiss on the cheek.
"It is lovely to see you, Trinity," she said conversationally.
I hardly know you.
The entire kingdom, it seemed, was well aware of her near comatose state. To be honest, she fount it rather irritating; nonetheless, she smiled politely. At least they tried to connect. Legolas squeezed her hand gently, no doubt concerned by her lack of response.
Through careful eyes, Aragorn studied the pair, "Yes. Please, sit with us."
He gestured to the chairs beside them.
Sit, doggie, sit.
Obediently, they sat. Her first, then Legolas, and he grasped her hand once again. It was an owning gesture, the type which showed clearly that she belong to him. And he belonged to her. They were in love.
I can do this.
Across from them, Arwen and Aragorn did the same. But they were easy, smiling and laughing freely, occasionally catching each other's eye. So perfect. The idea hit her then that she could have the same with Legolas.
No.
"A letter from Elrond arrived a few days ago – "
If it were not for Thaniel, they could be happy.
"Oh! I have not seen him in years – "
They could be married, live together…
"Gorgeous girl, I think she is married now…"
Hold each other without the fear one of them would vanish. Or be stolen away.
"Trinity?"
She blinked to life and watched warily as Arwen studied her with cautious eyes.
"Forgive me, I seem to be a bit hazy this evening."
Arwen laughed softly, reaching with her free hand to pat Trinity's knee, "My dear, I think you have yet to wake up."
Politely, she smiled, and felt Legolas' hand squeeze hers once again. Trying to revive her.
"I think," said Aragorn, "That we shall retire, some of us have yet to rest this evening."
The King and his wife stood, hand in hand, and then walked away. She noted with slight wonder the knowing look Arwen gave her. The sun hid behind the trees, and soon it would disappear beyond recall for the rest of the night.
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Legolas pulled her against him, mouth working its undeniable skill on her neck. His fingers skimmed the lace of her corset, toying with them. Playfully, he nipped at her skin and smiled as he listened to her soft moans.
"I love you," she gasped, pressing her body against his, "in aeternum."
Briefly, he paused, pulling back to look at her with a creased brow. Since the first time they made love, she had mumbled phrases of strange insignificants. Until that moment, he had thought them only to be signs of pleasure. He understood now, it was a language, a sign of her life before him.
"I have never heard that tongue."
Something sad flashed momentarily in her gaze, "Latin. It is Latin."
"Latin," he breathed, carefully pronouncing the word the way she had (minus, of course, her endearing accent), "and this phrase…'in aeternum,' what does it mean?"
"For eternity."
The frown etched into her features troubled him, and he moved his fingers to the cloth around her neck.
"Did you not mean to say that, meleth?"
His heart felt heavy, almost as though it wanted to stop completely.
"I meant it," she confessed quietly.
With a smiled, he kissed her, over and over until her lips were swollen, then led her to his bed.
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She cannot move. Her body remains frozen and her mind heavy. Smooth lid rise and fall over green irises, slowly, tiredly, as if the weight of the entire world settles upon them. She wants to crawl back into that dark abyss, into that place of nothingness where she can at least conjure an imaginary Legolas to comfort her. Evalgine is gone and, for the first time in her long existence, Trinity is truly and utterly alone.
Pathetic, she scolds herself.
Her instincts are that of pure survival. She can free herself from this. She can win; she just has to focus. As if by show of untainted will, her eyes adjust and the darkness is penetrated by dim candlelight. All she can make out is the stone ceiling overhead, and the faint smell of death. She feels completely disturbed by the fact that no matter how much will she puts into the intended movement, she can not move her head. Her body feels disconnected, inexistent; nothing beside her mind is left.
Fuck.
Her ears perk, listing intently to her surroundings. This, it seemed, is one of the two senses her body has left. Steady water drips to her right, echoing and amplified by the (metal? stone?). Stone, she decides, since the echo holds no metallic resonance. Coppery blood fills her nostrils, the smell of demise and hate. Footsteps? It sounds so, short and even. A heavy door slides open and the sound enters the room. Calmly, purposefully, they stop near her body. No breath comes from the figure, only a faint musky scent, but she suspects it to be male, based upon the heavy sound of his walking beforehand. Despite it all, she is not afraid.
A pale hand flies into her eyesight, and disappears (over her head?). She wonders if it is sill touching her. Still, she cannot feel her body. She cannot move. A disembodied voice sighs, confirming her former assumption. Whoever this is, he is male. Above her, a dark shadow flickers across the ceiling and she hears the figure move away. Metal clangs and it returns. This time, she sees a face. Angular features, a strong jaw, and a cold smirk mock her.
Fear bursts in her chest.
Because she is staring into the dark, soulless eyes of Thaniel Alexandrescu.
"Good morning, Trinitas," his voice is calm; "I've missed you."
She stares in complete horror and a chuckle bubbles from his heavenly (deadly) lips.
"Are you not pleased to see me?"
