Lovely Dreams of Red
Author: Lucinda
rating: pg
pairing: Willow/Legolas (LotR) #111 on Quickie Challenge list found at http://quickie.moonlightpaths.com
disclaimer: I do not own anyone from Sunnydale, Middle Earth, or the production/distribution rights to either.
distribution: NHA, WLS, Twisting the Hellmouth, yourmission, Bite Me, please, Serena's. Anyone else, ask first.
note: by multiple requests, a sequel for Just a Lovely Dream Set after Bilbo left the Shire, but before Frodo departs for Rivendell.
Legolas settled himself against a tree, the gentle sunlight falling against his face, warming his skin. The air was filled with the sounds of songbirds, and the soothing rustle of the leaves in the wind, the slow murmurs of the trees speaking to one another. It smelled of spring, the new growth of grass and leaves, the delicate scents of spring flowers, their tiny blooms peeking out in hope that winter was over, the subtle scent of renewal that characterized Spring. Everything was at peace, the forrest safe and calm as it should be.
Which meant that he had time to settle against the tree and consider things, anything that he wanted, actually. He could consider the fact that Rivendell had become the home of an old hobbit seeking to write a book of his adventures, the fact that he'd even had adventures being most unusual for a hobbit at all. He could think of the fact that Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond, seemed to be developing feelings for the Ranger who was a welcome guest among the Elves, the last heir of Isildur, the Durandain. Or perhaps he could ponder the fact that all the signs and portents indicated that the time of the Elves was coming to a close, that so many of his people were leaving for the Isles of the Valar, the Undying lands to the West.
He thought of none of those things. Instead, he turned his mind to something else, a dream that he'd had.
Legolas smiled as he thought of HER. She was a vision of grace and beauty, a woman who had rippling hair the color of autumn leaves in shades of russet and scarlet, so entirely different from the fair gold of his people or the twilight hair of the Elves of Lord Elrond. Her eyes were the colors of the forest, a shimmering blend of green and hints of the brown of the trees, and the faintest hints of the grey of a storm filled sky. Her pale skin was a smooth as a flower petal, as supple as fine cloth and a delicate shade that reminded him of honeyed cream. Her smile was like the sunlight, and she was filled with hope, the hope that allowed her to see the best in people, to envision a better tomorrow regardless of the shadows of today.
She looked to have been born to the race of Man, but the power that hummed and sparkled within her wasn't the clumsy workings of human magicians, but the careful touching of the powers of creation, like the power that hummed below the flesh of the Elvenkind, the power that made them other than mortal. Her spirit was bright and shining, it's beauty enhanced by the firings of pain and loss.
He let his mind wander to one of his favorite dreams, one where he walked with her through the trees of Mirkwood, showing her the wonders of his home, a place where you could feel the weight of time, smell air that belonged to an older time, one before Man ruled the lands. She would rest one hand lightly n his arm, trusting him to keep her from wandering as she looked around, eyes sparkling as she would look all around, eyes flickering from the magnificent trees to the gleaming shafts of honey-gold sunlight, to the occasional delicate flower.
Legolas didn't know where the dreams of the delightful woman had come from, or why he'd started dreaming of her one day. But he would dream of her, seeing her hair gleaming in the light of day, or under the light of the moon, which turned her skin to the finest porcelain, and her eyes to shadowed jewels. He'd dreamed of her, vibrantly filled with hope and joy, delighting whole heartedly in everything. Then, the dreams had changed a bit, showing her a bit older, her heart weighed by the pain of some recent loss or betrayal. It was as if for her, everything was falling apart, and she had nobody to turn to, nobody to offer solace and comfort. Nobody but him.
Gradually, he'd come to believe that these dreams were not simply the product of his mind, but the result of his dreaming spirit touching the essence of another spirit, someone with nobody to offer the needed listening ear. It gave him hope that this meant that she was real, someone that truly lived and breathed somewhere in the bounds of creation. At the same time, it made him sorrow, for how could he hope to find her? How would he even begin looking for such a delicate seeming blossom who lived over a dark shadow of evil? They'd had long, rambling conversations in his dreams, conversations that he could occasionally remember a few phrases of. Her name was Willow, like the supple tree that grew at the edges of water. The place that she lived was shadowed by a great evil, but he could not remember the name of her home, or of the evil that overshadowed it, that made it so perilous.
Sometimes, in his dreams they walked through her home, a place filled with the buildings of men, harshly rectangular, with glaring lights of strange origin, and the people wore such unusual clothing... All he knew was that it was near an ocean. They had watched the sun sinking into the sea, smelling the salt in the air and leaning against each other contentedly. There were some trees near her home, a scattering of small pines and a few other trees. They were small and young, and did not seem to speak. Perhaps the trees could feel the shadow of evil, and feared that their words would be twisted.
Perhaps one day he would set off on a journey to try to find her, his lovely Willow with the sweet smile. Perhaps one day he would be able to learn if her kisses would be as sweet in reality as they were in his dreams.
Perhaps...
end.
Author: Lucinda
rating: pg
pairing: Willow/Legolas (LotR) #111 on Quickie Challenge list found at http://quickie.moonlightpaths.com
disclaimer: I do not own anyone from Sunnydale, Middle Earth, or the production/distribution rights to either.
distribution: NHA, WLS, Twisting the Hellmouth, yourmission, Bite Me, please, Serena's. Anyone else, ask first.
note: by multiple requests, a sequel for Just a Lovely Dream Set after Bilbo left the Shire, but before Frodo departs for Rivendell.
Legolas settled himself against a tree, the gentle sunlight falling against his face, warming his skin. The air was filled with the sounds of songbirds, and the soothing rustle of the leaves in the wind, the slow murmurs of the trees speaking to one another. It smelled of spring, the new growth of grass and leaves, the delicate scents of spring flowers, their tiny blooms peeking out in hope that winter was over, the subtle scent of renewal that characterized Spring. Everything was at peace, the forrest safe and calm as it should be.
Which meant that he had time to settle against the tree and consider things, anything that he wanted, actually. He could consider the fact that Rivendell had become the home of an old hobbit seeking to write a book of his adventures, the fact that he'd even had adventures being most unusual for a hobbit at all. He could think of the fact that Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond, seemed to be developing feelings for the Ranger who was a welcome guest among the Elves, the last heir of Isildur, the Durandain. Or perhaps he could ponder the fact that all the signs and portents indicated that the time of the Elves was coming to a close, that so many of his people were leaving for the Isles of the Valar, the Undying lands to the West.
He thought of none of those things. Instead, he turned his mind to something else, a dream that he'd had.
Legolas smiled as he thought of HER. She was a vision of grace and beauty, a woman who had rippling hair the color of autumn leaves in shades of russet and scarlet, so entirely different from the fair gold of his people or the twilight hair of the Elves of Lord Elrond. Her eyes were the colors of the forest, a shimmering blend of green and hints of the brown of the trees, and the faintest hints of the grey of a storm filled sky. Her pale skin was a smooth as a flower petal, as supple as fine cloth and a delicate shade that reminded him of honeyed cream. Her smile was like the sunlight, and she was filled with hope, the hope that allowed her to see the best in people, to envision a better tomorrow regardless of the shadows of today.
She looked to have been born to the race of Man, but the power that hummed and sparkled within her wasn't the clumsy workings of human magicians, but the careful touching of the powers of creation, like the power that hummed below the flesh of the Elvenkind, the power that made them other than mortal. Her spirit was bright and shining, it's beauty enhanced by the firings of pain and loss.
He let his mind wander to one of his favorite dreams, one where he walked with her through the trees of Mirkwood, showing her the wonders of his home, a place where you could feel the weight of time, smell air that belonged to an older time, one before Man ruled the lands. She would rest one hand lightly n his arm, trusting him to keep her from wandering as she looked around, eyes sparkling as she would look all around, eyes flickering from the magnificent trees to the gleaming shafts of honey-gold sunlight, to the occasional delicate flower.
Legolas didn't know where the dreams of the delightful woman had come from, or why he'd started dreaming of her one day. But he would dream of her, seeing her hair gleaming in the light of day, or under the light of the moon, which turned her skin to the finest porcelain, and her eyes to shadowed jewels. He'd dreamed of her, vibrantly filled with hope and joy, delighting whole heartedly in everything. Then, the dreams had changed a bit, showing her a bit older, her heart weighed by the pain of some recent loss or betrayal. It was as if for her, everything was falling apart, and she had nobody to turn to, nobody to offer solace and comfort. Nobody but him.
Gradually, he'd come to believe that these dreams were not simply the product of his mind, but the result of his dreaming spirit touching the essence of another spirit, someone with nobody to offer the needed listening ear. It gave him hope that this meant that she was real, someone that truly lived and breathed somewhere in the bounds of creation. At the same time, it made him sorrow, for how could he hope to find her? How would he even begin looking for such a delicate seeming blossom who lived over a dark shadow of evil? They'd had long, rambling conversations in his dreams, conversations that he could occasionally remember a few phrases of. Her name was Willow, like the supple tree that grew at the edges of water. The place that she lived was shadowed by a great evil, but he could not remember the name of her home, or of the evil that overshadowed it, that made it so perilous.
Sometimes, in his dreams they walked through her home, a place filled with the buildings of men, harshly rectangular, with glaring lights of strange origin, and the people wore such unusual clothing... All he knew was that it was near an ocean. They had watched the sun sinking into the sea, smelling the salt in the air and leaning against each other contentedly. There were some trees near her home, a scattering of small pines and a few other trees. They were small and young, and did not seem to speak. Perhaps the trees could feel the shadow of evil, and feared that their words would be twisted.
Perhaps one day he would set off on a journey to try to find her, his lovely Willow with the sweet smile. Perhaps one day he would be able to learn if her kisses would be as sweet in reality as they were in his dreams.
Perhaps...
end.