Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying

Part II: Dawn

Cerise felt the cold of the night wind on her back and shivered before she opened her eyes. She was wrapped in weightless velvet to her waist and lying on a bed. Beside someone else.

Inhaling with a start, her eyes widened and saw a man's chest. He was still clothed, and she was wearing the golden silk gown she'd had on at breakfast the day before? Her hair fell across her torso, a curtain of red waves, and she found strands of aureate flax on her cheek. The smell of winter woods the soft, even breaths the hair. "Legolas," she whispered, and felt his arm curl around her.

Oh, Nimuriel would absolutely die!

~*~

Legolas knew he shouldn't have brought Cerise here, but she was so cold. And fit so perfectly into his arms, her crimson veil so smooth and refreshing against his hands, eyes closed and mouth parted in idyllic sleep

So he'd lain her beneath the blankets in the guest-tower Elrond had welcomed him into, two floors above Simulien's dwelling. Enough, certainly, to prevent any knowledge of Cerise's presence. She'd settled drowsily into the pillow he normally slept on, and he'd crawled in beside her. Sleep eluded him for the longest time, and his eyes roved in wonder over her unknowing, picturesque expression. Her pale skin curved in flawless patterns against the wavy blood of her hair Legolas had even reached out to trace his fingers across her cheek once, but drew back. She's so young, he'd warned himself.

Old enough, he'd tried.

It's wrong.

How can it be wrong? We both want it.

You don't know that.

And he'd been overtaken by slumber, into restless dreams of timeless stars against red flames of sunset.

But now she was awake; he didn't open his eyes, but he'd felt her shiver, heard her murmur his name into his chest. Almost involuntarily, he wrapped his arm around her, against the cold from the window behind them.

"Legolas?"

He opened one eye comically. "I'm asleep."

Her cheeks were extremely flushed with anxiety. "In the same bed as I am."

"How observant of you." His arm was still around her.

She bit her lip and looked down. "So, er, how did I get here?"

Legolas used his other arm to prop himself up. "Well, first, I found you sleeping quite peacefully by one of the old fountains in the forest. And" How was he supposed to explain to her that he hadn't wanted to leave her? He realized now exactly how inane that sounded.

"And you brought me to your bed, Legolas?" Cerise's entire face was flaming scarlet.

He took a deep breath, and then the plunge. "Do you have a problem with that, Lady Starflame?"

"No," she whispered, under her breath.

Legolas blanched. This, he'd never expected. A giggle, then her flight from the room, and rumors of his perversity abounding next morning at breakfast, perhaps. But Cerise had always struck him as much more mature than her peers. He should have known she'd be honest with him.

So, honestly, she didn't have a problem with being beside him in bed?

Legolas felt his own blush start to creep heatedly onto his face. He'd lived three thousand years in Middle Earth, and never once had he fallen in love.

Cerise's breath was inhibited and shaky, and she inclined her head away from his searching gaze. "Er. Do you?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"No," he said quickly and hoarsely. His arm tightened around her.

Then she looked up, and saw in his beautiful dark eyes the answers to every question she'd ever asked of the world beyond and life on earth. So many thoughts and answers, like black ink on a globe of chocolate, and in them stood out one, so close and affirmative that it hurt to read.

Yes.

He must have seen it in her as well, and the long, ivory fingers that had been so fearfully still sprung into motion, running themselves frantically down her spine, searching for the fastenings of her gown. Cerise bit her lip harder, almost drawing blood, and clumsily, nervously worked open the buckle of his quiver Isn't that odd, he wore it to bed, some calm part of her mind said cheerfully. She pushed it away; his warm, soft hands were sliding her gown down her arms, and she exhaled, looking upward to the gold-inlaid ceiling.

Legolas pulled his own tunic off quickly, over his head, and it lay forgotten behind him atop Cerise's gown. Which meant he let himself gape at her naked body, now tinged with pink embarrassment. She's never been with anyone before, he realized, and was hit with the absolute weight of what he was about to do.

Cerise recognized the look of inhibition clouding Legolas' eyes. Please, she begged inwardly. We were so close

At least start off properly, he compromised, and bent forward to kiss her, pressing his chest against her cool skin.

Oh. Cerise's lips caught fire as he joined his to them. His other arm snaked around her, collapsing him to her level on the pillow, and Cerise thrilled in pure revelation at the passion of his embrace. She never, in a thousand ages, thought this could possibly happen to her. The homely elf, a freak show of an oxymoron. Nimuriel, Medeasel, maybe, but not her. No, not her

~*~

Cerise stretched and yawned, catlike, as she woke. Still in Legolas' bed, she thought triumphantly. Then, proudly, and still naked.

But he wasn't there.

Perhaps breakfast came and he didn't want to wake me, she rationalized. No; she could see from the sun's early position in the sky that breakfast would not be served for another hour.

Sitting up, she fumbled for her gown and resorted to simply tying the blanket about her in a sort of cloak. A piece of parchment, the ink still shining wet, lay on the mattress beside her. Cerise snatched it quickly, scanning its contents before moving to the window to read it in the rosy light.

Lady Ceriselen-

How I have the courage to write these words, I do not know. How I have the audacity to even think of you in such a way as I do now, I cannot tell. I will not even breach the subject of how my skin heats in abashment at the thought of with what disregard I ravished you this past night. I cannot erase the harm I have done to you, and your reputation. All I can hope for is your forgiveness, in some part.

I regret also to tell you that I have been called to arms. Darkness is falling in the South; Mordor is strengthening with every passing hour, and four soldiers with an mission of crucial import have come to Rivendell. I have been assigned to accompany them on their journey. No one can tell how long I will be gone, nor if I will indeed return at all.

And so, in what may be my last contact with you, I ask you but two favors:

Forgive me.

Wait for me.

It wasn't signed.

~*~

Cerise forwent breakfast and instead made the considerable journey to the opposite end of the city, where lay the Courtyard of the Stars. Here the Elvish astronomers spent their days studying the constellations above, the last wonder of Middle-Earth, and the answer to the elves' perpetual questions of their faith.

Here also lived the princess Arwen, and her entourage of maidens. Cerise normally avoided them; Arwen made her feel horribly inadequate, with her sheet of ebony hair and piercing cobalt eyes. Besides, she felt she could no longer show her face to any of the maidens' of the court. For- she blushed at this- she certainly wasn't one.

The Courtyard was composed of open walls, merely structures of stone with no centers to them, and a trickling, quiet fountain in the corner. Engraved on its domed ceiling were a thousand tiny, painstakingly detailed drawings of the heavens. Its view was that of the entire city, rushing waterfalls close enough to reach out and touch. A figure robed in violet, her dark hair combed back, was leaning wistfully against the walls to the east.

Cerise saw it was the princess; her renowned features of porcelain beauty were contorted in such grief that she felt a pang of sincere sympathy, and was overcome with curiosity at what had made the perfect Arwen so upset.

"My lady?" she began softly. Arwen's head shot up, and she smiled sadly and wiped at the corner of one ice-blue eye. "Are you all right?"

"Well, no," the princess said quietly. "In fact, I am very much the opposite of all right.'"

Cerise arranged herself on the rim of the fountain next to her; Arwen took the proffered seat and crossed her ankles habitually. "What's wrong?"

"Aragorn is gone," she said simply, and resumed her longing gaze to the east.

Cerise nodded. Arwen and Estel's affair was common knowledge in Rivendell. But he was gone? He'd only just arrived- oh. "So he went with the company, then," she hypothesized.

"Yes," the princess affirmed. Another tear pooled in the lower lid of her eye. But she shook it off, and tactfully changed the subject. "You look rather grieved also, Lady Starflame. May I ask what such a young girl is so concerned with?" Cerise sighed and was silent. Arwen merely looked at her. "Love, then?"

Cerise smiled shyly at her. She'd never really had a friend in any of the other elf-maidens at Rivendell, but she liked the princess. Arwen was so kind and open and serious, just the way Cerise had always wanted to be.

"I see," Arwen said with a hint of confusion. "Why are you so forlorn, then? Does he not dwell in the city?"

"Briefly," Cerise said shakily. What could she tell the princess? "He visited. But now he has departed."

Arwen paused, searching Cerise's face for answers. "With the company?"

Cerise nodded almost imperceptibly. Hot tears stung her eyes, and she turned away, ashamed that the princess would see her crying over something so frivolous.

"Legolas," she pronounced, and Cerise inhaled sharply. "Or Gimli?" A smile tugged at her lips.

"Who?" Cerise managed.

Arwen produced a handkerchief and handed it to her. "Gimli, son of Gloin, of the race of dwarves," she informed her. "He was the other who accompanied the Halflings."

"So there are seven," Cerise said after a moment.

Arwen's eyes took on that faraway look again. "Nine," she whispered. "Boromir of the South and the race of Men came also. And, with a tale of heavy import followed Mithrandir. They left at sunrise."

Cerise followed Arwen's distant gaze to the East Road that wound into the blue horizon. "Why?"

The princess fixed her eyes on Cerise with a stern force she'd never seen before. "Why? The fate of Middle Earth rests on the shoulders of four children, and you ask why?" Arwen laughed softly. "One of the Halflings carries a token of Sauron's power that the forces of darkness must never obtain. Alone, they would never last even to Rhovanion; Estel joined them at Bree, and Elrond called a bodyguard of Gimli and Legolas to him. Boromir of the South came on a different subject entirely, but saw the importance of the Halflings' mission and pledged loyalty to them."

Cerise closed her eyes. Had the Lady Simulien' been a sort of encoded language for the mission of the Halflings? Legolas' words echoed back to her Do they know about the Lady Simulien?' She hadn't known. She bit her lip again; why hadn't he told her, why but she was so happy that he'd done it anyway, left her with some assurance of his love.

Legolas' love. The words left a warm sensation of content high in her chest.

Arwen changed subjects again. "Do you have some evidence of Legolas' love for you? Or do you simply long for it?"

Cerise flushed in indignation, and she reached into the pocket of her green velvet robe for the letter he'd written her. The amount of trust she had for Arwen was overwhelming, considering she'd only even spoken to her for the first time in the past ten minutes, but she thrust the paper into the princess' lap without hesitation.

Arwen slowly unfolded the parchment, her intense blue eyes roving over its words without showing any reaction to them. "Ah," she said simply, and looked up. "He ravished you?"

"No!" Cerise gasped, reaching for the letter. "Never. I I do not know what makes him so regretful. I am not."

Arwen almost smirked. "Have you thought about the consequences of this?"

"Consequences oh," Cerise said in understanding. "No, not yet" Consequences? Having Legolas' child would be a consequence? No, a blessing, a miracle with soulful brown eyes and blonde hair and perfect lips.

"I know what you're thinking," Arwen said softly. "I've often had the same thoughts. A reminder of Aragorn, to stay with me when he is at war but think of the pain of childbirth, the grief that comes with raising a son or daughter alone. For what if he does not return, Lady Starflame? What if he dies and burns, faraway in the dark wastes of the south?"

"No!" Cerise shrieked, ripping her hand away from Arwen's.
"No, he won't die, he can't die. He's supposed to come back."

Arwen sighed and regarded the younger girl, her heart so devastated by overwhelming love. "Come with me," she said finally, taking the sobbing elf's hand once more and leading her from the courtyard.

~*~

Legolas nudged his horse solemnly along the familiar track east from Rivendell. Of course, the Nine would not take it all the way to Mirkwood, but his horse knew the road so well that he would be leagues ahead of the rest of the company, had he not been assigned to stay close today. Aragorn and Boromir had ridden ahead and behind, scouting for trouble.

Beside him, the stout, bearded Gimli coughed and shared a look with the hobbits. "Legolas," the dwarf began in a very businesslike manner. Legolas looked down at him, eyebrow raised. "Yes, Gimli son of Gloin?"

Pippin darted around Gimli and cleared his throat. "Er, we were just, er, wondering if you had any relationships you'd left behind? Sam n I were just talking about Rose, n Gimli here says e sorely misses is wife Freiija."

Legolas laughed. "I'm not married, if that's what you're asking."

Merry nudged Pippin with an elbow and winked at Legolas quite bravely. "'E's not married! Start your engines, girls!"

Legolas gave the hobbit a fierce glare and Merry shut up immediately. Gimli, however, was less easily intimidated. "Well, marriage is one thing, attachment is another, right, Samwise?" Sam gave the dwarf a hesitant smile, then saw Legolas' glare and quickly looked away.

"Very true," Legolas conceded. "Well, I suppose I am attached, if that's what you'd call it." He thought of Cerise winding herself urgently about him, her kisses so hot they'd melt mithril, and blushed despite himself.

Merry grinned at him in a very familiar manner, and Legolas resumed his glaring.

~*~

fini part II

~*~

A/N: Yay! I saw The Two Towers and got all inspired, so, finally, about a year later, here's the second installment of APMBL. I hope it's going somewhere now I have the next couple of chapters pretty planned out, but suggestions are always welcome. By the way, I know there are some inconstancies with how the Fellowship departs from Rivendell, but let it go, okay? It's about romance, not absolute finite loyalty to canon.

~~goldenberry