Title - After All These Years
Author - Paige
Rating - Soft R
Pairing - Legolas/Original Character
Summary - Despair. A past. Will there be hope?
Disclaimer - I do not own Legolas, Mirkwood, or Elves.
Distribution - Tell me where it's going.
A/N - My first LOTR fic. Probably sucks. Tell me what you think, ok?
It was late, and she lowered her magic. There were no mortals about so late, and she was tired, too tired to hold up the spell that hid her fair features and the delicate points of her ears. Her steps were slow, and despair darkened the sapphire blue of her eyes.
It was a face he had not seen for many millennia, yet he recognized it as though he had seen her yesterday.
They had grown up together, in the dark forests of Mirkwood. He remembered her laughter, bright clear, musical, floating through the air as though it were the note of a bell. Her voice, singing the ancient songs of their people, lifted easily so that it sailed to the very stars. It was all so clear in his memory that it shocked even he.
No, her laugh and her face and her voice as she sang were not the only things so engraved onto his memory. He remembered a hunting trip, when they were little more than children. Roughhousing as though they were no more than playful babies, they had tumbled over a fallen long, he on top of her. One of her legs lay pinned beneath his, the other thigh had risen against his hip. One hand had gone to her thigh, the other braced next to her head, hers braced against his shoulders. Their bodies were pressed together, their lips mere inches apart, his hair, longer and even fairer in his youth, falling around them, shielding their faces, giving even more intimacy.
She had been so beautiful as she lay beneath him, her dark hair tumbled over the earth, sapphire eyes wide, a flush in her cheeks and those full, moist lips slightly parted. He shifted closer, and she sighed. Unable to resist, he had kissed her. Just a light brush of his lips over hers, soft and sweet, enjoying the silken texture of her skin. His hand had left her thigh to tangle in her silken dark hair as her own fingers tangled in the soft silvery blonde locks over his shoulders.
Soon, too soon, they had heard the rest of their party calling their names, laughing about how 'the children' had probably gotten lost in the forest. So they had disentangled themselves, straightening their clothing, smoothing their hair, controlling their expressions. Taking care when they emerged to tell jokes of clumsy female elves and bumbling males with ulterior motives, and too not look to closely at each other for fear that they would lose control. The others could not see, for such a relationship - a common elf and a prince - was surely forbidden.
He also remembered later that night, when she had crept into his rooms, wearing her thin silken white nightdress and sheer outer robe, stepping lightly across the floor of his chamber, lifting her skirt so the fabric would not brush the floor and wake him. He had felt the pressure of her lips on his forehead and awoke.
He remembered the shedding of nightclothes, silken skin, hands tangling in hair, hungry kisses. He remembers their joined hand, fingers interlocked, even as their bodies and mouths joined in a slow, gentle rhythm. He remembered her voice, calling his name, his true Elvish name in purest ecstasy.
Unfortunately, that night had meant high collars and hiding from his father for two days.
He came back to the present, with years beyond counting between the then and the now, as the night air carried her soft, lilting voice to his ears. She was quite obviously not paying attention to her surroundings, and he was so entranced by her that he did not notice her path until she stumbled and fell.
He approached her carefully, laying one hand gently on her arm, quietly speaking her name. "Kyshandra."
Her head came up suddenly, and she stared, her blue eyes wide and fearful. Then they filled with awe, and one gentle hand rose to caress his face - his true face, since the Elvish spell used to maintain human features had faded. "Legolas." Her arms were suddenly around his neck, her face buried in his soft, pale blonde hair. "Oh, Legolas."
Their lips met, once, briefly, so soft and sweet. Then they held each other and rocked, for long moments, as she wept in his arms. Her despair wrenched his heart. They were not meant to be separated from the forests as modern times nearly demanded, and her long life had bled away all hope.
Until now.
Until she had seen his face.
After all these years.
Author - Paige
Rating - Soft R
Pairing - Legolas/Original Character
Summary - Despair. A past. Will there be hope?
Disclaimer - I do not own Legolas, Mirkwood, or Elves.
Distribution - Tell me where it's going.
A/N - My first LOTR fic. Probably sucks. Tell me what you think, ok?
It was late, and she lowered her magic. There were no mortals about so late, and she was tired, too tired to hold up the spell that hid her fair features and the delicate points of her ears. Her steps were slow, and despair darkened the sapphire blue of her eyes.
It was a face he had not seen for many millennia, yet he recognized it as though he had seen her yesterday.
They had grown up together, in the dark forests of Mirkwood. He remembered her laughter, bright clear, musical, floating through the air as though it were the note of a bell. Her voice, singing the ancient songs of their people, lifted easily so that it sailed to the very stars. It was all so clear in his memory that it shocked even he.
No, her laugh and her face and her voice as she sang were not the only things so engraved onto his memory. He remembered a hunting trip, when they were little more than children. Roughhousing as though they were no more than playful babies, they had tumbled over a fallen long, he on top of her. One of her legs lay pinned beneath his, the other thigh had risen against his hip. One hand had gone to her thigh, the other braced next to her head, hers braced against his shoulders. Their bodies were pressed together, their lips mere inches apart, his hair, longer and even fairer in his youth, falling around them, shielding their faces, giving even more intimacy.
She had been so beautiful as she lay beneath him, her dark hair tumbled over the earth, sapphire eyes wide, a flush in her cheeks and those full, moist lips slightly parted. He shifted closer, and she sighed. Unable to resist, he had kissed her. Just a light brush of his lips over hers, soft and sweet, enjoying the silken texture of her skin. His hand had left her thigh to tangle in her silken dark hair as her own fingers tangled in the soft silvery blonde locks over his shoulders.
Soon, too soon, they had heard the rest of their party calling their names, laughing about how 'the children' had probably gotten lost in the forest. So they had disentangled themselves, straightening their clothing, smoothing their hair, controlling their expressions. Taking care when they emerged to tell jokes of clumsy female elves and bumbling males with ulterior motives, and too not look to closely at each other for fear that they would lose control. The others could not see, for such a relationship - a common elf and a prince - was surely forbidden.
He also remembered later that night, when she had crept into his rooms, wearing her thin silken white nightdress and sheer outer robe, stepping lightly across the floor of his chamber, lifting her skirt so the fabric would not brush the floor and wake him. He had felt the pressure of her lips on his forehead and awoke.
He remembered the shedding of nightclothes, silken skin, hands tangling in hair, hungry kisses. He remembers their joined hand, fingers interlocked, even as their bodies and mouths joined in a slow, gentle rhythm. He remembered her voice, calling his name, his true Elvish name in purest ecstasy.
Unfortunately, that night had meant high collars and hiding from his father for two days.
He came back to the present, with years beyond counting between the then and the now, as the night air carried her soft, lilting voice to his ears. She was quite obviously not paying attention to her surroundings, and he was so entranced by her that he did not notice her path until she stumbled and fell.
He approached her carefully, laying one hand gently on her arm, quietly speaking her name. "Kyshandra."
Her head came up suddenly, and she stared, her blue eyes wide and fearful. Then they filled with awe, and one gentle hand rose to caress his face - his true face, since the Elvish spell used to maintain human features had faded. "Legolas." Her arms were suddenly around his neck, her face buried in his soft, pale blonde hair. "Oh, Legolas."
Their lips met, once, briefly, so soft and sweet. Then they held each other and rocked, for long moments, as she wept in his arms. Her despair wrenched his heart. They were not meant to be separated from the forests as modern times nearly demanded, and her long life had bled away all hope.
Until now.
Until she had seen his face.
After all these years.