WARNING: serious legomance content! (Well not really that serious as this is a PG-13, but still…)
I hope this is what you had in mind when you said you wanted Legolas!
Please R&R. All feedback welcome.
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When the battle was done she realised she was far from the City. Her legs felt like they could not bear to walk another step; and a weariness had penetrated her that went deep into her soul. It was not a tiredness of body alone. Her senses were dulled; and she was aware of many pains over her body. Worst was a cut all along the palm of her left hand, and it went deep: she had gained it when she was forced to grab a dagger so as to stop it hitting herself. Her right hand had stopped it moving deeper in, but never the less the wound was bad, though it was a clean cut.
There were some other men near her on the battlefield, but she was too tired to run and catch them up. She walked towards the far city with painful slowness, dragging her feet and scuffing her toes on the bodies of the fallen. Her eyes drooped slowly but steadily. Every now and again she put her hand up to the corner of her tunic - which protruded a little from under her armour - and wiped away any fresh blood. She was feeling dizzy. She was still an hour or two's walk from the City when she heard a horse coming up behind her. She was too tired to turn her head to see who it was.
She found out soon enough. The horse was of Rohan, she noticed despite her fatigue. The voice of its rider was familiar, too, and she scowled to find that true Elves didn't get as tired as quickly as half-elves or Men. They walked side by side for a while in silence, after the initial greeting in the Common Tongue. When Legolas started talking properly, however, it was in Sindarin.
'Innas annale enni dâf an garle bo nín roch?' Will you give me permission to carry you on my horse?
'Ú.' No. She was set in a stubborn mood now, and it would take more than a little hardship to make her allow this Elf to help her. She would do it on her own.
They walked side in side, horse and rider beside woman, for maybe another half-hour. The City drew closer, but their approach was agonising in its slowness.
'Padaim innas,' he said pleadingly. I will walk. Oddly enough, pleading does not make Elves sound lowly, but more high and noble. Mithmír felt something odd stir in her; an emotion she had felt little of before. She dearly would like to ride; and without the Elf might make it less a sign of defeat in her eyes… But she would not separate a rider from his horse. If she were a male warrior it would be considered rude for her to do so, and she would be treated like any other soldier.
' Ú.' No.
Seconds later she tripped over, and was too weary to get up. Instead she lay on the battlefield, spread-eagled on her back. She closed her eyes. She just wanted to sleep…
She heard Legolas dismount quickly and nimbly. She almost felt the tremors in the air as he knelt down beside her. She tried to persuade herself that she was too tired to resist; but really she enjoyed the proximity despite herself… Maybe being a Lady wouldn't be too bad after all… She drifted off into day-dreams. Her awakening was rude but not unpleasant: Legolas had given up restraining himself, and having slipped off her helmet, touched his lips with hers softly. It couldn't be called a kiss, merely a touch. He withdrew within a second, and sat back on his heels, watching for her reaction.
She didn't dare move. She thought that she liked it, but she couldn't be sure. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would break all her ribs.
'Le bain, beren elleth,' he whispered, and the wind swept nearly all of his caring voice away, but enough reached Mithmír's ears for her to translate it: you beautiful, brave elf-maid. 'Im meleth le, o abim minui govannenle, dimallorn vi Lothlorien…' I have loved you since I first met you, under the mallorn in Lothlorien…. 'Lamale sui gwaew ned mallorn, le hin sui míren…' Your voice is like the wind in the mallorn trees, your eyes like jewels…
With every word Mithmír felt she was falling deeper and deeper into some blissful trance. Her eyes were still not open. She had to speak, though. 'Im sell, úlelleth.' I am a girl, not an elf-maid.
She felt an ivory-smooth, warm finger on her lips, and it lay there till she was hushed. Finally its owner spoke, and he must have been leaning over her, for his breath tickled her face: ' Úlcaroim hûl.' It does not bother me. 'Im ûlcar daro olthaole…' I could not stop dreaming of you…
'Le a im govannen tâd lû…' We have only met twice. She was wonderfully, terribly aware that every time her lips moved they came near to touching Legolas'.
'Innas daer gwanod,' replied Legolas, and his voice was maybe - almost imperceptibly if it was - a little hoarse. There will be many more.
Mithmír sighed. This would not be like Faramir. He would not have one night to prove his love for her. His articulate, beautifully chosen words were enough. In her heart, she loved him. Her mind was trying to hold her back, however…
'Im meleth le,' he said finally, simply, and then kissed her gently, never opening his lips. I love you.
Her eyes were still closed when he picked her up into his deceptively delicate arms, and put her in the saddle. She gripped onto the pommel as he told her, and in a second his had sprung up behind her. He took the reins and enclosed her in-between his back and arms, and then with a cry in Sindarin to the horse they were away to the City. Mithmír had never felt so safe nor so loved. She didn't care who of Gondor saw them like this. For now, at least.
