This is it: Mithmír and Legolas' little walk! But what will happen? Read and find out! Thanks for the reviews they are greatly appreciated *hint hint nudge nudge* Next chapter should also be up tonight - hopefully.
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The ground beneath Mithmír's feet was cracked and rocky, offering many places to trip or stumble. She felt uncomfortably aware of her status as a mortal because of this: the male Elf beside her was as nimble as a mountain-goat over the rough terrain. His arm was about hers. She couldn't decide if he was merely holding her close for the sake of politeness, or to stop her falling, or maybe something else altogether…
They were nearly of a quarter of the way around the camp, and away from any men who were not deeply asleep, when Legolas first spoke somewhat hesitantly. 'You are happy to be involved in this war then, Lady?' His tone was courteous in the extreme. It was the only way that he felt he could keep his voice under control. He had been brought up as the son of a King: he had been trained in manners for all his centuries of age. He could appear unconcerned if he merely retreated into the safety of politeness.
'Yes, Prince Legolas,' she replied with equally admirable self-control. 'I would never have expected to have been allowed to ride to war with the men.' She smiled and risked a little sideways glance at him. To her surprise he was staring at her intently. She blushed and turned her head forward again, concentrating wholly on their feet: his in delicate Elven shoes, hers in boots that had seen many places.
Legolas marvelled at they way the sun made her hair gleam like autumn leaves after rainfall. He could see her strong jaw outlined strikingly, her slightly rounded nose. He watched, fascinated, as her eyelashes touched her cheek briefly every time she blinked. He finally tore himself away from the sight and asked, 'did it offend you that I asked for you to stand with us as a Herald?'
She looked at him questioningly again, but could not keep his intense gaze for long. 'No, I am grateful,' she said truthfully. 'It was kind of you.' She realised her arm was beginning to ache; but to take it from his would be rude. She noticed his arm was unbound and the wound which had been caused by unskilful removal of the arrow was clearly visible. 'Why won't you have it cleaned and wrapped?' She asked boldly.
He looked down at his arm - which still pained him, and even more so around her - and then to her. This time she did not avert her eyes, but held his gaze strongly. Now or never, he thought. He wished he could correct Men's tales of Elves: they felt embarrassment and nerves just as acutely.
'A maid as fair as Luthien herself offered to bind it for me,' he said softly in Sindarin. 'But I merely insulted her with childish and unfounded accusations; behaving as does not befit my rank, nature or feelings.' His eyes searched hers, ready to stop at the slightest flicker of dislike in her gaze. Mithmír's deep brown pools, however, had become unfathomable deep and he could not read her emotion. He knew he had to take the risk, however, and it may be his last chance… 'I hurt her and shunned her as I had no right. I could not bring myself to admit my feelings, for I was sure she should reject me.' He paused for a second and his smooth hand encircled hers lightly. 'I deserve nothing but rejection from this fairest of ladies. This I know. But I think that… I think that I love her; and I cannot bear to live without knowing if this emotion is mutual, or if I love in vain…'
Mithmír noticed the great pain in his eyes. She was suddenly aware that he had laid his heart bare, and was now waiting for judgement to be passed on it. She surveyed his face; and knew that his noble features held no hint of trickery or mockery. She was more glad than she had ever thought she could be, for she knew she would not reject him again. She found her voice, and it was strong and true as it spoke the Sindarin easily: 'rejection is what you deserve, Elf-prince, but it is not what your Lady wants to bestow upon you.' She could not yet bring herself to say those fateful words that are "I love you", though they were what her heart was calling. 'She offers again to heal you, Lord.'
Legolas smiled and a great light entered his eyes even as joy warmed his heart. 'It is all I ask,' he said in beautiful Elvish. In the barren wastelands before Mordor, with the Nazgûl wheeling up above, it sounded like the most beautiful birdsong, or waves upon a beach. 'I shall not be as hasty as I was the last time, Lady. I shall not rush and so regret. The greatest trees which stand the longest take the most amount of time to grow; and so it is with other things also.'
Mithmír ducked her head to hide her smile. 'We had better get back then, so I can bind your wound before we ride out…' She said haltingly in Common. 'Who drew out the barb so badly?'
'None other than myself,' replied Legolas with an embarrassed grin. 'I felt such guilt for the pain I caused you, that I desired to mirror it within myself…'
'You silly Elven prince!' Mithmír laughed. 'All that pain for me?' She could not help to be touched.
'I deserved yet more,' Legolas replied in barely more than a breath.
'We had better be going, as I said,' Mithmír replied and made to go.
'Wait,' Legolas half-begged. Mithmír turned around, and before she could react the Elf had drawn her into a close embrace. His slender arms were wound about her back and shoulders, holding her close to him delicately while gentle fingers trace intricate patterns through the fabric of her tunic. She relaxed her head onto his shoulder, angling it so she could inhale the sweet, wholesome woodland smell of his beautiful hair. Legolas' face was smiling prettily, his eyes closed in bliss, his lips tickling the incredibly sensitive tip of her ear as he whispered in Sindarin: 'I do not want to tame the wild shield-maiden of the North, for that should break her spirit which is a sin unmeasurable: but, if it pleases her, I would follow her anywhere to keep her by my side.' Mithmír felt a shiver pass through her body. When he finally let her go she felt the cold hit her like a blow. She missed his proximity. She glanced furtively back at the camp, where Aragorn, Gimli, Pippin and the other leading figures of the army were assembled. At least Aragorn and Pippin were turned their way, if not more…
'They'll all have seen,' she whispered; not sure if she should be horrified or pleased.
'I could not care less, Mithmír Silfëa, shining spirit,' he replied happily; and so his lifelong nickname for her was born.
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YAY! At last! Please review.
Annaicuru
