The chapter you've all been waiting for… And thank you so much for the wonderful reviews!! *happiness is a lot of reviews waiting for you when you come online* Thank you especially to those who encouraged me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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First Kiss

Legolas pushed his way through the crowd, wanting nothing more than to be away from all this. Away from the noise, the gathered elves, the well-wishers. Away from her.

Heleyna's kiss lingered on his lips. She had tasted bitter as ancient herbs, and he wanted to wash the taste of her from his mouth.

Legolas scanned the crowd for Berethin but could catch no sight of him. No doubt because he is buried under a swarm of pretty Lorien elves! thought Legolas, a touch irritably. In truth, he longed for some familiar company in this crowd. Berethin was his only true friend, the only one which Thranduil had not driven away. And only because Berethin is my cousin, and his company would not attract the jealousy and ill will of the other families! But whatever the reason, it did not make Berethin any less of a friend.

Someone offered him a goblet of wine, and Legolas took it gratefully, even though he did not normally drink it. He swallowed the liquid greedily, welcomed the harsh warmth that flowed down his throat.

'I knew you would like it, if only you would try it!' grinned Berethin, who had offered him the goblet.

'I have tried it,' Legolas said indignantly. 'You were the one who bade me drink it, that first time…and we both remember what happened then.'

Berethin's grin grew even more wicked, but sobered when he saw Legolas' expression.

'Come, cousin,' he said. 'Join me and be merry this night. We can pay the price tomorrow, if a price demands to be paid.'

'Just like the first time I drank wine,' said Legolas wryly. Berethin's irresponsible ways did not ever seem likely to change, and Legolas loved him for that. But Legolas shook his head, a touch sadly. 'You know I cannot.'

'Cannot, or will not?' Berethin asked shrewdly.

'You go,' said Legolas. 'I will dance a little longer for my father, and then I will see if I can find any peace at all, tonight.'

Berethin watched Legolas go, a lonely figure in the crowd, and even the merriness of the evening could not still the sharp pang of sorrow he felt for his cousin.

~~*~~

The ball was well on its way by the time Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir slipped into the great halls of Mirkwood.

'That is what we intended,' said Elrohir. 'We could not have announced ourselves with the other elves, and now, with a few flagons of wine each, everyone is too merry to care.'

Elladan had caught the eye of a Lorien archer, and the two disappeared into the crowd, arms wrapped around each other's waist.

'He was a nice catch,' approved Elrohir, who smiling watched them go. 'Haldir will be sure to show Elladan a nice time!'

A red-headed elf-maid danced over to them, and laughing, asked the masked Aragorn for a kiss.

He looked at her auburn curls, and thought of Arwen's dark locks, and awkwardly began to refuse. But Elrohir had sensed his brother's discomfiture, and smoothly intercepted the kiss. The elf-maid gave a small gasp of surprise as Elrohir caught her in his arms, and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly, but soon she had relaxed into the embrace, and was returning his affections with equal ardour.

Aragorn was left to wander the crowd alone, but he did not mind. He was taller than most of the elves there, and his costume and mask hid the fact that he was Man, not Elf. He stood by a pillar, and watched the crowd swirl and dance around him. To say there were many fair elves was like saying there were many wet rivers, yet Aragorn could find none to match the Lady Arwen.

Stop it! he reprimanded himself, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks even as he thought her name.

He turned his eyes back on the crowd, but his attention was no longer there. So it was that when a lone elf hurriedly passed him, he did not notice until the elf suddenly stumbled, and crashed into him.

Out of reflex more than anything, Aragorn extended a hand to keep the elf from falling. Their eyes met, and Aragorn could not stifle a slight intake of breath.

He was beautiful. It was the only word for it.

His tunic was of soft green silk, the colour of shadows on new spring grass. His clothing was well-tailored – obviously he was of high rank – but he was unmasked, which allowed Aragorn to see the full extent of his beauty.

His hair was pale gold, or rich silver – Aragorn could not decide which. It fell in a smooth river down his back, unbound but for a series of tiny, intricate braids,. His skin was flawless, translucent but for the vivid blush which now marked it. His cheekbones were high and strong, his mouth sweet but grave.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips. The thought came to Aragorn unbidden, but once there, he could not banish it.

Then the elf looked up, and their eyes met. The elf's eyes were the blue-grey of a sea in winter, and shadowed with pain. Aragorn never wanted to stop looking into those eyes.

He is too young, for an elf, to have such sadness in his eyes.

'Please accept my apologies,' said the elf, a touch breathlessly. Despite that, his voice was more than pleasant; quiet, with an almost indiscernible lilt to it. 'I am… I mean, I did not…'

'None are needed,' Aragorn assured him.

The elf smiled at him. It was a warm smile, but rather shy, as if he were not used to smiling, and not quite sure how to do it. 'Then please accept my thanks.' He gave Aragorn another hesitant smile, and slipped into the crowd before Aragorn could say another word.

'Wait!' he called, feeling slightly foolish, but not caring in the least.

But the elf had gone.

~~*~~

Legolas felt as if his face was on fire. Am I a toddler, to be so clumsy on my feet?! he thought in mortification. His heart beat in an unsteady rhythm, and his head swam from the unaccustomed wine. He could still taste bitterness in his mouth, even after three goblets of Quenyan red.

His skin prickled where the one masked as a wolf had touched him. He imagined he could still feel the other's strong, warm hand on his arm. Curiously, Legolas ran a finger over the skin, feeling with wonder the slight change in texture where it had been touched.

Strange; had he not known better, Legolas would have guessed that the Wolf was not Elven. He dismissed the odd thought, putting it down to the dizziness from the wine. But the Wolf had been undeniably interesting. Legolas wondered who he was. He was not of Mirkwood – Legolas would have known him, otherwise. Lorien, then. But Legolas did not know enough of the elves of Lorien to place the Wolf amongst them.

Berethin would know.

From his vantage point at the dimly lit back of the hall, Legolas could see his cousin dancing with several elves. His father and Elian sat, quietly talking. Haldir of Lorien, who Legolas genuinely liked and respected, was lost in the embraces of a handsome Eagle.

His breath caught, and his heart pounded harder despite himself.

The Wolf was roaming through the crowd, searching for something.

Legolas could not tear his eyes away. The Wolf was dressed in grey so dark it was nearly black. His mask covered his face all the way to the tip of his nose, and his eyes were hidden in the darkness. His movements did suit a wolf – sure, graceful and dangerous. Yet Legolas did not feel threatened. He felt strangely attracted, as iron was drawn to lodestone.

The Wolf scanned the crowd quickly, urgently. Legolas wondered who he was hunting, and felt a hot, uncharacteristic flare of jealously towards the unknown elf. You are being silly, came the voice in his head, sounding very much like Elian.

Then the Wolf happened to look in his direction, and their eyes locked. Legolas could not see the other's eyes, had not been able to see them even when he had collided with the Wolf, but he knew, inexplicably and unerringly, that at that moment, they were looking right at each other.

'Elbereth,' whispered Legolas, feeling as though he had finally come home, after being lost for a thousand years.

The Wolf strode towards him, never taking his eyes from Legolas'. He stopped just short of touching distance, and slowly circled around Legolas.

Legolas turned with him, never letting their gaze break, feeling like a cornered deer, but very much welcoming it.

'You are more beautiful than Elbereth herself,' said the Wolf softly. His voice was low and husky.

The Wolf took a step closer, and they stood, a hairsbreadth from touching, but still apart.

Legolas closed his eyes, felt the heat radiating from the Wolf. He took a slow breath in to savour the scent of the Wolf. He smelt of the earth after rain, of the sea and salt and musk. Legolas had never experienced anything like it.

He felt hands take his face; large hands that were calloused and scarred but gentle. Thrills ran up and down his skin were he was being touched, and Legolas shivered from their power. The Wolf tilted his chin up, and Legolas opened his eyes to find himself staring into the darkness of the wolf-mask. He could not see the Wolf's face, but he could see that his chin was strong, and cleft, and that the beginnings of a five-o-clock shadow had begun to darken his jaw.

Ai! A Man! Legolas thought in wonder. He had not seen many Men; certainly he had never been in a position like this with a Man. He wondered whether it mattered, that he was so inappropriately close to a Man, when he knew not the Man's name, nor indeed even his face. He wondered what Berethin would think, what Thranduil would think, what Elian would think, what Heleyna would think.

And then the Wolf – the Man – kissed him, and Legolas felt the world disappear around them. He felt… It took Legolas a moment to identify the sensation he felt. Ah, yes. He felt safe. There were no more worries, no sadness, no regrets about the impending wedding.

Only me, and my Wolf.

My love.

~~*~~

Aragorn scarcely dared to touch the elf, in case by reaching out to him, the elf would shimmer and dissipate like a dream. He hesitantly cupped the elf's face in his hands, feeling more awkward than ever when he felt the smooth silk of the elf's skin against his own scarred hands.

Who are you? wondered Aragorn, that I could have spent so many years existing and not found you before?

The elf's eyes were closed. Aragorn could see the delicate blue veins in his eyelids, the way his long sand-coloured lashes quivered. The elf seemed overwhelmed. Not afraid, but pushed so far that he was only a fraction from snapping. And yet he held himself with a remarkable poise, as if by determination alone, he could endure anything.

Suddenly, the elf's eyes flickered open, and Aragorn found himself lost in them again. He stared for a long time into those blue-grey eyes, and felt himself being pulled like an elf to the sea-longing. The elf gave another hesitant half-smile, and it was more than Aragorn could bear.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lip, Aragorn wondered again, and this time he was determined to find out. He leaned closer, and softly brushed his lips against the elf's. He tasted of spring, of dew and the smell of clover. Aragorn explored the elf's lips with his tongue, then kissed him hard. He was faintly surprised to feel the elf return his kiss with the same urgency. But it felt so right, more right than anything else he had ever done. He leaned harder into the elf, and savoured the feel of the willing body against his. A lock of the elf's sleek hair fell over his face, and Aragorn took it gently between one thumb and finger. He ran his hand down its smooth length, marvelling at the perfection of the elf.

In turn, the elf fingered the wolf-mask which still hid his face, and moved to pull it off. Aragorn hesitated. He doubted whether any would recognise him as from Rivendell, but he knew all would immediately see that he was Man, not Elf. He turned his head slightly, so that the elf could not undo the ties which kept the mask on. As he moved, he trailed his kisses along the elf's smooth jaw, and down his silken throat. The elf gasped, and pressed harder into Aragorn.  

Suddenly, the elf stiffened in his embrace, and Aragorn stopped, confused. The elf hastily freed himself from Aragorn's arms, and turned to face the elf-woman who stood before them, eyebrow raised. The ranger was flustered, and more than a little disappointed, but the elf was incredibly composed.

'Elian,' he greeted her, the slightest hint of regret in his voice.

The elf-woman, robed entirely in grey, curtseyed to him, but steadfastly ignored Aragorn.

'You are needed,' she said simply. Aragorn could not determine whether she was his superior, or servant. She inclined her head to where a two elves stood, gesturing decisively as they spoke. 'Go.' Her gaze was stern as she looked at the elf, but not entirely unsympathetic.

Aragorn watched in disbelief as the elf – his elf – turned away obediently and walked off without a single backward glace.

'Wait,' he pleaded, but it was no more effective this time than the first.

Aragorn turned desperately to the elf-woman who stood, still staring at him with an un-nerving grey gaze.

'Please, my lady,' he said softly. 'Who is…who is he?'

She remained unmoving, and Aragorn found himself taking in the details of her face. He had never seen an elf look so…weary. Almost old. He bowed his head, and was about to turn away, when she spoke. Her voice was tired but still lovely.

'Take off your mask.'

Aragorn started. 'Excuse me?'

She swept her gaze around them deliberately. 'No-one but I shall see. Take off your mask.'

Aragorn reached up, and slowly untied the cords which held the mask in place. He peeled the wolf-face away, and looked uncertainly at the elf-woman.

'A Man,' she said, sounding both as if it confirmed her thoughts, and as if it were a wonder. 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn; commonly called Estel of Rivendell, if I am not mistaken.'

At this Aragorn did jump – he took a step back from the elf-woman who so calmly displayed her knowledge of him.

'How –?'

'It was not difficult,' she said dryly. She cocked her head slightly at him. 'Are you sure you want to know who he is?'

Aragorn swallowed his apprehension. 'Yes,' he said quietly. Then, 'Yes,' with all the conviction he could muster. 'I think…I think I love him.'

The elf-woman considered that for a moment. 'Well. Words are pretty enough, and easy enough to give.' She waved away his protestation. 'Time shall tell if you mean it.' She fixed him with that grey stare again. 'He is Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, Estel. Your sworn enemy. And the newly betrothed of the Lady Heleyna.' She gave him a mocking curtsey, and moved gracefully to join the Prince Legolas.

Aragorn felt despair descend upon him, but he refused to succumb to it.

'I will be with you, Legolas,' he vowed softly. 'I pledge my life upon it.'

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AN: Finally, they meet! I hope you liked this chapter, and can find the time to review! Every review means a lot to me, and they are what keep me writing. If ever you stop reviewing, I will probably stop writing – not because of my ego, but because I will think that no-one's reading anymore. So, yes. Please review?