The slightly shortened quote is from Unfinished Tales by Tolkien himself [bows down in awe and begins to worship].  I don't mean to cause any offence, break any laws etc. by using it.  Don't report me. :-)  It's probably one of my three favourite Tolkien quotes of all time, and pretty much sums up everything about Mithmír, especially when she's a mortal.

Enjoy, review!

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'And how did you like it, elf?'  Asked Gimli, his voice gruff.  Legolas had thought that the voices of dwarves could only be as hard and unforgiving as the stone their owners worked; but in the last two days he had heard the true range of the dwarf's tones: awe-filled, loving, caring, condescending, playful, wise, friendly, trusting…  And so the list went on.  The elf knew, however, that Gimli would return to his usual outward appearance when they rejoined with the others: he was not comfortable showing his more vulnerable side to most folk.  Legolas was deeply flattered that the dwarf chose to show it to him, however fleeting the moments were.

'Even the Elves, word-masters of old, cannot find it in them to express the wonder of those caves, Gimli,' said Legolas with a soft smile typical of his kind.  'Only the light in the deep eyes of dwarves can show even a portion of that splendor.'

Gimli almost visibly swelled with pride.  'I knew you'd change your stubborn elven mind,' he said with a grin.  'Even the Tree Folk cannot see Aglarond [the caves behind the Hornburg in Helm's Deep] without falling in love with the deep places of Arda and their mystery.  Have you more respect now for the Dwarves and their "mines"?'  He chuckled at the name, which Legolas too now had to agree was in no way sufficient.

'I see now why the naugrim [dwarves] love jewels and darkness,' agreed Legolas.  'And yes, I respect your kind ever the more, Gimli the Dwarf.  I shall tell my Elven-kin only good tales of the dwarves.  It is a pity…' and he turned his cheekily-glinting eyes to the stocky figure who walked beside him, 'that none of them will believe me...'

'See them doubting your stories when they're faced with an axe!'  Retorted Gimli in anger.  Legolas laid a restraining hand on his good friend's well-muscled shoulder.

'Calm, friend.  I meant not to rouse you to such passion against my folk!  I said those words only in jest.'

Gimli growled a little – for appearance's sake alone – and took his hand from his axe-hilt.  The pair continued on their way enjoying the silent companionship, very nearly back at the main fortress of Helm's Deep.

It was dark, completely so, but the blue-jeweled Elven eyes pierced the night-veil with ease.  Legolas slipped into the room silently; closing the door noiselessly after him.  He was tired, which was a rare thing, and not as aware as he would normally be.  He took off his light boots, his belt, and his daggers in a fluid motion that would have looked almost inhuman to any watcher.  He then slipped off his tunic and shirt, preparing for a welcomed rest in a soft bed, when he sensed a movement on his bed.  He was alert in an instant, cocking his head a little to one side in interest.  He took three halting steps to the bedside, and then leant over…

When the grey-stone slept she looked smaller than she did awake.  It was as if her spirit gave her the impressive presence she was so filled with in the day; and when she was unconscious that vibrant aura was gone, and she could be seen as all she physically was: a slight maiden barely over her twentieth year.  She was so delicate, so vulnerable, so innocent and so infinitely precious when she lay there, completely trusting, on his bed.  He wanted to protect her from everything dangerous in Middle Earth; and was mildly distressed by the knowledge that, wild spirit as she was, she would always willfully throw herself into peril.  She needed to know she lived on the edge; that the fates need only move her a little to bring death.

'If I chose to send you,' he recited in an almost trance-like state, bewitched by the love of a shield-maiden who would always be a Man in part, 'then believe not that thy one sword is not worth the sending.  For the valour of the Edain the Elves shall ever remember as the ages lengthen, marveling that they gave of life so freely of which they had on earth so little.  But it is not for valour only that I send thee, but to bring into the world a hope beyond thy sight, and a light that shall pierce the darkness.' He reached out and stroked a strand of dark hair from her face with all the care in his ancient heart.  Ilúvatar himself must have whispered the same words to this brave soul before he sent her to live.  Mithmír Rochiwen had pierced many shadows with her light; and, indeed, when mortal – and still now – she gave her life with a free-hand to those who deserved it in her eyes.  All too free, he thought.  'I could not bear to lose you, Lady,' he said, his voice barely a light intonation on a soft breeze.  'But I cannot tie you down, for I swore on my word not to tame that which finds joy in being wild…  And so I must watch you risk your life over and over again, and be helpless.  But rather that I were as a watcher hurt than for you to be betrayed and caged.'

And then words escaped him, and he slipped onto the bed beside her lithely, pulling the lightest of sheets over his half-naked body, and wrapping himself around her.  She shifted a little, a tiny frown creasing her forehead to his amusement, and muttering grumpily.  He kissed away the frown-lines delicately and then settled down to sleep beside the woman he loved.

'Lúthanin,' he whispered sleepily, 'lúthanin…'  Enchant me…

Mithmír twisted her head around uncomfortably to look at the dreaming Elf indulgently.  He sensed her movement and tightened his arms around her to hold her to him.  It suddenly struck Mithmír that he might not be so asleep as she thought…  It was hard to tell with Elves anyway, with their eyes always open even as they slept.

'Deri,' he ordered, creasing his face like a bossy child, demanding to be harkened to.  Stay.

'Legolas?'  She asked, trying to stop her spreading smile.  The cover had been kicked off, she noticed.  Legolas never did sleep still; though he remained almost unnaturally so now, and didn't reply.  She decided to change tack.  'Legolas,' she whispered huskily in his ear.  'Legolas, nín melui, im alinnas lútha losta edhel…'  Legolas, my sweet, I will not enchant a sleeping elf…  She ran a teasing finger across his chest quickly, barely touching the warm skin.  It was a trick she had learnt from her second (out of three, Legolas included) partner, a Rivendell Elf named Heniûl, the ember-eyed; and it was nearly guaranteed to get a reaction.

Legolas, however, managed not to focus his eyes and show any sign of wakefulness other than a shiver.  Where did she learn this?  She was outgoing, yes, but normally not in this kind of way.  He opened his lips a little.  'Mithmír, ôlelleth [dream-maid]…'

'Tirnanin,' she bade him softly, trying to coax his eyes to her with words.  Look at me.  Legolas no longer possessed the willpower to resist what he what he wanted to do anyway, and so his pretty blue eyes blinked and then looked straight at the dark orbs of his love.  She was kneeling by his side, having escaped from his embrace, and leaned over him a little.  She smiled when she saw alertness awaken in him.  He raised his arms a little and stretched, moving sensually in the extreme.  A slight flush rose to her cheeks, and so looked away for a second.

'Tirnanin [look at me],' he said, repeating her request for himself, and turning her face to his again with slender, gentle fingers.  'That was a wonderful surprise last night,' he said with a slight, tender smile.  'I count myself most blessed for it,' he continued in Common.  'Waking up with you beside me… it is like a dream, and yet better even than any Valar-sent vision.  I would not have any more.'  I will never take what you will not gladly give, and I am happy to lie by you without passion if it is all you wish, he added silently.  Anything to have you by my side.

'It was the least I could do,' she replied with equal love in her voice.  'But Legolas…  I need to talk to you.'  She bit her lip nervously.  Somehow it was easier to flirt with a man – be he Elf or human – than to talk with him on your fears.  With Legolas it was easier than with any other, but she was so worried he would reject her for her qualms – which were groundless and idiotic, she often told herself.

'Of course, nín meleth [my love],' he replied with concern tingeing his voice, sitting up beside her and trying to entwine her in the protective mesh of his arms.  To his surprise and hurt, she shook her head firmly.  He could see in her eyes that it pained her to do so, too, but he also saw the – somewhat apprehensive – resolve deep in her gaze, and he knew that this was not some idle dawning chat, and that she had to force herself to start the conversation at all.  'You can tell me anything, gwaedh-elleth [literally "troth-maid", meaning fiancée],' he reassured her when she seemed to pause again.  He laid his hand on hers where it rested on the pillow, and there she let it stay.

'You cannot understand how much those words mean to me, Legolas,' she whispered gently, and then, taking a deep breath, she began to share the weight of her worries with another; though whether it was to halve the load or double it she could not yet foresee.

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