Sorry it's been so long, but for some reason this chapter was very hard to write… Enjoy and please review.
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She twisted her hand under his so she could clasp his thumb between her warm fingers. From the slight shaking there, Legolas knew it was more for her benefit than his.
'Shall I say the hardest first, or the easiest?' She asked with a weak grin in his general direction.
He moved a little closer to her. 'Whichever you think, nín meleth [my love].'
She laughed a little, nervously, and her hand tightened around his, causing her small nails to make white marks on his smooth skin. He didn't complain. 'Well, I know what the brave option is… And that's what I'll do.' She tried to smile again. 'Maybe Aragorn can help me tell you the easiest – easier – thing, later.'
'Alright,' he said softly, unused to such uncertainty in the maid. With her in close proximity he couldn't help but wonder when they would be lovers, not just in love. She looked so stunning to him as she sat there, dressed in only a light slip, her dark hair loose over her shoulders.
Mithmír breathed deeply again. 'Legolas, I want to be your wife,' she began. They both sensed it was a rather ominous beginning, and fated to have a "but" after it. She couldn't help but prove that anticipation right. 'But… there are things I'm afraid of.' She looked at him in anguish, wishing he could read her mind and she didn't have to say these things…
'That's fine,' he said in as supportive a voice as he could. 'I am nervous too, of many things. But I have you, nín uireb meleth [my eternal love], and to be bound to you forever in body and soul… No apprehension can dull the joy at that idea.' He smiled tenderly, and delicately moved his fingers, stroking her hand soothingly.
'Legolas,' she said again as if taking strength from the name. 'Legolas, shall I bear your children?'
'Valar willing!' He said in a hopeful cry. 'Your children shall be the most beautiful in all of Arda, Mithmír Rochiwen; laeg-heneb [keen eyed] and fael [just, generous, fair of spirit] with souls as shining as your own…' Legolas often slipped into the Sindar tongue for adjectives, finding Westron simply unable to express the full emotions he wanted his words to contain. Mithmír sympathized with him: being fluent in both tongues, she could see why, to an Elf in particular, the Common Tongue and the language of the Fair Folk could never compare.
'When shall I be expected to bear your kin, Legolas?' She asked nervously, but gaining in purpose. 'Is the culture of Elves similar to that of Men, where a child is born in the first year in most marriages? Or shall we wait decades?'
'Whenever you want,' he replied, slower than his last words, and more carefully. He began to perceive just what she feared. 'Never, if that is what you wish. I should never wish to force you to do anything, Mithmír, you know that; and to make you bear children… I should never consider such a thing.' He shivered, repelled by the thought. To Elves, the act of lovemaking is highly sacred, and she-Elves are greatly respected for their ability to procreate– such a thing would never be forced on them. An Elf, if raped, becomes so hateful of their tainted body they either commit suicide or sail away over the Sea. It would never occur to Legolas, if he had not met or seen some of the more vile Men, that a woman could be made, unwilling, to do so.
'You wouldn't?' She asked, brightening a little. She had hoped he never would, even partly knew he would answer so; but to be reassured by his lilting, concerned voice was deeply calming.
'Of course not,' he replied firmly, stroking her thumb with his index finger delicately and gazing honestly into her eyes. 'And Mithmír… there is no shame in fearing to bear children.'
'I don't fear the bearing,' explained Mithmír, beginning to smile a little at last. 'A little pain to bring our child into the world is no hardship.' Legolas mentally whispered that he would rather she faced no such discomfort, but realized it could not be helped. 'It is… I'm young, Legolas,' she continued. 'If I were an Elf you would look at me and say I was maybe a thousand years old. But I am only twenty-one, Legolas – I am barely over a child myself. To be a mother…' she laughed a little at herself, and the sound was almost painful to both of them. 'It's a silly fear to have. Being a mother – and to your children – will be wonderful.' She sounded as if she were trying to reassure herself more than him. 'I know it is childish of me to worry about it. I can bear children, I know, and pain does not make me afraid, and I love you, Legolas Thranduil's son; but nevertheless… something makes me afraid. I can't explain it. To be a mother, and no longer just Mithmír Rochiwen Silfëa…' she trailed off, feeling she was failing terribly at voicing her feelings. 'It sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud,' she confided. 'But I'm young, and I don't think I'm ready to do such a thing. The entire idea is just… frightening.' She blushed.
He embraced her wordlessly. 'Alno archas,' he whispered, running his fingers through her hair as if it were precious, spun gold. Be not afraid. 'You shall do nothing until you are ready. To be a mother is a very great responsibility as well as a joy. I am nervous of being only a father – I do not think I would ever be strong enough to be a mother, and I am in awe of anyone who is – which you are, I am sure.' He smiled kindly, though with her head on his bare shoulder, she couldn't see it. 'You are not the only one to be nervous. And your fear is not groundless; it is natural.'
'Really?'
'Really. All Elf-maids feel it, too. Let us be afraid together, Mithmír Rochiwen, and we shall over come all worries to find eternal bliss.' His poetic words moved both of them deeply.
Her breath caught in her chest before she replied. Why do I ever doubt you? She wondered silently, breathing in deeply of the Elf's woodland scent, fresh as in the Forest's dawning. You always make my fears seem silly, and put hope in my heart. 'I love you,' she said so softly he could barely hear it. 'We shall be afraid together. And Legolas…' she brushed her lips over the highly sensitive tip of his ear, and he made a slight moan of pleasure, inclining his head further to her. 'I shall bear your children, and be proud of them – when I am ready.'
'I know,' he said, moving away a little so he could see her face. 'I know,' he whispered as he leaned forward. 'I know,' he said finally before two pairs of satin lips met at dawn.
