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Once again, thank you so much for all the nice reviews!!!! It is so good to get the feedback!! :D
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Chapter 5: Conflicted
I was taken to Galadriel by the female elf who had assisted me the night before. She led me to a shadowed glade upon the forest floor, a place where the massive roots of trees surrounded a small grassy refuge. I found the Lady waiting there, and she led me to a small stone bench where we sat.
I gazed around me. I could see her thoughts were distant, and when she finally turned to me I saw a flash of sadness cross her features. After that I could not read her expression, but she welcomed me once again and thanked me for making the long journey to Lothlórien. Then she rose to her feet and looked at me, explaining that the time of the elves was ending, that they would soon be leaving Middle Earth. With the destruction of the one ring, their powers were waning. Her own powers were also waning, she told me, and she knew not how long she could remain.
Her face grave, she told me that because of this, her efforts to heal grew weaker. More and more of her people were growing despondent and wearied. Did I realize how long a life the elves led? I shook my head, unable to imagine, and she smiled sadly at my expression. A life immortal was a long time to live in a body that was in ill in health.
I finally understood her need, for I could heal what she could not. Her voice gripped me as she spoke of the loss of her people, of the war and the grief that many could no longer bear. I could not fully understand the depths of what an elven mind must deal with, the length of their lives and the multitudes of experiences that they must carry in their hearts. But I knew that what they were losing in the waning of their power, I had somehow gained.
"Look at what you did for Haldir," Galadriel said. "Even before his injury, his heart was tainted with despair, although he fought it better than most. And after that," she continued, her brilliant blue eyes locked with mine, "after they brought him back from Helm's Deep and I was not able to heal him, his shadows grew darker. I feared he would not be able to withstand the forces of despair that sought to take control of him. To face eternity with that kind of pain, Keara. Think of it."
I looked down at my fingers, trying to imagine what it must have been like for him. Just the thought of it filled me with an agony all my own.
"But the ways of the Valar are indeed strange, for they sent you to us, and in ways I could never have envisioned, you have brought light back where shadow had thought to rule. Haldir is healed, the hearts of his brothers are lightened, and because of that, some measure of my own despair has lifted."
I glanced up at her. "How many?" I asked calmly. "How many must I heal?"
She led me deeper into the city to a small building set among the trees. Its walls grew out of the earth, coiled toward the canopy above like the stems of flowers that grew in masses along the paths we had traveled through the forests. I stepped inside to find many who could only stare listlessly, hardly able to move from the weight of their hopelessness and despondency. Those who cared for them stepped back from me with a respect I did not think I had yet earned.
I began to do what I could. I could not heal quickly; the power of the elves took more from me than what I was used to dealing with in humans, and I often found myself weak and dizzy after only a few moments of connection.
At that time I was not aware of the disquiet my illness caused the one who watched me. Many times had I woken from my dizziness to find him carrying me to my room. He did not speak to me, but would set me on my bed and give me water before he left another to care for me. He knew I was determined to continue, and seemed to accept it, although with grimness.
A few times he brought me to see the sunrise, but the climb was long and I found I could not bear the distance. Of course he offered to carry me, and indeed attempted to bully me into allowing it, but I made it clear that this was not to my liking. I had withdrawn from him emotionally, and this seemed to have an effect on him; instead of arguing, he left me alone, only showing himself when I was so weak and ill that I could not return to my room without assistance. Still, I grew even more determined to heal those I could, for the elves' needs were great and I pitied them.
I knew he did not always stay near me; his duties often took him into the forest where he was needed. The darkness that had shadowed the world was gone, but creatures of evil still traveled the paths of the world, seeking to destroy and maim.
Sometimes I found myself straining to catch the sound of his voice and the hint of his scent as I lay, weak and shaky, my eyes closed against the onslaught of the outside world. Sometimes, as odd as it seemed, I would sense when he was coming, but this did not happen often. He would just be there suddenly, seeming somehow to know when I most needed him. I would feel myself being lifted and know that it was him, having no need to open my eyes to see, nor the will or desire to open my mouth to object.
In time, I felt my weakness growing less as I sat among the ailing elves. Whether I had grown in strength or whether the Valar took pity on me I neither knew nor cared, but there came a day when at last I walked among the trees again with strong legs and a light heart. My day's work was concluded and I had some free time to reflect.
"Would you like to see the sunrise?"
I turned and found him there. Deep in thought, I had not heard him approach, though this was unsurprising given his elven abilities at stealth. I gazed at him with sudden longing, not only for the sunrise but for his company. Yet all I told him was that yes, I would like to see the sunrise once again.
His penetrating gaze studied me closely, seeming to see into my very thoughts. "I will come for you in the morning then." He nodded, and I watched him walk away, my heart fluttering with anticipation.
I woke earlier than normal the next morning and lay in the darkness, looking up at what little I could see of the woven branches covering the glass roof above my head. If he were here, he would be able to see them clearly despite the dark. If he were here with me . . . I shoved the thought aside, but not before a wave of tingling assaulted my body.
I plucked at the blanket, evaluating my emotions. How long could I continue? How long would my heart be able to handle the depths of my feelings for him? I had tried for weeks not to think of him, but now that I was feeling well, I could not keep such thoughts at bay. Every glance he had given me, every occasion he had touched me, each memory rushed back into my mind at this moment. The prospect that I would soon be near him sent my nerves clamoring for more, more kisses, more glances, more of him. But what did he feel? At times he seemed so distant, and yet I was often taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. But what he was thinking at those times remained hidden from me.
I rose and dressed quickly as the hour of dawn drew near. I had just picked up my cloak when his light knock sounded on my door. My heart thudded, but I tried to appear calm as I walked over and I opened it. He wore a tunic the color of burnished copper, a color that suited him, its fabric textured but with a sheen, and decorated with black threads. He did not speak, though his gaze slid over me quite thoroughly before he took my cloak from my hand and wrapped it around me.
He took hold of my elbow, escorting me along the familiar pathways, and I walked with him as if in a dream, content just to be with him, yet at the same time reluctant to let him know. At one point he stopped abruptly and turned to look at me. He seemed to be about to say something, but then did not; instead he steered my steps toward the stairs that led to the pinnacle of the city. Arriving, I walked over and leaned against the railing, and he followed and stood beside me. We did not speak, but silently watched as the sky slowly brightened and the wind grew stiff.
"I do not like to see what this healing work does to you!" His words were sudden and forcefully spoken.
Surprised, I turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and piercing as he glared at me. A sudden gust of wind blew my hair across my face, and he reached out to brush it aside.
"I cannot stop," I told him quietly.
The wind picked up the fine strands of his pale hair, fluttering them around his face and over his cheek, but he ignored it. He drew a breath and looked away from me, and I could see him struggle in his choice of words.
"The Lady and I have had much disagreement on this," he said carefully.
Troubled, I studied him, not wanting to be a cause of dissention between him and his queen. Desperately, I wanted to touch him, to reassure him, but dared not. He turned back to me, a sadness in his eyes that he hid quickly, but not before I saw it. It pushed me to reach out. I smoothed away the hair that blew across his cheek, and he caught hold of my hand and pressed his lips to my palm.
The fire that swept through me shocked me to the core. His eyes held mine. I could not look away from their intensity, nor could I breath.
He moved closer. "You gave me back my life," he said in a low tone. "I should not deny others the chance to regain theirs." Frustration filled his voice. "But I also cannot deny that I wish you would stop." He released my hand and I tucked it close to my chest, not wanting to lose the feel of his lips.
"Why?" I asked, half guessing the answer, but needing to know if I was only being presumptuous.
He now wore a slight, rather irritable curl to his mouth; it gave him a sulky look that somehow accentuated his male beauty. "I could say I am only concerned that you will fall so ill that at some point you never recover. Would the loss of your own health be worth it to you?" He shook his head. "But that is your choice to make. I have no say in it." He scowled, looking beyond me to the horizon.
"But that is not the whole reason?" I spoke hesitantly, afraid he would laugh at my question, but needing, yearning to know if there was more.
He looked down at me then, and I grew faint when I saw the hungry glitter in his eyes, the suggestive curve to his sensual mouth. I realized that at this moment he was choosing to reveal something to me that he had hidden before, and my knees trembled as his hands wrapped around my upper arms and pulled me against him.
"Indeed," he said huskily, "that is not the only reason. I have spent long hours, long days in which my thoughts were only of you, Keara. Do you not realize when you healed me that you received something from me? That we exchanged something?"
My mind whirled with bewilderment. I did not understand his meaning, and he saw this and gave a smile that would have sent me stepping back a step had I been free to do so. "Can you not feel that this is true?" he demanded. "Do you not know what has happened? You want me, Keara. I've seen the way you look at me. But there is more to it than that. I have felt you."
A flush swept my face and my body trembled, but I still did not quite understand. How could he see me so clearly? Were my thoughts so evident? How many nights had I lain awake, burning with desire for him? Consumed with wanting him? I shuddered to think of what he must think of me, but he only grinned and pulled me closer. My heart was nigh to bursting as he bent over me.
The first brush of his lips was soft, like a question, but when my arms slipped around his neck, he grew at once demanding. The urgent pressure of his mouth increased, his tongue plunging and exploring, tasting me, my mouth, my neck, my face. My mind went blank as he devoured me, my blood pounding, my hands tangling in his long pale hair, stroking the delicate tips of his ears. I was lost, aware of nothing but him, and I think he felt this too, for I heard him moan deep in his throat, and the sound aroused me so much that I thought I would die from pleasure. The wind whipped around us as he pressed me back against the railing, nearly fusing my body with his as he moved against me with a bold rhythm, an erotic call my body recognized and yearned to answer.
Both of us were breathing heavily when he released me and I think I would have fallen if his hands had not been there to support me. My pulse still raced, and I was afraid to look at him, embarrassed by my wild reaction to him. How amusing he must find me! How many others had he kissed this way, this magnificent, beautiful elf? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
He held me tight, my head against his shoulder, my hand against his chest so that I could feel the thundering of his heart. "Keara, Keara," he murmured, "I have kissed no one the way I just kissed you, and I do not find you amusing. And I have certainly not kissed tens of thousands. A fine opinion you have of me."
I froze, unable to believe my ears. I pushed him from me and stared at him in shock. "You knew what I was thinking!" My hand flew to my mouth.
"I have long known your thoughts," he said. "At least some of them." His expression belied his words, for he did indeed seem most amused.
I gasped in horror, searching his face for some sign that he was teasing me, but failed to see it. My mind went numb. I tried to wrench myself from his grasp, but he did not release me.
"Why are you shocked? Have you not felt our connection?" His brow creased with puzzlement.
I could not answer. I felt violated, invaded without my permission. My body shook with disbelief.
He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I do not know all your thoughts, Keara, only some of them. If you listen, perhaps you may hear mine."
He released me as the sun's rays struck him, illuminating the silver hair that whipped around his head. I turned away from him and ran, down the stairs, along the walkways and bridges of Caras Galadhon until I reached the sanctuary of my room. My pulse beating erratically, chaotic thoughts rebounding in my head, I threw myself down upon my bed and burst into tears. And in my mind I begged him not to follow me.
* * *
Several days passed and I did not see him. I was told he had gone back to the border, and I wondered how long he would stay there and whether he was angry with me. And of course with every thought that passed through my head, I wondered if he heard. He had said he could read only some of my thoughts. Which ones? Was there some way I could shut him out?
The next morning, I woke with my heart in my throat. My pulse raced madly without cause, and I sat up, clutching my sheet to me, confounded to discover that the thought that whispered through my head was not my own. It was alien to me, it had shattered my dream and my sleep, and it was not mine. It was his.
I rose from the bed, shivering in the coolness of the night, and with shaking hands poured myself a glass of water. I sipped at it, my mind reeling as I wrapped my arms around me, the water sloshing against my arm. I crossed to the window, staring at the soft lights that sparkled dimly, tiny fairy lights that seemed to flicker amid the blue shadows of the city, casting misty halos of light against the black branches of the trees. I turned, sliding down the wall to sit below the window, when another of his thoughts caressed my mind.
My eyes widened. What was he doing? My body came alive as an image swept through me, bringing the blood rushing to my face. He was thinking of me, remembering our kiss, recalling his feelings and sensations. I tried to push the image away, drive it from my mind, but it refused to be banished. I knew not whether he lay dreaming or awake, but I could feel his powerful desire for me, a desire controlled by an iron grip. I shuddered at its intensity.
I forced myself to my feet, unable to believe he felt this way about me. Could it be only a vivid dream of my own, fueled by my own desires? No. It was his thought, his memory, his yearning, his emotion. In my head.
After another minute the image faded, and I felt a sense of emptiness, as if I had lost something precious. Depressed, I set the glass on the table and crawled back into my bed, shivering despite the warmth of the blankets. I stared at the ceiling until at last I drifted into a restless sleep.
* * *
The elf lay still, his closed lids translucent, and I placed my fingers on his brow, shutting my eyes as I searched for the slow beat of his pulse. His injury was minor, his breathing faint and steady, but I could feel the depth of the despair that strangled his will. I could not fight this despair; I had felt it in so many, and knew it was a bane that yet awaited others. It was a call to go home, a summoning to sail to the west, to return to the undying lands of Valinor. How long would this one be able to fight it? How old was he, how many long years had he felt like this? I did not know, but could only offer him a token of relief, an easing of his insidious despair and weariness.
I released him and staggered back, my legs shaking from the effects of his healing, my vision narrowing to a hazy band before my eyes. It was worse with the despair; I had to find a place to sit, to grip my stomach as the waves of nausea and illness rippled through me. I turned blindly, and felt their gentle hands upon my arms. They guided me to a seat and left me as they knew I preferred. I curled up, resting my head on my knees, my hair cascading over my shoulder to pool near my feet.
I froze as the heat of his concern blazed through my mind, and I knew suddenly that he was coming for me. I drew a shuddering breath, trying to dispel the pain, but it did not recede. I did not like him to see me like this, weak and ill and pale and helpless. For him, I wanted to be strong and healthy and beautiful. And I hated the idea that I continued to be the cause of strife between him and his queen.
I rose and stumbled from the building, pushing my way into the glade around it. I had a vague idea that I would flee to some place he could not find me, but of course that could not be. How could I hide from him when he had only to read my thoughts to discover where I was? I leaned against a tree, nearly sobbing with frustration and despondency. And then the blackness surrounded me.
I felt his arms lift me. He spoke to me, grimly remonstrating me for what I was doing to myself, but the shadow was too great and I could not reply. I cringed inwardly as I felt the strength of his anger at my stubbornness. Oh, I was a thorn in the beauty of a rose, a dagger that would tear an unwary touch. Yet there was also tenderness in his thoughts and in his touch as he carried me. I could feel the warmth of his body, the soft texture of his woolen tunic beneath my cheek, the coolness of the leather strap that crossed his chest.
I woke to see him sitting near me, his bow and quiver set beside him on the floor. He wore his cloak pushed over his shoulders and it was the blood on it that made me sit up. My heart rose in my throat as I stared at him in panic.
"It is not my blood," he said, reading the question in my mind.
"But there are others who are injured," I answered, picking this up from him.
His jaw clenched as I tried to rise. He leaned forward, and I froze as his gray eyes pinned me. "No, Keara," he said flatly. "Under no circumstances will I allow you to go. You are too weak. I forbid it."
"You have no right to forbid me to do anything," I said.
"Oh, do I not?" he said softly. "I have the right to protect what is mine. Or should be mine, if she were not so stubborn."
I did not speak aloud, but in my mind I told him what I thought of him, that he was dictatorial and arrogant and irritating, and that if I had my strength I would flout his authority and do exactly what I pleased.
He read me, of course, and I both saw and felt his amusement, and also something else, perhaps a flash of approval? I knew in that instant that any battles we might have would be pleasurable, that I would at all times have his respect even though he would always seek to win. He was the March Warden, used to being obeyed, and it would not be a habit he was likely to relinquish.
"Galadriel and Celeborn are there," he told me. "You are not needed."
I knew he was wrong, yet he was also right. Indeed, I was foolish to think I could return. I knew not if I could even stand, let alone perform another healing.
He sat back, and I heard him sigh as he leaned his head against the chair. I saw images of the recent battle flashing in his mind; the fight had been bloody, and I was chilled by his icy calm when he remembered it. How many were hurt, I asked silently. Only a few. The Orcs had separated, and a few elves had taken minor injuries. The thought heated his anger, and I felt its flare as he stared off into a distance I could not see.
Why could I suddenly read his thoughts so clearly? Was it because he sat unguarded, his expression impassive? How much of mine did he feel and not reveal? He knew of my determination to heal, but did he know how much I hated that he saw me like this, so weak and haggard? I shivered as I wondered what he thought of my appearance. What did he see when he looked at me?
I closed my eyes, resigned to my need to rest, when I suddenly saw an image that brought quick color to my cheeks. Keara. His mind caressed my name, stretching out the syllables in a long breathy whisper. Kay-r-ah. A tingle ran through me as I saw myself as he saw me, my image in his mind.
I knew that I was pretty; I'd been told this from an early age, but never had I thought I was as lovely as he saw me. My looks intrigued and attracted him. He found me exotic, alluring, tempting, beautiful. He liked my almond-shaped eyes, my smooth, dark hair, the shape of my face. He liked my hands, my arms, my neck, my lips. He found my scent intoxicating. As for my body, he seemed able to imagine me very well in all particulars, and indeed enjoyed doing so, even at this very moment. Overwhelmed and stunned, I turned my face away when he moved to sit beside me on the bed.
"Keara," he said, turning my head so I would look at him. He smiled down at me, amused by my blush. "We will talk of this later. I must go."
He saw me look again at his blood-stained cloak. "Promise me you will not leave this room." He leaned closer. "Give me your word, Keara."
"You have it," I whispered. "I will not go."
He seemed satisfied that I would not defy him, although he studied me for a long moment. And then he left me, his long legs carrying him swiftly from the room.
I curled on my side, my gaze focused on the empty doorway, hearing the echo of his last silent message. You are already mine, whether I have claimed you or not.
Once again, thank you so much for all the nice reviews!!!! It is so good to get the feedback!! :D
~*~
Chapter 5: Conflicted
I was taken to Galadriel by the female elf who had assisted me the night before. She led me to a shadowed glade upon the forest floor, a place where the massive roots of trees surrounded a small grassy refuge. I found the Lady waiting there, and she led me to a small stone bench where we sat.
I gazed around me. I could see her thoughts were distant, and when she finally turned to me I saw a flash of sadness cross her features. After that I could not read her expression, but she welcomed me once again and thanked me for making the long journey to Lothlórien. Then she rose to her feet and looked at me, explaining that the time of the elves was ending, that they would soon be leaving Middle Earth. With the destruction of the one ring, their powers were waning. Her own powers were also waning, she told me, and she knew not how long she could remain.
Her face grave, she told me that because of this, her efforts to heal grew weaker. More and more of her people were growing despondent and wearied. Did I realize how long a life the elves led? I shook my head, unable to imagine, and she smiled sadly at my expression. A life immortal was a long time to live in a body that was in ill in health.
I finally understood her need, for I could heal what she could not. Her voice gripped me as she spoke of the loss of her people, of the war and the grief that many could no longer bear. I could not fully understand the depths of what an elven mind must deal with, the length of their lives and the multitudes of experiences that they must carry in their hearts. But I knew that what they were losing in the waning of their power, I had somehow gained.
"Look at what you did for Haldir," Galadriel said. "Even before his injury, his heart was tainted with despair, although he fought it better than most. And after that," she continued, her brilliant blue eyes locked with mine, "after they brought him back from Helm's Deep and I was not able to heal him, his shadows grew darker. I feared he would not be able to withstand the forces of despair that sought to take control of him. To face eternity with that kind of pain, Keara. Think of it."
I looked down at my fingers, trying to imagine what it must have been like for him. Just the thought of it filled me with an agony all my own.
"But the ways of the Valar are indeed strange, for they sent you to us, and in ways I could never have envisioned, you have brought light back where shadow had thought to rule. Haldir is healed, the hearts of his brothers are lightened, and because of that, some measure of my own despair has lifted."
I glanced up at her. "How many?" I asked calmly. "How many must I heal?"
She led me deeper into the city to a small building set among the trees. Its walls grew out of the earth, coiled toward the canopy above like the stems of flowers that grew in masses along the paths we had traveled through the forests. I stepped inside to find many who could only stare listlessly, hardly able to move from the weight of their hopelessness and despondency. Those who cared for them stepped back from me with a respect I did not think I had yet earned.
I began to do what I could. I could not heal quickly; the power of the elves took more from me than what I was used to dealing with in humans, and I often found myself weak and dizzy after only a few moments of connection.
At that time I was not aware of the disquiet my illness caused the one who watched me. Many times had I woken from my dizziness to find him carrying me to my room. He did not speak to me, but would set me on my bed and give me water before he left another to care for me. He knew I was determined to continue, and seemed to accept it, although with grimness.
A few times he brought me to see the sunrise, but the climb was long and I found I could not bear the distance. Of course he offered to carry me, and indeed attempted to bully me into allowing it, but I made it clear that this was not to my liking. I had withdrawn from him emotionally, and this seemed to have an effect on him; instead of arguing, he left me alone, only showing himself when I was so weak and ill that I could not return to my room without assistance. Still, I grew even more determined to heal those I could, for the elves' needs were great and I pitied them.
I knew he did not always stay near me; his duties often took him into the forest where he was needed. The darkness that had shadowed the world was gone, but creatures of evil still traveled the paths of the world, seeking to destroy and maim.
Sometimes I found myself straining to catch the sound of his voice and the hint of his scent as I lay, weak and shaky, my eyes closed against the onslaught of the outside world. Sometimes, as odd as it seemed, I would sense when he was coming, but this did not happen often. He would just be there suddenly, seeming somehow to know when I most needed him. I would feel myself being lifted and know that it was him, having no need to open my eyes to see, nor the will or desire to open my mouth to object.
In time, I felt my weakness growing less as I sat among the ailing elves. Whether I had grown in strength or whether the Valar took pity on me I neither knew nor cared, but there came a day when at last I walked among the trees again with strong legs and a light heart. My day's work was concluded and I had some free time to reflect.
"Would you like to see the sunrise?"
I turned and found him there. Deep in thought, I had not heard him approach, though this was unsurprising given his elven abilities at stealth. I gazed at him with sudden longing, not only for the sunrise but for his company. Yet all I told him was that yes, I would like to see the sunrise once again.
His penetrating gaze studied me closely, seeming to see into my very thoughts. "I will come for you in the morning then." He nodded, and I watched him walk away, my heart fluttering with anticipation.
I woke earlier than normal the next morning and lay in the darkness, looking up at what little I could see of the woven branches covering the glass roof above my head. If he were here, he would be able to see them clearly despite the dark. If he were here with me . . . I shoved the thought aside, but not before a wave of tingling assaulted my body.
I plucked at the blanket, evaluating my emotions. How long could I continue? How long would my heart be able to handle the depths of my feelings for him? I had tried for weeks not to think of him, but now that I was feeling well, I could not keep such thoughts at bay. Every glance he had given me, every occasion he had touched me, each memory rushed back into my mind at this moment. The prospect that I would soon be near him sent my nerves clamoring for more, more kisses, more glances, more of him. But what did he feel? At times he seemed so distant, and yet I was often taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. But what he was thinking at those times remained hidden from me.
I rose and dressed quickly as the hour of dawn drew near. I had just picked up my cloak when his light knock sounded on my door. My heart thudded, but I tried to appear calm as I walked over and I opened it. He wore a tunic the color of burnished copper, a color that suited him, its fabric textured but with a sheen, and decorated with black threads. He did not speak, though his gaze slid over me quite thoroughly before he took my cloak from my hand and wrapped it around me.
He took hold of my elbow, escorting me along the familiar pathways, and I walked with him as if in a dream, content just to be with him, yet at the same time reluctant to let him know. At one point he stopped abruptly and turned to look at me. He seemed to be about to say something, but then did not; instead he steered my steps toward the stairs that led to the pinnacle of the city. Arriving, I walked over and leaned against the railing, and he followed and stood beside me. We did not speak, but silently watched as the sky slowly brightened and the wind grew stiff.
"I do not like to see what this healing work does to you!" His words were sudden and forcefully spoken.
Surprised, I turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and piercing as he glared at me. A sudden gust of wind blew my hair across my face, and he reached out to brush it aside.
"I cannot stop," I told him quietly.
The wind picked up the fine strands of his pale hair, fluttering them around his face and over his cheek, but he ignored it. He drew a breath and looked away from me, and I could see him struggle in his choice of words.
"The Lady and I have had much disagreement on this," he said carefully.
Troubled, I studied him, not wanting to be a cause of dissention between him and his queen. Desperately, I wanted to touch him, to reassure him, but dared not. He turned back to me, a sadness in his eyes that he hid quickly, but not before I saw it. It pushed me to reach out. I smoothed away the hair that blew across his cheek, and he caught hold of my hand and pressed his lips to my palm.
The fire that swept through me shocked me to the core. His eyes held mine. I could not look away from their intensity, nor could I breath.
He moved closer. "You gave me back my life," he said in a low tone. "I should not deny others the chance to regain theirs." Frustration filled his voice. "But I also cannot deny that I wish you would stop." He released my hand and I tucked it close to my chest, not wanting to lose the feel of his lips.
"Why?" I asked, half guessing the answer, but needing to know if I was only being presumptuous.
He now wore a slight, rather irritable curl to his mouth; it gave him a sulky look that somehow accentuated his male beauty. "I could say I am only concerned that you will fall so ill that at some point you never recover. Would the loss of your own health be worth it to you?" He shook his head. "But that is your choice to make. I have no say in it." He scowled, looking beyond me to the horizon.
"But that is not the whole reason?" I spoke hesitantly, afraid he would laugh at my question, but needing, yearning to know if there was more.
He looked down at me then, and I grew faint when I saw the hungry glitter in his eyes, the suggestive curve to his sensual mouth. I realized that at this moment he was choosing to reveal something to me that he had hidden before, and my knees trembled as his hands wrapped around my upper arms and pulled me against him.
"Indeed," he said huskily, "that is not the only reason. I have spent long hours, long days in which my thoughts were only of you, Keara. Do you not realize when you healed me that you received something from me? That we exchanged something?"
My mind whirled with bewilderment. I did not understand his meaning, and he saw this and gave a smile that would have sent me stepping back a step had I been free to do so. "Can you not feel that this is true?" he demanded. "Do you not know what has happened? You want me, Keara. I've seen the way you look at me. But there is more to it than that. I have felt you."
A flush swept my face and my body trembled, but I still did not quite understand. How could he see me so clearly? Were my thoughts so evident? How many nights had I lain awake, burning with desire for him? Consumed with wanting him? I shuddered to think of what he must think of me, but he only grinned and pulled me closer. My heart was nigh to bursting as he bent over me.
The first brush of his lips was soft, like a question, but when my arms slipped around his neck, he grew at once demanding. The urgent pressure of his mouth increased, his tongue plunging and exploring, tasting me, my mouth, my neck, my face. My mind went blank as he devoured me, my blood pounding, my hands tangling in his long pale hair, stroking the delicate tips of his ears. I was lost, aware of nothing but him, and I think he felt this too, for I heard him moan deep in his throat, and the sound aroused me so much that I thought I would die from pleasure. The wind whipped around us as he pressed me back against the railing, nearly fusing my body with his as he moved against me with a bold rhythm, an erotic call my body recognized and yearned to answer.
Both of us were breathing heavily when he released me and I think I would have fallen if his hands had not been there to support me. My pulse still raced, and I was afraid to look at him, embarrassed by my wild reaction to him. How amusing he must find me! How many others had he kissed this way, this magnificent, beautiful elf? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
He held me tight, my head against his shoulder, my hand against his chest so that I could feel the thundering of his heart. "Keara, Keara," he murmured, "I have kissed no one the way I just kissed you, and I do not find you amusing. And I have certainly not kissed tens of thousands. A fine opinion you have of me."
I froze, unable to believe my ears. I pushed him from me and stared at him in shock. "You knew what I was thinking!" My hand flew to my mouth.
"I have long known your thoughts," he said. "At least some of them." His expression belied his words, for he did indeed seem most amused.
I gasped in horror, searching his face for some sign that he was teasing me, but failed to see it. My mind went numb. I tried to wrench myself from his grasp, but he did not release me.
"Why are you shocked? Have you not felt our connection?" His brow creased with puzzlement.
I could not answer. I felt violated, invaded without my permission. My body shook with disbelief.
He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I do not know all your thoughts, Keara, only some of them. If you listen, perhaps you may hear mine."
He released me as the sun's rays struck him, illuminating the silver hair that whipped around his head. I turned away from him and ran, down the stairs, along the walkways and bridges of Caras Galadhon until I reached the sanctuary of my room. My pulse beating erratically, chaotic thoughts rebounding in my head, I threw myself down upon my bed and burst into tears. And in my mind I begged him not to follow me.
* * *
Several days passed and I did not see him. I was told he had gone back to the border, and I wondered how long he would stay there and whether he was angry with me. And of course with every thought that passed through my head, I wondered if he heard. He had said he could read only some of my thoughts. Which ones? Was there some way I could shut him out?
The next morning, I woke with my heart in my throat. My pulse raced madly without cause, and I sat up, clutching my sheet to me, confounded to discover that the thought that whispered through my head was not my own. It was alien to me, it had shattered my dream and my sleep, and it was not mine. It was his.
I rose from the bed, shivering in the coolness of the night, and with shaking hands poured myself a glass of water. I sipped at it, my mind reeling as I wrapped my arms around me, the water sloshing against my arm. I crossed to the window, staring at the soft lights that sparkled dimly, tiny fairy lights that seemed to flicker amid the blue shadows of the city, casting misty halos of light against the black branches of the trees. I turned, sliding down the wall to sit below the window, when another of his thoughts caressed my mind.
My eyes widened. What was he doing? My body came alive as an image swept through me, bringing the blood rushing to my face. He was thinking of me, remembering our kiss, recalling his feelings and sensations. I tried to push the image away, drive it from my mind, but it refused to be banished. I knew not whether he lay dreaming or awake, but I could feel his powerful desire for me, a desire controlled by an iron grip. I shuddered at its intensity.
I forced myself to my feet, unable to believe he felt this way about me. Could it be only a vivid dream of my own, fueled by my own desires? No. It was his thought, his memory, his yearning, his emotion. In my head.
After another minute the image faded, and I felt a sense of emptiness, as if I had lost something precious. Depressed, I set the glass on the table and crawled back into my bed, shivering despite the warmth of the blankets. I stared at the ceiling until at last I drifted into a restless sleep.
* * *
The elf lay still, his closed lids translucent, and I placed my fingers on his brow, shutting my eyes as I searched for the slow beat of his pulse. His injury was minor, his breathing faint and steady, but I could feel the depth of the despair that strangled his will. I could not fight this despair; I had felt it in so many, and knew it was a bane that yet awaited others. It was a call to go home, a summoning to sail to the west, to return to the undying lands of Valinor. How long would this one be able to fight it? How old was he, how many long years had he felt like this? I did not know, but could only offer him a token of relief, an easing of his insidious despair and weariness.
I released him and staggered back, my legs shaking from the effects of his healing, my vision narrowing to a hazy band before my eyes. It was worse with the despair; I had to find a place to sit, to grip my stomach as the waves of nausea and illness rippled through me. I turned blindly, and felt their gentle hands upon my arms. They guided me to a seat and left me as they knew I preferred. I curled up, resting my head on my knees, my hair cascading over my shoulder to pool near my feet.
I froze as the heat of his concern blazed through my mind, and I knew suddenly that he was coming for me. I drew a shuddering breath, trying to dispel the pain, but it did not recede. I did not like him to see me like this, weak and ill and pale and helpless. For him, I wanted to be strong and healthy and beautiful. And I hated the idea that I continued to be the cause of strife between him and his queen.
I rose and stumbled from the building, pushing my way into the glade around it. I had a vague idea that I would flee to some place he could not find me, but of course that could not be. How could I hide from him when he had only to read my thoughts to discover where I was? I leaned against a tree, nearly sobbing with frustration and despondency. And then the blackness surrounded me.
I felt his arms lift me. He spoke to me, grimly remonstrating me for what I was doing to myself, but the shadow was too great and I could not reply. I cringed inwardly as I felt the strength of his anger at my stubbornness. Oh, I was a thorn in the beauty of a rose, a dagger that would tear an unwary touch. Yet there was also tenderness in his thoughts and in his touch as he carried me. I could feel the warmth of his body, the soft texture of his woolen tunic beneath my cheek, the coolness of the leather strap that crossed his chest.
I woke to see him sitting near me, his bow and quiver set beside him on the floor. He wore his cloak pushed over his shoulders and it was the blood on it that made me sit up. My heart rose in my throat as I stared at him in panic.
"It is not my blood," he said, reading the question in my mind.
"But there are others who are injured," I answered, picking this up from him.
His jaw clenched as I tried to rise. He leaned forward, and I froze as his gray eyes pinned me. "No, Keara," he said flatly. "Under no circumstances will I allow you to go. You are too weak. I forbid it."
"You have no right to forbid me to do anything," I said.
"Oh, do I not?" he said softly. "I have the right to protect what is mine. Or should be mine, if she were not so stubborn."
I did not speak aloud, but in my mind I told him what I thought of him, that he was dictatorial and arrogant and irritating, and that if I had my strength I would flout his authority and do exactly what I pleased.
He read me, of course, and I both saw and felt his amusement, and also something else, perhaps a flash of approval? I knew in that instant that any battles we might have would be pleasurable, that I would at all times have his respect even though he would always seek to win. He was the March Warden, used to being obeyed, and it would not be a habit he was likely to relinquish.
"Galadriel and Celeborn are there," he told me. "You are not needed."
I knew he was wrong, yet he was also right. Indeed, I was foolish to think I could return. I knew not if I could even stand, let alone perform another healing.
He sat back, and I heard him sigh as he leaned his head against the chair. I saw images of the recent battle flashing in his mind; the fight had been bloody, and I was chilled by his icy calm when he remembered it. How many were hurt, I asked silently. Only a few. The Orcs had separated, and a few elves had taken minor injuries. The thought heated his anger, and I felt its flare as he stared off into a distance I could not see.
Why could I suddenly read his thoughts so clearly? Was it because he sat unguarded, his expression impassive? How much of mine did he feel and not reveal? He knew of my determination to heal, but did he know how much I hated that he saw me like this, so weak and haggard? I shivered as I wondered what he thought of my appearance. What did he see when he looked at me?
I closed my eyes, resigned to my need to rest, when I suddenly saw an image that brought quick color to my cheeks. Keara. His mind caressed my name, stretching out the syllables in a long breathy whisper. Kay-r-ah. A tingle ran through me as I saw myself as he saw me, my image in his mind.
I knew that I was pretty; I'd been told this from an early age, but never had I thought I was as lovely as he saw me. My looks intrigued and attracted him. He found me exotic, alluring, tempting, beautiful. He liked my almond-shaped eyes, my smooth, dark hair, the shape of my face. He liked my hands, my arms, my neck, my lips. He found my scent intoxicating. As for my body, he seemed able to imagine me very well in all particulars, and indeed enjoyed doing so, even at this very moment. Overwhelmed and stunned, I turned my face away when he moved to sit beside me on the bed.
"Keara," he said, turning my head so I would look at him. He smiled down at me, amused by my blush. "We will talk of this later. I must go."
He saw me look again at his blood-stained cloak. "Promise me you will not leave this room." He leaned closer. "Give me your word, Keara."
"You have it," I whispered. "I will not go."
He seemed satisfied that I would not defy him, although he studied me for a long moment. And then he left me, his long legs carrying him swiftly from the room.
I curled on my side, my gaze focused on the empty doorway, hearing the echo of his last silent message. You are already mine, whether I have claimed you or not.