A/N: I updated the story so it would have more "emotion" as requested. The smut is coming soon, be patient. Now on with the description-ism. P.S. The wife will remain nameless.

This was one of those warm summer nights. Where gentle winds are rare and faces are peppered with sweat, whether one is cleaning their mount for the night or simply strolling the lush paths of Mirkwood. Where the leaves of the woodlands emit a strong fragrance of radiant air. Each time one inhales that sweet smell; it is as if the body is being filled with nature's ambrosia. Sleep is on everyone's mind or the quiet company of their lovers. This was one of those nights…

I was heading towards our bedchambers, exhausted from the days long court meetings. Kingship, something I found myself unbefitting for, was now an important ingredient of my life, like you, melamin. My breaths were coming in deep sighs by the time I reached our doors. The halls were shady and vacant. There were the occasional candelabras that illuminated the corridors, with their faint light. But alas, they brought no aid to me when I stumbled upon your slipper. A beautiful crafted gift, given to you by Queen Arwen on our Wedding Day. Curiosity struck me, then a bit of panic, but soon faded as I opened the doors and found you admiring yourself in the mirror.

A beautiful creature of Middle-Earth you were. Turning from side to side, seemingly looking for something. You did not notice me as I walked in, so I spoke first.

"What are you searching for, melamin?" I asked you.

You turned to me, a frown bit upon your face, "I am looking for the babe that should be filling my belly." Then you turned to me, the frown gone, but replaced with a questioning look.

I knew what you meant; I could almost feel it before I entered the room. You wanted a child. Something we could call ours, someone we could share our love with. I smiled at the thought. You'd be a glorious mother, so kind and passionate. But were we ready for an elfling? I pondered this thought for a moment, seeking the answer in your eyes. It didn't not take me long to find it written upon your face.

I tried to think of the consequences of this situation. Legolas, Lord of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood, the father of a small child? My mind was being tossed between two great waves of doubt.

I stepped away from you then. I saw the furrow in your brow, a sign inquiring me what you had done wrong. I couldn't stand looking into your eyes. I feared you saw my doubt, and you'd change that doubt into fear. I didn't want you to know that I feared.

I looked down at my hands so as not to meet your painful gaze. These were not family hands. They were not delicate enough for a child, not even for a beauty like you. They were coarse from the many battles passed, jagged from the days of travel and forceful from the foes that brought hate into my heart those many years ago.

Those thoughts brought me back to a time. Before Aragorn's crowning, before Pelannor, even before the Fellowship and then some. It was when I was fifty years old, and I chose you as my wife.* That moment when you said yes was my happiest.

I looked up from my hands, and saw you, my wife, the pinnacle of my happiness. I also saw an elf who loved me more than life, more than anything this earth had to offer.

You kissed me then. I sensed the heat rising from your belly to your lips. I tasted the sweet essence of your mouth. We parted, but I could still feel your lips lingering there on mine. I felt the longing then, the longing you had for me and I for you. My thoughts cleared and the one thing I wanted was you.

To be continued…….

*In the Eldar book of law, elves pick their partners at the age of 50 (or younger).

A/N: I mentioned Legolas' hands as jagged and coarse, but remember this is his perspective.

He is jaded. We all know his hands are silky smooth. Tehehehe.