Dear Readers: in this chapter, I am going to introduce a somewhat unsavory character, so please bear with me. The chapter may be a little disturbing to some of you, but trust me--everything will work out in the end.
I owe a HUGE THANK YOU to my reader Anon-101-6--herself a writer and a talented one at that--for her brilliant idea! The new antagonist I am introducing is her brainchild. So Readers, please keep submitting your story ideas to me. I promise to consider each and every one, and whenever possible, incorporate them into my story.
Once again, I thank my beta Kris, for her sound advice and for collaborating with me on a portion of this chapter.
I will address individual reviewers at the end of this chapter.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: BEST FORGOTTEN
She woke up and was surprised that she had slept at all. It had been an eventful evening--a glorious, pleasure-filled evening--and one that had brought with it a promise of change. A change in her entire outlook, a change in the path she would henceforth follow. And it was all because of Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood.
For the first time in her life, she knew herself to be in love. It was a wonderful, giddy feeling. A feeling that lifted her spirits and filled her heart with unaccustomed joy and enthusiasm. A feeling that awakened her soul from its years of wasted languor.
And all because of Legolas.
A small smile teased the corners of her lips, as she gracefully stretched her pale arms and hands above her body and arched her back away from the satin bedding. Turning her head sideways, she expected to see Legolas lying next to her, a mere hand's span away, waiting to kiss her--waiting to be kissed. But he was not there.
Puzzled, she furrowed her brows slightly and turned the other way. Instantly, her smile returned and the joy in her heart grew tenfold. Legolas was sitting a few paces away watching her. Once again, she was struck by the perfection of his features, of his body. Truly, his beauty was beyond compare, and, to her wonder and delight, she felt desire rekindle inside of her. Rekindle and spiral so quickly that it left her feeling breathless and lightheaded. She had never felt that way before with anyone.
"Come to me, love," she beckoned, stretching her arm toward him. She let the thin blanket fall to her waist as she sat up, and was pleased when his eyes fixed on her breasts. She saw his body tense and knew that he wanted her too.
Then Legolas' gaze moved up again and she noticed his expression for the first time. Or rather, his lack of expression. He was sitting still--too still--and his eyes were veiled. Remote and impassive--like the rest of his face. He did not smile, and when the first twinge of unease and doubt pricked her mind, her own smile faltered.
But, he did as she asked. He stood and walked slowly, sinuously, toward her, his muscles straining against the tightness of his shirt. Gods, but you are beautiful! she could not help but think, and was overcome by a desperate longing, even as her heart filled with foreboding in the face of his strange mood. Why do you not smile at me, Legolas? Has something happened? she wondered.
He paused briefly at her bedside, somberly looking down at her, before he sat and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. Then he caressed her cheek gently with one hand, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw pity flicker in his beautiful eyes.
Trying to quell the panic that suddenly threatened, she smiled too brightly and said in a voice she could scarcely recognize as her own, "So, what shall we do today? I was thinking of a picnic by the pool." And she raised a hand to finger his silky hair. "Then perhaps we can…," she purred suggestively, closing the distance between them so that her chest now rested against his arm.
But Legolas shook his head and backed slightly away, then he lowered his hand to her neck and caressed the sensitive area where her pulse was beating wildly.
Her fingers fisted around his hair. Her eyes took on an imploring, almost frantic look. "Legolas, I want you to know, that I love…"
He did not let her finish, for he quickly lifted his fingers to her lips and pressed them. Softly, but firmly enough that she knew he did not want her to say another word. The pity was back in his eyes again--she had not imagined it--with some other emotion she could not decipher. Can it be guilt? she wondered, half-dazed. Oh, my love, do not break my heart…And her arm fell to her side, like a dead thing, taking the blanket with it.
Finally, Legolas spoke. "It is no use, sweetling. We are too different, you and I. Please do not speak further." He abruptly removed his hand from her mouth and stood. "I never made you any promises. I never expected, or wanted, any from you either." His eyes were compassionate, but his voice and his stance were implacable. The Prince had decided, and she knew that no amount of pleading on her part would change his mind. Then he turned away from her. "Your brothers leave today for Lothlorien. I ask that you go with them," he told her gently, and left the room…
Nevladiel closed her eyes at the recollection, and swayed as a fresh wave of pain and humiliation washed over her, leaving her gasping for breath. He is here in Lothlorien! She could hardly believe it.
After one thousand years…
One thousand years had passed since she last saw Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. One thousand years since that fateful morning when he shattered her illusions, leaving her heartbroken and bereft.
It might as well have been yesterday. He is here in Lothlorien! And all the bitterness and hurt that lay buried deep inside her soul--and the love and longing that to this day still welled inside her heart--now bubbled up and threatened to overflow.
"Gods, Legolas, that you should haunt me even now!" she cried, as she raised the silver hand mirror to her face. Outwardly, she had changed not at all since visiting Mirkwood a millennium ago. Haldir's sister was an Elf of extraordinary beauty, surpassed--it was said--only by the Evenstar and the Lady of Light. Why did he not fall? Why could he not love me? she asked herself for the millionth time, utterly bewildered. And for the millionth time, she had no answer. She could have had her choice of Elves, but she chose the one who would not have her.
As she looked into the mirror, Nevladiel studied her reflection. Hers was truly the rarest kind of beauty--pure, almost colorless, ethereal--with large, opalescent eyes, the pale gray color of a winter sky and an exquisite, heart-shaped face with skin so white and smooth that it resembled the petals of the niphredil flowers that grew in Lorien's meadows. One thousand years ago, the flowers had also grown in a sheltered garden in Mirkwood that belonged to Legolas' mother. As she trailed an elegant finger down her cheek, Nevladiel recalled the night Legolas had gathered a handful into a posy and pinned it on her dress. He had said, "They remind me of you, Nev, although their beauty cannot compare to yours."
Nevladiel sighed, and shifted her gaze to her hair. She laced her fingers through the long, silky strands and drew them across her face like a veil. It was often said that an Elf maiden's hair was her crowning glory. In Nevladiel's case this was certainly true, for hers was an unusual, pale silver color that brought to mind moonbeams and sparkling starlight. No one else in Lothlorien had hair like hers, not even her brothers. Perhaps no one else in all of Middle-Earth. She never braided it, and never adorned it, preferring to let it fall in a glossy stream down her back. Legolas had loved her hair.
When she finished studying her reflection, Nevladiel lowered her mirror, following the movement of her other hand as it slowly glided down the front of her body, from her collarbone to her thighs. She had not yet borne a child. After Legolas, she had taken many lovers--if one could call them that--just as she had taken many before him, but she deemed none of them worthy of siring her children. None could match the perfection that was the Prince of Mirkwood. Now she eyed her firm, sleek form with satisfaction. Nevladiel was tall--taller than her three brothers were and nearly as tall as Legolas. But she was slender like a reed, and so small-boned that she appeared almost dainty, delicate. The very essence of femininity.
Because of her astonishing beauty, Nevladiel had been shamelessly indulged throughout her life, her every whim satisfied, her every need attended to by the family who loved her and by her many admirers. She had come to expect special treatment because she was made to feel special by the Elves, who cherished all beautiful things. Indeed, until Legolas sent her packing one thousand years ago, she had never once been thwarted in her desires.
Nevladiel had deluded herself into thinking that Legolas would fall in love her, would want her to stay when her brothers left. How could he not? She was, after all, Nevladiel.
But he had not.
'Why, Legolas?" Nevladiel asked yet again, whispering into the stark emptiness of her room. The question had become a litany for her, a ritual. Day after day, night after night, different words but always the same question. "Why did you send me away?"
It was simply incomprehensible.
"We are too different," he had told her on that fateful morning. But how? How? Nevladiel could not see beyond his beauty, or hers. In her eyes, they were perfect together--two bright, fair beings, perhaps the fairest among their kind, so alike in appearance that they seemed mirror images of one another. He a true Prince, she a Princess in all but name. If only he had given her the chance, they would have reigned supreme over the royal court in Mirkwood. Idyllic days of parties and teas, pomp and circumstance; endless nights of slow loving and gentle passion. A true life of ease, grace, and elegance. But he had sent her away.
Nevladiel's family had always believed that her affair with Legolas had been a casual dalliance--one of many in her two thousand years of life--and long since forgotten. No one had ever guessed at the hidden emotions that still churned and roiled inside of her. No one could imagine the quiet despair that had been eating away at her for nearly one thousand years.
He had been so much more than a trifle. Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, had been her heart's chosen one.
And now he was here in Lothlorien.
Nevladiel's hand tightened around the handle of her mirror. She clutched it so tightly that her delicate bones and veins stood out in stark relief, giving her hand a skeletal appearance. Fear and anguish, coupled with a desperate longing, seized her heart anew. In the next instant, she threw the mirror across the room and against a slender, leaf-shaped column, shattering the fragile glass.
Then she started to softly cry in the gathering gloom.
"Gods, Legolas! If you only know how much I love you!"
A sudden breeze disturbed the wooden chimes that hung at the entrance of her talan. The hollow, lonely sound echoed inside her mind, and seemed to mock the emptiness of her life. Nevladiel looked up and wiped her face with a gauzy sleeve. It is time.
"Can I win you back?" she wondered out loud, heading for the stairs. "Dare I even try?"
Dare I even hope?
Legolas stood gazing at the open sky before him. Like most Elves, he took comfort in the pleasures that Nature offered, and a cloudless, starlit sky was by far his favorite. Usually, he preferred to enjoy such moments alone, allowing his mind and spirit the opportunity to rest. But on this particular night, his thoughts were filled with Ellie. Legolas now wished that he had asked her to join him here after their amorous encounter at the lake, instead of returning to the talan. Then maybe she would not have fallen asleep so readily!
The Elf smiled ruefully and shook his head. In truth, he had been obsessed with her for days, maybe even weeks. Legolas did not understand it, and indeed, had stopped trying to, for his feelings made no sense at all--especially to someone like him. In the end, he just accepted that he could not get enough of Ellie--her innocence and girlish charm, her honesty and spirit, the warmth and feel of her body, the scent and taste of her. She had become a necessary part of his existence. He needed her as much as he needed his life's blood and the air he breathed. And the Valar only knew he would not--could not--give her up. Especially now that she had openly admitted her love for him.
"Just as I love you," she had whispered. Legolas repeated the words over and over again in his mind, and tasted them on his tongue, "Just as I love you."
And he could not help but regret that she was half-human. For had she been mostly Elven, he would not have hesitated to possess her long before now. Regardless of her Ilissan past. With an Elf maiden, a lover always knew if she was ready to conceive or not. But with a woman, it was impossible to know for certain. One would have to take precautions, and Ellie had been horrified at the mere suggestion of that.
The Elf chuckled. The girl had some rather strange ideas! Ideas that were maddening, but which, nevertheless, endeared her to him. How could he not admire someone who valued life--or the possibility of life--so highly, that she felt the need to protect a lover's seed? They were so different in this respect. As a healer, Ellie had devoted herself to saving lives. As a warrior, Legolas had ended them. He had almost ended hers, and the stab of pain he felt at the recollection left him reeling for a moment.
Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the need to see her again, to make sure she was all right…to touch her. I am behaving like a lovestruck Elfling! he thought, shaking his head again, and then, because he was indeed lovestruck, Perhaps she has slept enough! After all, she was half-Elven and he had never seen her slumber for longer than three or four hours at a time. Maybe she was already awake and awaiting his return…
Soft footsteps shook Legolas from his reverie and he turned, hoping that Ellie had somehow heard his thoughts and sought him out. A slender figure dressed in white stood at the forest's edge. In the next instant, she stepped forward into the moonlit meadow and approached him. She was so stunningly beautiful that he could not prevent his sharp intake of breath. Her long hair draped elegantly over her shoulders, and the white gown clung lovingly to her soft curves.
"I thought I might find you here, Wood Elf," she said with an affectionate smile, as she reached him, "since this is the best place to bask in your beloved view of the stars."
"Nev…" he whispered, unable to speak further. Legolas stared at Nevladiel in momentary shock, for although he knew they would eventually have to cross paths, he was not expecting to see her so soon after his arrival. One thousand years had passed since they had parted, and he had spared her nary a thought in all that time. And yet, it might have been yesterday, for she had not changed at all, her beauty undiminished and as blinding as it had been a millennium ago.
Legolas had wanted Nevladiel from the moment he first saw her, when she accompanied her brothers on a trip to Mirkwood. For she was not only exquisite to look at, she also had a winsome way about her and a ready smile that were uncommon among his Mirkwood brethren. Within days he had bedded her, and the two had enjoyed a warm, easy companionship that entire summer. But love had not blossomed in Legolas' heart, and he had assumed she understood that their liaison would not outlast the season. Nevladiel was too set in her ways--too accustomed to the languid life of a Lorien Elf, and much too enthralled by the glamor and rigid ceremony of his father's royal court. Legolas was too restless, too adventurous. Always searching, always seeking…something. Nev was no mate for him. She had merely been one in a long line of accommodating lovers--beautiful and handsome Elves who were eager to please, but who ultimately left him feeling cold and empty…and bored. And so when the time came for her brothers to leave Mirkwood, he had asked Nev to go with them.
And now she was standing before him once more, after one thousand years.
Ignoring his discomfiture, Nevladiel moved to Legolas' side and gazed at the sky before her. "Somehow the stars in Mirkwood seemed to shine brighter," she said, turning to face him again, "or perhaps it was the company that made it seem so." She gave him another devastating smile and he could not help but smile in return.
"It is good to see you again," he said, regaining his composure and forcing his face into a polite expression, as he ruthlessly quashed the stirrings within his body. His desire was for Ellie--indeed had been sparked by her--but he was attracted to Nevladiel. And always would be. Legolas certainly did not want to give Nev the impression that her presence here was anything more than a pleasant surprise.
"Is it?" she questioned, lifting a brow. "And yet after all this time, do I not at least warrant a hug, or a kiss?" Nevladiel moved closer to Legolas and placed a soft, slender hand on his arm.
Legolas glanced down at the elegant hand, then stared into her flawless face. Nev's pale eyes were polite, perhaps a little puzzled--and nothing more. He could not see a hint of desire in their cool depths. He could not sense any heated stirrings within her body. Surely she meant nothing by her touch. And her smile was completely innocent. It was a sweet, serene smile such as one friend would give to another, or a sister to a brother.
Legolas visibly relaxed. "Of course," he replied, having misread her serenity and forgotten about her languid nature. He gently took Nevladiel in his arms and brushed his lips against her cool cheek, then immediately stepped away.
It was not nearly enough for her, but it was a start. "I have missed you, Legolas. I was not sure you would be glad to see me. I thought perhaps…given how we parted…" She let her words trail off and lifted her gaze back to the sky.
"You were angry," he said sympathetically. She had tried to hide it, for Nevladiel was, if anything, a proud, sophisticated Elf. But he had seen through her charade.
"No, I was not angry," she told him, returning her silver gaze to his. "I was in love." Legolas flinched in the face of her simple, heartfelt admission.
Long before she had tried to tell him on their last morning together, he had suspected as much. It was the reason why he had let her go. Legolas had never once deceived her into thinking that their relationship would ever be anything other than a casual dalliance. So why do I suddenly feel so guilty? he wondered.
"That is all in the past, 'water under the bridge,' as the elders say," Nevladiel continued, shrugging her shoulders. She wanted to win him back, not push him away. "I would like to think we are still friends." Her lovely eyes were large and luminous, her expression earnest.
"Yes. Yes we are," he agreed. What else could he tell her? Still, Legolas shifted his weight uncomfortably. He longed to return to the talan; he longed for her to leave. "How did you know I was in Lothlorien?" he now asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
Nevladiel obliged him, for she was starting to feel giddy, almost light-hearted. Legolas is here, with me! And we are talking like old friends! She laughed--a lovely, tinkling sound that warmed his insides--much to his consternation--and brought a smile of pleasure to his lips.
"Really, Legolas, all of Caras Galadhon knows. Since your arrival, the Elves have been talking without pause about your unusual Fellowship and about my brother. It seems he is rather distracted by the young girl traveling with your party." Truth be told, this was the first time Haldir had shown any interest in a female since Naia. Nevladiel had learned from the maiden who had assisted Ellie with her bath that the child bore a striking resemblance to his brother's long-departed wife. No doubt that was the reason for Haldir's unusual behavior…
"Woman," Legolas stated, drawing Nevladiel's thoughts away from her brother and back to the Elf standing before her.
"Pardon?"
"Ellie is a woman," he explained, looking up at the stars. "She may appear young, but she is very much of age." Legolas' face, as well as his voice, softened--taking on an almost dreamy quality--when he spoke of the girl.
The giddiness fled. Nevladiel's eyes narrowed with suspicion as she studied his handsome profile. "I see." So my brother is not the only one distracted by this human, she thought bitterly.
Nevladiel placed her hand on Legolas' arm once more, reclaiming his attention. "Tell me about this…Ellie, did you call her? Why does she intrigue my brother so?"
The question was innocent enough. She cannot possibly suspect anything, Legolas thought, as he stared at her ingenuous face. And yet, he was reluctant to tell her about Ellie. "You will have to ask Haldir."
Nevladiel bit her lip. We have only just met again, and already he begins to deny me! This time she could not quite keep the hurt and angry accusation from her eyes. "But I am asking you," she insisted.
Her words mirrored his own, when he had viciously confronted Ellie over Boromir earlier this evening. Legolas frowned and searched her face for a moment, then raised a hand to her cheek. "I am sorry, Nev. It is not my place to tell you." Then he cleared his throat. "I need to get back to the talan…"
But Nevladiel was not ready to let him go just yet. As he started to turn, she placed her other hand on his shoulder and leaned in close, her fragrant mouth but a hair's breadth away from his and her soft breasts just touching his chest. Gods! He could feel her nipples instantly pucker at the contact, and his body stiffened in response. His face took on a feral look, with cheeks tightening into sharp planes and his jaw jutting outward. And before he could pull away, as was his intention, Nevladiel pressed her lips to his in a kiss that sent a shiver of excitement racing down his spine. Even as he fought it, a dark, primitive desire seized Legolas.
She sensed it, and exulted.
Legolas' body was engulfed in flames a moment later, when Nevladiel wrapped her arms around his waist and boldly shoved her hips against his growing erection. At first, he responded, kissing her back roughly, and devouring her tongue. There was no gentleness in him, as his hands lifted her skirt and dug into her buttocks while he ground his clothed member into her softness. She was so soft, so beautiful. She was his for the taking.
Nevladiel suffered a moment of doubt, a frisson of fear at the intensity of his passion, for she was by nature passive and insipid. But at the same time, her heart filled with triumph at the feel of Legolas' arousal, hot and hard and pulsating against her. He is mine again! He is mine! She would have laughed from the sheer joy of it had his mouth not been assaulting hers.
And then, all of the sudden, Legolas stilled.
Abruptly and absolutely, he stilled.
Ellie…Oh gods, Ellie…
And was horrified.
How could I have forgotten her, even for a moment?
Shocked at what he had done, Legolas turned his face away from Nevladiel and twisted his mouth into a grimace of self-revulsion. Then he grabbed her shoulders so tightly that she actually cried out in pain, and forcefully pushed her body away from his, causing her to stumble backwards.
As he struggled to bring his body under control, Legolas watched Nevladiel with a stony face. But his eyes blazed with all manners of dark emotions--rage, fear, loathing for her, loathing for himself…
"Legolas, why? You want me!" she cried, half-dazed, and desperately reached for him again. But he clutched her arm and pushed her away. His grip was bruising, and unrelenting. Nevladiel did not dare re-approach him.
"Savor that kiss, Nev. It will be our last," he warned in a quiet voice that dripped with menace. And he dropped his arm. "I have no intention of picking up where we left off." He was brutal, harsher than he needed to be. But he was too outraged by her audacity--and his body's betrayal--to care.
Nevladiel felt humiliated. Scorned. Anger and hurt rose and settled inside her chest, threatening to choke her. How can you do this to me again? she silently cried. She had made a fool of herself. And he had made her vulnerable once more. But she would never let him see. He must never see. She was Nevladiel. Instead, Nev fixed an amused expression on her face and pointedly looked toward his groin.
"Really?" she countered gently. "Your mind is made up, but your body tells me otherwise."
Legolas clenched his fists. Without saying another word, he turned and stalked away. The tinkling sound of Nevladiel's laughter followed him into the trees…
*This was the tomb of Aragorn's mother.
To CalypsoAntigone: You have paid me the highest compliment a writer of fanfiction could ever hope to receive. Thank you SO VERY MUCH.
To stargazr: Yours was another review that truly touched my heart! Thank you so much! I am trying my best to keep Legolas' behavior and thoughts true to his Elven character, and I hope that I have not disappointed you with this chapter. Although they have not been portrayed as such in P.J.'s movies, Tolkien's Elves ARE very passionate beings, and I cannot imagine Legolas never having had a "romantic" past. Now his past has caught up with him, just as he is trying to plan for a future with Ellie! Believe me, this story is going to get a little complicated in the next few chapters--but there will be a resolution before Legolas leaves Lothlorien. YES, he will leave Lothlorien. Legolas will NOT abandon his responsibilities to the Fellowship. However, there will be MUCH MORE to this story AFTER he leaves. I'd say that right now I am perhaps nearing the midway point of ELLIE'S CHOICE.
To Avian Lee: Please tell me what a "katana" is! Your reviews always put a smile on my face. I keep picturing a Polynesian witchdoctor-type person with a mask, shaking her staff and rattle!
To Kwannom: Believe me, dear innocent Ellie will have SEVERAL opportunities to…uh…explore her sexuality and Legolas' body. But not yet! I don't want to be too hasty. ;-)
To Rachie: I'm glad you came back to the story and that you like this version better than the original.
To Sylvia Viridian: Thank you for informative review! I would like to share my email to you regarding the term "Meldanya" with my other readers:
In my search for the correct translation for the word "beloved" I came across and selected the word "Meldanya" instead of the Sindarin "Melamin." Yes, I do know that "Meldanya" is in Quenya, and that Legolas--as well as the other Elves living in Middle-Earth during the Third Age spoke Sindarin. I made a conscious choice to use the Quenya translation because the word "beloved" itself is rather formal and archaic sounding--like Quenya would be. And, as you pointed out in your review, Quenya was the language of poetry and song. In my overactive and convoluted brain, I imagined Legolas teaching and/or singing songs to Ellie during their journey with the Fellowship--although I did not specifically mention this in the story. If you remember, in my story, Ellie had wanted to learn as much about Elven culture as possible before reaching Lothlorien, so Legolas set out to teach her. And while he did teach her to speak some Sindarin, as I pointed out in one of my earlier chapters, I now also picture her learning Quenya words through the songs. It is highly unlikely that Legolas would have taught her the meaning of "beloved" in the course of teaching her basic Sindarin (after all, he was fighting his growing feelings for her at the time and she had no clue that what she felt for him was love). However, if one of the songs he sang to her included that word--which is a more likely scenario, since songs often make references to love--then Ellie would have learned it via that song. And the word would have been in Quenya. Because Legolas chose to call her "beloved" in Quenya before he slit her throat, she was able to understand him. So that is why I ultimately decided on the Quenya word once I got the correct translations for "beloved!" :-)
And finally to all my other reviewers: thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement. Please keep leaving feedback!
