Author's Note:

Hello! For all of you wondering, I am still working on my other collection, Where the Heart Is; I am just... wildly disconnected from the internet for the next month. but stay tuned, more is coming! Meanwhile, here's a quick one-shot, featuring Legolas and Calathiel.

Happy reading! Reviews are always welcome :)

-Cel9


Legolas insists on the blindfold.

He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine, and leads me through a forest with soft pine underfoot and a sweet scent in the air, with the quiet rustle of leaves and the crystalline sound of water tripping over rocks in a brook. It has rained recently; I can smell it, and feel the damp boughs on my sleeve. He is careful and he is gentle, going slowly, though I can hardly wait.

He has neglected to tell me where he takes me.

Though he has bound my eyes with a strip of silk, I cannot help but imagine his look of helpless excitement, the sparkle in his eye, in his voice as he leads me through his woods. His hands tremble, and his smile speaks through his soft tenor– careful, now– and his fingers pressing the silver ring into mine; my wedding ring, a new weight on my finger.

The day, so far, has been wreathed in silver; silver rings, silver robes, and a gleaming, shining silver white dress. My mother wore it on her wedding day, and now so have I; a long, shimmering gown, with trailing sleeves of tulle and a low V, where Arwen has hung a diamond necklace.

The ceremony was a week long, beginning in Imladris, with the sound of rushing water and a sense of home, of nobility and festivity, of light silk dresses and nights filled with brilliant stars. There are moments I will never forget– the feeling of my father's hand as he gives me over; the stillness of rushing water down the mountainside, moonlight gleaming on the surface; the way Legolas' hands trembled when I slid the ring on his finger– and it ended with the most bittersweet of them all; walking under the main arch, hand in hand, leaving it behind.

The ceremony ended in Eryn Lasgalen, among the wild trees of Legolas' childhood, walking barefoot and dancing, one with the branches. It was exhilarating and it stole my breath, no longer the solemn beauty of the Noldor but the wild glory of the wood elves; loose dresses and no tunics, the flickering flame of a candle illuminating his face, making his eyes dance and his hair honey-gold, and at the end of the week, we left, my arm encircling his waist, his hand entwined in my hair, his head turned into mine, his breath smelling of wine and happiness, warm on my temple as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

I savor the taste of the memory as he puts his hands on my shoulders to stop me, turns me to the left, and the sun warms my right hand. He stands behind, speaks in my ear.

"Ready?" he whispers, and I nod.

He unties the strip of silk and I blink the world into existence.

It is golden. A soft, magical, otherworldly golden.

The sun filters through treetops, clinging to the last drops of rain and covers the earth in a soft haze, layers and layers of forest. Shadows spot the ground, indistinct shapes that shift and move as the trees speak to each other, as they murmur a greeting to us, strangers in their world.

I turn to Legolas.

His hair is bright gold, soft and shifting in the wind, and he is just as I remember him, the strong line of his jaw accentuated in shadow, his robes silver, cutting a regal figure. His eyes, sparkling blue and excited, are fixed on me, as if he cannot bear to look away.

"What is this place?" I whisper, because it is magical, and to speak is to break the spell.

He smiles, a beautiful, secret smile, and points.

"Home," he whispers back.

I follow his hand to a thin rope ladder that disappears into the trees. He leads me to it, still taking my hand although I can see now, and takes me up.

"Aragorn has given us leave to stay," he says, and holds out a hand for me. I accept and step into the talan, a beautifully built talan, with thin wood floors and no walls, only gossamer curtains around a bed, and pinned around the edges of the talan. A thin wind brushes the curtain against my ankles.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, and he smiles helplessly.

"It can be home, if you like," he says, almost shyly, and I fall in love all over again, with Legolas, in his sweet gentleness, as if I am precious.

I step into the talan, into the home, and take his hand. He catches it, lifting it to his lips, and presses a soft kiss on my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Yes," I say, and mean it with all my heart. "This is home."

He exhales, and laughs, and spins me under his arm, pulling me close, into the warmth of the sun, of him. He smells of the forest, sweet and earthy all at the same time, and I can feel his fea entwining itself with the trees, already attuned to his presence.

"How did you do all this?" I ask, because the wedding was today, and this would have taken months.

"I had Silion and Olthedir visit last Midsummer's Eve," he says, and rests his chin on my head. "They have been helping me ever since."

"That I knew," I say, because I had seen them in Gondor, trying incredibly hard to avoid my gaze. "I thought they were here for the wedding."

"Ah, that was the goal," Legolas says, and grins.

"It's beautiful," I say again, and lift my head to kiss him. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, meleth nin," he says, and he says those two words carefully, deliberately, sweetly.

My love.

"Le melin," I whisper, and kiss him again, closing my eyes, and treasure the feeling of his lips on mine, his fingers in my hair, his mouth forming the words back to me.