A/N Another chapter done! Thanks for all the reviews and follows to date. I greatly appreciate your support. Not long to go now as there's only one more chapter after this! I hope you're all enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it.

Warnings for lemons in this chapter.

Without further ado, enjoy!

CHAPTER 7 – Consumed

The ominous warning that marked the door under the mountain did nothing to settle the sprinting of Isobel's heart. Impossibly it was even colder here; the trees more dense, the air even more dire. Dread gripped Isobel's chest even tighter. Something was determinedly trying to tell her that she should not be here. But without so much as a backwards glance her companions charged inside, leaving the indecisive young woman alone. There was nothing for it, she thought, swallowing hard as she followed.

The gateway acted as a veil of sorts for the moment Isobel passed through all light was seemingly sucked away. The difference was like plunging into a bucket of ice; shocking and unimaginably cold. The very air solidified in their lungs, stealing their breath and the remaining shreds of hope. A green mist swirled around their bodies, making it impossible to see where they were going. Snatches of memories past streaked up their torsos as wisps of delicate clouds, gripping their tunics with determined fingers. Fear saturated the atmosphere, whether their own or from previous wayward adventurers, none were sure. As the trio crunched through the cavern, the ground was unsteady beneath their feet. The shrouds cleared momentarily allowing the companions to recognise death in the form of thousands of skulls.

A sharp inhalation of breath from behind drew Legolas' attention. He turned to fix the hesitant face of his lover with a small smile. Despite their inevitable demise, the elf felt a sort of morbid peace settle in his heart in knowing they were together. Isobel was not so reassured. The nagging in her

heart gnawed at her further the deeper they traversed. But resolve flared in her mind and the young woman decided there was nothing for it but to hastily follow the dancing flames held aloft by the ranger at the helm of their troop.

As they emptied into a large cavern a booming voice echoed around intimidatingly around the cavern.

"Who enters my domain?"

Aragorn stood in front, the silver pommel gripped tightly in his hand. His remaining companions flanked him, their eyes darting rapidly around the chamber, searching for foes. To their shock, a green spectre appeared seemingly from nowhere. This creature was truly an awful sight to behold. Momentarily nausea threatened Isobel's stomach at the sight. She surmised that he had once been a great leader. But evidently a cursed millennia had not been kind to him. The hollow whites of his eyes glared menacingly at them through the wasted remains of his face. The strong stench of death follow the apparition, clinging like winter thickets to the remnants of his bones as his tattered robes fluttered in the breeze. Beside Isobel, her elven companion swallowed hard. With a small twinge of regret, the young woman reflected just how much worse this awful place would be for a fair creature of light like Legolas. But before she could contemplate that thought any further, the sinister voice of the king of the dead spoke once more drawing her attention. Teeth chattering gruesomely inside his eroded jaw, he threatened the ranger.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

The king under the mountain let out a maniacal laugh as the hoards of his army surrounded the group. As quick a lightning, Legolas notched an arrow and loosed it at the nearest threat, watching dismayed as it passed through the transparent form without so much as a mark.

A string of impolite curses flicked through Isobel's mind as she contemplated the efficacy of using different spells against their assailants. But she didn't have long to ruminate for a heartbeat later and without so much as a warning the spectres charged. Dancing towards Legolas with limber steps, Isobel quickly cast 'protego', the shield charm. A luminous bubble erupted from the young woman's hand encompassing the pair in a wispy bubble of protection. The blades of their attackers smashed down upon the barrier with an unbridled ferocity but did little to mark it. Fear sliced through Isobel as sharp as a blade.

'Now what,' she thought dryly.

Above the chaos a shocking clang sounded, drawing the attention of all. At their flank, Aragorn had met the sword of the king under the mountain with an irrefutable challenge. His grey eyes bore determinedly into the skeletal pair of the spectre's as their blades pressed together.

"That line was broken," the spectre hissed.

Gripping the throat of his opponent, Aragorn stated fiercely, "It has been remade."

Shoving the festering apparition away, the ranger stood before the transparent army in unwavering challenge. The long sweaty streamers of his hair blew in the stale breeze as the green glow of the chamber reflected in the silver gleam of his armour. Dirt from their travels marked his skin and clothes but the ranger stood tall and proud as he stared down their opponents. As the shield faded from Isobel's hand she thought in that moment how her friend radiated the strength of his bloodline with more deference than she had ever seen before; how for all intents and purposes the weight an invisible crown now sat upon his brow.

"Fight for us and regain your honour. What say you?" Aragorn offered, searching the wasted remnants of the soldier's faces.

To their confusion, that maniacal laughter echoed around the trio once more as the king under the mountain and his army faded away. Desperate, the shouts of the ranger followed them with more determination.

"What say you?!"

But the trio now found themselves alone shrouded in silence once more. Dread settled in the young woman's throat. 'What now?' the faces of her friends seemed to say as their eyes flittered around the now empty cavern. Isobel's turned her gaze to Legolas for some sign of what was to come, for his senses were more honed than her own. The elf's handsome face was impassive as cerulean eyes met with hers. But that quickly changed and Isobel watched as the tension in his brow morphed into alarm.

They were hit with a forceful gust of wind, strong enough to shake their balance as the stony walls began to shudder ominously. Skulls clattered all around the trio as they stood immobile, unsure of what the changes signified. The very walls seemed to be groaning all around them. Suddenly, an ear-splitting sound behind them drew their attention. Spinning quickly, dust spluttered all around the companions as they watched, horrified, as the mountainous walls of the cavern began to crumble. They were to be buried alive!

Aragorn's shout of warning could only just be heard as the three sprinted for the exit. In that moment, thousands of skulls burst through stony dams as accursed waterfalls, spilling over the edge of the cliff face into the nothingness below. Stumbling over the unsteady surface, the three hastily made their way out of the chamber. But the torrent of the damned was deep and unrelenting as it pounded their bodies with bruising force, threatening their life and stability. The lightest of the three and less sure-footed than her elven lover, Isobel struggled the most. The skulls beat down upon her small frame harshly, knocking her this way and that as she grappled to maintain her balance. She was nearly through the doorway when her foot slipped upon the unstable surface. With a cry of alarm, her feet slid out from under her and the accursed cascade carried her away. Legolas' panicked shout followed her into the blackened depths. But in a heartbeat she was encompassed in an all-consuming darkness as she fell deeper into nothingness.

The elf stared wide-eyed and horror-struck at the turn of events. All rationality fled from his mind as he made to leap after his heart as it slid down into the abyss. But a firm hand closed around his arm and yanked the paralysed being through last of the avalanche and the doorway.

A mix of defiance and betrayal set itself in the fair being's features as he turned hard blue eyes on the ranger.

"Leave it," the ranger hissed, shoving the elf onward as rocks continued to rain down around them. "She will be fine. We must go!"

But stubbornness echoed across Legolas' face and he squared his shoulders in preparation for an argument.

Meanwhile, bones continued to pound Isobel's body mercilessly as she swam against the tide that carried her further and further into the abyss. Finally, something hard caught beneath her feet for a second and she was able to launch herself free from the torrent of skulls in an awkward dive. Transforming swiftly she beat her wings fiercely, narrowly missing being knocked from the air by a wayward bone. The flight was hard owing to the force of the wind, dust and debris that rained down upon her in an unrelenting barrage. But she kept her sharp eyes focused on the narrow beam of light that pierced through the gloom. Slowly but surely she flew towards the surface before bursting free to hover above the abyss. Her companions were no where in sight. As the waterfall continued to flow in it's gruesome torrent, the young woman realised with no small amount of alarm that it had almost covered over the exit. She tucked her wings firmly against her torso and dove rapidly for the diminishing escape.

As the elf and ranger faced off against one another, a small brown object burst through the doorway behind them. Soft feathers stroked the crown of the elf's head as the falcon blew past the pair in a blur before making it's way through the crumbling corridors. All arguments now moot, incredulity coloured the faces of the ranger and the elf as they followed the hastily retreating bird.

Isobel charged out of the final stony doorway in a cloud of dust before landing on a nearby rock and transforming into a panting, trembling mess as Aragorn and Legolas appeared behind her. They were alive. How they were alive remained a mystery to the young woman. But alive they were, nonetheless. Shakily, the young woman closed her eyes for a moment and tried to regain control over her sprinting heart and heaving breath. But even as the cool fresh air washed over her sweat soaked skin, the warning in her chest tightened just that little bit further, rendering calm an impossibility. Whatever it was, it was close now. She could feel it in the way her blood thundered through her veins. She could feel it in the squeeze of her lungs that had her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Smooth green hills rolled before the trio. Twisting like a snake through the grass lay a wide, brown river. But the mountain they'd just left wasn't the only aberration to mar the otherwise serene landscape today. Fire ravaged the port nearby as dozens of black ships swam ominously along the river, headed for Gondor.

"Corsairs," Isobel seethed from her rocky stead, before remembering their failure not minutes ago.

Turning desolate eyes on Aragorn, she recognised the utter devastation on his face as he knees gave way beneath him. There was nothing for it. The companions had failed. Defeat shrouded the three like a fog, heavy and encompassing. But then a hissing pierced through the mist as green spectres appeared through the mountainside.

"We fight," their leader snarled and hope flared once more.

oOOOo

The battle had been swift but brutal. Having overtaken the corsair ships, the trio had sailed onward to Gondor to join the battle from the flank. With their undead army dominating the enemy, the elf, ranger and witch found themselves at the rear, picking off the remainders. Isobel was swift and fearsome in her deliverance of justice, for she held no sympathies for the cruel invaders. Hacking, slashing, spinning and slicing through disfigured flesh as they bore down upon the companions, adrenaline surged within her. She leapt to the side deftly as one particularly bulbous lump attempted to gore her, before plunging her sword through it's back and dancing away to meet the challenge of another ugly creature. Disposing of it quickly, she was surprised when the ground beneath her feet shuddered as an oliphant crashed before her, an equally surprised elf sliding from it's trunk. With a sheepish grin and a quick kiss upon her lips, the handsome blonde elf bounded away in search of another foe.

Before long black filth seeped into the ground through the litany of gruesome corpses. Exhaustion was beginning to take it's toll on the young woman as she watched a green mist in the distance slide its way through the layers of the city of Minas Tirith. And with it the evil washed away.

oOOOo

The toll was heavy as the companions slowly picked their way through the ruined fields of Pelennor. Death was all encompassing; the finality of it evidenced everywhere they turned. The sound of silence that accompanied was deafeningly thick. Where there should have been tall grass, yellowed by the warm days, and flourishing life, was instead a cacophony of bloodless corpses; men, horses and orcs.

It was Aragorn who had found her first. Isobel crouched between the twisted remains of two stallions. A multitude of spears projected from their torsos and the ground nearby as a haze of dust swirled around them. The ranger watched as with gentle fingers, the young woman probed the flesh of a rider, searching for any sign of life. Her long hair, having loosened in the ferocity of the battle, blew in soft wisps around her shoulders. Thick black ooze had seeped through the sleeves of her tunic, the same streaking across the front of her silver chest plate. Swords dripping with filth had been re-sheathed on her back, a poignant testimony to how hard she had fought.

It was then that the young woman quickly withdrew her fingers to rub a dismayed hand over her forehead. The slow streak of tears trailed down stained cheeks as a small sob broke through her pained lips. Aragorn felt his heart break just that little bit further at her compassionate display. Such utter devastation surrounded them. War was such a waste.

With careful steps he approached the distressed young woman to place a hand upon her shoulder. Surprise reflected in the moist blue eyes that met the ranger's own own for she had not known he was watching. Gently he pulled her to her feet before enveloping her in a tight embrace. Wordlessly he held the young woman, his dear friend, the heavy burden of battle slipping just that little bit from his own shoulders at seeing her alive. Finally he released her to cradle the soft skin of her face in his hand.

"Do what you can," he murmured gently, swiping away the wetness from her cheek.

Nodding once, the young woman stepped away just as an agonised scream pierced through the eerie silence. So harrowed was the voice that it struck terror through the pair as they turned in search of the source. Here they recognised the tortured form of Eomer as he clutched his unconscious sister. A shudder reverberated through the young woman as another anguished yell ripped from deep within his chest. Hesitating not a moment longer, Isobel leapt lithely over the fallen to crouch before the siblings. Without even laying a hand on the blonde woman's skin, alarm shot across Isobel's features as she realised the extent of Eowyn's injuries. Eomer had fallen silent now, trusting that if there was any hope for his sister, it lay in the hands of this young woman. So it surprised him greatly when Isobel grasped his tunic with a firm fist before standing quickly and twisting. The blonde marshal felt a tugging sensation behind his naval before his body felt as though it was squeezed through a tight rubber tube. Disturbed, he gripped on to his sister even tighter as the air was forced from his lungs. Just as he thought he would burst, the unpleasant sensation gave way to confusion and he felt his knees collide painfully with a stone floor.

They were in a white room. Women bustled around them, ushering injured men to the make-shift beds that dotted the room. Evidently, Isobel knew exactly where they as she snatched Eowyn from the marshal's grasp to carry her with gentle hands to a nearby platform. Laying the blonde woman down with as much care as she could, Isobel once more crouched beside the immobile form to stroke concerned fingers over the pale face.

Moving to sit beside them, Eomer asked, "Where are we?"

His gaze flitted around the room to eye what could only be described as organised chaos. The wails of the injured as their mangled bodies were dragged in reverberated nauseatingly across the stone walls. Here they were herded before stony-faced matrons where there afflictions were seen to as best as make-shift facilities could.

"The infirmary," Isobel replied, not looking up as she splayed her hands over Eowyn's pallid skin.

Setting her mouth in a thin line of concentration, the young woman closed her eyes. One soft hand, still grimy from battle, cupped the blonde's face, the other hovered just over her heart. The blonde woman felt icy beneath Isobel's touch, frozen even. She suppressed a shiver, feeling the warmth of her own skin leech out to the woman beneath. Eomer watched with cautious optimism before the concern on the beautiful woman's brow deepened.

"Can you heal her," he probed, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Sapphire eyes snapped open to meet his own at the words but there was no hope reflected in them. Terror coiled tightly around Eomer's throat.

"I can heal her body," the young woman explained carefully. "But there's something else. An evil grips her soul. I am truly sorry."

The handsome blonde marshal crumbled visibly before the young woman's eyes, like a old stone wall. He caved in on himself as heartbroken sobs broke from his chest. Sorrow rippled across Isobel's features as she moved beside him to cradle his head against her shoulder. Wordlessly she held the broken form of her friend as his grief poured out.

It was here that Legolas found them. The marshal's throat had long since dried out and he now sat in stony silence hunched over the fading form of his sister. Eowyn lay as still and a pale as grim death save for the black bruising spreading along her arm. With regret, the Legolas' sharp senses could feel the evil that coursed through her body. He could feel the blonde woman drifting away.

The infirmary was silent, save for the distress of the injured. Some yelled for their mothers, others begged for their lives. And those that were too far gone just screamed hysterically. Impatient women shoved past the elf, jostling his body as they hastily attempted to treat as many as possible before it was too late. Everywhere Legolas looked, grief hung in long tangles from the shoulders of those that bustled past. In many ways he found this place more macabre than the battlefield outside. But it was here that Isobel chose to dedicate herself. Purely out of a sense of altruistic duty, Legolas surmised, for no rational being would choose to saturate themselves with such misery.

Isobel appeared from a side room, cradling a jug of warm water in her hands as she hastened towards one of the most vocal victims. Since the battle she had dispensed of her armour revealing a stained tunic to match her streaked face. Her long dark hair had been hastily tied in a bun behind her head. Despite her grim expression and filthy demeanour, the elf felt his breath catch, captivated by her beauty once more.

He followed Isobel to the corner of the room where she laid the jug down beside the agonised form. The soldier before her writhed on the bed, hysterical screams tearing from this throat, as two firm hands held him down. A hasty bandage, now ominously stained dark red, had been tied to the young man's abdomen. Spilling alcohol over her hands quickly as the man continued to fight, Isobel turned before discarding the soiled bandage on the floor.

Legolas had seen his fair share of battle wounds in his time but this was one of the most shocking and he froze at seeing the deep slash that ripped through the man's flesh. Intestines spewed gruesomely out as scarlet oozed across the arms of the young woman while she attempted to push them back in. How this soldier had made it this far could only be described as miraculous. For a moment, Isobel closed her eyes, unperturbed by the thrashing of the man before her. In a heartbeat it was over and the young woman withdrew to reveal smooth, perfectly healed flesh once more.

Pain now gone, the soldier ceased his flailing. Instead he withdrew to turn wide, terrified eyes upon the young woman who had saved him. Disgusted, Legolas felt his heart flare with injustice. She saved him; who the hell was this wretched creature to treat her like a pariah?

But in a testimony to Isobel's strength, she only fixed the frightened man with a sad smile before moving away to wash his blood from her skin.

"Iz," Legolas murmured, coming up behind her to place a cool hand on her shoulder.

Drying her hands hastily on her tunic, Isobel turned into the comforting embrace of her lover. Wrapping her arms around the lithe form, she closed her eyes to press her face into his chest and breathe in his familiar musk. Until now chaos had rained in her mind as she had flitted from one injured form to another. It was only now in the safety of the elf's arms that her mind began to quieten. But as her mind began to slow, so did her body. And suddenly the young woman was aware of just how fatigued she really was. Aside from having fought in a long and vigorous battle, the act of healing drained her faster than anything else. And then there was the emotional toll of the gore, the death and the all-encompassing bitter loneliness that had struck through her from the humans' guarded tolerance of her, 'the witch.'

As Isobel took there against her lover, she felt herself slump, her legs threatening to give way.

"Enough," Legolas said firmly, tightening his grip and fixing the young woman with an exasperated expression. "It is time for you to take care of yourself."

Sensing that princely tone that didn't invite challenge, Isobel nodded once, before allowing the elf to lead her away.

oOOOo

It was a day later, after much rest had been sought, that Isobel and Legolas found themselves in the throne room in the top most tower of Minas Tirith. While the others had largely recovered in that time frame, seemingly the young woman had not. Though she had slept through the night and most of the next day, fatigue and pain continued to vex her in ways that were new. Frustratingly, the squeeze in her chest only seemed tighter now, often robbing her of breath and occasionally of thought. She sat now on one of the decidedly uncomfortable chairs at the precipice of the stone stairs. Though undoubtedly meant to opulent, grey stone marked every surface from the walls, floors and columns, giving the room a sterile feel. Isobel herself had even been clothed in a simple dove grey dress. Wryly, she deduced that cold impassiveness must be the fashion here.

Despite it being easier to maintain a better facade if she didn't have to stand, the pressure building inside Isobel had the young woman hunched on herself. Though she was trying hard not to show it lest it concern her companions, it was becoming more difficult and for his part, Legolas was not deceived. He had hovered over her protectively since he had escorted her from the infirmary, disquieted by the ever-increasing tension that graced her beautiful face.

The elf stood as still as a statue nearby beside Eomer and Gimli as the white wizard's voice reverberated around the room. He spoke solemnly of Frodo passing beyond sight, of Sauron's army amassing behind the gates of Mordor and of his regret at sending Frodo to imminent his death. But when Aragorn turned to face them it was with hope shining in his grey eyes.

"No," he stated assuredly. "There's still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoth. We can give him that."

"How?" Gimli's baritone voice, heavy with disbelief echoed around the companions.

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands. We gather our full strength and march on the black gate," came the ranger's reply.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," the levelled-headed voice of Eomer reasoned.

But when Aragorn replied it was with a cheek in his voice. "Not for ourselves. But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

Murmurs of understanding flitted between the group. But Gandalf was not so easily convinced.

"Sauron is no fool. He will not be easily deceived."

Isobel had tried hard to listen to the conversation but their words had fallen on deaf ears as the heady combination of fatigue and pain overrode her ability to concentrate.

"Oh, I think he will," Aragorn said, turning a mildly amused expression on their female companion. "Especially if Isobel unleashes her powers on his armies."

What?

The young woman's gaze snapped quickly to the rangers, horror written all over her beautiful face.

"No," the word all but slipped out of her rosy lips as an anguished moan.

Having failed to recognise her struggle til now, Aragorn's face fell to concern as he watched the young woman rise upon shaky legs with equally shaky breaths. As all eyes turned to scrutinise her, Isobel should have felt self-conscious. But she had no reserves left to harbour those feelings. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment, stars dancing behind her lids, as she took deep, calming breaths. When she opened her eyes once more, the constriction in her chest had eased marginally. Feeling more in control, everyone else faded around her as she replied only to the ranger, her voice nothing more than a pained whisper. "I cannot come with you."

The immovability of the walls around them meant that her words were heard by all with absolute clarity. For a moment no one said anything. No one even moved. Instead, five pairs of eyes continued to stare at the young woman who was seemingly abandoning them at their moment of greatest need. A derisive snort burst through Gimli's beard.

"Now is not the time to fear death, girl," he grumped.

Rage flashed irrationally across Isobel's face as she whirled on the dwarf. Her brown hair danced around her shoulders as she turned to fix him with wild eyes and dilated pupils. In the wake of exhaustion, terror and feelings of social isolation, rationality had completely fled Isobel's mind. With alarm, Legolas recognised the reckless glint that shone in her eyes. He stepped forward, urging her to heed warning by grasping her arm. But she cast his hand away with an aggressive fling.

"I do not fear death, dwarf," she snapped, matching his disdainful tone as she stalked towards him. "But perhaps you should." the young woman snarled into the stoic dwarven face as the tips of her fingers began to glow. "You have no idea what I am capable of. None whatsoever!"

The anger that had consumed Isobel slid away now before their very eyes as she faced down the against the dwarf, slipping from her shoulders like water down a drain. The tone in her voice mellowed, morphing to panic as she blinked back the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Heartbroken words reached the companion's ears as she continued, "But what if it's not by Sauron's hands that you meet your death? What if it's by mine? What if I lose control and kill you all?"

Legolas felt the colour drain from his face at her admission. For his part, he did not find any truth in the young woman's words. But only he and the ranger knew of Isobel's true capabilities. The elf knew that spilling this secret now would only serve to create fear and mistrust in the minds of those few who still believed in her.

Dumbstruck, the dwarf's mouth flapped awkwardly as he struggled to reply. Moist sapphire eyes bore into his own for a moment longer before her mouth shifted to a humourless smile as she walked away.

oOOOo

Isobel stared through the open window out at the ravaged remains of what was once a vibrant city. The sky was alight with fiery reds and yellows above the blackened mountains of the horizon. Plumes of pungent smoke arose from Mount Doom, weaving across the sky towards them like a thick woollen blanket. With it came the burning stench of suphur and impending doom.

It was dusk, she supposed by the failing light, though the morgul cloud shielded the sun from view. Below, crumbled stone lay wasted over the landscape as tiny figures picked their way through the ruins. Little of the city had been left unscarred, save for the upper most levels. It was here that Isobel had been allocated a room of utmost elegance, a regard extended only to the companions of the heir of Isildur. Though with her current distraction, the young woman would not have cared if it had been a stash of hay in a smelly stable. Everything else felt inconsequential.

She should not have lost her temper. In hindsight she knew that. Her enraged words in the throne room earlier served little purpose other than to heighten the fear that already shrouded her. But even now she was still angry. Angry with herself for pushing away those few who trusted her, at her own weakness and for the utter powerlessness she felt against the threat to her control. The helplessness was all encompassing as it slid down her cheeks. She knew she would slip soon enough. She could feel it. The chaos was growing inside her, larger and more insistent the closer they got to Mordor. To say she was afraid was understatement. She was terrified; entirely, pervasively petrified. Guilt and blame swirled before her closed eyes but these were no comfort for the young woman. For if she were to lose control over her powers she knew she would have to embrace these feelings as old friends for the rest of her miserable life.

Legolas rapped softly on Isobel's door, taking no objection as consent to enter. Quietly he entered the extravagant bedroom. The room stood serenely apart from the otherwise cold interiors of the fortress of Minas Tirith. Paintings of persons unknown decorated the walls, while in the centre of the room sat an enormous and richly decorated feather bed. At the end of the room stood Isobel with her back to him, silently surveying the outside world. She was radiant in the dove grey gown she'd been given. Embroidered around the torso, it fell with a gentle 'v' between her breasts, before smoothly skimming her waist and falling in soft waves from her hips to the floor. Her long, chestnut locks fell in delicate swirls down her back as they shimmered in the failing light.

Having made no move to turn and face the elf when he entered, Legolas stepped lightly behind her to slide his hands around her waist. With gentle insistence, he turned the woman he loved to face him. Eyes reluctant to meet his own told the elf enough about her current state of mind.

The prince lifted commanding fingers to the curve of Isobel's jaw, stroking the smooth skin lightly as he bid her to lift her gaze. When finally sapphire irises met his cerulean ones, he was shocked by the depth of the remorse he saw swimming in them.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" the elf questioned quietly, his burning gaze boring into her own.

"Yes," came the muted reply.

Legolas fixed his gaze on her rosy lips, lips that he so desperately wished to claim with his own as her face dropped to the stone floor between them once more.

"Legolas," she whispered, his name sounding like the sweetest honey as it fell from her tongue. What was left of her constricted heart began to beat heavily in her chest. "I .. I need you."

The fingers that still held her jaw stroked her skin anew as he drew his lover against his chest.

"I am here, my love," the elf replied, resting his chin on her head as he held her tightly.

It surprised him somewhat when she lifted her hands to the firm muscles of his chest to push herself away.

"No .. That's not what I meant," she said. Confusingly, an innocence coloured her cheeks in a fine tinge of pink. "I … I don't want to die without giving myself to you fully."

Impossibly, Legolas' brow shot skyward as widened blue eyes absorbed full the meaning of her words. Still holding her at arms length, the elf allowed himself a moment to consider her request.

"Are you sure?" he finally asked, hardly daring to breathe.

"Yes," Isobel replied firmly, before stepping back to substantiate her position by sliding the gown from her shoulders. It slid down her slim frame to puddle at her feet, leaving the young woman bare before the elf. Legolas' hungry eyes raked the nude form of his lover. She was even more exquisite naked and in that moment, the elf swore to himself in every language he knew that he would keep her that way forever more. Isobel's alabaster skin was flawlessly smooth in the fading light as it stretched across her taut abdomen. The gentle swell of her soft breasts rose and fell with her heaving breaths. The elf longed cup them in his hands; to feel the silkiness of her skin under his fingertips as he stroked her perfect pink nipples. His eyes dropped further south to the smooth folds between her legs, the barest hint of her bundle of nerves peeking between her netherlips.

When the elf met her eyes once more unbridled lust burned within them. As a prince, Legolas had had innumerable women who had willingly fallen into bed with him. But this was different. Never in his long, lascivious life, had he desired another so fiercely. He craved the young woman before him with such an all-consuming need, that the mere sight of her nude form had his member rising in desperate yearning.

Unable to stand it any longer, Legolas pulled the young woman to him, kissing her lips with a fiery intensity as he slid a hand through her silken hair to hold her there. The other roamed the smooth expanse of her bare back, before sliding lower to eagerly cup her bottom. The passion Isobel was pouring into their heated movements of their lips had the elf's mind begging him to lift her up and shove her against a wall; to spread her open and claim her in one powerful thrust. But somehow against the fierce tide of lust, Legolas managed to break free from her kiss momentarily. Taking a small step back from his lover, the he bid his tumultuous mind to slow down through deep, calming breaths as he lifted his tunic over his head. Isobel had seen Legolas shirtless on numerous occasions through their journey. Only now she was freely able to admire his magnificent form. The firm muscles of his chest and abdomen gave rise to the delectable v shape of his slim hips they slid below the waistband of his leggings. And outlined in all it's glory through the thin fabric was a very long, very prominent erection.

Taking a slow step towards the strained elf, Isobel stood on her toes to claim his lips in a a delicate kiss as her fingers stroked a gentle path down his sculptured abs. Lower and lower still, she trailed the lightest touch over the distinct outline of his hardened length as she continued to kiss him enticingly. Even if he'd wanted to resist, Legolas was powerless beneath the seduction of her mouth and the loving stroke of her fingers they as slid inside his leggings to cup his member more fully. An involuntarily moan left the fair being's lips as her fingertips glided over the head of his erection. Catching her wrist in a movement too fast to register, the elf broke their kiss, before collapsing into her neck with heaving, shaky breaths and wild eyes.

"You need to stop that if you wish to continue," he chuckled huskily, before shimmying the remnants of his clothes off.

Sliding his hands down her back and below the smoothness of her bottom, Legolas lifted her up, ignoring the warm wetness that inadvertently enveloped his shaft as his lover wrapped her legs around him.

It would be so easy, his fractured mind begged, to just lift her that little bit higher and slip inside her welcoming heat.

But the stubborn elf pushed aside those hasty thoughts as he lowered the two of them onto the softness of the mattress. With strong arms, he hovered over the form of his nude lover to stare longingly into her eyes. What he saw in her sapphire orbs, the earnestness of her love, the trust, the complete openness of her heart, set his soul aflame with need.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely. "It would be the greatest honour of my life to make love to you."

A gentle thumb slid over his lower lip in response, before dragging him down to meet her in a slow, tender kiss. Before long, the heated fingers that held the side of her ribcage slid across the expanse of her abdomen to slip over her bare lower lips. Tenderly he skimmed the silken skin of her slit over and over before parting her with a pair of determined fingers. As he continued to kiss her with slow burning passion, one long, graceful finger slipped between them to caress her clitoris in agonising circles. Smugly, the well-practised elf knew exactly how he could bring his young lover to peak and before long he had her trembling beneath his touch, strained mews escaping from her lips. So it surprised him somewhat when she clamped her hand around his forearm a moment later to beg him to stop.

"Please," she begged in urgent whisper. "I .. I need you."

This was all the encouragement Legolas needed. Carefully he settled himself over her, sliding his hardened length over the wetness of her slit as he did so, before positioning himself at her entrance. Tenderly he pushed the head of his member inside her, revelling at the feeling of her tight heat as it enveloped him. A sigh of contentment broke through his young lover's lips as he sheathed himself inside her inviting cavern.

They made love slowly, languidly, their lips hardly leaving one another's as their pelvises moved in unison. For the two lovers this act was so much more than just physical pleasure. It was about connection; the need to be joined with someone so wholly in body, mind and soul. Neither had experienced sex of such intensity before, having never formed such a deep spiritual connection with another before. As their bodies met in delicious ecstasy, so did their hearts, solidifying their commitments to one another.

After a while something else began in Isobel's mind; an intrusion of sorts to match the tight pressure in her chest. Unbidden, it burrowed itself deeper and deeper into her head with each thrust of her lover's hips. With the last of her resilience, she lifted her legs, allowing Legolas to penetrate her exquisitely with increasing depth. The pleasure building inside her escalated acutely with the motion, overriding any thought of the unwanted invader.

Slipping a hand between them, Legolas began to insistently caress her small bundle of nerves once more. The heady combination of the movement of his fingers between her legs and the deep thrusts of his member inside her soon had her quivering beneath him in bliss. Breaking from their kiss, her breath began to break through her rosy lips as unbidden gasps. Leaning down to capture her earlobe in his teeth, Legolas' breath was a gentle caress in her ear as he spoke.

"Let go," he demanded. "Give yourself to me."

At his insistence she came apart, her back arching as waves of euphoria rippled through her. The flutter of her silky walls as they squeezed his length was too much for the elf and he quickly followed her over the edge.

As they lay there panting and clinging to one another in post-coital elation, neither had noticed the colour of her eyes. Exhausted, only one thought echoed in Isobel's mind as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, cradled in her lover's arms.

Tomorrow she would accompany him, knowing she would never leave his side again.