Chapter 12

With a stumble to all their steps, Eowyn and Mari led a fairly drunken Faromir through the halls.

And he's supposed to be escorting us, Mari thought, bemusedly. The three came first to Mari's room.

"I bid you a good night's rest," Faromir slured in nearly incomprehensible Sindarian.

Mari found herself laughing at his drunken attempt at being cordial, responding equally uneliquently, "And the same to you, Lord Faromir."

Grinning and leaning forward, he murmured, "I hope I shant be resting much tonight." At that he cast a quick glance at Eowyn and Mari blanched, then breaking down into hysterics.

Eowyn smiled, but seemed confused, being that she knew hardly a word of the language the other two were speaking. Deciding it was time to leave the two lovers to themselves, Mari bowed her head in a silent good-bye before ducking into her room, the sound of her two escorts ambling toward what she supposed would be an eventful and enjoyable night for the two of them.

Changing her clothes was more difficult than she thought it would be. Her body was tender and sore from riding all day and dancing all night. In addition to this, the dress Arwen had given her to wear was significantly more difficult to undo. With some struggle, she found her way out of her clothes and into the night dress she had been wearing under her clothes during her escape. Faster than she thought possible, she found herself succumbing to sleep.

But she did not rest. She was tormented by nightmares of her family and the new terrors of this strange Middle Earth. Over and over, she watched as her family was slaughtered a new and different way every time. In reality, she hadn't seen them die, but her mind created images more horrible than what could have been, yet in dreams they seemed more real. Interspersed with these images were visions of talking trees and armored men on horseback who chased her as she tried to escape the nightmares in lucid moments; at these points she knew herself to be dreaming and saw the door toward waking, yet these figures blocked her path, pushing her back into the horrors of sleep. As she searched for a way to endure her family's murder for the hundredth time, one of the German soldiers grabbed her and began dragging her toward the door. She kicked and screamed until she realized he promised her release. "Why are you doing this?" she asked him. Turning to face her, the soldier's helmet was gone and his features began to change. His uniform melted away, revealing lighter fabrics of green and grey. His hair grew longer. Finally his face transformed itself until she found herself staring at the Elf Prince, Legolas. She found she could not speak as he roughly shoved her through the door into consciousness. Gasping, Mari breached into a waking state.

Trying to catch her breath, she began shivering violently. The dream had been too vivid, too terrifying. She half expected a Gestapo to leap from beneath her bed and kill her. Mari soon realized that she was crying. Suddenly she felt suffocated. The deeper she breathed, the more it felt like she was being strangled by her very bed clothes. She tore them off but realized it did no good; it was the walls of the room that were suffocating her. With shaking hands, she put her nightgown back on with some difficulty then nearly tore the door from its hinges in exiting the room.

Once in the hall, she began walking. She walked and walked and walked, leaning against walls at times for support. There were times that she hear people approaching, but she was coherent enough to know to hide in a door way, around a corner or behind a tapestry. She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that her feet were taking her somewhere. Distantly she hear a loud booming, but didn't think about what it could be. After some twenty minutes of wandering, she feel the wind and a cool wetness touch her cheek. Blinking, she saw she had walked to the entrance of a balcony. Outside there was a massive storm taking place. The booming from before had been thunder. As if to confirm her realization, the hall was lit by a great display of lightning and an accompanying pounding. Mari didn't flinch. Instead, her feet carried her forward into the storm's welcoming embrace.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG

Something was gnawing at his senses. It was his first night spent entirely inside since the Fellowship treked through the Mines of Moria and, like then, the lack of a sky above his head and dirt beneath his feet was beginning to make him anxious. In the past, there had been guard duty or a camp fire to keep him occupied, but now, in the solitary quiet of the night, Legolas had nothing but his own thoughts to keep him entertained and that was a very dangerous thing indeed. He dared not peek at what lay dormant in the chasms of his mind, afraid of what inner truth he would discover there. He thanked the Valar when the storm began. Thunder struck like the footsteps of mumakils, awakening his recent memory of the dark thrill of battle. Throwing the shutters and panes to his windows open, he closed his eyes as the first drops of rain and billowing wind hit his face. He remembered the walls of Helms Deep and how, when all things seemed hopeless, it had started to rain. He smiled and laughed quietly as he had wanted to then but felt too ashamed to in such a serious moment. He no longer felt shame for anything.

Upon the first strike of lightning, he opened his eyes again. Breathing deeply, he watched as the terrible flashes of light illuminated the city below him. The view from his window directly overlooked a small public courtyard. In the brief flashes he saw rats scurry from their hiding places to escape from drowning. He saw hooded, unsavory characters amble through the causeways as though there were nothing peculiar or unpleasant about the weather or time of day. These rats and roughens were the ones the city belonged to when no one was looking; when the White City turned black, agents of pestilence and malice ruled. The same was true of people, he had noticed. And elves, he thought, smirking bitterly in self loathing.

The storm and these new-found discoveries were amusing, but the gnawing persisted. He paced his room and pulled at his hair. He closed the window. He opened it again. He checked that his knives were still sharp even though he knew their elven crafting ensured they'd never grow dull. Closing his windows for the final time, he left his room and began to roam the halls of the palace. As he walked, the gnawing became a tugging, as if he had forgotten something and was struggling to remember or as if he had left something somewhere and was now intent on retrieving it. He felt himself following something like an unspoken whisper, a quiet taunting from the very walls. Over here, they seemed to say from one hall to the next, so he followed it. He followed it with an eagerness and urgency he had not felt since his last kill almost a week ago.

Someone was coming, casually stepping into a doorway, he hid from sight until the person passed; he wasn't doing anything wrong, but he hated the idea of running into someone and having to exchange polite words when he had none. He expected guards to to pass by, but instead saw the slight figure of a woman pass. At first, he thought her to be a ghost, what with her white, wispy gown and her deranged expression; she seemed a soul astray. As he watched her walk away, however, he saw she had the same distinct figure and hair as Mari. That this lost soul was indeed the woman who had been plaguing his mind.

Before he realized it, he was following her. He kept a good distance, always around a corner, though he wasn't sure she would have realized his presence were he any closer. Where she was headed, he didn't know. Around them, the storm's thunder rumbled through the castle, seeming to get louder the farther he followed her. As she approached a balcony, it became clear why the thunder had been growing louder.

She walked to the side of the archway and fell out of sight for a moment. Stepping out onto the stone balcony, Legolas emerged into the storm and was astonished by what he saw: as if taking a casual stroll, he saw Mari tenuously strutting across the thick fence of the balcony, a ten story drop on the other side of the rail. The sound of the storm was deafening. The roaring whips of Gondor's flags above them echoed almost as loudly as thunder. When the next flash of lightening hit, she caught sight of him. She stared blankly at him, this time taking a few steps without watching where her feet were landing. One time her foot slid dangerously close to the edge of the ledge, sending the image of her plummeting body spinning through his mind. It would be a horrible sight for Arwen and Aragorn to wake to the day after their wedding.

"Get down from there," he implored her, practically shouting over the wind and the rain.

"Why?" she asked.

Reaching out, he offered her his hand. "Do you want to die?"

"Yes," she told him, not a hint of doubt in her voice. The only thing that wavered was her posture as the skies thundered. The wind bit at her skin and tore at her night dress. Her hair whipped around her head like the dark ribbons of the crested flags above while breath came in puffs of vapor as it hit the cold air. He saw a rage rising within her. She looked wild and unhinged, liable to do anything.

"There are better ways to do it."

"At your hands?" Her rhetorical question was filled with fury, daring him to answer. He refused. It was then he saw a change in her eyes. Her rage turned to bitterness and spite in an instant. What a strange creature the human woman is. She haphazardly paced along the stone balcony's ledge. "I'm sure your hands know of killing, sweet prince. You were part of the famed Fellowship, no? I'm sure that in your five-hundred years you've learned the best ways to die and to kill. I have heard tales of your adventures spill from the mouths of many, save yours. Tell me, what ways of killing tie your tongue?"

He felt the blood drain from his face and air torn from his lungs. How dare she! He considered pushing her off the ledge himself.

"Yes," she continued, "I've known many like you. You told yourself that you were a warrior, that death dealing is your trade and that the ones you kill are monsters. But you became more than a hero on the battle field. It wasn't long before you enjoyed your job, took great pleasure in taking life, especially if it was vengeful. You lusted for the taste of blood that was not your own. That's why you like your knives best; they're thirsty and get you closest to the kill. It seems right that you, of the oldest and wisest of all the creatures on Middle Earth should be granted such knowledge. Might you be gracious enough to teach me?"

It was taking all of his willpower to not send her to her death. But what she said was true, all of it true. He did enjoy killing. Killing her wouldn't make that less true. Though the act might thrill him, he wouldn't feel any better after her body had hit the ground. She'd still be right and he'd still be a monster. To kill her would be pointless except to prove her point. Furthermore, he saw now that her intent was to antagonize him to do what it was he desired; to kill her. No. He would not grant her the satisfaction. He instead watched as her mood changed again, this time to sad and confused.

"You seem so much like a man, Legolas," she said, her voice full of wonder. "Yet, you are so different. Does the difference lie here?" She illustrated her question by reaching out and touching her hand to his chest, where his heart lie. "Or is it as simple as these?" This time her hand trailed up, running her fingers along the shell of his ear before resting her fingers at the tip. With a hitch in his breathing, Legolas took a quick step away from her. She clutched her hand back, as if burned, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Somehow, he knew that she realized what her simple touch had done.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning came down, connecting with the huge flag pole above their heads. It startled both of them equally, except that it made Mari loose her footing. With a gentle gasp, he saw her accept the inevitable fall with a mixed look of terror and glee. In spite of her speech, purposefully aiming to anger him, perhaps intended to get him to push her, he could not let her die, especially after all the killing she had accused him of, (of which he'd been guilty). He had to prove to himself that inside his heart something was still alive and capable of valuing life. Leaping forward, he reached out and grabbed her, both of his arms wrapping around her hips and legs, and hauled her from the edge of the ledge. She fell forward against him, her balance completely lost, her life in his hands yet again. Her hands came to grip his shoulders and head for support, her fingers coming to tangle in his hair, the heel of her palm brushing slightly against the tip of his ear. The wet fabric that covered her belly pressed up against his face as he held on to her bottom and her legs. In truth, the fabric was so drenched, it was as if he were feeling her skin itself. He could feel her rapid breaths rushing through her as the reality of the moment began to wash over her. It raced in sync with the stronger sheets of rain that began to fall. As she began to loosen her grip on him, he lowered her to the floor. Down her body slid, against his face and chest, her hands trailing behind as she held on to the front of his shirt to keep herself from falling to the floor.

Once her feet touched the ground, though, she did not let go. She remained clutching to him, shivering, perhaps from her near spill off the edge of the castle or perhaps from the cold of the rain. She seemed the weakest, the most frail he had ever seen her. Legolas was not sure what came over him, but he put his arms around her in a comforting fashion. It was pity, he guessed, but even when her shaking subsided, he kept her in his loose embrace. Her body heaved against his as she took several deep, self-containing breaths. She then looked up at him, eyes wide and tormented. He saw them fade, however, and grow empty like the embers of a fire going out. It was as if her spirit had left or retreated somewhere within her. Pushing herself away, she began to tread back inside, her fingers lingering on his chest as she moved away.

He watched as she disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. His keen eyes could see as far until she turned the corner. Just before she turned, though, she briefly caught his eyes with her own. It was that same stare that had speared his soul from across the camp fire and during the wedding celebration. It was taunting and knowing. What is it she thinks she knows? he wondered.

Taking a hesitant step, Legolas sunk back into the dry, cool darkness of the castle. Still, the sound of her wet footsteps could be heard, several yards ahead. Silently he followed her watery footprints on the stone floor. As he turned the corner, he could now see her, her body gliding through the hallway like a drowned victim risen from the depths. At first, he wasn't sure where she was going then he realized she was headed back to her room. Obviously. Where else had he thought she'd be going? He wasn't sure, but for some reason thought she seemed too restless to return to sleep. He continued to follow her, curious if she would change her course, curious if she was even aware that he was following her.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG

Dazed, she let the dancing of the flames in her fireplace hypnotize her. It wasn't working. She still had thoughts of her nightmare spining through her mind. Then she heard her door opening. Glancing back, she saw Legolas standing at the threshold. He was soaked, as she was, and had the look of one who was sleep deprived, as she also was. Though he was inhuman and terrified her, in that moment he looked stunning and vulnerable. It stirred her to the very pit of her womanhood. Against her will and all she knew to be right, she was struck with an overwheming desire for him. This desire only lasted a moment, but it was long enough for him to notice. With a slight cock of his head, he took a step into her room. Even though the desire she had felt had faded as quickly as it came, she couldn't look away from him, his inate beauty captivating her as the flames of the fireplace had. As he took another step into the room, Mari saw a new darkness pass across his face. Without turning around, he bolted the door shut.

She knew he moved quickly and there would be no turning back in

three...

two...

one.

As she let him run his hands over her body, she went over in her mind why she was going through with this. She needed a distraction, a large one at that. Part of her was scared of what he might do, but more than anything she wanted to be lost in the hypersensitization that fornication offered. So she let him take her. She didn't help in his advances but she didn't hinder them. They began with his hands on her hips, then they moved up to her breasts. Pushing her hair over her shoulder, exposing her wet skin to the air, he traced his fingers over her shoulders then leaned down and kissed her neck. That actually felt quite nice, she thought. Mari felt herself sigh and felt him roughly squeeze her breast in response. She let her eyes close, not particularly eager to witness whatever it was he would do to her once these pleasantries ceased.

He began to unbutton the front of her night gown as he continued to place feather light kisses on the skin that ran from her ear to her shoulder. He paid particularly close attention to the shell of her ear, nipping it and lightly touching his tongue to it. He's skilled at this, she briefly thought as she leaned against his body, realizing she had made the right decision. He would be a suitable distraction. Soon her night gown was unbuttoned and his had reached inside, actually touching her breast. Somehow, in spite of the fact that he had been soaked by the same freezing rain as she, his hands were warm. Her own skin felt like ice thanks to the rain, though she suspected the emptiness of her soul to be the real cause.

Already, she could feel the pleasing delirium washing over her. Was it right, she wondered, to be doing this with this man, of all people? He's not even a Man, she reminded herself. What made her so sure he could help her? Did she not fear him? ?Yes. Yet, it was this fear that drew her to him; like a moth to the flame, she saw the darkness that lived inside him and wanted to be near to it. Truly, she hoped it would engulf her, for her own destruction was what she craved. He had stopped her from jumping off the ledge but she would not let him deny her of this.

She clutched her head from the confusion of it all, growing steadily distracted by the play of his fingers across her skin. One of his hands moved downward and began pulling up the hem of her gown. Legolas then took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, placing small kisses along her knuckles, then moving up along her arm to bite the inside of her elbow before returning to the expanse of her neck. Without even realizing it, she found herself clutching his head, keeping his lips pressed against her, her other hand moving to join the one at her breast.

Soon he had pulled her nightgown high enough to reach between her legs, lightly running his finger over the place of pleasure she'd often had to point out to previous lovers. He found it instantly, circling it rhythmically with his finger tips. Before she could stop herself, he let out a soft whining moan. Holding her body tighter, he began rubbing a bit harder against that spot while pressing a lingering kiss against her neck. She felt herself growing weaker to the touch of his prodding fingers; attempting to stay upright, she leaned more heavily against him. At that, he stopped touching her, instead moving to continue unbuttoning her nightgown. Looking down, she watched his fingers move over the small white circles lined down her chest. With each pass, another button came undone, revealing another inch of flesh. The buttons went down to her belly, but he only undid them half way. At that point, he began to peel the wet fabric down her shoulders, kissing her back once it was uncovered, peeling it down her back and stomach. She felt like a piece of fruit being parted from her skin by a knife; indeed, she knew he was going to devour her as if she were.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG

As he began undressing, he watched her sitting on the bed, her eyes unfocused, her mind clearly detached, and wondered if he would be gentle or cruel to her. Cruelty would be much easier; he could hit her, strangle her, press on when she begged him to stop. She had made no objection when he had maneuvered her to the bed, but he doubted that she was even coherent enough to appreciate any kindness he might choose to give. It could be just as pleasing to him either way, the first approach deeply sating and the second deeply relaxing. Just as he removed his trousers, the room was filled with a powerful clap of thunder and a strike of lightning. He caught her eyes then and became locked in her stare. In that stare, he felt suddenly as if the shuttle of a loom had strung them both together; he could not leave the room even if he tried and he most certainly felt as if something sharp had lodged itself in his gullet. There he saw the same wildness he'd seen in her when he'd first caught her, when she was pressed beneath him on the forest floor. He saw a glimmer of the wildness he had seen moments ago on the balcony but there was also something else...

She looked away after a brief moment, but he grabbed her chin and turned her back to face him, needing to be certain of what he had seen there. He was right. She gazed at him provocatively, not in an alluring or tempting sense, but intending (it seemed) to antagonize him, just as she had done on the balcony. In those eyes he saw a spiteful glint, daring him to proceed. What shall you do? she seemed to say in the same way a cat would to a mouse it has cornered. "Who is she to dare me," he thought, "When it is I who towers above her miniscule, shivering, naked body?" Yet she mocked his indecision, possibly his masculinity, and in that moment, he no longer thought about cruelty or kindness. All he wanted was to dash out that presuming glint of spite.

Legolas had never lain with a human woman before, but he imagined there would be little difference between coupling with her than with a she elf. After all, as the saying went, 'The plow needs no map to find the field.' When was it that I last laid with another?he wondered. He could not remember. Had it been at the festival last spring in his father's court? Perhaps. Yes, he recalled a dark corner and the merry eyes of a lord's daughter. What he now realized was that he had also forgotten how soft skin that was not his own could be, how well feminine curves fit into his hands, how comfortably his hips could rest between another's thighs, and how all his thought could boil down to a single song of sensation.

He suddenly realized that she hadn't moved since sitting on the bed. He moved her to lie prone, and it was he who had spread her legs. She was indeed still breathing, calm, even breaths that brushed against his chest, as if asleep, but he could feel her heart racing when he touched her neck and could see her open eyes, and thus knew she was awake. Yet she was clearly not here. For a moment he thought better of what he was about to do. Only for a moment.

She let out a soft whimper as he eased into her, her hands taking firm hold of his wrists. To him it sounded fearful and he worried she might begin to protest, something that would make the process somewhat more uncomfortable. Laying one of his hands loosely around the base of her throat, he persuaded her to remain silent. When she quieted, as he wished, he responded kindly, lazily running his fingers along her neck.

Her body was small and her insides were tight, tighter than he'd imagined they might be. It worried him that he had imagined that at all. When had he first been thinking that? Surely not over the past days in coming to Minas Tirith. Surely not. He had been too angry at himself to bother thinking himself worthy of touching another life form in such a manner. Not even when he healed her injured back (which now showed no sign of having ever been cut or infected) had he felt any desire for her. Surely not during the wedding feast when he was worried she might tell someone of his abuses toward her. No, it had been minutes ago, on the balcony, with her night gown and hair soaked and whipping about her in the wind, a wild fire in her eye. In that moment she seemed crazed, unpredictable, and nearly as damaged as him. It was then the thought of having her (or killing her) had crossed Legolas' mind.

Part of him was sure she would jump to her death, but she hadn't. Instead she'd reached out and touched his ear. His skin still held goose bumps from it. His desire only skyrocketed at her touch though it hadn't been what drove his decision to follow her. Or had that been a decision at all? Had she merely vexed him again, called to him wordlessly with her fearful, stubborn eyes as she had earlier during the feast? Could this all be part of her plan?

No. She would not be crying out so, pained by the act of their coupling, if it was what she desired. Her eyes would not be shut and her head would not be tossing in a frenzy if pleasure was what she felt. Everything Legolas knew about carnal matters told him this was rape, yet something he didn't know, something that connected him to her, told him she was indeed feeling pleasure. The way her legs wrapped around him and her hands gripped his upper arms, these were signs of compliance and desire. Yet, the sounds she made, these illustrated a hurt he had never before encountered. What was more, her cries roused him to press on. Whatever was telling him to press on was also letting him feel all of her; all her pain and ecstasy. It dulled momentarily with each of his thrusts, but her hurt was was building up inside of him, pooling at his core and there was nowhere it could go...

She grew tighter around him. It was then he heard another voice cry out. He was surprised and confused to realize that it was his own. Strangely, it felt good to do this, somehow adding to the pleasure in his loins. It was a relief and yet he was appalled by his own nature, acutely aware of how desperate and unhinged he sounded. Base and primal. Just like her.

He didn't care.

In fact, he reveled in it.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG

He is holding back, she thought as he smoothly thrust into her, pulling a weaker cry from her lungs. She could sense his hesitance, his restraint and uncertainty, but she could not understand why. She had given herself to him completely and he had not taken advantage of that. After seeing the rage in his eyes on the balcony, she had been certain he would lay waste to the most delicate parts of her body when given the chance, yet now there was a part of him that showed restraint. This murderous, inhuman creature was being a gentle, tender lover, giving her body all the more pleasure and yet, because of that, torturing her soul all the more. Why would he not give her the self loathing release she desired? Where had the darkness gone?

It was still there. She could see it when she closed her eyes; war, death, monsters, demons, a dark place, pain, torture, his own torture, a scar... They had taken something from him, physically stolen a part of his spirit, his soul. She cried out in terror at what she saw and felt from his memory. Or was it from the physical pleasure she felt in the present? She opened her eyes to escape it but only became lost in his fierce eyes. Their shade had changed again, this time to a blue-green, stormy like the sea. In them she saw such sadness, sadness of the magnitude she herself was trying to escape. Sadness and something else, the same something that drew her to him when she danced.

No, she thought as he pumped into her. This isn't what I wanted. She tried to look anywhere but his eyes but could not escape him; he was everywhere. What was strangest was how safe she felt; though she knew what he was capable of and remembered what he had done, in this moment, with him inside her and she beneath him, she felt the most secure she had since the Germans invaded France. The terrors she saw when she closed her eyes, she knew they couldn't reach her. And what was this new sense of warmth? Beneath her skin she had felt so cold since her family died. Now, every place that their bodies met seemed to be poured over with sun light, like thick honey, evenly distributing itself across the surface of her skin. On this dark and stormy night, Mari felt coated in sun.

More sounds spilled forth from her lips, none of them protests. She could not control it and felt ashamed for behaving so wantonly. She had given herself to him to be rendered numb yet she found her whole body awakened and engulfed in... something. She was experiencing a totality of feeling, distracting her from her initial pain and confusion but creating new forms of these two torments. Perhaps this she could stand, perhaps this could serve the purpose she had intended in bedding Legolas. If only she could feel less physical pleasure. With each of his thrusts Mari summoned all of her power and tried her hardest to push out everything in her mind but he filled her so totally, figuratively and literally. Even his deep, though few, moans seemed to penetrate her core.

Over and over, smoothly and firmly he thrust into her, the pleasure building inside of her like bricks being stacked until, finally, the tower tumbled.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG

It was happening again. Where his hands touched her body, a golden trail of light was left behind on her skin. She didn't seem to notice as her breasts and belly took on a golden glow; she was too preoccupied feeling... whatever it was she was feeling, that which looked and sounded like pain but felt like pleasure. Legolas cared not to think what it could be, fearful he'd see himself for what he was, but also too overwhelmed by her emotions to truly process them.

Not only did his hands create this glow, but anywhere his skin touched hers, a soft honey glow emanated from the point of contact. As the golden hue grew more saturated, her cries seemed to grow more pained, her breathing more erratic, her insides tighter. The sound, the sight and the feel of her tore a string of similar cries from his lips. She seemed like the sea itself, under the torment of the very storm that raged outside, with waves crashing upon rocks and whirlpools spinning out of control, or so he imagined for he had never seen the sea though he dreamed of it often and sometimes saw it while awake, behind his closed eyes. And then she climaxed, an abrupt cry of shock ripping from her lungs as her whole body arched up and she clung to him, her insides rendering a tighter pulse around him that nearly made him gasp. Her grip was as strong as it had been on the ledge when the lightning struck, except this time he could feel her nails digging into the flesh of his should blades. Like a spur to the charger, he involuntarily pressed on at a greater pace. Faster he pumped as her insides continued contracting around him. Soon he reached his own shuddering release amid her dying cries.

Once they were apart and two flesh again, he felt the pain he had known since the war's end become magnified, throbbing back to life. It was then he realized that their coupling had dulled this pain; in experiencing her pain he had forgotten his own. Perhaps she was the key to keeping his pain dormant. He also realized he wanted to sleep. How long had it been since he had slept? It was the nightmares that had made him stop. Turning toward her, he skimmed his eyes along the curved line of her spine until it disappeared under the sheets. Maybe he would try to sleep tonight.

LGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLGLG

Mari flinched away when she felt a touch on her shoulder. Turning around she saw Legolas, hand outreached, though his hand was tentatively pulling back. So caught up in her own remorse, he had forgotten he was there. His eyes seemed empty, no longer as alive and chasomus as they'd been before. His stillness and porcelain features made him appear like a statue, the kind lay prostate atop a tomb or sarcophagus. But then he spoke.

"Let me stay the night."

"Why?" she asked.

"That I might... hold you."

His answer was hesitant, quieter than his request. She was shocked and unprepared for such a request; she never would have expected such a request to come from him and hadn't been prepared to spend the whole night in his company. What's he playing at? she wondered. The fear had returned. Would he strangle her in her sleep? Had he hidden his knives somewhere? Is that why he had saved her on the balcony? Did he want to kill her himself?

"Do what you will, Master Elf. You have already done as you wished with me all of this evening..."

"Have I been so terrible to you, as of late?" he asked, his tone just as hesitant, but his features growing hard.

Turning away from him, she laid on her side. "You took death from me. I think I might have preferred you took life from me instead. Take whatever else it is you want and be done with me."

His arms roughly wrapped around her from behind, bringing her flat against his body. Forcing his face to the crook of her neck and breathed deep, his lips barely gracing her skin, more so by coincidence than any desire to kiss her, it seemed. She looked down at his hands, one pressed flat against her belly and the other grasping her breast. They were large compared to her own hands. Large enough to wrap around most of her neck as they had done before.

Would it be so terrible if he killed me? she wondered. It's what I had been planning to do myself, isn't it? It made her sick to think that he would do it, though, instead of her.

With less care for her life than before, Mari fell asleep in the arms of the beast.