Author's Note: The lyrics here are from the Bible, Psalm 139. I do not own them, nor did I write them! :O)
Aragorn slipped into the House, remembering to move quietly enough that he did not wake Arwen. There was a candle burning on the front table, but the rest of the House was quiet; she was asleep, thankfully. If she woke, she would ask him, and he was not ready to answer. He pulled his boots off at the door and padded barefoot through the sitting room, pausing for a moment near the open bedroom door. He did not look in, but he knew she was lying there. He could smell her in the air moving through the House, could hear the breeze moving her hair across the pillow from even this distance…and then her soft breathing, lost in sleep.
He knew her. She was lying on her left side, her head turned towards his pillow as she always was when he was not there, her arm extended, her hand resting on the sheet as if waiting for his warmth, her blue eyes cloudy with sleep, the moonlight shining through the window and breaking over the back of her beautiful head. After seven years of marriage, there was nothing he did not know about the way she slept, the way she moved, how she tucked her hair behind her ear, walked in bare feet, ran through the grass in a meadow, swam naked in the Anduin, or the way her hair blew in the wind as she rode bareback under a morning sunrise, the gentle curve of her lips right before they broke into a smile, the eyes that read his thoughts before they were spoken, the hands that laid against his chest to pull her ever closer to him. Oh yes…he knew her.
The supposed pause grew longer, and he leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom then, his heart clenching simply by looking on her face, even from this distance. The silence in the House was deafening; he could feel it echoing in his heart as he studied her face for a long time. Oh, the pain she had been through…they had been through…that man's words about her… His fists clenched and he swallowed hard, turning away and moving outside onto the porch.
He rested his hands on the balcony rail, staring out into the night with a wretched soul. Éomer was right in everything he had said—he should have reached forward and torn the man's tongue out and then his throat. For anyone to slander his wife, his precious Arwen, with such words was incomprehensible. Drinking loosened the tongue to say what was in the heart; Aragorn knew this to be true. How could they think those things of her? She was so pure! Slut…an Elven Whore… He lowered his head to his hands and rubbed his brow. How dare they! These men, who knew nothing of her! His treasure, his beloved. These very thoughts brought him back to the Council.
The council that had tried to crush their hearts a little over a year ago…and had nearly destroyed their marriage. Did they not think that the King and Queen wanted a child as much as they had wanted them to produce one? There was nothing that Arwen had desired more than to be with child and Aragorn knew that it was hard for her to bear the thought of knowing constantly that she was not, to have it pressed onto her, have her nearly shamed by them because of it. In the beginning, they had never spoken of it except in jest of a number; Aragorn had not been plagued by doubts and neither had she…and then the council had… His fingers tightened as though he could wring their necks all at once. Then, after the council, they had many heart-wrenching conversations about it. To think that he would have a mistress to produce a child—despicable! As if a man who loved his wife, be he King or peasant, would choose another!
Nothing mattered more in the world to him than Arwen and her beautiful heart. It pained him deeply when he heard talk of men who believed the superstition: that the reason Arwen was not with child was because she had been promiscuous as a young woman. It was an abomination to hear of someone thinking that of her; he had taken one of the councilmen to the wall for hinting at it a few years ago... Shameful, deceitful men of the council. He had grown ashamed of most of them the longer he got to know them, and that was only growing worse. The rumors would begin and spread with them, of course. That year ago they had been trying to convince him to take a mistress...as the Kings of Old had done. He had exploded upon them; he would have broken the table with his ferocity if he could have. That had not stopped them from taking matters into their own hands, and then Faramir had gotten involved and hit someone…
Oh, shame on those men! Did they not understand how badly they wanted a child? Their grief at the loss? Their despair? The despair Arwen still felt at night sometimes, the guilt as she knew how difficult it was for elves to bear children to begin with? He lowered himself to his knees and lifted his head to stare out into the night, trying to pretend the man's words were never spoken…but he could not shove them away or bury them deep. Resting his forehead on his hands he breathed out his grief, his confusion, his hurt…and sought the One, murmuring words that had always brought him comfort.
O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in—behind and before—you have laid your hand upon me
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the Heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
Even there your hand will guide me; your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,"
Even the darkness will not be dark to you;
The night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
Search me, O Father, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts
See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.
Father! Father? Are you listening? Are you there? Do you hear me, see me here? Lord, I am hurting. That man said those words of Arwen tonight, and I am frightened, Father. Will those memories return? Will the council once more take up the battlefield of an heir? You know how deeply Arwen and I grieve, how deeply we are hurt by the loss of…by the loss of our babe. Is it that we are not ready? Are you waiting for some perfect time that I know nothing about? Has she not suffered and endured their ridicule long enough; is that once not enough? I have fought them to keep her; I have fought them to protect her and her heart…and my own. Please, let their thoughts, these rumors they spread, no longer hurt her, and let them no longer haunt me. It is a burden I cannot bear, Father. I do not desire to have children, as the council so believes…I desire to have children with Arwen. Oh, Ilúvatar, there is such a difference! When will the time be right?
I grow older, and though Arwen does not age as a mortal, she is still mortal. Child-birth is difficult enough for a woman, more difficult for an elf, and it was difficult for her to conceive the first time. Is this why you wait? I desire to have children with her…to be able to have a family, as Éowyn and Faramir. To lift a child in my arms that is my own and see the reflection of Arwen in their eyes, to look over at that rocking horse in the corner and see a smiling face, to wake in the morning to see Arwen sitting in the chair nursing the child and to come and simply sit with her, watch her, hold them both.
Oh, why is it that you wait? Why do you withhold this pleasure from both of us? Why do you withhold the joy of a daughter or son? Are we to lose this one as well? Oh, Father, please say no to that, but in some way, hear my prayer and answer me. Help us, Ilúvatar…give us the strength to bear this burden until you believe we are ready. Save us with your grace. I…know not why you are waiting, but I remain your servant. Transform our hearts to continue to seek your will, and wait in your time. Grant us the peace in you to be able to find your blessing in the waiting.
Aragorn let out a gentle sigh and pulled himself to his feet. He returned to the House, to the bedroom, and changed slowly in the utter silence. Then on to bed, his heart still lost somewhere between prayer and thought. Arwen had moved in her sleep, which was strange to him, since she normally did not. She was now lying on her stomach, though facing him still, her hand remaining out on his side of the bed. He reached out and slid it closer to her, but as he lifted the covers and slid into bed himself, he trailed his hand gently along her arm.
He felt every pore under his fingertips but instead of stopping at her shoulder, he ran it across her back, moving it gently in a massaging motion, studying the reaction of her skin to his touch. The low-cut nightdress allowed him access to most of her spine, and he trailed along it, feeling every part that he had memorized. He knew where it would curve and where it would be straight and at what point he would find her shoulder blade and whether her arm was up or down on her left side. He knew her…better than he knew himself. He adored her, loved her, and cherished her.
Aragorn laid his head on the pillow and watched his own fingertips run along that graceful spine to her neck. The moonlight lit the room so well tonight that he could see very well, and he watched as little goose bumps appeared all over her skin; it must have been a full moon in order to see them. He kept gently tracing the vertebrae of her spine, his eyes following the curve of her back up her skull, lowering along her temple and ears and across to her eyes…which were open and clear. Arwen was very much awake…who knew for how long?
At first, she said nothing, simply met his eyes and looked at him intently; he could tell that her eyes were reading him, taking in the moment and sensing everything she could from him. She was very much feeling every movement of his fingers roving along her back and neck, but she could see there was something behind his eyes, something that said he was not trying to arouse her. Something was troubling him; he was lost in his own mind, touching her rather thoughtlessly.
She lifted her hand and slid it up along his cheek, taking her fingernails and tickling his beard gently. "What is it, beloved?" she asked, her voice tender.
He shook his head slowly, his eyes moving from hers back to his hand trailing along her spine. "I did not mean to wake you," he whispered. "How was your evening with Enguina?"
No answer was not good enough for her. "Do not do that," she replied. "I can feel that you are troubled. Your eyes, your heart…they do not lie." She lay her hand against his chest. "Tell me."
He was closed off from her; there was a tight lid on the feelings he was attempting to hide. "Arwen…" he warned her softly, and he gave his head a single shake again, "it is—"
"Nothing?" she asked, fingering his beard with the edges of her nails again. It was soothing to him; it always had been. His eyes closed as he sighed. "Something has happened. Tell me the truth."
Her encouragement made something slip aside within him and he slowly murmured, "I love you." It came out through his lips as though he had been thinking about it for hours. "I love you, Arwen."
"I know," she responded gently, stroking his face again. "I love you, too." She was confused, knowing that if he was going to tell her what was bothering him it was going to take some time to come out. She wondered if he had been lying here for an hour and had woken in a nightmare…but then she thought no, for she would have felt that within him and woken immediately, as he did with her. She hesitated, wondering how much she should urge him to tell her the truth. "Beloved," she whispered, and he opened his eyes to look into hers.
"May I hold you tonight?" he asked, and the soft-spoken request was so sudden that she simply looked at him for a moment before responding. A lump formed in her throat and she could not swallow around it; men complained that women were difficult to read, but really, a woman's struggles were relatively easy to decipher. Aragorn…if there was something troubling him, he would keep it close to himself and say nothing unless she dragged it out of him. She was worried; he was aching.
Turning a bit, Arwen slid across the sheets to curl up against his body, flattening herself against him, tucking herself tightly against his chest, her right arm wrapping around his back. He rested his head atop hers, his fingers still wandering along her spine. What could have caused him such distress? Had Legolas said something? Faramir? Éomer? Gimli? Her heart flooded with worry and questions. How could she discover the truth?
"I will love you forever, Arwen…" he whispered into her ear, "no matter—"
He caught himself before he finished them, but the words had slipped from his mouth in enough time to make her realize what it was that he had been thinking about. Her hand tightened on his back and he felt her breath catch; she heard him curse himself softly under his breath, but it was so close to her head that she heard him anyway.
She remembered very clearly the last time those words were spoken to her, and a shudder of pain came with the memory. Pressing her face more deeply into his chest, she whispered, "Is that what distresses you so tonight? Is that what hurts you, beloved?"
"Ilúvatar, forgive me," he mumbled, and he closed his eyes as her pain washed over him and mingled with his own. "Forgive me…" How could he be so stupid, to say those words…
"There is nothing to forgive."
But he could hear her heart racing; he knew the damage those words had done, the place they had returned her to; he could feel her hand slowly take hold of the back of his tunic. "I should never have—"
"I wanted to know what was troubling you…tell me."
He hesitated to tell her; he should probably not tell her. "Have I not hurt you enough with my words already tonight?" he asked.
"It is not your words that bring the hurt," she whispered. "It is the memory that follows them."
"A…drunk slandered you at the tavern," he replied, and she could hear how upset he was by that. "I…should have had the man thrown in prison for the things he said, but…Faramir began a brawl when he hit him and soon Éomer and Gimli were involved in the fisticuffs as well." He sighed, long and slow. "Éomer was angry that I had not leapt down the man's throat, that I had not fought to defend your honor." She heard the guilt in his voice. "I…wanted to choke him…I—"
'I am glad you did not fight him," she whispered. She did not even need to ask what had been said; she knew well enough already the things that had been said and spread by the council: that she was barren now, that she was a whore only good for one thing and that one thing was not children, that because she was an elf she was not able to please him…yes, she had heard them all. "Estel, what would it have looked like if you had hit him?"
He sighed, and tangled and untangled his fingers in her hair. "That I was a firebrand who could not control his temper. That the King of Gondor did not know how to solve things peaceably. That I would confirm what he had said about you was probably true…which it most certainly was not."
"Yes," she said. "It would have made nothing better."
"That was what I said to Éomer, but…it made me feel weak when I said it," he murmured bitterly. "Arwen, your heart is the most precious thing in the world to me; I would defend you with my last breath to spare you pain."
"You are not weak," she whispered firmly. "AndI am glad you did not fight," she said again. Then she fell silent, pressing herself even more deeply into him, her body feeling chilled now in the breeze from the window. "You are the strongest, most patient and loving man I have ever known. That is what makes you such a good king, and a good man."
"Oh Arwen," he whispered, "we have long been thinking about the past these six months since…" he breathed out, unable to finish and pressed his lips to her hair. "Perhaps we should begin looking to the future."
He felt her hesitate, her breath hitch before he spoke. "I want to look to the future," she said weakly, "but I am afraid. I am always thinking what…what if…"
"There is a better question," he said, his arm tightening around her, the tracing of her spine halting altogether. "The question I continue to ask is why…why this is not Ilúvatar's time. We are ready; we were ready before, and we are ready now. Yet…"
"I try to ask that question, only I…keep coming back to my own."
"Do not," he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair again.
"Yours is not such a terrible question," she stated, pain in her voice, "mine simply hurts."
"That is because you are trying to lay blame," he told her gently, "and you must stop. Always you seek to lay fault at your own feet; you need to get past that."
She tried to laugh, but it covered over a sob. "I am an elf…if it takes me three hundred years to bear you a child where does that leave you?"
"Stop this," he said, his voice full of compassion. "We knew this might not be easy, yet we still chose this path; we knew long before we were wed, Arwen. You are not to blame…it is simply…it is not time, Arwen. We must wait for Ilúvatar's time." He felt her tears making the front of his tunic wet and her pain wash over him again, her physical and emotional anguish that demonstrated how much she blamed herself for everything…from the first trouble with the council, to the miscarrying of the child, to this very moment where Aragon had been the troubled one. "I did not want to reopen these wounds, Arwen," he whispered. "I pray for you unceasingly…I ache when you hurt."
She tried to stop the tears, but she never knew how once they had begun. "What do you pray for?" she murmured. "What do you pray, Estel?"
"That you would find peace in me…that you could stop blaming yourself…that you would continue to trust Ilúvatar for his strength, for his control in every situation."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I hate to question him. I want to have faith, to trust him…but I cannot help but question. When? When?" His arms tightened around her and again, he pressed his lips to her head. "It is so…hard."
"I wish I knew."
She was silent for a moment, and he knew she was trying to regain some control. He reached up and tangled and untangled his fingers from her hair several times. Her voice was soft and tight when she whispered, "I keep thinking of Legolas and Enguina. Éowyn spoke to Enguina about children tonight and invited her to sit in on the birth of their new child. She and Legolas are thinking about children of course, but I…cannot help but think of everything that…I hope that…" she stumbled over the words. "I have been praying so hard for them. That their burden would be easy when it comes to this, when it comes to love-making, when it comes to marriage…they have struggled so much already with Enguina's past. I want their love to be so easy it is natural. No pain, no struggle…nothing."
"I ask the same."
"Do you remember," she whispered, "that day near the Anduin when you said to me that you did not bring me there to have a child?"
"Yes."
"Sometimes…when the night is darkest," she continued, "I worry that one day, I will be so focused on bearing you a child that I will lose sight of the reason for my making love with you…that it will be because I want something else, not because I am loving you." He felt her body shudder and felt her fingers tighten on his tunic again. "I never want that to happen…not ever. I want every time we are together to be for love, not an expectation for something else, for a child."
He stroked the back of her head. "We need to be careful about our thoughts," he told her. "We need to be sure that our love is first…and everything else comes second." He smiled suddenly and then used his thumb to draw her chin out of his chest so he could look into her face, wiping the skin beneath her eyes from her tears. "Every time I make love with you, it is about loving you. Every time is about giving you pleasure, and showing you how much I love you with more than words, but with my hands, and my body, and my mouth."
She trembled suddenly, looking in his eyes as her body flushed with heat. "It is true…last night had nothing to do with bearing a child."
He gave her a crooked little grin, and his fingers found her ear. He watched her swallow as he rubbed the tip between his fingers, and her eyes fluttered closed. "I forgot about last night."
"That is because," she murmured back, her voice low, "you wanted to pretend you did not collapse onto the floor."
"My shoulder did not last as long as I hoped it would," he chuckled.
"Beloved, the wall was supposed to be used as an aid," she said, kissing his chin while releasing her grip on his tunic and splaying her fingers along his back. "Instead, my back is sore tonight, and," her breath left her in a sigh, "you have no idea what that does to me." He could feel her fingers begin to tremble and he smiled.
"Yes, I most certainly do," he said tenderly, and then continued in a soft voice, "At least I did not drop you on the floor. Is your back all that is sore, my love? I would have been easier last night with less pain on your part."
"It was painful," she whispered, a little ashamed, but she kissed his chin again. "Did you warn Legolas?"
"Not specifically," he said softly. "I did not…think it appropriate to discuss some of the difficulties we have had in front of others. Did you talk to Enguina?"
She nodded as his hand moved back into her hair from her ear and she breathed a sigh of relief as the tension that had begun in her shoulders released. "I cannot help my body," she whispered, "but at least it usually only lasts a moment. Enguina is afraid of the pain; how could I possibly describe it to her, to explain it somehow? Bragolaur…hurt her so terribly, and she is afraid to feel that pain again, but she will not…not that pain. Legolas would never…"
"No," Aragorn agreed, "he would not. He is upset that it will hurt her. He is worried about her, just as I was with you…just as I am." He touched his forehead to hers, murmuring tenderly, "Do you remember that first night? The first time we made love?"
"Impossible to forget…" she said in a low voice, "the first time I gave you all of me, and you gave me all of you…" She swallowed. "The way you loved me that night…" He pressed his lips to hers and she smiled into his mouth. "I do not think I could love you like that tonight."
He looked into her eyes. "I would not ask you…not after last night. Some moments are meant to be…savored, treasured…reflected upon." He smiled. "Last night was a bit of a strain on both of us."
"I am praying Enguina is nothing like me," she sighed softly. "By Elbereth, the only thing I will be thinking about all night after they leave their celebration is them. I will never sleep that night."
"Mmm…we can put your sleeplessness to good use." He kissed her forehead and she laughed and pressed her lips to his throat. He was silent for a moment, and then he murmured, his voice low and serious, "Arwen, are we all right?"
"Yes, beloved," she whispered, "though there will be other days when we will not be so. But…I know that your peace and love, and Ilúvatar's goodness will keep me alive and…looking forward. Are you, my love? Will you be all right?"
He looked into her eyes. "I trust Ilúvatar," he answered, "and I have you, my lovely one, and that is all I have ever needed." He kissed her gently. "It would be my delight if you would remain in my arms tonight."
She snuggled in against his chest. "I love you, Aragorn," she whispered.
Legolas meandered towards the guesthouse, finally arriving and making his way inside. As quietly as possible, he slipped into the sitting room where he found Enguina stretched out on the divan, tucked into the cushions in the back. He stood silently by and watched her sleep. She had left him space to lie down beside her when he came in. Eventually, he was distracted by the clothes lying about, his gaze drawn by the moonlight shimmering along the Elvish dresses and lovely things they had given her to start her life anew as his wife.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumped when Enguina's hand touched him, her fingers just brushing his before she took his hand. Turning his head, he looked down into her face.
"You are here," she said, blinking. "Come lie beside me."
He obeyed without a thought, stretching out alongside her, though she did not bring herself against him immediately. Instead, she looked into his face and reached up with one hand to run her fingers through his hair.
"I…have never seen your hair this way," she whispered, feeling it between her fingers. His hair was wet, combed back from his face by his fingers only and not held back. It had been simply falling to his shoulders before he had lain down; he had not thought she had noticed. He blushed as he thought of the reason for it. "You bathed in the middle of the night?" There was confusion in her voice.
"I…needed to."
She thought about that response, and then touched his face. "What is the matter? You are so quiet. I expected you to be…more jovial upon your return since you were out among friends. How was the evening?"
How to answer? "It was…in many ways wonderful…and in many ways not." There was no way he could tell an untruth; not this close to her face as she stared right into his eyes. He would never have been able to do it.
"Something happened," she said somewhat firmly. "Something that has upset you."
"Several things upset me, Guin," he muttered. "Where in the world do I begin?"
"Why did you have to bathe? Begin there."
He let out a breath very slowly. "A woman at the tavern…someone bought her for me."
She lifted her head, a look of confusion all over her face. "What…what does that mean? It is bad, is it not? Something very bad?"
"She was a…harlot," he murmured, and she could tell how embarrassed he was. "A man near the bar had a gift for me over at the corner table; I did not know…I went there and she…accosted me. It was terrible, and I am ashamed of it."
"A woman who…" she whispered, confused, "a harlot? What is a harlot, Legolas?" She shook her head. "I am so sorry…when it comes to these things I know so little."
He did not want to use the word whore; he had heard it enough tonight, even if it were true in this case. "A harlot," he explained softly as she stroked his wet hair, "is a woman who lays with men for money."
Her mouth fell open. "What? For…money? And this woman was—"
"Bought for me, yes," he said with great discomfiture. "She was…she was all over me, touching me inappropriately." He shuddered. "I had to bathe. If you had any idea how she was…I felt so unclean."
Her eyes darkened. "Be glad I was not there," she replied, her voice tight. "I would have taken her hands off at the wrists for touching you, never mind what I am imagining." He looked into her eyes with surprise. "I am a very jealous lover, Legolas; I know that now. I feel it sometimes when I see women in Minas Tirith admire you." She shook her head. "You are mine, and no one else's." She looked a bit sheepish. "Well, I suppose you are not mine yet."
"No," he whispered, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing her ring finger, "I am in pledge, and that is sacred enough. I would never betray you; I was so…appalled."
"I cannot imagine someone who would…sell themselves in that way. I thought it was sacred," she asked horrified. "I knew that some people take it from whoever they want, but…to sell it?"
"Yes, there are some women who will, and men who will pay anything to get it," he said softly. "It is sad…even despicable. But it was awful; the worst feeling of being trapped I had ever felt. I cannot imagine anyone touching me that way…anyone but you."
She stroked his cheek again. "How did you get away from her?"
"Aragorn tried to stop her, but…everything went wrong from there," he said sighing miserably. "A drunkard thought Aragorn was trying to take her for himself and then he…slandered Arwen. It was terrible; the entire ale-house became a brawl within three seconds. Faramir hit the man, Éomer hit someone so hard he nearly broke a table, and Gimli was pounding someone else. Aragorn and I were trying to break everything up and prevent anyone from getting hurt." He shook his head. "It was not a pretty sight, nor a good ending to the evening."
"What…what did they say about her?" she asked softly. "Not that nonsense from the council."
"The same," he said sadly, and she made a hissing sound.
"Eärendil armar," she snapped, "that infuriates me. They do not know her, yet they do not cease to condemn her! How hard the world of men can be! How unfair to mistreat the fairest and purest of our race since the days of Lúthien. Shame on them."
He smiled. "You feel very passionately about them."
"No, about her," she said stubbornly, as he brushed his lips to her forehead. "She was, at one time, the person I loved best in all the world. Now, of course, she is second to you. I remember clearly what that man said to her that day; it makes me sick to even think about how hurt she was, how beaten down by his words. I hope Aragorn does not tell her tonight."
"He will tell her," he replied softly. "He has no secrets from her; what hurts him pains them both, moina. She can see it in his eyes…just as you knew there was something the matter tonight."
She fingered his hair again. "Your hair is drying now," she said softly, and he gave her a little smile, which then faded. "You remembered something else."
"I…Éomer and Faramir spent a great deal of time telling me hundreds of things to remember and to do and…not to do." He sighed. "They were very amusing for a great deal of time."
"Then what is the matter?"
He lifted a hand and slipped his fingers into her hair, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. "They all said some things that…well…" he murmured, glancing down and then looking back into her eyes. "I am excited for many reasons about marrying you, yet I am…also terrified about many things."
"Arwen and Éowyn said many things as well, some that frighten me," she admitted honestly. "But is that not what you said, Legolas? 'If we are afraid, then we will be afraid together.'"
"I…did not expect to be afraid," he whispered.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked him. "Tell me, my Prince."
He nearly smiled at the endearment, but he found he could barely do it. "Guin, the last thing in the world that I want, that I could bear, would be to hurt you," he murmured tenderly. "In any way."
"I know," she replied gently, and he realized that she must have known exactly what he meant. "We will…we will find a way to make this easier." She gave him a tentative smile. "I know you are sure to have some thoughts on that."
His surprise was clear. "You are easier about this than I thought you would be."
She smiled for certain then and tried to tease him. "Do not tell me that now I am looking more forward to our wedding night than you?" He blushed and that gave him away immediately. "Oh, Legolas…do not worry about that," she said, her voice dropping low. "You and I are going to be fine, good…wonderful even."
He could not help it; her attempt to lighten the mood, to tease him did nothing to ease him at all. In fact, it made him more anxious. "Enguina, they…every one of them said that I will hurt you." His voice was so quiet she had to strain her ears to hear him. "It is not a possibility…it is a certainty."
"I know," she replied again, agreeing with him. "Arwen and Éowyn said so as well."
"I cannot hurt you. Not like that." His face was so grieved she wanted to break down into tears.
"Legolas," she whispered, "it…it will not be so bad…not that bad… Éowyn said it lasts but a moment—"
"Even so," he whispered painfully. "I stared at you before you woke…looking around at this room, at these gifts, at you…and I cannot…I cannot stop thinking of your…your agony. You were in such pain…how could I…I thought it was because he…how could I ever…"
He could not finish a sentence, he was so distraught, and she visibly flinched as he spoke the words. She had somehow prayed that he had not seen what Bragolaur had forced him to witness as he was tied to that tree in the clearing. They had never spoken of what he had actually seen, experienced there, and she had held out hope that he had not truly seen what Bragolaur had tried to do…what he had done. Now she knew for certain—he had seen everything.
Even as tears filled her eyes, she pressed her fingers to his lips and shook her head. "Y-you could never hurt me like that," she said, and the tears slipped out. "You are not him. You would never ever…do not say things like that."
"I am afraid now," he said, his own eyes growing wet, and she laid both hands on his face and looked into his eyes. "I was not afraid before…not of that…I did not know…"
"I am frightened, too," she said softly, but then her voice became firm as she repeated Arwen's words, "but not of you. No, I love you and I desire you. I want to be with you more than anything, just as you wish to be with me. This is right and we will make it right, together, you and me. This is not a discussion. You will not be afraid of hurting me."
"Guin—"
"You will stop thinking down this destructive path," she whispered. "We are going to be fine and wonderful, and the two of us will figure this out together."
"You are making promises that you cannot possibly know are true," he replied. "What if—"
"No," she said firmly, "what if nothing. We have been cautioned…we know to be careful, they did us that grace. Let it be, Legolas…and stop worrying." She suddenly smiled and rubbed her thumbs on his cheeks. "I have never known you would worry so for me. You are…the most wonderful man. To think that I ever thought, that I ever wanted, to be alone for the rest of my days…Ilúvatar, I must have been out of my mind."
"My overprotectiveness again," he said softly, trying to let the thoughts of the evening go.
"It will annoy me at some time in the future I am sure, but…these past months I have been so grateful for it that I cannot imagine living without it; I cannot imagine you any other way than what you are." She gave a long sigh. "I love you…so much," she began, and he saw tears fill her eyes again. "Every terrible or wonderful thing that has happened has led me to this path to walk with you. To think that if I had simply gone to Valinor, to know that if I had not come here to see Arwen, that if I had not been pressed to trust you, if my heart had not been moved by your love and goodness and tenderness…my life would be so empty. Oh, Legolas…"
He kissed her then, slow and long, thinking of his love for her, how long they both had waited in their lives to find the other. He felt her slip her hand beneath his arm and around his back, drawing him into her so that she could press herself against him. Winding his hand into her hair, he held her mouth to his, deepening the kiss, but gently, not forcefully…but it did not matter. It was so full of passion her toes curled up, and she wound her bare foot between his, pulling herself even more tightly to him, pressing into him and then she was falling—
THUMP! She landed on top of him, his back hitting the floor beside the divan, her foot still entwined with his. Momentarily stunned, Legolas lay there, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, his other somewhere near her ribs, her left hand now on his chest, her right arm beneath him and the kiss broken. Unable to help herself, she began giggling, resting her forehead against his. Within moments, the two of them were laughing; he tugged her arm out from underneath him and covered both of her hands on his chest.
"I think I was just reminded to stop," he laughed and she broke into a fit of giggles again, "in a very peculiar way."
"Oh, Legolas…I was carried away by you there," she said, smiling, but her voice was low, "but this is also very comfortable." Her fingertips touched the skin beneath his collarbone and her thumb moved on his chest, and his body suddenly felt like she had set him on fire. "I think this may be even better—"
His every nerve ending felt raw, and he struggled to maintain focus; she was saying something, he knew she was but his mind could not comprehend it. He was painfully aware how close she was and which parts of her were touching him, her roving toes somewhere near his ankle, her hips above his, her breasts pressed to his chest—god, he should not be thinking of her like this! No, there was no way he could lie here like this any longer. The way his heart was racing, she had to feel it, had to know! He could not, not with her…not pressed to him like this!
Legolas dragged his leg away from hers, bending it so his thigh bumped her off him, knocking their hips out of alignment and dropping her to his side. He sat her up, her hand still on his chest, still close to him, but not in the way she had been and no hand around the back of her neck. He found himself breathless as sat forward, the hand that had been on her neck holding himself upright, his other still remained on her waist; he had never felt such a thing before! He was so discomfited that he could not bear to look at her.
She sat for a moment, unmoving before she could work out in her mind what had happened. One moment, she had been teasing him, the next…this? Confusion spread across her face and she tried to lean towards him—but found she could not; the hand on her waist held her firmly back.
"Give…a moment…" he muttered, barely able to breathe, wishing he could hide from her…or bury himself beneath the divan beside them so she could not see his face.
Surprised by his breathlessness, she covered the hand on her waist. "You…you are trembling?" she said, but it was a question, a tone of astonishment. There was no way she had frightened him—had she? No…his face was flushed…what in the world? She could see he was trembling, could feel the fingers at her waist shaking on her dress, could hear him breathing, his heart racing. What had happened?
No…this will not do either… He could not have her hand on him like that. He simply could not be touched at the moment; he still felt as though he was on fire… Turning from her, he rolled to his knees and then to his feet, stumbling half a step away from her and catching himself on the back of the nearest chair. She followed him up, reaching for him, but he held up a hand to ward her off.
"Please…" he begged her.
"Legolas, what is the matter? What did I do?" she asked. "Are you well? Is everything—"
"I cannot…I felt…I…" he stumbled over the words. How could he tell her what he had felt when he barely understood it himself. Could he even think the word? He could, but he would never say it out loud, never say it to her, never tell her the truth. She had…she had aroused him…and there was no way he could have let her lay there one more moment.
Enguina watched his hands ball into fists, a show of his very tight control. "Legolas, please tell me what is troubling you. I…forgive me; I am so sorry."
"I…I cannot have you touch me like that, not tonight," he said, still unable to look at her, feeling shameful about his very passionate response to her. "We have but three days…already I am so drawn to you." He shook his head and crossed his arms. "I cannot talk about it anymore," he stated firmly. "I should go…as far away from here as possible."
"No…" she whispered, a flash of terror spiking through her at the thought of him leaving her alone, and she put her hands on his shoulders. "Please, do not go."
He closed his eyes and she watched his throat as he swallowed hard. "Can you…can you stop touching me?" She yanked her hands back as he turned towards her. "Can you keep those hands to yourself?" he begged and she stared at him.
"I…is it so bad?"
"I…need to control how I feel," he said, his voice more steady. "It is infinitely more difficult when you…do that and…" he paused touching his hand to his head, "I think the ale affected me tonight."
She suddenly smiled. "Oh, is that all?"
"I feel different…strange…"
"Are you sure it is not me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, and he wondered that she was still teasing him when he was being serious. Now he knew what it felt like.
"Oh, it is definitely you," he muttered. "Please, talk about something else. What…er...what are your plans for tomorrow?" She laughed at the abrupt change of subject, but she backed away from him to sit back down on the divan. "Please do not laugh at me," he whispered, mortified.
She appeared contrite. "Legolas—"
"You cannot understand; you cannot possibly understand and I cannot possibly explain what that did to me. God, it must be the ale! I can lie beside you, but I cannot have you…no." He looked terribly upset for a moment. "I would dishonor you…and myself."
Enguina tried to smile. "Well, I know what to do if I ever want to make you uncomfortable again." He groaned.
"How you tease…yet in a few days it will no longer matter, and I will not need to be embarrassed for you will be my wife. Now, here…" he shook his head, "it is not appropriate. Not to worry, I will make up for all this teasing you are doing. Perhaps tomorrow."
"Good," she replied. "Even if you cannot tease me tonight, you are someone who always plans well. To answer your question, I think all we have planned is to food test in Ecthelion. Though why we are tasting the food, I will never understand! They make it; we eat it. It is simple really."
"It is our wedding feast, you know," he explained softly. "Do you have your dress yet?"
"Yes, Arwen is keeping it for me," she replied, studying him. "Are you…better now? Can you come back here and sleep? It is late you know." His jaw tightened and her face grew sad. "Legolas, I am sorry. I never meant to do that; I swear, I was just teasing you as we have always done. I am sorry that it…that it means something different to you now."
"You have never done that before," he said softly, making his way over to her, "and it does not mean something different to me. It has become more difficult to rein myself in when I want to love you so badly, so physically. Guin, I want to shower you with my love and I…it is difficult to wait."
She smiled when he came over to her and she took his hands. "I thought you were only just telling me that you were afraid?"
"All of that was forgotten when…well, when I reacted the way I did."
She tugged him down beside her and she stretched out against his side, ready to be far more careful. "I will not let myself get carried away like that again," she pledged, "though you did try to stop us."
"I did, yes," he said. "Everything was fine but when we fell…" He frowned. "I am sorry I reacted the way I did, and then to turn from you…I was just…I was so embarrassed by my emotions and overcome by my feelings for you." She touched his face and then rested her head against his chest and laid her hand on his heart. "I am sorry."
"There is nothing to forgive. If anything, I should be continuing to apologize, Legolas," she said, closing her eyes. "But what is done is done and it is over. Let us look forward to tomorrow."
He actually smiled. "One day closer to wedded bliss."
"Mmm," she hummed softly, and then she lifted her head. Seeing his eyes closed, she whispered, "Legolas…"
"Yes, moina?"
"I…will likely dream tonight," she said. "Please—"
"I will be right here beside you," he replied, and she saw the question flash behind his eyes. "You will remain in my arms." He was silent for a moment, and then his fingers found her hair. "Is it what I said?" he asked, his thoughts returning to her pain; she nodded gently.
"Every mention of him, it seems, has a price," she said, sighing. "I try to trust you and you ground me; you keep me here with you and nowhere else." He kissed her forehead and she relaxed against him, her head returning to his chest.
With two very meaningful, 'I love you's, they drifted off to sleep in one another's arms.