It took them longer than Enguina ever would have thought to reach the front door of the guesthouse that had now become their home—more official than ever as Legolas had moved all of his things in there a few mornings ago. The hand in hers was gentle, guiding her towards the steps, to the beginning of their married life together. She was not nervous, not anxious; she knew who held her hand. The man who cared for and loved her more than anything else, more than anyone else ever had, ever would. There was nothing to keep them apart now. Ilúvatar had joined them as husband and wife, and no amount of nightmares, scars, or memories were going to keep them apart. Her heart flooded with love, with the memory of his mind touching hers, and she nearly stumbled. She wanted to be his…utterly his and his alone. Legolas held her hand, but did not ask—he must have known what she was thinking.

When he walked her up those steps he reached for the door, opening it wide and smiling down into her face. "Welcome home, love." It was their home and they entered it together, Legolas allowing the door to close behind them. It was dark in the kitchen, and for not even half-a-moment, they stood there in the silence.

"Finally…some quiet," he teased gently. "I thought we would never be alone." There was a smile on his lips, but his words were serious.

What to do? How to begin? And in that very awkward moment in her head, every one of her insecurities came flooding back on her like a great weight. They did not upset her, they confused her, the butterflies in her stomach growing a hundred-fold. Now the anxiety crushed her; yes, she wanted him, desired him, but she was afraid for him to touch her intimately, to know her intimately. Arwen had said he was afraid too. Was he? Was he really? She felt his arm wrap around her back and she looked up into his eyes. She knew immediately one of them had begun shaking—obviously her. He settled his other hand on her stomach and smiled at her.

"I love you," she heard herself say, as she focused on his blue eyes.

"It is all right," he said, lifting the hand from her stomach to her face as he brushed her jaw with his thumb. "I am frightened, too."

The words she needed to hear. How could he always know just what to say? Her jaw trembled against his thumb and he lowered his forehead to hers, touching noses with her, his fingertips brushing the skin of her neck. Their lips met. Everything felt different; her body came alive in a way that terrified her. He did nothing differently than he had ever done before, but now she was his wife, and he her husband and she could…she could touch him… His lips left hers and he rested his brow against hers, her hands lying against his chest.

"I wrote you something," she managed to get out.

"You wrote me something?" he whispered, surprised. "You need not have. That dance was enough to fill my dreams for years. I will…" He suddenly found himself unable to speak. She reached up and stroked his face from temple to chin; it gave him words. "My heart was so moved by your love for me. I will never forget the sight of you dancing there. Now I understand what Aragorn meant when he saw Arwen for the first time in Rivendell between the birches, dancing there and singing; I never understood before…I always thought him a bit mad. Watching you dance tonight was a form of worship. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." His thumb rubbed her chin again gently. "How I love you, Guin."

"I am glad that you liked it," she whispered back.

"You do not believe me," he stated, seeing the look in her eyes. "It truly was the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen. I am completely serious—"

"I believe you," she insisted, looking away from his eyes. "I am simply embarrassed."

He was quiet a moment, then, "What did you write me?"

"I wrote you…a poem of sorts," she answered, and then she suddenly lost her nerve. "It is not very good, and I-I…" She found her eyes brimming with tears. "I do not know if I even remember the words now…" She began to really tremble then and he pressed her face to his chest for a moment, kissing her hair. She needed a minute of peace alone; he did not have to ask her to know that.

"Come and sit down for a moment," he said, "you have been standing for hours." He sat her down on a kitchen chair, lowering her into it, still holding her hands. "Collect your thoughts, and then share it with me." She looked up at him, her fingers trembling in his grasp.

"Are you…are you really…"

"Yes," he laughed softly, and she knew it was not at her. He knelt down before her, pressing his lips to her hands. "Yes, I am terrified…but I want to love you so much that I am pushing my fear away. Ilúvatar will take care of it; I keep giving it to him." He swallowed. "What is most on my mind is pleasing you, touching you, learning you…and giving myself to you. It is going to be beautiful." He kissed her hands again. "Sit here a moment," he said gently, as he knew she could not speak. "There is something I need to do, and you need to collect your thoughts to recite me that poem."

"Oh, Legolas..." she whispered when he kissed her hands again and released them.

"Do not go away."

How could she? She was frozen in that moment, unable to think of anything but him, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. If she had not been so still, so nervous, she may have realized the door was right there and she could have made a run for it. She barely had time to think of anything before he was back at her side, kneeling before her again; she saw his feet were bare.

"Share your linnod with me, my love." His hands were stroking hers. "Please."

Looking to him as he leaned over and kissed along her ring finger to her rings, those that bound her to him, she found her courage as she felt her love for him flow through her.

I see the love you have, you hold, for me inside your eyes,

I feel the warmth, the love, the care when held within your gaze,

Though when I venture from your side, my heart doth yearn, it cries,

But when I see your face again, you lift from it the haze.

Oh when I look upon this face, your smile, how it charms,

And all the passion that I feel in every tender kiss,

I cherish every moment that you wrap me in your arms,

How every time you hold me makes me feel the endless bliss.

I feel my love for you shout from my soul when our lips meet,

My heart does race and it begins to thrive and live again,

That when I kiss those gentle lips my soul is now complete,

I feel the bonding of our love and know it will not end.

Oh what I feel for you, my love, shall last eternity,

And what we share between our souls brings tears upon my cheek,

And how your hand now wipes away the tears that form, that be,

How that same hand whence brush my neck sends quivers, makes me weak.

I see my life, my love, my heart whenever you are near,

Reflections of eternity, devotion and of love,

You chase away the very things that ever I did fear,

And you show me that you were sent to me from up above.

My love for you flows deeper than a river ever may,

My love for you, it shall remain forever and a day!

"Oh, my love," he said, pressing his lips again and again to her trembling fingers.

"Legolas," she whispered, "you are from Ilúvatar himself, sent to me, given to me to love, to draw me out of the pit of darkness and save me, bring me life. That…that dance tonight was my worship to Him, but my love for you."

He released her hands and she was suddenly too far from his lips. She slipped from the chair, dropping to her knees before him as his hands cupped her face, closing the distance between them. He whispered that he loved her, and then he said it again as her arms moved around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. His arms wound their way around her body, bringing her more tightly to him. One hand stayed firmly holding her, the other began tracing her back. She felt such desire from him, but she found herself unafraid of it. This was Legolas; he cherished her.

Legolas...!

Guin…Guin…

Alone now, they opened their minds, sharing a hundred things in only a few moments. The feel of her, the way he felt, the way her lips touched him, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way he held her tightly, the feel of him, and their feelings of security, peace, love, desire, and passion. Both were breathless as they held one another, clutching their hands and tightening the embrace so much that she nearly felt a part of his chest. The moment broke and they gasped for air, resting their foreheads against each other and trembling with the force of feeling aflame.

"That," Legolas whispered, "is going to take practice."

"Ah…" Enguina gasped, clearly struggling to center herself more than he was. She could barely grab the pieces of her mind and put them back together. She rested her hand against his chest now, her fingers tightening on his tunic. She felt his heart racing. "Legolas…" His arms were around her still, his fingers tumbling over every button up the back of her wedding dress. When he found her bare skin and her spine, drawing up her neck to her hair, she gasped again. "Legolas, Legolas…"

"Come with me," he told her gently, and she nodded, her knees weak. He did not ask her, instead, he said, "Let me do this properly."

Legolas scooped her from the floor, carrying her carefully in his arms back to her candlelit bedroom. She stared around at the firelight as he gently set her on her feet in the middle of the room. She kept her arms around his neck, the feel of him still in her mind. He held her back loosely, one hand raised to stroke along her face, her cheek, her ears, her throat—her eyes closed. "Look at me," his voice whispered, and she opened her eyes. "I want you to see me."

She knew what that meant in so many ways and she felt tears fill her eyes as she pressed herself to him, his hands wrapping more tightly around her back, her hands once more winding into his hair, letting him feel her desire this time, pouring it into him through their bond. "I see you," she whispered. She did not feel him in her, but he surely felt her as his hands wandered freely now, no reason to stop them. He felt her ribs, her hips, the sides of her thighs, and traveled back up to her shoulders.

"Let me—?" he asked, but could not get out the question when her mouth pressed to his. She knew what he was asking and she let her response be physical as she tightened her fingers around the back of his neck. His hands found their way into her hair, gently removing pins and flowers by feel as bit by bit it came down. When it lay freely flowing over her shoulders, he worked his fingers through it, combing it and massaging her scalp in a way that he never had before. Was she on fire? What was this she felt? He was kissing her jaw and then the side of her neck as her forehead rested near his shoulder. She trembled when he pressed his lips between her shoulder and her neck and felt his hands trace the buttons once again on her dress.

That anxiety came back to her and she opened her eyes even as she trembled again feeling his mouth on her skin. It was bright in the room, the candles throwing light, and she whispered into his ear, brushing her lips to his temple as she turned her head back to him. "Legolas…there is…it is too bright…"

"Just enough light," he whispered back, and she found herself pressed against him even more tightly, her hands running along the front of his tunic. How she wanted to touch him, but she was hesitant, even now. His lips found a spot behind her ear that made her breathless and he kissed it, brushing his lips against it again and again. She could not breathe… "I want to see you," he murmured, his breath caressing her skin. "I want to see your body when I touch you…I want you to see me…"

She did want to see him; she wanted, more than anything, in that moment to take her trembling hands and open his tunic and look at him, touch him. His hands roamed along her back again, and she trembled against him, her knees feeling weak. Oh, what would it feel like when they were skin to skin? That thought made her nod, giving him permission, as he touched his lips behind her ear again.

He gently began undoing the buttons. Yes, it was a slow process, but it was because he made it that way. By the time he had undone every button and brought his fingers against every vertebrae on her spine, she was nearly in a puddle at his feet. When his hands reached the small of her back, he came back up to her shoulders and began sliding the dress away from her. She moved her arms and let him take it down her body as she stepped out of it. Releasing her for only a moment, he turned away and laid the dress over the chair nearby, his hand still on her waist. When he turned back, he looked at her as she stood before him in the slip she wore.

"You have never worn anything more beautiful than that dress," he whispered, "but you have never been more beautiful than you are right now." She swallowed, the candlelight lighting his face as she closed the distance between them, her hands coming to rest on his chest as their lips pressed together. He caressed her trembling arms, drawing his hands from her wrists all the way to her shoulders and then to her neck. Taking her face in his hands, he tilted up her chin with his thumbs and released her lips so he could kiss along her throat to her collarbone. A sound came from her throat, a low moan, and he secretly delighted in it. He was bringing her pleasure…it was his mouth on her flesh. He remembered the way her breath had caught that night when he had pressed his lips to her throat and he moved slowly towards that spot. He wanted this all about her.

The candles burned around them as he touched her, his hands moving along her smooth skin to stroke her back, to touch the silky material of the shift she wore. His mouth kept pressing to her skin and she was barely able to think, her arms tightening around his neck as he kissed her throat and collarbone and shoulders. His hands came around to her sides, fingertips on her ribs, and she shifted her weight slightly without knowing she was doing it, to allow him to go wherever he wanted. His thumbs brushed the lower skin of her breasts through the slip as he had that night on her dressing gown.

She moved then, swallowing hard as she trembled, lowering her hands to his chest. Fumbling on every button, but desiring then to touch him more than anything, she finally got them undone. His hands were somewhere near her legs now and she was barely breathing when she slipped her hands inside the front of his tunic, tracing the skin of his tense stomach. His hands shook on her when she touched him, and it fueled her. Her fingers searched his skin, touching, learning his back, his sides, his ribs, his body. This was what she had wanted to do since the night he had knelt before her on her bed, thinking he was dreaming. She tenderly took her hands along his chest, feeling him and she slipped her hands to the shoulders of his tunic and he brought his arms down from touching her, letting the tunic slide off to the floor. She moved to get it, but he was in her way, his hands back on her. She forgot about it and gave herself over to touching him.

Dragging her hands back down his arms, she felt every muscle, every cord and tendon, caressing from his arms to his shoulders, feeling the strength in him. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back when Legolas's mouth found another spot on her neck, this time on the other side. Her fingers tightened against his back and she gasped as she felt, for the first time, his tongue against her skin. Her knees grew weak and she moaned again softly. Her hands found his chest, touching him again, and she felt his hands travel lower than her back. She pressed herself against his body, inch for inch; she could feel the heat of him against her skin, desiring him in that moment more than she could have ever described. Slipping away from his kisses, she lifted his chin and pressed her lips to his throat, feeling his pulse pounding, unable to stop her hands from touching his chest.

"Your skin…" she whispered into his throat, feeling his hands dragging up from her hips, "feels so good beneath my hands." His thumbs pressed underneath her breasts again; he wanted to touch her as she was touching him. "Legolas…I have wanted to touch you for months." His lips found hers then and they kissed so many times she lost sense of time—until his hands found the straps of her shift and she stilled in his arms.

"Guin," he breathed, pressing his lips to her jaw, "let me touch you…" Heart racing, she trembled as she nodded.

"Please," she answered him, even though she was afraid, "touch me, Legolas."

The slip was pooling at her feet and his hands were on her naked back and the touch of her breasts to his chest made them both gasp at the sudden intimacy. He drew her to him, not tightly, but enough for her to wrap her arms around him and run her hands up to his shoulders. He stroked his hand from her shoulder down her back and slowly beneath her arm up her side. She was afraid to open her eyes; her skin must be on fire.

"Do you…do you feel this?" she groaned softly into his ear and she felt him swallow hard.

Did he feel it? Ilúvatar in heaven, just the feel of her against his skin was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt in his entire life. His sole point of existence at the moment wasto love her, to rejoice in her, to touch her, to please her. Her arms joined behind his head and she kissed him again gently before he pulled back from her. Legolas pulled back just long enough to take a long look down her body, and she tipped his chin up with her thumb.

"You embarrass me," she murmured and he shook his head, laying his hand against her side and holding her away from him with that hand as he looked again and took her in before she trembled. "Legolas, do not—"

"You are so incredibly beautiful," he said, lifting his head to kiss her. He drew her against him, aligning their bodies and she gasped into his mouth, blushing as her knees grew weak. "Look at me, Guin," he whispered, bringing his hands up along her body to her ribs and she opened her eyes when his thumbs finally touched the skin of her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat and he whispered again to ask her to touch her. He began tracing her skin in circles, kissing her mouth as her hands tangled in his hair. But his hands on her were too much and the trembling increased ten-fold.

"Legolas," she gasped, "I cannot—" her breath caught and he seemed to understand, backing her up slowly as he set her down on the very edge of her—their—bed. He knelt down before her, and, wrapping a hand gently around her back, began to touch her with his hands, pressing kisses to her chest over her pounding heart. His mouth soon replaced his hands against her breasts and she could not breathe, his fingers tracing down her leg to her foot and back, making long, loving strokes down her flesh.

She was still for a moment and then she found she was barely able to stay still. She had never known bliss like this. She had thought kissing him was heaven, feeling his touch was heaven, but there was nothing like this! Nothing like the feel of his lips and his hands as she found her fingers uncontrollably tangled in his hair, her back arching into him, pressing herself closer to his touch, his mouth. His mouth…his mouth…! She was gasping for breath as she felt his arm around her back holding her even closer, but not tightly. Was there a way to get enough of him? She could not even think straight and she bit the inside of her lip. One of her hands fell back against the bed from his hair, catching her own body to prop herself upright, but it shook with the force of his passionate kisses against her skin. Breathing was difficult as he continued to move his hands along her lower body. He smiled and she felt it against her breast.

His mouth moved again and her back arched into him, her head falling back as her eyes closed and her mouth fell open. The fingers in his hair were partially gripping the back of his neck now, but she was not controlling them and she could not support herself anymore. Gently, his hands came up and took her beneath the shoulder blades as if he knew, dropping her back against the bed. He leaned against the bed nearly beside her on one arm and kissed her so many times she barely had time to catch her breath. His hands were roaming beneath her arm, stroking from her breast up beneath her arm to her wrist, pressing her hand onto the mattress. Then he came back, his hand stalling and circling her breast—she was practically writhing—and then lower to find other sensitive places on her stomach.

Her eyes were tightly closed, her hands roaming his back and chest again as he began to press his lips down the vein in her neck towards the center of her breasts, his hands now somewhere around her knees. She heard him whisper, reminding her to look at him, and her eyes fluttered open for a moment and she met his before he dragged his hand down her very long leg. She bent her knee so he would not have to reach so far and he lifted his mouth from her chest and went directly to her calf. His hands were on her thigh now, holding her leg, and he had somehow slipped from alongside her to kneeling between her legs. Her leg trembled but he held her still as his lips worked their way down to her ankle. She had to close her eyes, she had to, and her head fell back against the bed at the feel of one of his hands on the back of her knee as his mouth burned a trail of passion along her skin from her ankle to her thigh. His other hand was on the inside of her leg, his fingertips brushing against sensitive skin near her undergarment; she could barely breathe!

Enguina was desperate to touch him, to reach him, but even curling did not help her hands reach him when he was at her foot. Unable to touch even his head, she moaned softly, biting her lips and found her hands digging into the sheets, gripping them as tightly as she could. One of his hands discovered her other leg, and soon he was stroking the flesh on the back of both of her knees. Then on to her thighs, his mouth now trading kisses along her knees and wherever he wanted to go.

When he had almost finished his attention to her legs, she was breathless with pleasure, something she had never felt before. She was nearly whimpering, and she could feel him smiling even as he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"Oh…Legolas, please come here…please…" she muttered, finding his hand on her stomach to hold her gently. "So I can touch you…" His lips came from the inside of her thigh and skipped her pelvis, but his hands did not as they lightly touched her hips. Her breath stopped again as he pressed kisses along her stomach and along the line of her undergarment and around her belly. Now she could reach him, and she did, tangling her fingers back into his hair and caressing his neck and shoulders and back and whatever she could reach.

She trembled hard as a few of his fingers brushed the back of her knee again; he knew that was very sensitive along with patches of skin along her ribs on both sides. He made it a point to touch her there. Light touches, he found, were better in producing a reaction from her; light touches made her moan softly, whisper his name with passion. She would have had no idea, but she was calling out his name continuously in his head. He, however, kept a tight rein on his control. He was making this about her, and he did not have to wonder if she was enjoying what he was doing. She was practically writhing beneath his hands, his lips; her fingers shaking against him, her legs shaking as well. She could hardly control her muscles now, and he was not anywhere near finished exploring her.

It might have been forever before he was unclothed, before she was, it might have been moments. It might have been forever when he could just stop enjoying the feel of her beneath his hands, the way her body moved when he found something she clearly took much pleasure in, the way he felt when she did something that he enjoyed. When Legolas could have said he felt he had explored every part of Enguina, that he had memorized her enough for one night, that he had held her when her body had lost itself to trembling against him, and that she had explored every inch of him as well…only then, did the two of them lie down together on their bed.

Enguina still lay on her back, so he reached over her and turned her into his body, gently maneuvering her so every inch of her was pressed against him. Fully skin to skin, he lost himself for a moment in the feel of her body against him. This was the way he wanted to give himself to her, to look in her eyes as they made love, to hold her, to whisper a thousand times that he loved her. She was kissing his neck, her body still trembling from his last caresses, still breathless. One arm held her against him, the other hand ran freely along her body, searching down until he reached the small of her back. She arched into him and he smiled, kissing her forehead and then her face as she lifted her head to look into his eyes.

"Legolas," she whispered, tears in her eyes, "do I not—"

"No," he told her gently, "you and I are going to make love this way…side by side…every inch of me pressed to every inch of you." Her breath caught in her throat at his words, and he ran his hand down her back to her thigh and as she slid as close to him as she could, he settled her left leg over his hip. The closeness, the intimacy of this moment, was intense, and her nails pierced the skin of his shoulders and her eyes closed, but he rubbed his nose against hers, kissing her perhaps a thousand times across the face. "Look at me, my love…look…" Enguina trembled and met his eyes and she saw the same fear mirrored in his. "I love you. I am your husband; you are my wife. I give everything I am to you…my heart, my soul, my body are yours."

She pressed her lips to his, her chest still tight, her breathing wild, her heartbeat erratic. She took a gasping breath as their foreheads touched, his hand stroking along her thigh to her knee, over and over again. "I am ready, Legolas," she murmured breathlessly. "I want this…I-I want nothing more than to make love with you." Her eyes spilled over with tears. "I want you…I want to give you all of me. I love you…I love you…"

She cried, and he held her, kissing her face over and over again as he told her the same: that he loved her, that he wanted her to have him. When she was ready, when they both were, there was nothing left but to give in to each other, to wash away every stain and release every burden she had ever borne. Their minds merged, and their love was shared in the closeness of their embrace, both mental and physical. Legolas had told her that he would show her what real love was. She had never truly understood what that meant until they submitted themselves to one another, gave themselves to each other in this passionate way. And their hearts, their minds, and their bodies became one flesh, and it was as beautiful as the dawn.