Faramir slipped on his tunic for sleep and peeked into the adjoining room to see if Annî was still awake. It was late…or rather early, and she at last was asleep. He could not believe that she had remained awake so long when she had been exhausted long before the sun had set. She had danced a thousand times and run around with Aragorn and Arwen and then hung all over Éomer for an hour. She was the most precious child, and he adored her with his whole heart. He leaned against the wall and rested his head upon the doorframe. It had been the most wonderful celebration, but he was tired. He had avoided much of the ale, knowing Éomer and Gimli were going to be celebrating long into the night. He had not wanted to be completely drunk for the day—he could not, not when Éowyn was so pregnant and they had a child to care for.

And if he was tired, he could not imagine how Éowyn had survived such a day, such a night. He turned and watched her for a moment, slipping off her simple shoes and reaching back to undo the buttons on the dress she wore. She stopped and her face tightened as she suddenly reached forward to touch her stomach; she had been doing this a lot lately and then telling him it was nothing. It did not ease him at all, however, thinking that every time she did it she was in labor. She reached back again and fumbled with the buttons, her fingers simply not doing what she wanted, and he went to her without asking, undoing them for her and helping her slip off the dress over her head.

"Thank you," she said, and he smiled at her, touching her chin.

"You are exhausted, falling asleep where you stand. Let me help you," he said.

"I can get it," she said, her sigh nearly a groan, "I just need a little more time."

"Let me help," he said again, and he slipped the shift over her head as well, handing her the nightgown as he moved both the dress and the slip to the chair for now. He turned back to her as she began organizing the gown in her hands, blindly turning it this way and that—she was so exhausted! He could not help but look long at the amazing body that was once again preparing to bring a child into the world; his child. He knew she hated looking at herself right now, yet he could not help but continue to remind her how lovely she was.

"Do not stare, Faramir," she said tiredly.

"Why should I not?" he said, moving over to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, laying his hand on her womb. "You are gorgeous."

"Oh stop. I am huge."

He laughed. "Oh, Éowyn, you are carrying our child. I know you do not feel lovely, but you should. Do I not tell you enough?"

"I am so…uncomfortable right now," she muttered, and she laid her head on his shoulder as he rubbed her belly gently. The other hand that had been on her back moved lower to the edge of her undergarment; between the small of her back and her tailbone, he applied some pressure. She groaned and closed her eyes. "That is right where it hurts."

"I know," he said. "It is a bit lower than Annî, is it not? Let us get you dressed and lying down and I will rub your back…and your swollen ankles."

She lifted her head. "Are they swollen? You know I cannot see them. And do not laugh."

He tried to hide his smile and she punched him in the other shoulder. "Yes, they are swollen, love. You have been standing half the night and chasing Annî the other half." He slipped the nightdress over her head and then began leading her to the bed.

"No I have not," she said as helped her lie down on her side. "I have been letting everyone else chase her, especially Arwen." He started on her back and he heard her sniff softly, her voice thick. "I am a terrible mother."

"Éowyn," he chided her, and then leaned over to kiss her shoulder, "you are a wonderful mother. Everyone, and I mean everyone who sees you says so."

She sniffed again, resting a hand on her womb. "They do?"

"Yes," he said seriously. "So stop fretting. Annî is rambunctious, like I was at her age, and everyone loves her. Let them chase her around a bit. Moreover, she enjoys it."

She groaned, her eyes tightly closed. "Faramir, I am so uncomfortable."

"What can I do?" he asked, worried. She shook her head.

"You are probably doing it, I am afraid." He remained silent but his hands continued working her lower back. She surprised him after a little while, when he thought her asleep, when she reached back and caught his hands.

He leaned over and looked into her face, noticing her deep blush. "What is it, Éowyn?"

"As much as I am enjoying lying here letting you do that, I…really need to get up and use the toilet." He slipped off the bed immediately, knowing that being as heavy with child as she was she had been having difficulty and he knew how much she hated feeling like a convalescent, as though she needed to be taken care of all the time. He helped her towards the bath, could see her wincing the entire time; either her feet were very sore, or she was really struggling tonight.

"What is paining you so?" he asked softly. "You are walking very oddly, Éowyn."

She kept her hands on her stomach as he held her arm. "There is so much pressure, Faramir," she told him, almost breathless. "I feel as if I…as if I cannot hold…as if I am…" She stuttered over the words, quite unable to explain how she really felt, or feeling that the words would be inappropriate.

"What? What are you feeling?" She could not answer.

As they passed the threshold into the bath, she gripped the doorframe and stopped suddenly as her knees went weak, a tightening going through her back and into her abdomen. She was not going to reach that toilet fast enough. Stunned and embarrassed about wetting herself as she stood there, she could hardly tell Faramir, her face burning. The feeling passed and she took another half-step, Faramir truly concerned now, and then the tightness increased and she gasped, her nails digging into the wooden frame and her other hand clutching her abdomen. Mouth open in astonishment, she had a fleeting thought—was it possible that she had been in labor for several hours without knowing it? There was a feeling of heavy pressure and she felt the fluid on her legs.

"Oh, Faramir…" she said, gripping his arm. The breathlessness in her voice frightened him for a moment and he reached out and laid a hand on her belly beside hers. Her muscles were tight and tense.

"Éowyn," he said, "you are frightening me! What—"

"This baby is ready," she said, laughing softly in astonishment. "Oh Eru, I am such a fool."

"He is—what do you—are you all right?" She nodded and gave him an uncomfortable look. "What is happening?"

"I am in labor, Faramir," she said and his arm tightened around her.

"You are? He is that ready?"

"This baby is not going to wait. I…soiled this dress with the birthing fluids," she murmured, and he could feel her embarrassment. He looked down and saw a pool of liquid forming at her feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked, worried. "Should you not be lying down? Is this not very early for—"

"It is early, but…the Healers warned me that I had to be careful, that I might not feel the contractions the way I did before. I think…I think I may have been in labor for a few hours…"

"What?" Her hand tightened on him.

"God, Faramir there is so much pressure…my knees are so weak…"

"What do I need to do? What do you need from me?" he asked gently. He needed to get her to the Houses; with all the chaos that had happened last time, he was not letting her give birth here only with him. "We need to clean you up, yes? Get you dressed."

"I think…I hope we have time for that…"

He leaned back and looked in her face. "Honestly, Éowyn…are you really…" He watched her chew on her lip.

"There is…so much pressure…" she said breathlessly, tears filling her eyes.

"It is going to be all right," he said, stroking her face and rubbing his hand against her belly again. "I promise everything is going to be all right. Let me get this dress off of you," he said more firmly, "and get some towels." He leaned her against the doorway and went immediately into the bath to grab some towels, setting one on the floor beneath her and tossing the others over his shoulder so he could remove her nightdress. After he had done that, he wiped her off; the fluid was continuing to come slowly, so he held a towel to her. He kissed her cheeks and she had to smile. "Hold this for me," he told her gently, "and I will get your dress, and wake Annî." She nodded, but gripped his arm.

"Please, Faramir…with haste," she whispered, and he left immediately, jogging into the other room where his daughter was fast asleep.

"Annî, Annî…wake up, love…" he said to her. The little girl opened her eyes and looked at her father, confused.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, love," he said, "come on, up you get. The baby is coming and we need to go to the Houses of Healing."

"The baby?" she squeaked and she rolled out of bed, reaching for his neck. "Oh Daddy!" He caught her hands and then kissed her forehead.

"I cannot carry you, Annî; can you walk? I need to carry your mother."

"Mommy can't walk?" she asked, grabbing her stuffed lamb and shoving her thumb in her mouth.

"Not right now, love," he said. "Now go put on your shoes." She scampered from the room and he yanked his boots on, bouncing along on one foot as he grabbed another of Éowyn's nightdresses and went back to her side. "How are we?" he asked, and she opened her eyes to look at him, letting out a breath.

"All right." She saw what he held. "No, that is not dec—"

"It is modest," he said, "and I am not stuffing you back into that dress you wore to the wedding. We will have Arwen bring you something tomorrow. Come on, Annî is ready, as am I…we are waiting on you now." He helped her put the dress on and then he scooped her off her feet.

"We cannot leave the house like—"

"Éowyn, forget the house," he said, rolling his eyes as he held her against his chest. "I care about you, Annî, and that little one inside you. These are the things that matter; forget everything else."

"Will you send for Aragorn…Arwen?" she whispered, laying her head to the side against his chest. "I would be easier if they were near."

"Of course," he said, "when we get to the Houses."

"Mommy, Mommy!" cried Annî. "The baby is coming!"

She smiled down at her, her fingers tightening on Faramir's collar as another contraction made her tighten and her back ache with pain. "Annî," she said, but her name came out more like a gasp, "open the door for you father, will you?"

The three of them made their way into the street and towards the Houses; Annî skipping, waving her lamb and shouting, and Faramir carrying Éowyn with as little jostling as possible, heart racing with anticipation and worry for the new life she was carrying.

Arwen laughed gaily as they entered the House, towing Aragorn by the hand. He spun her back into him, falling against the door as she fell into him, still laughing. Leaning her hands against his chest, she pressed her lips to his chin as his hands held her against him.

"I could have danced all night," she said, smiling beautifully, and he rested his forehead against hers. "I did not want to stop."

"Oh, I know," he told her. "My feet are feeling it."

She laughed again, kissed him again. "It was the most wonderful celebration. Legolas and Enguina were so happy; she so beautiful, he so handsome." She sighed. "Do you think they are—"

"I think they are perfect," he told her, nodding. "When I think of them, I have an overwhelming sense of peace…I believe everything is wonderful. In fact, they probably are having an easier time of it than we did."

"We helped them," she said.

"We needed to," he agreed. "Can you imagine what would have happened if we had not? If Legolas felt he was hurting her? That would have been positively awful. No, we did everything we could to make them easier." He kissed her again, several times, losing himself in the moment before he remembered he had something to say. "And you, my dear…"

"Hmmm?"

"You have been giving me that look all evening."

"What look?" she teased him, and he brushed his nose against her neck and felt her pulse with his lips. She felt feverish—it had been some time since she had felt overwhelmed by the desire she had for him. Wine made her this way from time to time; she did not drink often. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You have been undressing me all evening…I know it only too well."

"I have?" she looked at him beneath half-lidded eyes. Her fingers found the buttons on his tunic near his ribs and he raised his eyebrows when he discovered they were already undone. Her hands slipped inside and she pressed herself against him, leaning into him even further. "Now I am undressing you."

"You have had," he whispered in between too many heated kisses from her, "a bit of wine this evening." Her hands were roaming now, his tunic completely undone. "You have been torn though."

"Torn?" she murmured. "I have been able to think of nothing but our wedding night for the past two hours."

"There were other things you wanted," he told her, "such as dancing until our feet were about to fall off, or the song you sang with Erumar—"

"Oh, that was beautiful, was it not?" she asked, and she pressed her body against him as her lips found his for a few more heated kisses. Raising her hand to his head, she wrapped her fingers gently around the crown he wore and lifted it. "I want to run my fingers through your hair," she told him, "and this is in the way." Her hand fell to her side as he bent her back slightly at the waist to kiss her again.

A knock on the door at his back startled both of them. He straightened, his hand still wrapped around her back, hers wrapped beneath his tunic and clinging to him. Utterly breathless with her desire for him, she closed her eyes as she tried to rein herself back from where her thoughts had been going, what she had been yearning the last two or three hours for. The knock came again, insistent, and he stroked her chin as he released her, his own knees weak with the thought of how her fire had burned him. Her eyes were closed as he touched her nose.

"Patience, beloved," he whispered. "Good things come to those who wait."

She leaned her hip against the table, touching her forehead with her hand as his chest was covered back up by the buttoned tunic. "I…need cold water," she muttered, and she knew he was feeling much the same when he could not even laugh at her assessment of the situation. Quelling what she was feeling was incredibly difficult as he turned away to unlock and open the front door. When she saw who it was, she was even more eager to appear as though everything was normal.

"Mennev, good evening," Aragorn said, his tone one of surprise. He, too, was still working to collect himself.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, my King, Lady," he said, bowing to them both. "But my Lord Faramir sent me here with an urgent request from the White Lady for you both to come with me."

Arwen raised her head at the mention of Éowyn, brushing aside her desire much more easily with worry as Aragorn looked at the Captain with concern. "What is it, Mennev? Is she all right?"

"Is it the baby?" asked Arwen, and Mennev nodded.

"I do believe she's preparing to give birth as we speak." Arwen's hands went to her mouth and Aragorn smiled.

"Is she all right?"

"Prince Faramir didn't seem worried beyond his…usual feelings of anxiety for her," he said, stepping back from the door. "But she asked for you both, and I'm assuming he thinks she'll be easier with you there. I don't wish to rush you; if you aren't ready quite yet—"

"No, no," Aragorn said. "We only just arrived."

"Please, take us to them," Arwen added and quickly she turned aside, slipping the coronet from her hair and leaving both hers and Aragorn's on the table. Aragorn reached for her hand, she took it, and the two of them walked immediately back out into the night.

"Do you have any idea how long it has been since I stepped foot where there was dancing?"

Thranduil was walking along with Erumar holding his arm, amazed that it was this hour of the morning and he had been dancing with her much longer than he had even realized. His son and Enguina had left several hours ago, and he felt a perfect sense of peace. To see the way they looked at each other today, tonight, his heart had been flooded with joy. Yes, they would have many long years of love. He would pray for that love as long as he lived and that nothing would ever happen to them that caused them the sort of grief he had come to know in his own personal…well, he would not exactly call it a pit of darkness at the moment. He had enjoyed himself much too much tonight, and it was as pleasant as it was unexpected.

"Longer than me," she said with a lilt in her voice, "you are far older."

He laughed, grinning because he felt a bit…off…and it was good. "Well, let us see then. When was the last time you danced?"

"With friends? A few hundred years. With a man? Over a thousand since my wedding," she replied, her voice thoughtful. "He was not much for dancing." He noticed easily that she had not said his name.

"You are a wonderful dancer," he said. "It is a shame you have not had any opportunity." He gave her a smile. "When you come to the Greenwood, which you must do at some point, I shall hold a party for you."

She looked over at him and met his eyes. "I…think I would like that very much. That is very kind of you. Thank you for the invitation."

"I…hope you will come," he said, looking down at their feet as they walked along together, suddenly embarrassed. "Perhaps that was too bold."

"No," she said with a smile. "Thranduil, I…must tell you…"

"Yes?" he asked, and they came to a halt in the middle of the shadowy passageway between the sixth and seventh levels.

"I want to thank you, for last night, for yesterday morning, for tonight. You have been…very kind to me and I have felt…" She hesitated and then carefully chose her words. "I have felt more alive these past few days, around you and Enguina, Legolas, and the others, than I have felt in the last seven years. I have been…in such pain. I still am," she added honestly. "Even now my heart is weighted with the grief of that loss. The suffering is—"

"Intense," he finished for her, thinking of her tearing up grass and dropping to her knees. "I know, but…may I…may I speak plain?"

She hesitated. "I think we should always be honest with each other."

He smiled in spite of himself. "I make a vow that I will hide nothing."

"I…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should make amends to that? I vow that I will always speak the truth to you, be honest with you. It will make for an easier friendship."

She did smile then. "A vow it is."

"Then let me say this," and he reached down and took her hands. "Erumar, I enjoy spending my time with you, and not just because of the grief we have shared. You are very easy to talk to, understanding, and to be honest, you laugh at me, which I find soul-lightening." She laughed as he said that, and he smiled. "See? What I mean to say is…I am not asking you for the future; I am not asking for a plan for our lives or anything of that sort. I am asking for the present. Continue to walk with me, share time with me while we are together. Would you be willing to do that?" Erumar nodded, but he could sense a hesitation in her response. "What is it?"

"It would be…unfair of me if—though we are not speaking of the future," she said, blushing, looking down. He tipped her chin with a finger.

"We made a vow."

She hesitated another moment, and he saw her eyes fill though no tears fell. "I do not know if I can ever love again."

His hands tightened on hers. "I do not know if I can either," he admitted honestly.

"But…we are not seeking the future."

"No," he agreed. "We are seeking the present."

She nodded. "I think I can give you that."

"Good, because I very much enjoyed the time we spent tonight. And someday, I would, very much, like you to see Eryn Lasgalen." She smiled at him. "I think that my woods could use a bit of your song." They heard footsteps behind them from the seventh level and both of them turned to look as Thranduil returned Erumar's hand to his arm. "Did you two not just leave the party a short while ago?"

Aragorn laughed as he and Arwen, led by Mennev, stopped beside the two of them. "We did, indeed, but we must head this way to the Houses—"

"Éowyn is in labor," Arwen told them.

"How wonderful!" exclaimed Erumar, smiling.

"But Éomer is still at the celebration," added Thranduil. "Who shall watch the child?"

"She's in the Houses with her father at the moment," Mennev replied.

"Lord Faramir should be with his wife," Thranduil said firmly. "Childbearing is no easy thing. If Andúnêiel's uncle cannot be found, then I will come with you both and watch the child."

Aragorn bowed his head to him. "You are more than welcome, Thranduil. Join us, please. I am certain that Faramir, and through him Éowyn, shall be very grateful." Thranduil turned to Erumar.

"Would you like me to escort you home first?"

"No, no, it is all right; I would be more than happy to join you. All hands can be used to entertain a little girl for a few hours."

"Come, let us go to her then," said Arwen, smiling at them as she held Aragorn's hand once again. The five of them made their way to the Houses and when they arrived, Mennev went out among the streets to see if he could locate the King of Rohan among the guests still celebrating.

It was not quite dawn when Enguina slowly blinked her eyes, feeling the press of her body against her beloved's side. Her head was cushioned on his chest, her right hand lying against his velvety skin. Legolas lay on his back, she on her side, but there was enough light in the room to see him…to really see him. There were no sheets to cover them, to cover him, yet she felt warm within his embrace. She could really see him. She swallowed; he was so…so…gorgeous—the way his shoulder curved into his arm, the way his hip met his side, his knees—she was completely captivated by him. She never thought that she would ever find the sight of a man beautiful…but he was. His breathing was regular; he was not yet awake. That was good.

Her fingers were gently tracing circles along his breast as she thought of last night. Something in her tingled, felt funny in the pit of her stomach, her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed again. He had made love to her last night; now she finally understood what that meant, with his hands, with his mouth, with his body…to every part of her. Was there a place she had that he had not touched? Their kisses had been different last night as well, but the way he had pressed his lips to her skin, his tongue brushing her throat…oh, it made her nearly shiver now. Yes, she had loved him, caressed him with more boldness than she had ever thought she would have, but she had wanted to please him as he had her. Oh, he had brought her pleasure…she had never felt anything so breathtaking than the way he had loved her. Thinking about it now gave her chills and goose bumps down her flesh and she trembled against him.

She did feel a slight discomfort where they had been joined; she knew there would be this morning after last night's initial twinge, but it was only her muscles aching. He had been…he had been so gentle with her and it had been slow and wonderful and they had touched one another and stared into each other's eyes and kissed countless times as they had made love side-by-side. It had been perfect; it was theirs…and she would remember it forever, the first time she gave herself to him whole-heartedly. She would never forget this first night—not for the rest of her forever with him. She smiled to herself, embarrassed by her thoughts: she would not be able to put this perfect memory of them on the quilt.

As she stroked his chest, she could not help but think of the way her dreams had been decimated by Legolas's love for her. Their wedding, their dancing, their love-making, all of these things were embraced within her mind. With deep regret, it did not mean that she would never dream again, that she would never think about what horrors Bragolaur had done to her, that she would never feel the pain that he had caused her. She would, but Ilúvatar had given her love to temper that pain, love to endure the storm, the caresses of Legolas to undo her hurt, the lips of Legolas to remove her scars. Yes, Ilúvatar had blessed her immeasurably and she felt the desire rise in her to show Legolas how much she loved him. He had so physically loved her last night; she wanted to do the same for him this morning. He had told her that she would love waking to him…let him wake to the press of her skin against him.

Carefully rising onto her left elbow, she lifted her head, closed her eyes, and placed kisses along his breast, her fingers still tracing circles upon his chest. She moved slowly, her mouth working its way towards his collarbone, her hand drawing down towards his stomach. She reached his throat and his hip before she felt him move his hand on her back, felt his fingers in her hair. Slipping her knee over his and touching her toes to his ankle, she ignored the fact that he was awake for a moment and pressed her lips back down along his chest the way he had kissed her last night. She opened her eyes as she moved her mouth, hers meeting his and holding as she continued the kisses. Finally, when she was certain she had completely woken and aroused him at the same time, she lifted her head and brought her lips to his. Surprisingly, he kissed her slowly, passionately, and when their lips parted after long moments, they were both breathless.

"This is wonderful…" he whispered and she giggled into him, unable to control her delight. "This is the most wonderful experience of my life, waking up to you, my wife."

Tears filled her eyes. "And me, waking up to you, my husband." His left arm trapped beneath her body, his right hand still moved along her bare skin, following along her side and down her back, and she pressed herself into him more tightly.

"I am learning you already," he told her softly, and she felt his other hand spend some time at the small of her back and near her hip—sensitive areas he had discovered. She broke off another kiss with a bit of a gasp, and he took her shoulder then, leaning her back off of him. He quickly bumped her chin up with his hand and lifted his head to sow kisses all along her jaw to her ear. Her nails pinched against his hip and he smiled, but did not try to move her away. He was hers; she could hold him wherever she wanted. "You aroused me this morning," he whispered into her throat

"I could tell," she said in the same tone, and he felt the heat of her face as she blushed when his fingertips stroked gently over her right breast. Her back arched without her say-so and her skin flushed with even more heat.

"Now, it is my turn," he told her, and she felt his tongue find that spot just beneath her ear.

Oh, Ilúvatar…please! She trembled against him as his other hand continued to gently caress the skin of her breasts. She felt him gently nudge her body over with his knee and he pressed back against her chest, lowering her onto her back as he rolled to his side, capturing her lips again for a moment before he moved lower. He held her arm to the bed near her elbow, and his mouth pressed hot kisses to the sensitive skin beneath her arm, his eyes on his other hand that still brushed her chest.

She swallowed hard, shivering with pleasure against him as she used her foot to stroke his leg from his ankle and along his strong calf, her hand still gripping his hip as he pressed himself against her. He did not miss anything with his mouth that he had discovered last night, and soon his hand was touching her elsewhere and his mouth had replaced his hand against her breast again. "You…remember everything," she said breathlessly, disbelieving she could be this completely gone; she felt almost light-headed. He dragged his hand from her knee down her thigh and she moaned softly. "Legolas, Legolas…" The way he touched her was too much!

"I love when you whisper my name," he whispered, and it continued in his head when she could not continue saying it aloud when her throat closed because of the way his breath caressed her breast. He lifted his knee and bumped hers aside, giving his hand freedom to roam to her other leg as her nails dragged from his hip to his knee where she gripped him, holding his leg there as hers rubbed against him, their skin slowly dragging together as she tried to get even closer to him. "That feels nice," he chuckled into the center of her chest, and the press of his lips made her shiver again. "You are so warm…" he murmured, and the feel of his hand made her arch from the bed.

She moved her elbow to support herself and his arm slipped underneath her to hold her body closer to his face. That was not quite what she had meant to do, but between his mouth and his hand, her hips were pressing into him; oh, he was enjoying watching the pleasure cross her face, listening to her breath leave her as he caressed the most sensitive parts of her he could touch.

"Oh Elbereth…Arwen was right," she moaned and Legolas grinned to himself as he lifted his head to press his lips and tongue up along her collarbone with agonizing deliberateness. The arm that was trying to support her was about to cave in; perhaps it was not doing anything to hold her already.

"Guin, Guin," he murmured, "what was she right about?"

"Everything…"

"That is cheating," he teased her, his voice no more than a whisper. "Tell me."

"Legolas…" He knew then that she had not meant to say it aloud, that it was supposed to be thought in her head. But now he had to know; he had to. Her body was moving beneath him, against him, and he would have bet anything she did not even know she was doing it.

"Tell me…" he urged her, running the hand that was helping to hold her up and down her back to the spot just below her ribcage. Her hips pressed towards him, her head fell back, and he began kissing as far up her throat as he could get, feeling her pulse hammering against his lips. "God, I have found a hidden talent…one I never knew I had."

She could barely breathe, but she knew what he was talking about and she had to let a laugh sneak out of her throat. "Giving me pleasure…"

"Mmm…" he agreed.

A whimper escaped her lips. "Incredibly good at it."

"Now, tell me or I will stop…"

Not…nice… He heard the words clearly in his head, and he was surprised to find they were said as breathlessly as they would have been said out loud. He chuckled against her throat.

I was not serious…

And then Legolas tugged her upright, the two of them partially sitting in each other's laps as he lowered his mouth to her breast again, his leg now wrapped around behind her, one hand holding her tightly to him, the other… She gasped and wrapped a hand in his hair, her other hand stroking his body, everything that was in reach. This was too good. There was no way she was made to feel this way, this good. Was it possible that he was meant to be this wonderful? Was it possible that just the press of their flesh together could make her weak, make her tremble like this?

"What was she right about?" he asked her again and between his mouth and his hand, she stuttered out a reply.

"That her desire was stronger after knowing what they had shared and I-I-I…oh, Legolas…Legolas!" She could barely think as she felt him rock her against him, dragging one of her legs over his lap so it wrapped around behind him. He felt her nails suddenly pierce his shoulders, her elbows resting against his chest and he continued what he was doing with his hands, his mouth. She was arching into him again, her body pressing into him as close as she could get, her breathing quick and shallow, heart racing, her pulse pounding through his brow as it was pressed against her heart. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably and he felt her tighten every muscle she had around him.

She had completely lost all control of the situation that she had begun this morning, her voice crying out in his head with the pleasure he was bringing her. He delighted in it; he wanted to please her so badly that he could think of nothing but the feel of her back arching, the press of her to him, as she shivered against him.

It took a few moments, but her lips came against his ear, so she must have been coming down from wherever she had been moments ago in her head. He could not help but smile; this was what he had wanted all along, to make her know what his love was like, the power of it, what he felt for her, what she deserved.

"Make love with me," she moaned softly in his ear, and he brought his lips suddenly to her jaw, her chin. Legolas…Legolas…

"Oh Guin…we have been making love since you woke me with your kisses," he whispered. "This is making love…to be holding you like this against me, to feel your passion as you tremble. This is what we have spent our whole lives waiting to share." Oh, Guin…they were both right. They were both right about how wonderful this is to share with you, to give to you…how I love you!

She swallowed. "D-do you want me to l-lie b-back," she stuttered out, barely able to form a thought other than about his words, his hands, his thoughts in her head, "lie d-d—"

"Not yet," he whispered, and he gently adjusted her to be fully in his lap, his one arm wrapping around her lower body, his other hand tilting her chin so he could kiss her slowly, covering her quiet groan as her breath left her for a moment, her nails tightening in his flesh. "This," he continued softly, "is a better idea that we can revel in slowly, my Guin."

"I love you," she whispered back, her words filling his heart. "I love you so much…please…"

"Let me love you the way you deserve," he told her. "Let us make slow, passionate love together. Hold onto me, cling to me…let us love until our strength is gone."

"Oh Legolas…"

He pressed his lips to her throat, tightening his hold upon her, and they once more gave in to each other.