A/N Here we are again! Another story to follow on from my previous as promised. Again, this will be a crossover of sorts with the Harry Potter series in that the concepts of magic carry over. It follows on from my previous story so I highly recommend you read that first.
I own nothing of Tolkien nor JK Rowling's works.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1 - United
Gently their bodies swayed with the rhythmic calm of the horse beneath them. Several months had passed since that fateful day on the footsteps of Mordor and many things had changed. Aragorn had been crowned king, the hobbits had returned home and the general hum of daily activity that accompanied peacetime had resumed once more. Legolas and Isobel had remained in Minas Tirith, along with many of their other companions, to aide the new king with the establishment of his reign and to help with the healing of the city and it's people.
But for now, the pair found themselves alone in a forest, having stolen an afternoon away for themselves. Together they were seated upon their stead, Legolas' body behind Isobel's, as their mount trotted slowly through the serene landscape. The spring sun was warm on their skin where it burst through the canopy of leaves above. Feeling completely at peace, Isobel allowed her head to loll backwards on to the chest of her lover, turning her face upward as she basked the glory of the light. With a chuckle, Legolas wrapped his arms around the young woman's waist tighter, before pressing delicate kisses to the now exposed skin of her neck.
Giggling, she captured the back of his head in her hand, her fingers idly tangling in the silky locks.
"Later," she promised, before swivelling around to kiss him with agonising slowness.
"Besides," she said, her face darting forwards once more as a frustrated huff left the elf's lips. "You're the only one who knows where we are going."
They travelled through the trees in silent contentment for a further half hour before Legolas brought their mount to a halt before an old stone wall that stretched tall and long as it weaved through the forest. It was curious for they had not travelled far from the citadel but seemingly this wall had stood untouched for a long time. Roughened cobblestones mounted haphazardly on one another formed the basis of the barrier. Rich green moss decorated much, as tendrils of ivy spilled over the top in torrents of jade. Delicate ferns grew along the base as they lay half buried amongst the brush.
Helping Isobel down with a chivalrous hand, the elf indicated she should go forth with a warm smile and an inclination of his head. The young woman fixed the fair being with an intrigued stare before she stepped forward to run her hand along the stones. The roughness scraped beneath her fingertips as she swept aside the greenery with gentle hands. But then as she sidled a particularly dense section of vines, it was no more, her fingers falling into emptiness behind. With a gasp, she turned surprised eyes on Legolas momentarily, before returning to sweep the tendrils away in an act of grandeur, compelled by fascination.
The young woman felt her breath catch for she had not expected to see as she now did. The greenery gave way to reveal an old archway. And beyond this archway, a grove, as magnificent as it was secluded. Rolling waves of grass, ferns and flowers stretched before her to give rise to a small pool of crystal clear water. At the rear wall, huge limestones towered high, as tall as the trees, where water trickled in a soft waterfall.
Tying their horse to a nearby tree, quietly Legolas joined the young woman as she marvelled at the sight. Overhead, enormous maples, their leaves filtering the sunlight in the richest of scarlets, shielded the grotto. But it was not the scenery Legolas was admiring. Today Isobel had been clothed in an embroidered corset, flowers and vines twisting intricately along the beige fabric in a pattern that reminded the elf of his homeland. A yellow ochre skirt slid out from below, skimming the young woman's slight frame as it fell to her ankles. Over one shoulder draped a sheer triangle of fabric in the same ochre colour. Isobel's long dark hair had been plaited and twisted into a soft crown at the nape of her neck. Between the amber hues shimmering in her hair, the flawless planes of her alabaster skin and the radiance dancing in her deep sapphire eyes the young woman looked ethereal today.
Awestruck, Legolas sidled up beside her to slide an arm around Isobel's waist as he brought their foreheads together. For a moment all the elf did was hold her to him while his feelings for her flared within his heart. Gloriously his fëa sung, dancing with joyfulness, as it recognised her own and the depth of her love for him. For the pair these moments, often stolen during busy days, were as wholesome and refreshing as the first breath drawn upon wakening to a new day.
"It's beautiful," Isobel murmured, beneath closed eyes as Legolas continued to hold her.
"You are beautiful," the stubborn elf corrected, before sliding his nose over hers to claim her lips in a tender kiss. Slowly he kissed her, marvelling in the feel of the softness of her mouth as it moved with his. Not for the first time the elf wondered how he could be so lucky as to fall in love. As a prince and a soldier, never in is long years did he believe he would have anything other than a life of self-sacrifice and servitude. And yet here he was, in the arms of the most exquisite creature in the whole of Middle Earth; a creature who readily gave to him everything of herself from her body, to her heart, mind and soul.
Gradually, the chaste kisses began to morph into something more heated and as Legolas felt the tip of his lover's tongue slid over his lower lip, he drew back an inch, much to her annoyance.
Chuckling, forehead still pressed to hers, he opened his blue eyes to stare into her own.
"There's something I want to ask you," he said softly, before stepping back to reach into the pocket of his tunic. Isobel watched intrigued as Legolas withdrew a delicate ring and held it aloft. An enormous, rectangular emerald beset by two smaller diamonds formed the centre stones whilst weaving around the band was a pattern of silver leaves, reminiscent of Legolas' Mirkwood home. The ring was extraordinary in its loveliness as it gleamed in the sunlight.
"This belonged to my mother," Legolas explained shyly, eyeing the magnificent gems in his hand. "It was given to me after she died to give to the woman of my choosing." The elf's gaze darted up to meet Isobel's as she waited with baited breath. "I choose you," he continued softly. "Marry me?"
"Yes," Isobel breathed, for through her surprise and earnestness, it was all she could muster.
A glorious smile split Legolas' handsome face as he slid the ring on to her finger before crashing his lips to hers in a desperately needy kiss. Quickly their clothes were shed, their hands roaming the expanses of each other's nude bodies, while passions poured between them. Pushing away, Isobel stepped away from her lover with trembling breaths to ease herself with backwards steps into the clear water behind. Lustfully, the elf's eyes roamed the bare form of his lover as it slowly disappeared into the crystal pool. Swallowing hard, Legolas followed her beckoning finger to join her in the cool. Capturing her in his arms once more, he kissed her as he walked them towards the limestones behind. Breaking that kiss momentarily, Legolas' pulled back to stare longingly into her eyes as he hitched her leg over his hip, opening her to receive him. Commandingly the elf claimed her hands in his own to lift them above their heads as he eased himself inside the warmth of her body. A moan escaped the young woman's lips, her eyes rolling back into her head at the feeling of her lover sliding in. Slowly they rolled their hips together in delicious ecstasy, revelling in the heady juxtaposition of the cool water washing over their heated bodies.
But as pleasurable as it was Legolas did not want to finish her like this. Letting go of her hands to slide around her waist, the elf kept their bodies joined as he guided them to the soft grass nearby. Tenderly he laid her down before moving inside her once more. Here he took his young lover from
trembling ecstasy to trembling ecstasy for hours with his skilful fingers, mouth and member.
When they were both finally spent, bare bodies lay side-by-side amongst the flowers as they each revelled in their good fortune.
oOOOo
After announcing their betrothal to the jubilation of their dearest friends, the pair decided that it would be wise to inform Legolas' father. Before whispered rumour reached his ears.
The Elven king, though a good father, had a reputation for being ill-tempered and coldly calculating in his decisions. He and Legolas had not always had an easy relationship. Truthfully, after the passing of Legolas' mother, they hadn't had much of a relationship at all, save for the necessary but impersonal interactions of a prince and his king.
It was only the injection of Aragorn, and later Isobel, into their lives that warmth had been reintroduced between the pair. Though admittedly, Thranduil had been less than pleased when his son brought home yet another pair of 'strays.' Initially the presence of these bedraggled two, particularly the young woman whose shoulders were burdened by an unnatural heaviness, had irritated the elven king to no end. They seemed to have an unbelievable propensity for finding trouble, and moreover, for dragging his son into scrapes so reckless they invariably threatened the prince's life also. But even so, their loyalty to Legolas was faultless, as was their friendship. And much to his chagrin, Thranduil had to admit that the pair had lit a lust for life into his son once more; a son whose soul had otherwise been rendered stale through a millennia of monotony.
Once she had relaxed in his presence and learned to let go of her burdens, at least for a time, the young woman in particular shone with such youthful vibrancy that it surprised Thranduil to find that he himself found it infectious also. The elven king mused that it that perhaps this was the one of the few blessings of mortality; that passionate vitality infused through every aspect of their otherwise shortened lives.
The two week journey to Legolas' homeland was otherwise uneventful. The pair chatted and laughed the days away as they trekked over the landscape. At night, Isobel cast a number of spells around their campsites to deter wayward visitors. Here the made love by the fire before falling asleep cocooned in each others arms.
Finally they reached the border of Mirkwood. Legolas' home lay in the north of the forest. And for the pair, that meant travelling through the afflicted remains of the southern path. The trees here were the most accursed. Their blackened, scarred ruins twisted gruesomely around one another as they stretched towards a shrouded sky. There was no life here. Nothing grew. No birds sang, no insects crawled. Instead sticky spiderwebs oozed from darkened vines like treacherous honey, ever inviting but equally deadly. Here they were watched by spindle-legged evil as they awaited high in the trees for a wayward traveller to turn into a meal.
Isobel knew that Legolas found it painful to walk through this part of his home. Though he had grown up knowing the forest as it were, Legolas was an elf and thus found life and love through the warmth of the sun and the vitality of the trees. The oppressiveness of the wickedness here was enough to dampen even the brightest of spirits.
While Isobel had traversed this path many times herself, this time was different. As soon as they had passed beneath the first of the trees a wretchedness had washed over the young woman, like passing through a torrid veil and she fell to her knees with a gasp. Everywhere she turned all she saw was suffering. Agonised trees cried out in her mind beneath their macabre blankets, begging for release. She could hear their voices shrieking in her head with the pounding of a thousand desperate drums. Blackened vines groaned under the weight of dozens of hairy legs, straining desperately to shirk the evil from their tendrils. Poisoned mushrooms winked through the gloom. A mist clouded around them, clinging to their clothes and with it the breeze brought wicked whisperings.
The young woman sat crouched, panting on the ground, suddenly overwhelmed by the onslaught of vileness. Though she had never enjoyed journeying through this part of the forest, she had never felt this way before. And this time it was too much. With a cry of dismay, Legolas crouched down beside his young lover to run concerned hands over over her back.
"Isobel?" he asked, running anxious blue eyes over her tense face.
"Is this what you feel?" she whispered, closing her eyes in a bid to shield herself. "I can hear it, the evilness. It saturates the earth beneath our feet. I can hear it in the trees and feel it in the breeze. It is everywhere." Slowly a shaky tear trickled down her pale cheek.
"Yes," Legolas murmured softly, drawing the young woman into his arms. "The curse is all-encompassing here." As he held her, the elf allowed the light of his fëa to flow through him. It washed over the pair as a glowing warmth, a dim hope through the gloom. As her own fëa recognised its mate, Isobel realised that this was the change. The last time she had walked these woods, they had been friends, not lovers. But this time as they traversed the same paths, she also carried within her a part of his soul.
And so with renewed sadness, Legolas guided Isobel through the worst of the evil.
oOOOo
Thranduil reclined casually upon his throne, one leg draped over the other as he awaited the arrival of his son. Scouts had reported the appearance of Legolas and his female companion a few days past. Any moment now, he expected them to grace his halls once more. As usual, the elven king was dressed richly in long draping robes, a delicate circlet balanced on his head and an impassive expression fixed on his ageless features. He knew he was a foreboding sight, as he intended to be. Thranduil had not seen Legolas since before he left for Rivendell. Even in the memory of an elf it had been far too long and he was anxious to be reacquainted with his son and heir once more. Even if it meant tolerating his companion.
When the prince had first thrust Isobel into his life, Thranduil had most certainly been displeased. While the young woman, a duchess by title no less, certainly held the king's respect for her breeding, it was clear from the moment he met her that she was troubled. At the time, the king could only guess as to where the prince had scrounged the maladjusted wretch from. But what Thranduil did know from the moment he met her, or rather what he could sense, was that beneath Isobel's outwardly fearful demeanour was an ancient power, deep seated and strong, thirsting to get out. Although she kept it largely hidden from him, even now.
Eventually, the king learned of the young woman's unfortunate past. And over time, under the patient guidance and friendship of his son and the ranger, she began to thrive, growing to a vivacious, tenacious and courageous creature. And although it pained the fair king to admit, he had grown fond of her.
Irrespective, Thranduil was still wary of the young woman, and more particularly, the rawness of the power she seemed to possess. It reminded him of the legend of another being long ago, who had promised much with sweet words and the deliverance of rings.
Though if rumour were to be true, it was only because of Isobel's powers that his son had lived through the battle of the Black Gate at all.
In time he would learn the truth.
They came to him clad in travelling clothes and weariness from their long journey. Thranduil noted with some interest that their bounding steps belied an air of nervousness. Legolas was a prince and had been raised in these halls, so it intrigued the king that his son should feel this way. Thranduil kept his face impassive as he surveyed the pair, sensing a change in both of them. Legolas' face held the same youthful radiance it had the last time the king had seen him. His body was still strong and muscular, his hair still plaited in the custom of their people. But there was something else swimming behind his son's cerulean eyes; a wholesomeness, that the king did not quite recognise or understand.
Thranduil's gaze flicked to the young woman, his grey eyes narrowing slightly as he perceived the stark change in her. No longer did Isobel cower beneath the weight of her own abilities. No, this time she stood before him proud and sure-minded. He could feel the essence of her magic flowing through her as easily and naturally as the blood in her veins.
Evidently the rumours were true.
But just as the elven king finished his silent appraisal of the newcomers, his sharp gaze landed on the spectacular emerald gleaming from her finger. His mouth thinned.
"Come," the elven king commanded.
With a small glance shared between them, Legolas and Isobel made to follow.
"Not you, Legolas." Thranduil said, turning once more to fix the pair with an irrefutable stare. "Though I am pleased to see you, there will be time for reunions later. For now, I must speak with Isobel alone."
The elven king led the young woman to his private chambers, holding the door aloft to wordlessly usher her inside. They were standing inside Thranduil's opulent study, a place he often retreated to when in need of rumination. Elaborately carved walls were decorated with richly embroidered tapestries where they hung above the marble fireplace. But at the centre of the room sat an enormous desk, crafted from the finest mallorn tree where haphazardly littered parchments lay upon it.
Isobel had only been in this room a handful of times. And none of those had been favourable as the elven king largely reserved invitations to this private domain for matters requiring reprimand. The young woman felt her pulse quicken.
Slowly Thranduil circled around Isobel, casting his eyes over every inch of her body as he did so. She stood perfectly still under the scrutiny, her voice silenced on her tongue in her heightened state of trepidation as she waited for him to speak.
"Do you love him?" the elven king finally asked, as he circled behind her back once more. He pleased to see that she was intimidated. Isobel swallowed hard. It was an easy question, nonetheless, but it was the elven king's hard tone that had her feeling uneasy.
"With all my heart," she replied softly.
"Hmm," was all Thranduil said, still contemplating the young mortal before him. "And have you consummated the relationship?"
In response, a deep scarlet flushed along Isobel's fair cheeks, before hastily sliding down her neck. The king stopped suddenly in front of the young woman to stare fiercely into her eyes.
"I see," was all he said.
Decidedly unsure of herself Isobel stared back, the impassive mask she'd honed from years a noble upbringing fixed firmly across her features.
"At least you are not plain," Thranduil said nonchalantly, before moving away to bask in the warmth of the fireplace. Annoyance rippled within the young woman, fixing itself in her steely-eyed gaze as a huff burst through her nostrils. In response, the elven king looked back, amused by the response. It was then that the young woman realised it had been a test. He was deliberately baiting her to elicit a reaction, testing her ability to maintain proper decorum in the face of adversity. With measured control Isobel reigned in her emotions, the mask sliding into place once more.
Thranduil's grey eyes flashed momentarily with an inscrutable reaction before he turned away to stare into the embers before him.
"I have to admit I have grown very fond of you over the years," the elven king began in a disarming, uncharacteristically affectionate voice. "With your upbringing you would be most adept at negotiating the subtleties of royal life. There is no doubt you will make a fine princess."
Isobel didn't dare breathe.
"But my son is the crown prince. His loyalties lie first and foremost to Mirkwood and its people. He is also my most precious gift and I will not allow him to bind himself to anyone who is less than extraordinary."
Thranduil paused to fix the young woman with his hard stare once more as Isobel's mind raced with a cacophony of erratic thoughts.
"You have grown so much over the last few months," the elven king continued, walking towards the frozen woman with slow, measured steps. Gently he took her hands in his own to appraise her palms with smooth fingers. "I see it within you. No longer are you the frightened doe that once landed on the steps of my kingdom but a elk, strong and equally graceful. But you are not extraordinary."
Sharply, the elven king grasped Isobel's fingers, surprising the young woman, before yanking her forward so that her face was inches from his own. They were so close she could see the ambition echoing in his crystalline eyes as they met with her own, though she did not understand it.
"I sense more within you. An ancient power that perhaps even you have failed to recognise." Soft fingers reached up to stroke her ivory cheek. Isobel's heart was pounding so heavily in her ears that she was sure the elven king could hear it. Just as suddenly he released her to strut back over to the fireplace.
"I forbid you from marrying my son until you have reached your full potential," he commanded, all manner of affection now gone from his voice.
All through the elven king's monologue, Isobel had remained silent with nothing but her noble mask set upon her face. But now, incensed by the cool impassiveness with which her prospective father-in-law had just dictated her future, she found her voice.
"What the hell does that mean?" she challenged, irate enough for the mask to slip.
Thranduil's mouth thinned in much the same manner as Legolas' would. He surveyed the young woman with narrowed eyes. She had always been a passionate individual, even in her younger years. But it was rare for her to outwardly defy a direct command from a king.
"It means exactly that," the king explained, less than patiently. "Until you come into your own and realise the depth of your power you may not marry Legolas."
"And how do I do that?" Isobel seethed, her sapphire eyes glaring incredulous daggers at him.
"How do I know?" Thranduil stated dismissively. "That is a question for older and wiser beings than I."
The silence stretched between them tangibly. Even from across the room Thranduil could feel waves of rage rolling from the young woman's skin. Through deep, shaky breaths she seemed to be wrestling with herself, caught between that delicate balance of maintaining proper decorum and emotional overload. Finally the young woman spoke through clenched teeth.
"And if I do this?"
"Then I will welcome you with open arms into this family, dearest daughter," Thranduil stated. And despite the coolness of his tone, Isobel didn't doubt the sincerity of his words.
Isobel's mind was a tangled mess when she left the king's chambers. Bursting out into the hall she nearly ran headfirst into Legolas who had been pacing anxiously outside. Steadying her in his strong grip, his cerulean eyes roved her face for explanation.
"Don't, please," she begged, effectively silencing the question that was about to slide from the handsome blonde's tongue. "I need some space," she continued before wrenching herself free and hastily retreating down the hall.
Both confused and concerned, Legolas turned to fix his father with a withering expression. Saying nothing but unsurprised by the younger elf's reaction, he beckoned his son inside the warm room with a nod of his head.
It was time for that reunion.