The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Cuivië – awakening
Caun nín – my prince
Mir nín – my treasure
Lle vesta? – Do you promise?
Veston – I promise
Melethril – lover (female)
Hannon lle – thank you
Pen-valthennen – my golden one
Uma – yes
Tolo – come
Amin mela lle – I love you
Saes – please
Lothamin – my flower
Irmamin – my desire
Mîr – jewel
Lle – you
Amin irmon lle – I desire you
Kamelo a’ amin – Make love to me
Melethron – lover (male)
Maba nín – take me
Fëar – souls

Chapter 15

The day of Arwen’s birthday dawned clear and cool, a perfect omen for what I hoped would be a perfect day. Glorfindel and Erestor had both insisted we take the day off to enjoy ourselves. That meant we had the entire day to do whatever pleased us most. I had asked Arwen what she wanted to do that morning. She had suggested a ride, so we headed for the stables after breakfast.

We spent the morning on horseback, flying free over the plains outside Rivendell. It was a freedom neither of us enjoyed often. Mirkwood was too dangerous to ride out alone or with a small group. Even on horseback, soldiers traveled in large groups for protection. Arwen, too, rarely rode alone for Elrond was protective of her above all others, except perhaps for Celebrian. We relished the feel of the wind in our faces, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves on the ground, the sound of the hawks screaming overhead as they hunted. It was the kind of morning that made me rejoice just to be alive.

We returned for lunch. Arwen spent the afternoon with her mother, preparing themselves for the feast. That suited me fine as it gave me the chance to finish my preparations as well. I finished arranging everything at the cottage just in time to get ready for the feast myself. I bathed away the sweat and smell of horse and dressed for the feast much as I had fifty years earlier.

This time, though, it was Arwen, not Elladan, who put lover’s braids in my hair. And it was golden ribbons, not silver, that she wove into the plaits. Seeing the golden ribbons against her dark hair that night had much the same effect on me as the silver ones had had so many years before. Knowing that she wore those ribbons for me was as potent an aphrodisiac as any drug in Elrond’s pharmacy.

Unlike the last time, I walked with Arwen to the great hall for the fea I s I still did not sit with her, for I had no official place in her life, but at least I was spared the kind of conversation I had endured at her Cuivië. The Imladris soldiers I was seated with were well accustomed to Arwen and had a respect for her that rivaled my own. They knew as well, for we had made no effort to hide it, that we were lovers. The conversation revolved around Orc sightings and plans to improve Imladris’ defenses. Only at the end of the feast, when Elrond proposed a toast to his daughter, did one of the guards lean over and congratulate me. “You are a lucky Elf, Prince Legolas, to have won the regard of the Lady. She gives her time and her company to few outside her duties.”

I assured him that I knew exactly how lucky I was.

With the toast complete, we moved outside to start the party. Arwen danced dutifully with her father and brothers and then teased a dance out of Erestor. Glorfindel, not to be outdone, claimed her hand next. Then, obligations fulfilled, she came to my side.

“Caun nín, you have not danced with me tonight,” she scolded.

“I have been remiss,” I replied, “though you have not lacked for partners.”

“I have not had the partner I desire.”

They were the same words we had spoken fifty years before. Her laughing eyes assured me that she knew it as well as I. I pulled her into my arms and did not release her again that night. We danced until we tired, then we stood together and watched those who took our place on the grassy lawn. We were in no hurry to leave, enjoying the magic of the night and of being together.

Finally, I noticed Arwen glancing skyward. “Soon,” I promised, catching Glorfindel’s eye. He slipped away to light the candles at the cottage.

“How soon?” she asked.

I smiled. “We had this same conversation the last time I was here for your birthday.”

“Then you should know what I want this time.”

“Patience, mir nín. It will be worth the wait.”

“Lle vesta?”

I laughed at her comment, but not my normal, light laughter. This was deep, husky laughter, promising delights untold. “Veston.”

She shivered. “Dance with me, then, until we can leave.”

We danced as I watched for Glorfindel’s return. I did not see him arrive any more than I had seen him leave. He was simply there again, cajoling Erestor into dancing with him, but I had noticed his absence so I knew all was ready. When the song ended, I leaned down to brush a kiss across the tip of Arwen’s ear. “It is time, melethril,” I whispered.

I did not have to lead her from the dancing this time, but I did have to steer her away from the house. “I have other plans for tonight,” I said, leading her toward the cottage. “Trust me.”

All was prepared as I had hoped. The candles were lit, a tray of fruit was waiting on the table, the wine was open and breathing. The flowers were arranged. Yes, it was perfect. Arwen seemed to think so as well.

“You did this for me?” She seemed amazed and flattered.

“It is your birthday. I wanted to do something special.”

“You succeeded. Hannon lle, pen-valthennen. It is beautiful.”

“So are you.”

If she heard me, she made no reply, going instead to examine the flowers. “You always remember my flowers.”

“It was a very special night. I think of it, and you, every year, even when I cannot be with you. Sending you flowers is one way of remembering.”

“It meant that much to you?” she asked, surprised.

“Uma. Did it not to you?”

“Legolas,” she said, “of course it meant much to me. It was my birthday, my Cuivië. It never occurred to me that you would feel the same.”

It would have been the perfect moment to speak, to tell her of my love, to confess everything that I felt, that I feared, that I desired. She was touched by my actions, by my words. With a little push, a little persuasion, I might have been able to sway her, to make her mine for eternity, not just for the night. I opened my mouth to speak, to reveal everything, but the words would not come. I searched Arwen’s eyes, trying to see something to encourage me. I saw desire, I saw pleasure in the cerulean depths, but I did not see love. Better not to risk it. If I spoke and she did not return my feelings, I would lose what little I already had. This whole situation left me little enough. I would not lose my pride as well. The moment stretched, then passed.

“Would you like some wine?” I offered instead, leading her to the table.

“I would love some.” She seemed content to follow my lead. We sat and I offered her a glass of wine. I took a slice of peach from the tray and offered it to her. I expected her to take it from me. Instead, she ate it from my hand, the tip of her tongue flicking over my fingers to catch the juice. Then she reached for a slice and fed it to me. I sucked her fingers into my mouth, licking them thoroughly before releasing them. I watched her eyes darken with desire as she reached for another slice.

“My turn,” I growled. We fed each other slices of fruit until they were all gone and we were completely engrossed in each other. I kissed the remaining juice from her lips, lapping at them so as not to miss a drop. She caught my tongue between her lips, teasing me with her teeth. I gave her what she wanted, invading her mouth, kissing her with all the fire in my soul. I could feel my control slipping as it always did when I was with her, but I had other plans before retiring to bed. “Tolo,” I said, pulling away and leading her into the bathroom. Candles flickered around the tub and a carpet of camellia petals covered the floor.

“So we are to bathe again. Did I not wash away the smell of horse well enough earlier?” she asked coquettishly.

“I had thought to indulge our senses, to savor every step. If you would rather…” I trailed off, not specifying an alternative, but leaving it up to her.

“N’uma. Indulge me, melethron.”

I helped her undress, binding up her hair with the golden ribbons. “I like seeing golden ribbons in your hair. I like knowing you are mine.” It was a daring comment, perhaps, but while I had decided not to speak of my feelings, if Arwen spoke first, I would tell her how I felt.

She reached up to touch the ribbons in my hair. “As you are mine.” Then her hands went to the fasten on on my robes, removing my garments as well. We descended into the tub, filled with warm, fragrant water. At Erestor’s suggestion, I had scented the water with jasmine. Though Arwen generally preferred lilac, I wanted a different, special scent for tonight. The sensuality of the jasmine appealed to me. I hoped it would appeal to her as well.

We had shared a tub many times, but I never grew tired of it, of lying together in the warm water, of the loving touches that passed between us as we bathed. Tonight, the bath was just the excuse for we had both bathed before the feast. We quickly abandoned even the pretense of grooming, relishing instead in kisses and caresses that grew more heated as time passed.

When Arwen reached down to encircle my straining shaft, I slid my hand between her thighs, cupping her as well. I slid one finger inside her as her hand shifted on my sensitive flesh. As she continued to caress me, I inserted a second finger and began to thrust into her more earnestly. She collapsed against me just as I spent in the water. I held her until the spasms passed and our breathing returned to normal.

“That was wonderful,” Arwen murmured.

“It was just the first course,” I promised.

“How many courses do you have planned?” she asked.

“As many as you can stand.”

She shivered in anticipation. “Then let us move on to the second.”

I drew her out of the tub and toward the bedroom, stopping only to collect our wine glasses as we went.

We entered the bedroom, but I led her to the fireplace rather than to the bed. We would get there eventually, but I wanted to draw out every moment of the evening. I knew I could not tarry much longer in Imladris. The loving we did would have to hold me for a long time. Maybe forever.

“We have done this before,” Arwen commented with a smile as she sank into the nest of blankets and pillows by the fire.”

“We have indeed, though we have switched the order.”

“Are we reliving that night, then?”

“Not reliving it. Celebrating it, perhaps. It is the anniversary of our first night as lovers. But tonight is also unique.”

“Perhaps we will celebrate this night’s anniversary in another fifty years.”

If the Valar are willing, I thought, we will. “I hope so,” I told her earnestly, leaning in to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed as we kissed. I pulled back a little, just to look at her, to etch the memory of her as she was in that moment into my memory forever. The ribbons still held her hair tightly at the base of her neck. Her eyes were closed in passion, cheeks and ears flushed with it, lips parted and swollen, with a sheen of moisture from our kisses. She was all that was lovely and desirable in the world and I so wanted to claim her for mine. Amin mela lle. Three little words. If I could say those three little words, my life would be perfect. If only she would say them back.

My eyes roved down her body, as she lay there, taking in her full breasts, the curve of her stomach, the thatch of curls that hid her sensitive flesh, and the long, long legs that wrapped around me so tightly in the throes of passion. I wanted to fan the flames of that passion again. As slowly as possible. I plucked a tulip from a nearby vase, running the petals over her silky skin. I traced it over her brow, her lips, her long, slender neck. Swirled it around her breasts, brushing it tantalizingly over her taut nipples. She was beautiful and I wanted to worship her. My actions would proclaim the words that were forbidden to me. Amin mela lle.

I trailed the petals lower, across her flat stomach, between her legs.

“Saes,” she begged when the petals tickled her sensitive flesh.

“Relax and enjoy, lothamin. It is your birthday. Let me pleasure you.” I took pity on her, lifting the flower to my lips. The petals were damp with her essence. I inhaled the combined fragrances, flower and lover.

I looked back at her face. She had closed her eyes against my teasing. Now, just looking at her, I felt my mouth go dry. I reached for my wine and had the sudden urge to drink it, not from the glass but from her skin. I drizzled a tiny amount across her stomach, bending my head and lapping at her flesh to catch every drop. Her eyes flew open at the feel of the liquid against her skin. I met her eyes as I drank, waiting for a protest. It did not come. While I watched, her eyes darkened to indigo, a sure sign of desire. I poured more wine onto her skin and drank my fill.

When the wine was no longer what I desired to drink, I slid down to partake of a headier flavor. She strained against my mouth as I kissed and licked and nibbled at her folds.

“Legolas!” she pleaded.

“Pace, ce, irmamin,” I whispered. When my tongue slipped inside her, she came up off the blankets to meet me, her hips moving in rhythm with my tongue. I understood not a word that she babbled as I tortured her, but they were all sounds of pleasure so I continued. She came finally against my mouth, flooding me with her sweetness, calling my name as she did.

She did not recover as quickly as she had in the bathroom, but we were in no rush.

My thought had been to retire to the bed so I could make love to her again, but she had other ideas. When she stirred in my arms, it was to push me to the blankets and to take my erection into her mouth. We had loved this way many times, and she had become an expert at driving me to the brink of insanity with her agile tongue. As always, when I felt the tingling that signaled an orgasm, I reached for her to pull her head away.

“N’umaonigonight I want to taste you.”

“Arwen,” I pleaded.

“It is my birthday. Tolo,” she insisted. I gave in. I could deny her nothing. Her lips returned to my aching flesh and I gave her what she wanted, covering her lips and mouth with my cream. “Ai, melethril!” I groaned as I bucked against her mouth.

She murmured her pleasure, coming up to kiss me, the taste of me still on her lips, and I wondered why I had denied us both this pleasure before.

I was not finished loving her for the evening, but it became obvious that I would need some time to recover so I adjusted my plans, wiping us both clean with a damp cloth and handing Arwen a light robe before dressing in one myself.

“Where are we going?” she asked, surprised by the clothes.

“I have a present for you.” I led her toward the kitchen where, in a basket on the floor, was the kitten I had picked for her. “You love animals. I thought you might like one of your own,” I said, pointing to the basket. My present had the desired effect. Arwen rushed over to the basket, cradling the squirming kitten in her arms.

“She needs a name, still,” I told Arwen. “I wanted to let you choose.”

“Mîr. I will call her Mîr for her eyes shine like jewels.”

Arwen’s attention was completely caught with Mîr. As I watched her play with the tiny animal, inspiration struck. I slipped out of the kitchen, picking up the bag of leftover petals. I scattered them in a trail as I walked out to the terrace. A chaise sat there, looking out over the river, bathed in Ithil’s light. I shed my robe and readied the final surprise of the evening. Hopefully, Arwen would see the flowers and find me.

I reclined on the chaise, waiting for her to join me. She did, finally, her eyes lighting up when she saw me, naked. She came to my side, letting her robe fall to the ground beside mine. “What is this?” she asked, fingering the bow I had tied around my neck from the ribbons in my hair.

“One last present,” I told her.

“Lle?”

“Uma. Amin irmon lle, melethril,” I whispered.

“Kamelo a’ amin, melethron,” was her fervent reply as she sank onto the chaise next to me. The moonlight glazed her skin in silver, another caress. I wanted to tease her senses, to make our loving last all night, to drive her out of her mind with desire.

I took her hands in mine, lifting them to my lips and pressing a kiss to the baof hof her fingers. When I released them, I reached up and caressed the line of her cheekbone, up to her ear. She tilted her head into my fingers, seeking the gentle caress.

She let me set the pace for a while, with gentle caresses designed to tease our senses, but not enflame them. Then, it seemed she had had enough. She lay back against the chaise and pulled me over her. “Maba nín,” she murmured.

“Not yet,” I said, wanting to draw this out for her pleasure.

“Maba nín,” she said again. “Saes.” I wanted to resist, to draw this out as long as possible, but that simple word, please, was my undoing, then as always. I gave her what she wanted, merging my body with hers, becoming one being for a short time. For those long minutes when we were joined, she was mine and I was hers, united in a passion that was more than just passion, though we never spoke the word that lay between us. I could almost imagine, in that moment, that our fëar met, that she could feel my love as clearly as she felt my touch. We never spoke of it, as we never spoke of many things, but in that moment, I believed that she loved me. Amin mela lle, I whispered in my mind, as I had done a thousand times, pouring all I had into our joining.