Destiny's Arrow

Destiny’s Arrow
(Starry Night)

Supper crawled by. Legolas had changed into a stark white shirt, sage green tunic with silver fastenings, and a less worn pair of doeskin leggings. Arwen wore a silken violet gown that had made its way into her packing before she’d left Imladris. She wore a stone about her neck, on a silver chain, in an intricate setting. The jewel was a pale green stone, magnificently cut so that it shimmered and sparkled almost eerily in even the faintest light.

Throughout the meal, the pair occasionally glanced across the table at one another when they weren’t engaged in civil conversation with their neighbors. At the conclusion of the meal, after everyone had talked as long as they wished and sung the songs they liked best, Thranduil stood and bid his guests goodnight. Then, he kissed his family, and departed for bed. Arwen had seen his eyes pause on her when he had said his good evenings and the look she’d seen in his eyes had been knowing and the smile he had given her had been wry. She smiled back, but quickly looked away, blushing. Gradually, the room emptied as others made their ways to bed. Legolas and Arwen sat in silence. Nothing needed to be said. Finally, they were left alone.

Legolas rose from his seat, walked around the expansive table, and offered her his arm as she, too, stood. As they walked toward her room, she moved so lightly and gracefully that it seemed that she floated along the floor without touching it. Legolas stopped at a small passage.

“Shall we go for a walk? There is a new moon tonight, and only the stars would light our way,” he said gently as he had sung. She smiled in reply, and allowed herself to be steered down the corridor. The passage rose through the earth, opening into a long, narrow gallery that ended in an open ring of massive elms around which was constructed a small henge. It had been a ceremonial ground in Elder days. It was where Thranduil had wooed his wife and she had, later, conceived their son. Perhaps, though the thought had not crossed his conscious mind, this was the reason Legolas had brought Arwen there.

The stars smiled down on the lovers. But stars gave little light and thunder rolled gently in the distance. The only illumination, other than the stars, came from the dim, golden fairy lights along the promenade they had come out. It was more than sufficient for elvish eyes.

Legolas fell behind a little only to approach again, twining his arms about her waist. She started a little at the sudden, though not completely unexpected, contact. When her arms fell, her hands ran down the length of his lean muscled arms, and clasped his hands where they lay upon her belly.

He drew closer to her, craning his neck to reach hers as she laid her head against her shoulder. His lips brushed the sensitive hollow where her ear met her neck; just below the hairline. Arwen felt his breath tickle her ear and gave way to a shiver that ran the length of her body. Legolas felt the tremor of pleasure he had caused and was even more greatly aroused by it.

He kissed her earlobe. She smiled in response. His tongue rimmed the outermost curve of her ear, ceasing, finally, at the point. A sharp gasp hissed between her teeth. Legolas began to suck playfully at the tip, promising more with every flick of his tongue. A softly moaned syllable escaped her lips as she melted against him.

He brushed the remaining strands of her thick hair from the side of her neck. A line of kisses, he bestowed from her jaw down to the concavity just inside her collarbone. She rolled her head forward and dropped her shoulder to give him freer access to his objective. Legolas raked his slightly elongated canines gently over the tender skin at the junction of her shoulder and neck, eliciting a throaty groan. One of her hands flew to the back of his neck and held him close. He continued to kiss and suckle at her neck, biting occasionally as the hand that she had released strayed from her waist, over the smooth fabric, to her full breast. As he cupped, and began to massage her warm flesh, he felt her heartbeat flutter like a butterfly’s wings.

Arwen finally twisted from his grasp and turned to face him, still letting him support her weight. She ground her hips against him, her undulating motion fully igniting his arousal once more. Legolas closed his eyes as she used his shoulders to pull herself close. Anticipation built in him at the prospect of her kissing him again as she had that afternoon. Instead, she whispered to him,
“Wait here and do not open your eyes.” Her tongue grazed his cheek when she pulled away. A complacent smile curled the corners of his mouth. He nodded and released her. After what seemed an eternity, Legolas decided to sit down on the mossy knoll where he stood. He waited patiently until he heard a twig snap at the edge of the circle. Springing, immediately, to his feet, he jogged toward the largest elm, from which he thought the sound had come. At the base of the tree, he found a pair of purple slippers and, on a low branch, a pale green stone suspended from a silver chain.

He circled the trunk, thinking she might have hidden herself on the far side of it. She was not there. Likewise leaving his shoes at the base, he decided that he would have a better vantage point from which to search for the other elf from the high branches. Resolution made, he began to climb the massive trunk. He had not gotten his feet off the ground when his vision suddenly went black. Something had fallen on him. The something, he discovered when he pulled it off his head, was several yards of nearly weightless, plum colored fabric that smelled of earthy tree bark, bruised lavender, and rain. For a moment, he didn’t realize what he was holding. When it dawned on him what he held and what was likely awaiting him higher up, he dropped the gown and clambered, with as little grace as is possible for an elf, up the ancient, gnarled trunk.

Arwen lay in the moss swathed cradle where the main trunk split into three more that twisted off in separate directions. He stopped cold when he saw her. She sat reclined against the largest of the secondary trunks, wearing only a thin white chemise that clung to her body most pleasantly, in Legolas’s opinion. The material was almost translucent. He knelt before her gazing into her grey eyes whose silver highlights shone in the starlight. With strong hands, he caressed her slender ankles, ran his fingers up the backs of her shapely calves, slid the flimsy fabric over her slightly parted knees, and brushed along her creamy thighs; higher, and higher.

As he leaned forward against her shins to touch his lips to her forehead, she unfastened the silver hooks of his tunic. She slipped the garment from his shoulders. He straightened to remove it, letting it fall to the ground below with a soft flump. Sitting up, Arwen placed her hands at his waist and slid his shirt up, following the bottom contour of the broad sheet of muscle that ran from the small of his back to his shoulders. He pu his his shirt over his head and let it slither down the elm bark onto the growing mound of clothing that lay among the knobby roots. Legolas took the hand that strayed across his chest. Each of her fingertips, he kissed; then, her palm, tracing the longest line he found there with the tip of his tongue.

Using her free hand, Arwen began to unlace the leather thong that bound his breeches. She parted her legs a little more, letting him slide between them a way so that she could reach him more easily. Slowly, she slipped her fingers behind the laces. Only fine soft leather separated her skin from his. With each repeated, gentle, creeping pressure of her fingers through the material, followed by each repeated tug as she loosened the ties, Legolas became more inflamed. At last, she slid down his leggings. His erection sprang out; not enormous, but of certainly more than adequate size. She observed and smiled appreciatively.

He struggled out of the breeches and added them to the pile. Arwen still wore the chemise, but only briefly. He pushed the white underdress up around her hips. She lifted her hips, bearing the weight on her shoulders, and arched her back to allow him to slip the gown, and run his hands, over her firm buttocks. Then, she sat up on her haunches to permit him to remove their final article of clothing. It, too, joined the heap. They regarded one another silently.

Arwen draped her arms over his shoulders, untying the cord that held his braid. She began to undo the glossy black strands. Her fingertips tickled down the midline of his back with each tug. The same features that had appeared regal and fine seemed wild, sharp, and predatory now that his blue-black locks fanned across his broad shoulders, and tumbled down between his shoulder blades in loose waves where it had been braided, a few shorter strands falling in his face.

Though he looked dangerous, and there was a hungry look in his eyes, she was not afraid. She let her hands fall from his shoulders, resting them, crossed, just below her breasts as she lay back against the mossy bed. The sight of her lying there, open and vulnerable, caused his every nerve to scream for him to take her immediately; to ravish her. But this rare woman, he wanted to savor.

He brushed his hands down the sides of her breasts. Her pink nipples came taut and pebbly under the pads of his circling thumbs. Arwen closed her eyes, sinking into the sensation. She relaxed so completely that she no longer felt able to support Legolas’s body. Her thighs parted under his weight, and he sank down until he rested against her, his waist between her legs. He buried his face against her chest, kissing wherever his lips touched. Legolas made his way, in an ever tightening spiral of kisses to the pink pearl of sensitivity that stood out at the middle of her pale breast. When he reached his goal, he took it gently between his teeth and began to roll it from side to side, teasing with his tongue as he went. He used his teeth less and his tongue more, suckling at her nipple and massaging her other breast.

His other hand was free to roam the landscape of her body. And roam, it did. His fingers trailed over the soft porcelain flair of her hip where it rested a moment as he moved the attentions of his clever mouth to her other nipple. As he began to swirl his tongue around the blushing areola, he shifted his weight to one side. She twisted her hips toward him to accommodate him, leaving her open to the closer inspection of his questing fingers.

Arwen knotted her fingers in the shadowy locks that tickled her chest and shoulder. Her breath came in deep slow sighs as his fingertips descended the slight slope of her hipbone, continued downward to the meeting of her hip and inner thigh, and finally found the vale between her darkly thatched folds. Legolas parted her as though her lips were the petals of some delicate and precious blossom that would flower to his touch alone. A spasm of sensual exhilaration coursed through her being as his index finger slipped over the sensitive bud that he discovered. He repeated the motion and found her responsive to even the lightest stimulation.

He began to test and explore her. Arwen bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut as he slid a tentative finger, then two, into her moist depths. When she opened her eyes, she found her pleasure and torment staring back at her. He smiled his crooked smile. His eyes shone from under his dark brow as he pressed his fingers hard against her upper wall and curled them toward himself, beckoning forth ecstasy. Legolas found the bud once more and began to glide his thumb rhythmically over it. Her eyelids fluttered. She dragged her fingernails roughly across his shoulder. It was as though he had plucked a cord that was strung between the pit of her stomach and the flower of her ladyship, and the chord he struck nearly overwhelmed her.

Arwen longed to pleasure him as thoroughly as he seemed determined to do her. Her fingers crept over his shoulder, then down his strong chest. As her fingertips ran over his abdomen, closer to the base of his shaft, the muscles of his hips and pelvis began to twitch and jump. Arwen extended her fingers as far as she could, but his position was such that she could not reach her target unless he allowed her to. She looked at him questioningly. Eternity stretches like the dawn before us. I can wait—he thought. Then, he only smiled and moved further out of her reach. But she was not easily put off.

She began to comb her fingers through his thick hair, only occasionally brushing his ears, but each time she did, it elicited a small shiver of pleasure. By the time she concentrated nearly entirely on his ears, the pace of his fingers had slowed almost to stopping. His body was relaxed against hers. Her hand snaked, again, toward his erection. As soon as he realized what she was doing, Legolas drove his long fingers deep inside of her and bit the side of her milky breast hard enough to leave a mark. The gasp that rewarded him was followed by a small cry of surprise and pain that became a long moan of pleasure and delight. She cradled his strong jaw in her palms, bringing his eyes to meet hers. The fire he saw burning there told him that he had toyed with her long enough.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice slightly deeper, slightly huskier than it had been before.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Tell me that you want me,” he instructed as he centered his narrow hips between her thighs.

“I want you, Legolas Greenleaf; son of…,” his lips smothered the remainder of her sentence. He finally allowed her to touch his rigid shaft to guide it home. Arwen whimpered in pain when he first entered her. Legolas felt clumsy in this, his first union with her.

Their joining was as nothing either had ever imagined before. It was better, by far. He lingered within her for long moments, giving them both time to become accustomed to such new sensations. Legolas was tender and careful at first, sliding slowly in, pausing, then pulling back. With each careful stroke her discomfort lessened and soon the feeling of him as he filled her, she thought, was wonderful beyond description. He continued the slow, steady pace until he felt her relax, until he felt her give over to him. Her fingernails on his shoulders and down his back urged him on.

He continued with long, slow thrusts, gradually building speed and momentum until he reached the height of a staccato crescendo. She twined him in her long, slender legs. He drove into her, again and again, with tremendous force, powered by the finely honed muscles of his thighs, buttocks, and lower back. Each sharp exhalation, hot on her neck, which accompanied each powerful thrust, was answered with a soft, joyous cry.

Thunder rolled closer as a light rain began to fall. The sound did not obscure the low, protracted moan that escaped Arwen’s parted lips. She bowed up beneath him. Distant white sheet lightning illuminated her wide, unseeing eyes as an overwhelming flood of release swept her. Cool rain on Legolas’s passion-fired skin rose in a thin haze of steam. A final thrust brought him to the edge. She tightened herself around him, pushing him over. She smiled up at him as she felt the warmth of his seed bloom into her. His suddenly-heavy head, she cradled against her shoulder. His body sagged, supported only by his arms, and he collapsed atop her, breathing hard.

Content, she lay on the soft moss beneath the elf she loved. For in that moment, as gentle rain fell, distant thunder rolled once more, and she caught her breath, she knew that she would always love him. And yet, it was a sorrowful kind of love. It was the kind of love that felt as though it never should have been fulfilled. Legolas had no similar misgivings. He had finally found one who he wished to love and keep until the end of time. Long glowing minutes passed when neither spoke. Words would have sullied the moment.

Both were shaken from their reverie by a sharp whistle, like a bird’s call. Legolas’s eyes flew open. He pressed a finger to his lips to indicate that she should be quiet. She nodded, but had to stifle a final groan of pleasure when he withdrew. Peeking out of the tree, he whistled back. He flattened on his stomach and extended an arm, bringing back Arwen’s white chemise and violet gown. Legolas beckoned her forward as he disappeared over the edge of the elm’s basin where they had made love. When she came to the edge, she found Thranduil smiling that same warm, crooked smile up at her. His golden hair shone in the light from the promenade. Keeping his eyes on her, he whispered inaudibly to his rather guilty looking son. The prince met his father’s eyes, smiled slowly, whispered back, and he, too, looked up at her. The pair of them grinning in tandem made her very uneasy. She wanted to get down quickly, so she crouched at the edge and dropped to the ground, some eight feet below. Legolas still stood unselfconsciously naked. She regarded him curiously for a moment before picking up her shoes and necklace and heading back to the palace.

“Arwen,” Thranduil called. She was prepared to be berated. The king smiled though and said, “You are welcome to stay as long as you like.” There was a pause as she digested the implications of that statement and realized what must have been whispered between father and son.

“Thank you,” she said at last. Legolas continued to smile cheekily at her as he finally hitched up his trousers. She bowed her head to Thranduil, excusing herself. Legolas gathered up the rest of his clothing and jogged after her. His father disappeared in another direction.

The lovers went back inside, out of the drizzle, to Arwen’s chamber. She turned her back to the door. Her eyes, overcast orbs, gazed steadily into his own as she traced her finger down the runnel that bisected his bare torso.

“Will you sleep in my bed tonight?” she asked, grinning suggestively. Arwen took his hand again. Her full lips encircled his index finger at the second knuckle. Slowly, she closed her eyes and began to suck on his finger as she drew it farther and farther out of her mouth. “Please?” she added, forming the plosive of the word around the tip of his finger.

Legolas removed his hand from her grip, wrapped an arm around her back, the other about her knees, and lifted her off the ground.

“Of course I will,” he whispered. She undid the latch and he carried her across the stone threshold. His clothes, he dropped just inside the door. He crossed the room, his bare feet making no sound on the thick rug. The bed was large and soft under her body as he laid her upon it. Legolas found that it was his distinct pleasure to undress her again.

Once all their clothes were hung neatly over the back of a tall chair, he slipped between the cool bedclothes. He rolled onto his belly next to her. Her warmth thrilled him when he laid his head on her bosom and closed his eyes. The gentle rise and fall of her breathing as she stroked his hair lulled him to sleep.

Arwen patiently awaited the slow, even breath that told her he was asleep. Slowly and carefully, she eased out from under him. When he rolled onto his back, she was pleased to find that she had tired him enough to sleep with his eyes closed. She admired the beauty of his nude form for several minutes while she waited for him to drift into a deep sleep so that she could be sure that he would not wake before she was ready. Her eyes wandered over the cascade of shadow that sprawled across the white linen, to the line of his strong, square jaw, along his throat and the artery that pulsed beneath his skin there. She observed the way his sides tapered from his broad shoulders to his slender waist. Blankets covered the rest of his body.

She used, first, her hand to reawaken his arousal, but not his consciousness. His manhood was quickly rigid to her touch. She lay between his legs, laying a hand lightly on his chest to push him back down if he tried to sit up when she awoke him. She continued to make long, slow strokes until his head had completely emerged from its fleshy cowl. Legolas groaned loudly and stirred in his sleep. Arwen chose that moment to wake him.

His eyes snapped open when he felt her lips contact the tip of his penis firmly. In his surprise, he tried to sit up, just as she had anticipated, only to find a surprisingly strong hand on his chest forcing him back down. She had wanted to reciprocate before and, now, she would. He gasped as she took nearly his full length into her mouth. She began to work her tongue up and down along his shaft as she sucked gently, moving towards his head. When she reached it, she played the tip of her tongue quickly over the sensitive cleft underneath. Legolas flung the sheet and blankets back and propped up on his elbows to watch. A wicked smile greeted him before she tossed her hair out of her face and resumed, taking him nearly all into her mouth a second time. A continual low moan issued from deep within his chest as he threw back his head, reveling in the sensation of her lips, tongue, and teeth. The walls were thick and Legolas gave freer voice to his enjoyment. With his encouragement, she redoubled her efforts. She circled his blushing head with her tongue, sucking the very tip against her teeth and darting her tongue out to caress the opening. One hand stroked his turgid member with increasing speed and varying intensity and technique while the other tugged gently at the pouch of skin that hung between his thighs, rolling the pair of stones it contained against each other.

Every time Legolas glanced down to watch, he found her steely gaze upon him. Arwen found that she enjoyed experiencing the effects of her efforts. The rise and fall of his voice each time she brought him near climax, the growing raggedness of his breathing, the way she had to hold him down when he came to steady his bucking hips, the hot, bittersweet splash of his semen in her mouth—all these things she loved.

At last spent and panting, he collapsed onto the mattress, and she, into his arms. She let her head rest on his chest. His heart pounded.

“Your heart is thundering, Legolas,” she purred. He covered her delicate hand with his larger one.

“It has thundered since I first met you,” he panted. He kissed her forehead. “Thank you,” he sighed, looking up at the ceiling once more.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she brushed her hand over his cheek, turning his face to hers. Arwen pressed close. Her lips met his hungrily. Legolas tasted his own bittersweetness that lingered in her mouth. Then, she untangled the covers that he had kicked into a knot at the foot of the bed and pulled them over herself and her lover.

“I never want to be with anyone but you again, Arwen,” he muttered sleepily. She nuzzled against his chest.

“I love you too,” she whispered…

A sound rap at the door shook her from her remembrance, but her memory had shaken her so much that she could not make herself stand up to answer it until the second knock. Even then, she did not want to face the person who she knew would be on the other side. She tried to shake off the echo of ecstasy that haunted her. I love you too—the words rang in her ears as she unlatched the heavy door. Legolas stood in the doorway, backlit by the window behind him. The aura of power she had felt before seemed physicalized.

“May I come in?” he asked, notes of entitlement and subdued anger that he could no longer hide from her were in his voice and on his face.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------