WEST WIND OVER EDORAS

Disclaimer: The characters and places here are not mine, all but a few are Tolkein's genius. If it's in LOTR, Silmarillion, Hobbit or Unfinished tales it Tolkien' s. If not it's mine.
No profit in this but the fun of writing and getting to play in Middle earth for a while.

A/N Thank you to Ithilen and Bluemagic and everyone for your lovely reviews. I am so pleased you like where this is going! Thanks also to Katy for your e-mails. I am honoured.


Chapter Seven:

FLIGHT


ROWANNEN:

Legolas lifts his face from my hair.

“We must go.” He says. “I will meet you in the stables in due time.”

I go to my chamber and dress in my riding clothes and soft strong boots, knives sheathed at my belt. My sword I will stow on Feannim’s saddle. The stable is a bustle of activity when I arrive, horses being led outdoors, packs being fitted. Eowyn is at her stall but she turns her head away as I enter. I had not thought this of her. I shall be sorrowful indeed if I lose my friend. Brego is stamping and rearing in his stable, the stable boys cannot hold him.

“No-one but Theodred could handle that horse!” shouts one in dismay. “What shall we do with him?”

Aragorn and Legolas enter behind me. Aragorn walks to Brego and speaks to him as Legolas did before.

“Faeste, stille nu. Mani naa essa en lle??” ((Fast, be quiet now. What is your name?))

Eowyn’s head jerks up as she hears Aragorn’s voice and she stares in amazement.

“His name is Brego.” Legolas tells Aragorn in the common speech.

“He was my cousin’s horse.” Explains Eowyn.

Aragorn strokes Brego’s neck, gentling and calming him, whispering into his ear in Sindarin. “Man le trasta, Brego? Man cenich?” ((What troubles you Brego? What did you see?))
Brego grows calm under Aragorn’s touch and the Ranger takes the rope from his halter.
“Turn this fellow free.” He says, “He has seen enough of war!”

Eowyn is staring at Aragorn.

“I have heard of the magic of Elves.” She says and glances quickly at Legolas. “But I did not look for it in a Ranger from the North. You speak as one of their own.”

Aragorn turns to her, looks deep into her eyes. He is ever intense like this.

“I was raised in Rivendell, with the Elves, for a long time.” He replies.
Eowyn gazes at him and then turns away in confusion. For a brief moment I catch her eyes.


We make a long procession as we wind out into the countryside; many women and children are with us. Not all are mounted for some horses carry supplies. Our pace will be slow. King Theoden bids us keep close to the mountains. For much of the time we walk leading the horses. This I am glad of, for Legolas and I walk together and his hand holds my own. My hawk is hooded and stands on a perch fastened to Feannim’s saddle.

“I should like to see her on the wing. Will you fly her today?” asks Legolas. “Maybe, when we reach higher ground.” I answer.

The air is cold. In sheltered pockets where the sun has not reached, frost still sparkles on the dried grass. Tiny silver crystals cling to the seed heads and crunch underfoot. High above us rise the snow-capped peaks.

“Even in midsummer some snow remains on the summits.” I tell Legolas. “That is why they are named the White Mountains.”

Bright and white in the sunlight, they are reflected in the vast pools of water. We have come to our place of the lakes.
Huge grey birds, wings bent and legs trailing, flap from the banks into the sky.

“What are these birds?” asks Legolas. “Swans and Kingfishers I know from Lorien and Imladris; also Dippers and many water birds dwell by the Forest River of my home, but these creatures are strange to me.

They are Herons.” I reply. “ They are fishers, standing in the shallows with bills like spears, ever patient for unwary fish. They build great nests in colonies. Their cry is harsh and loud. They are a sacred bird to our people, it is forbidden to eat their eggs. They mate for life.”

“Then I am glad I did not shoot one.” He laughs. “There is much I must learn of your people.”

“There is much I would learn of you also, Legolas.” I say. “I would like know to your speech, it has a beautiful sound to the ears.”

“Some of importance you already know.” He says laughingly and leans toward me, his voice soft, so that Aragorn riding a little way ahead on Hasufel does not hear.

“Meleth nin, my love. Amin irmon lle, I desire you. Aniron lle, I need you. Miqulo amin, kiss me. Kameloa’ amin, make love to me. Amin mela lle, I love you.”

I laugh up at him. “Be serious, Legolas.” I say my eyes sparkling.

He looks back at me no longer laughing. “I am.” He replies. Then he smiles again.

“Anor is Sindarin for the sun, that is you, red and gold and warm and burning. Ithil is the moon, that is me, mysterious and cool.”

“You were not cool last night, Legolas,” I say with a smile.

“No, with you in that way, I will never be; but you will find that Elves have a certain reserve. A way of thinking that comes from long ages, very different from the mortal kind. Your impulsiveness attracts me.” He looks down at me. “For many moons I have been with Mithrandir, whom you know as Gandalf, for some of that time with Boromir of Gondor and the Hobbits- who you do not yet know of. This is a long tale of which I must tell you all in time. It will affect our lives. I have travelled with Gimli and grown to love and respect him, though Dwarves and Elves have much enmity. Aragorn I know as Ellessar or Estel, he is very dear indeed to my heart. I think this has made me easier in the company of other races. If it had not been so, then I would have felt much stranger even than now I do, to be the only Elf amongst a great company of men.”

I have no answer for him. His otherness is a great part of what I love.

We have travelled many miles before the sun gains its mid height. The whole company pause here, half way through the lake country. Many children are weary and adults and children alike need refreshment. While they rest, Legolas wants me to go with him up onto the heights.

“Come, I will share Lembas with you. It is Elvish wayfaring bread, eaten on the move, and gives vigour and endurance for very little intake,” He says. “Besides I want us
to spend some time alone. Aragorn,” he calls to his friend, “we will follow and join you later.”

I bring my falcon to my wrist, threading the leather jesses though my thumb and around my wrist. We ride ever upward; the turf grows harsh and short as Feannim and Arod thread their way through many rocks.

“This high country is bleak to my eyes.” He says. “For one who was raised amongst forest glades.”

“That is only because you see it in winter, Legolas.” I reply. “As summer approaches these slopes will be covered in flowers, so much so, that they glow with blue light even when viewed from the lowlands. If one should climb here to walk upon them the very air will be scented as to make your senses reel. The streams, full with the snowmelt of spring, run laughing over the stones”

“Maybe one day I will see this of which you speak,” he says, and then his face grows grave.

As we ride on he tells me a little of the Ring, of its importance to the enemy, how Frodo became its bearer and how it must be destroyed.

“Even as we speak,” he says, “the Hobbits continue their perilous quest, at least that is our only hope.”

“And what of you, Legolas? And Aragorn and Gimli?” I ask.

“Aragorn has pledged himself to the end,” replies Legolas “and will do whatever it is given him to do. He promised to Frodo that if by his life or death he could help him he would. Gimli is steadfast also, he will not be outdone.” He reigns in Arod and dismounts.

“Come and sit beside me, Rowannen. I must tell you my part in this also.” The horses wander off to graze and I sit beside him. My falcon, despite his nearness shows no agitation. He draws me to him and pulls his cloak around our shoulders against the chill upland wind. I wait, as he gathers his thoughts.

“Elrond laid no charge upon us to follow the quest further than we each would choose,” He continues. “And I could never have imagined that something as incredible and important as our love, would happen to me whilst following this course. It is still in my power to choose my path.” He takes a deep breath and his eyes looking deep into mine hold sadness.

“I know even in these brief few days that you are as important to my heart as anyone ever was, or will be. I know not what, these times that come upon us will bring. Yet, I fear I cannot stay with you in Rohan, and it grieves me greatly.”

I bring my hand up to touch his face.

“Legolas, do not grieve, I have not expected that you should.”

His eyes are still veiled in sadness, as he says.

“I did not want to bring heartache to you, only healing and joy.” I smile at him. “Then that is what I hope I will find Legolas, no other.”

For long moments he is quiet, before he speaks again.
“I too must follow this quest to the end, wherever it may lead me. For Aragorn, because he is dearer to me than I can say, as a friend, as a great man. The Elves often think of him as one of their own and we know that he has the chance of a great destiny to fulfil. He could unite the races of all men and of Elves again. I owe him my allegiance. Also for myself. It is my time to take myself to the limit for good and to fight against this evil, whatever the outcome will be. Can you understand this Rowannen, though it may bring us great sorrow?”

“What is important to you, is now important to me, Legolas. You should know this, for you bound our souls together last night.” I answer quietly.

“I do.” He replies and smiles sadly at me. “It is the same for me now. What is important to you, is now also important to me, and why I am sorrowful, for I do not want to take you away from all that is dear to you. Immortal I may be, should my life run its course not subject to disease and ageing, but still I could be slain in battle if the worst should befall, despite my skill, and great battle will come. You belong here Rowannen. You are steeped in the culture and history of the Horse Lords and Shield Maidens. Your soul sings freely, across the grasslands, among the lakes, up here on the heights. I delight in seeing you this way. You are happy here, at one with the land, with your horses. It is this that I love about you.”

Does he not know that already I have thought of the cost to myself?

“When I came to you last night, Legolas. I knew that my life as I had known it was forfeit. I came to you gladly. I do not regret that, whatever you may say to me.” My hand traces down the planes of his beautiful face. “I will still carry with me in my heart what I am, as you carry with you, the love of your forest home. My path now, is wherever you will take me Legolas Greenleaf. You must not leave me behind.”

“Are you sure you will go with me?” he asks. “Wherever it may lead us? It may be that I am offering you much pain and only a little bliss.”

“Then that is my road,” I say, and softly kiss his lips. My fingers stray to his ears running lightly round the pointed tips. He moans softly at the touch.

“Nay, do that no longer, for if you continue I shall be compelled to love you where we sit, and we must not tarry too long for fear of being left behind.”

“Show me your falcon in flight.” he asks, when we break the kiss.

I stand and remove her hood, stowing it within the pocket of my skirt. Her eyes are so bright so keen.

“Even sharper than Elf eyes,” laughs Legolas. The intensity of her gaze pierces like knives. I release the Jesses from my hand and she shoots skywards. Wing muscles in tune, striving for the ultimate height. Higher and higher she rises through the currents of the air, until she is but a speck against the pale winter sky. We watch as she hovers, wings spread, motionless. Then suddenly she drops, streamlined, purposeful, faster than an arrow. She has sighted her prey. Far amongst the rocks I note her landing and then I whistle, long and loud and clear. She rises again, attuned to my summons, the limp animal clutched tightly in her talons. From my pocket I draw the string and in a great arc around my head swing the lure. Her favourite titbit as ever, fastened to its end. She shoots toward me, intent on this return. Then lands at my feet to take her prize. Gently I take the rabbit from her, killed instantly by her power, its eyes are already glazed. She returns to my wrist and I hold her there.

“That is impressive indeed.” Says Legolas. “She has great beauty and power. And your bond with her is a magic. I had heard Eomer whistle to his horses, but did not know you could use this sound with all the creatures that you tame.”

“Dogs, goats, falcons and horses. We learn special tones and patterns for all our beasts as soon as our lips can form the shapes.” I tell him.

“Much like we would whisper to the shy deer to calm them.” He muses. “ We are then swift and merciful with an arrow to the heart.”

I tie the rabbit to my saddle with a strip of leather and then unfasten the thin leather thongs from the claws of my falcon.

“I did not just bring her today to find meat for the stewpot. It is my wish that I should set her free, here on the mountain.” I say. “No longer should she be bound to a mistress, it is only fitting that her destiny is now hers to choose.” I leave the jesses lying on the rock and the peregrine launches skyward. “Fly well, good hunting!” I say in my own language. Legolas gazes at me. There is understanding in his eyes.

I watch her wing into the distance, with sorrow and joy combined. We ride back down the hillsides and when we reach the lakes, gallop over the springing turf to catch up with my people. When we reunite, the winter afternoon is growing dim. The sky turns deep sapphire and great flocks of geese stream overhead in formation. Their honking cries echo against the walls of the mountains. King Theoden decrees we must camp for the night and leads us to a hidden gorge, A long, rocky cleft between ridges of rising rocks, where the smoke of cook fires will be hidden and where a clear mountain stream burbles over a pebble bed is our restfall. The water is crystal, cold and refreshing. We drink deeply. Small fires are lit for the purpose of food and warmth. Legolas skins the rabbit. Aragorn finds more wood. I carry water from the brook in leather skins. Eowyn slices vegetables with her knife, but still avoids my eyes.

Gimli is preparing pipeweed and conversing about his people.

“It is very true that you do not see many dwarf women. This gives rise to the rumour that there are no dwarf women and that we dwarves just spring out of the rock.” He says. “There are far fewer of them than our men. This is not such a problem as you would think for our men are often engrossed in craft and not inclined to marriage. The women are also great warriors. Indeed to untrained eyes they are often mistaken for men.”

“It’s the beards, you know!” Aragorn whispers under his breath to Eowyn.

I see the mirth rise in her eyes and a strangled laugh escapes from her lips unbidden and then she cannot hold it longer and she laughs out loud. It is long since I saw any joy in her features and I am glad. I smile with her.

The sky darkens as we eat the stew. I am leaning my body into Legolas for warmth and comfort and safety. Eowyn sits ever closer to Aragorn and voices a tentative question.

“Today I heard my Uncle say that you are well known to the Rohirrim of old. He says you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. Surely he is mistaken?”

“No, he has a good memory.” answers the Ranger. “He was only a small child at the time.” Eowyn looks astonished, takes a deep breath.

“But that would make your age at least sixty!” she gasps, gazing in disbelief at his rugged but nevertheless still youthful features.

Aragorn fixes her with his gaze and says quietly. “I am Eighty Seven.”

“Then you are truly one of the Dunedain, a race I thought had passed into legend.” Says my friend.

“There are few of us left,” explains Aragorn. “The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago.” Eowyn casts her eyes downwards.

“I am sorry. Please eat.” She says.

Aragorn and Legolas have mustered some of the guard. They will take the first watch of the night, at the entrance to the ravine. Gimli and my brother Hama will take over with others, when midnight approaches. I pull my cloak around my shoulders and stare into the fire. I have much to think about. Soft footfalls approach behind me, and Eowyn sinks down beside me and holds her cold fingers out to the flames.

“Rowannen, I have come to ask your forgiveness for my conduct towards you,” she says. I turn to look in the sweet eyes of my friend and smile. I am only happy to have her here with me again sharing our closeness.

“There is no need,” I reply.

“There is need,” says Eowyn. “Yes, these last days have been harder than any in memory, but that cannot excuse my failure to give understanding to you. I think of you
as a sister. It was wrong of me to turn away when perhaps you needed me.”

“I would have welcomed you, and shared with you my feelings if I had been able,” I reply, “but it was not possible for us at that time, do not distress yourself.”

“I am sorry,” Eowyn cries, “this last day, I see perhaps that I do not know as much of the world as I give myself credit for. Many things are not as they seem and the times, as you say, are changing. Our Third Age is coming to an end.”

“Think no more on this matter, my sister, my friend,” I say. “Let us only dwell on things we can share, not things that may divide us.”

“Yes, I pledge myself to that.” She says and puts her arm around my shoulder; her head rests against my hair. We stare into the flames.

LEGOLAS:

I take the first watch of the night with Aragorn and many of the guard of the Riddermark. We are positioned at the entrance to the ravine, my keen eyes stare out into the darkness, my ears are tuned for distant sound. I perceive no danger near at hand. The stillness of the night settles around us, white peaks glisten in the starlight and we sit calmly but watchful.

“Tell me Legolas, why you asked that we should not jest with you about your conquest?” asks Aragorn. “I would know.”

I can be nothing but open with my friend.

“I have found what I never expected, Estel,” I say. “ I meant to resist, to take care, and yet I found myself swept away. Never had I thought to feel any attraction to a mortal. It is still strange to me, but I have discovered a love such as I have never before known, and find to my great surprise that it surpasses even elven love in its intensity.”

“That, I think I know,” he replies, with a smile. “I heard the sounds from your chamber and they kept me from my sleep!” He turns to look at me.
“I am sorry Legolas, I did not mean to jest again. I do indeed understand. For myself, I was captivated swiftly also. When first I beheld Arwen I thought I had strayed into a dream. I can vouch for you that the bond between Elf and Human creates a great magic. It is one I can never forget, It will keep me from any other.”

He looks so sad and thoughtful. I must address his care.

“Why do you speak of forgetting, Estel? Arwen has pledged herself to you even though you are mortal. She has such love. You trust that. I must do the same for Rowannen if that is where our paths should lead us, for she will pledge herself to me.”

“Ah, Legolas, that is not a decision to be entered into lightly, for one of the firstborn,” he replies. “So many factors need to be taken account of, that two mortals pairing or two elves cannot dream of.” He sighs deeply. “Elrond is heartsick for his daughter. Love he has for me yes, for he raised me with his sons in Imladris, but his heart aches for Arwen. He would have her take the ship to the undying lands.” He sighs again.

“I confide in you Legolas, that in the dawn before we left Rivendell, I entreated her to go. I relinquished my bond with her and it grieves my heart almost unto death, but I know it must be so.”

My eyes widen at his revelation. I cannot believe this is the truth.

“No, Estel,” I say, “she will not go. Your love is strong, it is meant to be. Always have you both known this. I can echo your feeling now, because I now have this certainty within mine own heart. Some things are meant to be. The Valar decree it. Do not despair.”

“Dolen I vad o nin,” he says. ((My path is hidden from me.))

“Ellessar,” I reply. “Si peliannen vad na dail lin. Si boe u-dhannathach. (( It is already laid before your feet. You cannot falter now.))

When our watch ends, we return to the fire. Huddled shapes are sleeping all around, curled tight into blankets. The soft snuffling and stamping of the horses blends with the faint crackle of flame and the stream murmurs a lullaby. Rowannen is sitting by the fire with the Lady of Rohan. Eowyn presses a kiss to her forehead as I approach and moves a little way off to find a comfortable spot to rest. My love and I settle down upon the moss. I sit behind her and draw her to my body and she leans against me, turning to my chest with a happy sigh. The light of fire is in her hair. It is a great burnished cloud, shining like copper against the darkness. I turn her face to mine and gaze on her beauty. Never before in my many years have I thought a mortal so beautiful. Some are pleasing to behold, Aragorn because of his great inner spirit. The Hobbits for their openness and humour. Lady Eowyn of Rohan, cold but fair to look on, yet not to touch the soul. But this is something different for me. When I gaze at Rowannen, the very heavens open. My heart sings, such fire rises in my inner being. I am lost in it. It surpasses my understanding.

My fingers trace her face, sculpted cheeks, faint freckles, luscious lips, mobile and expressive. Her eyebrows sweep like the feathered wings of birds into the sky and her sweet lashes frame the most exquisite green I have known. A colour more precious than leaves are her eyes. The fires burn low and dim, embers glow. Above us the myriad stars sparkle in the firmament. Not often do the elves of Mirkwood or Lorien gaze at the stars for the branches obscure them. They are beautiful.

“Can you see the great hunter?” she asks, her finger pointing skyward. “He strides across the heaven with his bow strung tight. There are the swans and the cygnets, forever sailing south. There is the great stallion, rearing towards the north. I never tire of looking at the stars, Legolas.”

I smile and my fingers run over her face again, stroking the corner of her eyes, her eyebrows, dipping to the lobes of her ears. I bring my mouth to hers. It has been too long since last I kissed her I realise, and we sink to the ground. There are people sleeping all around us. Aragorn curled into his cloak only feet away.

“Can you be very quiet, Melamin?” I ask. “If you promise to make no noise, I will love you again.” Her eyes sparkle in the starlight.

“I will try Legolas.” She says, “If I cannot succeed you must stop!”

My eyes widen as I gaze at her. That will be a test of my skill indeed.
I curl her into my body so that she is facing away from me. I draw my cloak and a blanket over our forms. My mouth burrows through her hair and kisses the warmth at the back of her neck. She still smells of honey and mountain air and faintly of woodsmoke. I start to lick and suckle at her skin.

“You must use your mind to talk to me, Lirimaer,” I whisper. “When your lips are desperate to release a sound, send a message to my mind instead. Will you do this?”

“I will try Legolas,” She says again, and I smile.

“You may whisper softly to me, but no more,” I entreat her.

My hand reaches down, strokes beneath her skirts, finds bare flesh under my fingers, firm muscles of her legs, smooth and strong from riding. Upward my fingers sweep, caressing her thighs, cupping her buttocks. My other hand pushes down my leggings, releasing my arousal to press up against them and her spine. Already I can feel the pace of her breathing change. My fingers ease between her legs, brushing silken skin, seeking her secrets and I find she is already moist and eager. For a few moments I play, thrusting my swelling elfhood between her thighs, enjoying that silken skin bringing me to aching hardness, and then I move to enter her. Just the tip I slide inside, so good to feel that tightness yield for me. Just the tip back and forth. She does not moan, but I feel her legs begin to shudder and she moves as if to make it easier for me at this angle. Ah my love, I do not need it easier, I mean to play this way!

Just the tip, back and forth. I feel her skin grow hotter.

“Please, Legolas,” she whispers, desperately.

“Do you want me stop?” I whisper back.

Her body jerks against me and I feel her shaking, both with silent laughter and desire.

“Please!” she hisses under her breath.

I bring my hand to her face and press my palm close over her lips and then I drive into her in one great thrust as deep as she can take. I feel her shock and her pleasure like a flash of white light in my mind, echoing my own. She very nearly climaxes for me at that instant, but not quite.
I stay still and steady my breathing, waiting for her tremors to subside and then remove my hand from her mouth. A long, quiet sigh of relief escapes her lips and I smile and kiss her neck.

“Shall we go on?” I whisper.

“Yes” is her faint reply.

Gently now I move, slowly building speed a fraction at a time, increasing pressure in a gradual arc. She does well, for not a sound escapes her lips, so different to her beautiful moans and joyful screams of last night. I love to hear her, but this too is fun. I can feel the music in her body instead. My hand reaches beneath her garments and finds her breast, firm, and rounded, the nipple already hard under my touch. Her body leaps back against me. I hear the breath catch in her throat and she starts to shake. How much can she take I wonder before her voice cries out into the night?

I bring my hand down her stomach and then back up under her skirts, finding the curls, slipping a finger between the lips, gliding across her clitoris.

“Legolas, stop,” she whispers desperately.

I can feel her scream bubbling up.
I keep my finger there but keep it very still. All of her skin feels as though it is burning.

“No, we do not need to stop.” I whisper back. “I have an idea. If you have something to do it will make you concentrate, it will keep you quiet.” I move my hand and with it find her own and draw her own fingers down between her legs.

“Pleasure yourself for me, Lirimaer. Send the energy of your voice into your own fingers. Let me feel you give this to me. I know you can.”

She gasps and then I feel her own fingers begin to move.
Now that she has taken over, I move my hand to her face, rub the tips of my fingers across her lips, they are slightly parted and I begin to push for entry. From behind her I cannot kiss her mouth but I must have knowledge of it somehow. She understands this and licks the tips. Thrills course through me at this erotic contact, my elfhood thrusts deeper because of it, at its own accord. She starts to suck the tips, drawing them through her lips deeper into her mouth.

“Do not bite them off, melamin, when your pleasure peaks, I need them for my archery,” I whisper. I can feel her lips shape into a smile around my fingers.

We find the rhythm of ecstasy together. My body moving within hers, her mouth sucking my fingers, her own fingers at work between her legs, all in perfect harmony.
We are no longer lying on the hard ground, no longer can feel the press of bones into the earth, instead we are heading skyward. Like the herons lifting from the water, floating in the air. Like her falcon soaring, high as it can go, we are riding on the wind, like the geese intent on some destination, and then we reach the stars, swirl among those sparkling constellations, the hunter, the swans, the stallion. With my free hand I hold her hip close to my body, she shakes and quivers around me with the intensity of her desire, like the beating of soft wings. It will not be long now.

“You feel like a butterfly.” I whisper “Gwilwileth, I will call you from now on.”

I am so deep within her now, I am losing my control and I love it, she sucks my fingers deeper as she strives to muffle a cry. Her fingers are flying and then her body seizes around me, the stars go out, there is a brief moment of dark calm for us both. I would that it lasted an eternity, maybe it did. Then we fall, plummeting back to earth, down, down, down. I know that she wants to cry for the sweet pleasure of it, but she sucks my fingers and tells my mind instead. I release myself, hurtling into the sky and then float back on soft wings. I want to laugh out loud, but cannot, for I entreated her to silence. Instead my lips and teeth find her neck and fasten there, sucking as she sucks at my hand.
There is no need to withdraw from her and we lay joined and entwined.

“That was beautiful!” I whisper. “You can take me to the stars anytime you like, gwilwileth.”

She still trembles, I know she cannot trust herself to speak, for if she gives her voice free reign she may cry her love for me into the night.

“Oh, Legolas,” is all she manages to whisper.

I smile into her hair. For a long time she quivers like falling feathers and I listen to the music of her mind. With my body still deep within her she softly falls into sleep. I turn my head and gaze at the stars a while, Still almost unbelieving that such a gift is mine.

“Gods! Legolas,” I hear Aragorn’s voice in the darkness. “You managed to keep quiet tonight, but did you know you made the very ground shake! Can we get some sleep now at last?”