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| Neithawen's Deception |
| 7. In the Midnight Hour |
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Neithawen hurried to her room and quickly shut the door. The chair near the fire was piled with her war equipment. She hurriedly set it on the floor and sat down. Hastily she unfolded the note that Legolas had slipped into her hand. Loveliest Lady Neithawen, I wish to see you once again, before I leave for war. I would like to see you when we are not in the company of our fathers. Should you wish to accept this invitation, meet me at the trellis near the wishing pool at the highest point of the moon. Remembering your beauty, Legolas Neithawen read and reread the note. A thousand questions raced through her mind. ‘Should I go? Why does he want to see me? Will I still have time?’ If she did go, that would give her but a few short hours before she was to meet him to prepare everything, and even less time to make the transformation. If she was to go, she couldn’t cut her hair until after she had seen Legolas. And how long was he wanting to keep her there? As the thoughts chased each other around in her head, Neithawen walked over to the open window and looked up. A slight breeze played around her dress and hair as she considered the moon. ‘Just another hour or so before midnight,’ she thought. ‘Mayhap if I get everything ready before I go to meet him, I can make it back here in time to finish the preparations.’ She thought a bit longer. ‘Well,’ she convinced herself, ‘if I were to refuse, then he would be disheartened. And we couldn’t send a man off to war with that over his head.’ She smiled and tucked the letter away in a pocket of her dress. However, if she was going to meet Legolas, she must pack now. She sifted through the pile that was now on the floor to find her small pouch. This she filled with herbs and medicinal plants that she had gathered the day before. She had somewhat of a talent at healing, and who knows when someone will get injured, even an elf. Neithawen hoped that she could find more plants along the way, so she would be able to heal the men that were fighting when the elves arrived in Rhun. She also placed a few handkerchiefs and other small scraps of fabrics inside. Neithawen placed the bag atop the washbasin stand, and turned toward the pile of things on the floor. She gathered up all of the clothes this time, and laid them out neatly on the bed. She hoped the clothes that she had gathered fit her well; she had not dared to try them on, for fear of someone walking in on her. Tonight she would just have to hope that people were too busy with war preparations to find it important to enter her room. All hope would be lost if she were to be discovered tonight. ‘And as long as no one recognizes me, and I can make it out of here tonight with no one noticing, then I should be fine,’ Neithawen thought. She did not really understand her need go enter this foreboding war. Nor could she explain it. Something about it just pulled her there. She thought that part of it may have to do with the lady Galadriel and what she had said to Neithawen alone before she and Maeglin departed from Lothlórien. She strode over to the window once more. The moon was nearly at its peak, waning slightly in the night sky. Making a final check that everything was in order for when she returned, Neithawen moved toward the door and opened it. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Neithawen made her way through the halls leading to the gardens. She stepped outside to be greeted with the cool, crisp night air. She could just see an edge of the trellis from the path where she was. Her breath caught in her throat, cool and crisp. Soft, beautiful singing was floating over to her on the breeze. It was Legolas’ voice, melodious and wonderful. A part of her awoke as she listened, and she had to stop for a moment. Ir Ithil amen Eruchîn The words he sang comforted her heart. She began to walk again, and as she approached, he stopped singing and turned. “Ah, dearest Neithawen, how good it is to see you again.” Legolas took her hand in his as he had done at dinner and kissed it. This time, however, he did not release it. As his head lifted from her hand, he gazed into her eyes. Neithawen’s heart quickened. She felt as if it was pounding so hard as to be visible on the outside. She truly hoped not. “And you, my Prince,” Neithawen said. “Please, do not call me such, it pains me so. Call me Legolas,” he said, his voice soft and beautiful. “Yes, Legolas.” “Oh, how I love hearing my name upon thy glorious lips,” Legolas said, letting Neithawen’s hand fall to her side and sliding his hand up her bare arm. Everywhere his fingers touched exploded in molten heat, spreading throughout her body. “Since you arrived I have thought of naught but you, the air around me yearns to be filled with your presence, your sweet scent—.” Neithawen cut him short with a finger to his lips. They were soft and supple. “You speak my praise as though I were the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien. But I am not, I do not wish you to think of me as such an unattainable entity,” she said, a smile spreading across her lips. She ran her finger along his jaw bone. “An unattainable entity you are, sweet lady, for I dare not touch you, lest I mar your perfection. However, I do not think I can contain myself any longer.” His hand came up to cup her face. She closed her eyes and turned her face into his palm. “Nay, and I would not wish you to,” Neithawen said, “for I might die without your sweet caress.” She opened her eyes to look into his. There was a silent question in their depths, but she could read it well. “Kiss me.” Legolas’ hand slid back into Neithawen’s hair, subtly pulling her head forward to meet his lips. The moment they touched, little fires ignited throughout her body. His lips were warm, resilient and yet yielding. Her hands came upon their own accord to rest on his arms. The muscles beneath the fine fabric of his shirt were smooth and solid. His lips parted slightly, allowing his tongue passage. She willingly opened her mouth to his gentle caress. His hand disentangled itself from her hair, shimmering gold in the moonlight above, near her right ear. The moment his fingers brushed against the pointed tip, she felt hot heat flood through her like a raging river. She crushed him to her, her arms sliding around his hard back to meet each other. His other arm encircled her waist, keeping them close. The hand that had touched her ear moved slowly down to her collarbone, stroking her heated flesh gently. His lips detached themselves from hers and slowly kissed down her chin to come to rest in the hollow of her throat. She arched her neck to allow him to move more freely. She opened her eyes and noticed the moon. It was too low in the sky for comfort. “My lord, I must be going, it is late. And you must get rest, as you shall be leaving tomorrow.” Legolas’ head lifted from Neithawen’s neck. A puzzled look was on his face. “But, my lady, I—.” “I must insist.” Neithawen cupped his face in her hands and drew him towards her mouth once more. Their kiss was soft and tender, lingering. After a few moments, Neithawen pulled back and looked into Legolas’ eyes. “I wish you well on your journey to Rhun, and may the grace of the Valar protect you.” She smiled and pulled away from his embrace, bowing slightly. “And bring you safely back to me,” she added. Legolas smiled. “I thank you, my lady, and I pray that I find you well upon my return. I will not linger there. Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” And with that, Neithawen turned and headed back up the path through the gardens. |
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