It was one of those nights when she moved silently among the shadows, making her way through the corridors and passageways towards his chamber. She paused at his doorway, then lifted a slender hand to push the door just enough for her it slip inside.
It was one of those nights where she glided effortlessly to the corner of his bed and gazed upon his sleeping form. In all the years she had known him, she perhaps loved it best when she could watch him sleep. Indeed, he was beautiful. The pale moonlight glimmered over his bare chest and gave his fair face an even more ethereal look. Arwen loved watching her dear friend sleep because it reminded her of simpler times. Happier times. Back when they were both but elf-lings and forged a friendship that would survive the centuries.
It was one of those nights when Legolas felt her presence and instantly awoke, his glittering eyes fixed upon her. She stood at the corner of his bed, pale gown floating about her and with questioning violet eyes. As always, she was gorgeous.
It was one of those nights where without so much as an utterance of words did he lift the covers and accept her into his bed.
It was one of those nights where, like always, they faced each other and he patiently waited for her to speak. She would often visit his chamber during the night whenever he was in Rivendell. Sometimes it was because she was bored, others because she was troubled, and many times it was just because she wanted to be in his company.
It was one of those nights where she sought out his presence for comfort. In the past, after they both had been sent to bed by their parents, she would rush over to his room when the first opportunity presented itself. There they would continue their make-believe games and journey to great places, always seeking adventures. They would stay up all night and into the first light until they finally grew exhausted and fell asleep in each others arms.
It was one of those nights where she was reminded of the greatest friendship she had ever known. They talked of fond memories and grand adventures, past lifetimes and old friends. She did not deny that she loved him. He had been her constant support through most of her life, and for that she was eternally grateful. And she was perhaps the only one on all of Middle-Earth who he loved freely and without reserve. For she too was his strength. Whenever he grew desolate, he would only have to think of her to be reminded of the beauty of the world and to know in his heart that there was something good still left in all the darkness.
It was one of those nights that gave both of them peace. Neither of them felt guilty for their actions. Anyone who knew them both, knew of their late night visits since the day Elrond found them sleeping amongst a completely shambled room. There was talk of a budding romance between the elves, but it simply was not meant to be. Arwen loved him, how could she not? But no, she was not in love with him for she belonged to Aragorn. And Legolas would never be so openly candid towards her in public. Had it not been for this one nocturnal routine, forged out of habit, he would never be so intimate with her.
It was one of those nights where they both felt reassured and comforted in the arms of one another. She very gently raised a hand and cupped his cheek, her fingertips barely brushing over the smooth surface. He likewise cupped her cheek then affectionately tucked a few stray strands of her silken hair behind her delicate ear. Then she then turned her back to him, like she had done on so many occasions, which signaled the end of the conversation. And as always, he moved closer to her and placed an arm protectively around her waist. When she was younger she often found it difficult to sleep without his arm providing security and warmth. So she relished in his presence whenever she could.
It was one of those nights where everything felt right in the world.
It was one of those nights where despite all the turmoil she felt in her heart, she fell asleep with a smile playing on her lips.