Ch-9 Rating: R

Chapter 9 – Choices

“If you are to remain with us, then know that we ride as companions, nothing more,” Legolas began the debate. “You will be a peer of The Fellowship, and when it comes to battle, I must defend all equally. I cannot champion you above the others.”

“I do not ask you to champion me nor to fight as two on my behalf. I can defend myself!” she argued.

“And what of this, Dèorwyn?” Legolas stepped up to her, so close she could feel his warmth, his body just skimming hers. “Can you defend against this? For, if you continue with us, then these are our last intimate moments. I shall guard myself, and you must do the same.” Looking down at her, his jaw was clenched with determination.

Dèorwyn took an imperceptible step back, distancing herself from the seduction of his nearness. She needed to think clearly. “Legolas, you continue to see me as a trifling woman, with no understanding of the danger of these times.”

“No, Dèorwyn. But I do not understand why you would defy your king and risk your life to be here.”

“Saruman possessed my uncle, weakening his will and ruining his health to the very brink of death! Is that not reason enough for me to be here?” Her words were strong, but panic flicked through her.

He studied her, trying to fit together a puzzle and knowing she still held the key piece. “There is something more to be told.”

She had not set out to deceive him. But her initial reluctance to share all with him, now felt like a lie. ‘You will make me say it,’ she thought, even as her mind sought frantically for escape. “Your ego would have you believe I am here for you!” Her last, hopeless argument; even she held no faith in it.

“NoÂ…that is not what I believe,” Legolas said quietly. He simply looked at her, patiently waiting for her truth.

Dèorwyn turned from him and took a few paces, distancing herself physically and emotionally. She kept her back to him, not wanting to face him. “Since childhood it was understood – I was to be wed to Theodred,” Dèorwyn confessed softly.

A heartbeat passed, then another. “You never spoke of this,” he said. It was a statement, passing no judgment, but alarming in its lack of emotion.

“The union was arranged. I had no say in it,” Dèorwyn voice rose with indignation. “I was traded to Theodred as though no more than a brood mare.”

Growing into young womanhood, Dèorwyn had come to bitterly resent the arrangement. A choice was stolen from her. She felt like no more than chattel, traded for the comforts of the royal hall.

There had been many arguments with her father. He could not, or would not, understand that although she cared for Theodred, she did not love him. There was fondness, but no passion. Her heart longed to feel complete. He had dismissed her desires as frivolous and unworthy of his consideration, nothing more than her childhood dreams.

“While my father’s health was failing, Theodred accepted my reasons for delay,” Dèorwyn explained. “Thereafter, he becameÂ…anxious to be wed,” her speech stumbled.

In fact, that had been the reason she rode out of Edoras that fateful time. Theodred was a handsome, strong young man, and many women of Rohan desired him. If they were to be wed, he wanted it to be soon – needed it to be soon.

He had found Dèorwyn in the stables that morning, grooming Aredhel. The horse was difficult with the stablemen; Dèorwyn was the only one she would tolerate.

Theodred’s hints at their wedding plans began as teasing, but his frustration grew as she again tried to put him off. Frustration turned to anger, conversation to argument.

He had grabbed her and held her against the wall of the stable, pressing his body against her as his lips crashed down on hers. As she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she felt his need pressed against her stomach. It was a bruising kiss; intended to possess that which she would not give.

Her resistance had finally pierced his fog of lust and Theodred ended the kiss. Leaning his forehead against hers, he released a deep, trembling breath. “I am sorry,” he whispered before releasing her and walking from the stables without a backward glance. That was the last time she had seen him.

“You seek vengeance for his death.” Legolas’ words brought her back to the present.

“No!” Dèorwyn spun around to face him. “I seek to control my own fate!” Searching his face for a clue to his thoughts, she cursed whatever Elvish ability allowed him to hide behind so much control. She began to pace, her tension and anxiety in need of release.

“I know my father loved me, and believed he had done well by me. In the end, I would not have denied his wishes – nor Theodred, if he remained committed to the union. But nowÂ…” her voice faded.

Dèorwyn stopped and turned to Legolas, seeking understanding and hoping to find it in his eyes. “I cannot sit idly by waiting for others to once again decide my fate. ‘Tis better to die fighting for what I believe, than live with the remains left to me by the battles of others.”

Sighing, Dèorwyn walked to him. She reached to trace the tiny braid that began at his temple and ran behind his ear. Her fingertips followed the clever design holding the pale silk of his hair from his eyes. Finding the sensitive tip of his ear, Dèorwyn softly caressed that which most obviously declared him an Elf. “For all your Elvish senses, you know so little of me,” she whispered.

Legolas’ eyes closed and his lips parted with a sigh of pleasure, stirring tendrils of hair on her cheek. He took a ragged breath. A groan escaped him as his hand came up to clasp her fingers and end the caress, only to begin one of his own. Light kisses on the soft underside of her wrist caused her heart to race, and when his lips found her traitorous pulse, the corners of his mouth quirked in satisfaction. “I know more of you than you wish to believe,” he murmured, opening his eyes, now dark with passion.

He tugged on her hand, bringing her a step closer. As he grasped her waist to pull her to him, Dèorwyn placed her hands on his chest and felt the hammering of his heart beneath her palm.

Gently, his lips brushed hers, no more than a feather of contact. Again and again he offered the promise of a kiss, only to tease her with a light touch and a soft breath. All her senses narrowed, craving the feel of his mouth strong and firm on hers. A soft moan escaped her.

“Dèorwyn,” he murmured against her lips before finally fulfilling the promise. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to the length of his body. His mouth slanted across hers with a fierceness she would have found frightening except for her equal desire. She opened her mouth, inviting the intimate invasion of his tongue.

Legolas loosened the bindings holding her hair, freeing it to his touch. Winding his fingers into the thickness at the back of her neck, he tilted her head to reveal her neck to his questing mouth. His senses were filling with her—her scent, her taste, her pulse. He felt her passion for him growing and it enflamed him.

He whispered Elvish words of endearment she did not understand. But his soft, warm breath on her skin, and the hard heat pressed against her, were evidence of their meaning.

Tenderly, but urgently, their hands explored each other. He caressed her softness and the curves that fit so well against him. Dèorwyn ran her hands down the hard planes of his chest and stomach then slid up his back, feeling the rhythmic flex of his muscles with each movement.

Legolas’ hands were gentle as he undressed her, but his mouth was hot and demanding. His lips and tongue explored her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth and savoring the textures of her body.

Her explorations were inexperienced, but every touch of Dèorwyn’s hands was like flame against his skin. He brought her with him as he kneeled. His mouth once again claiming hers, Legolas lowered her to the ground then lay with her. Their heat warmed the cool, loamy soil beneath her.

His body wanted to claim her, take her with a ferocity that would satisfy his burning need. But his heart ruled. Legolas made love to her patiently, tenderly. He was rewarded with her slow-building passion and her gasps of pleasure as she experienced each new sensation.

They found their rhythm and their movements became more urgent – need and desire pooled where their bodies joined. Just when he thought he could endure no more, Legolas felt her climbing to the edge. He covered her mouth with his, taking her cry of ecstasy in himself to mingle with his own. His release came and the wet warmth of his passion filled her.

Holding her close to him, their breathing calmed together. Their hearts slowed and gentled to begin beating in time with each other.

Still coupled with her, Legolas rolled onto his back and pulled her with him. As she lay spent upon his chest, he smoothed hair from her damp brow and softly kissed her forehead. The breath of her contented sigh flowed across his skin.

Dèorwyn stirred, and he knew it was time. They needed to dress and rejoin the camp – return to a world of growing darkness, where the tenderness of morning light was no longer guaranteed.

~ ^ ~

Legolas shrugged into the harness for his quiver and weapons. Giving a final tug on the strap, he paused to watch Dèorwyn where she sat fastening her boot. So beautiful, so determined – and so vulnerable. “This was a luxury I should not have allowed,” he murmured.

Dèorwyn froze. Looking up at him, her green eyes were as round as coins. “What are you saying?” she breathed. “You regret it?”

“No,” Legolas shook his head and smiled softly. “I will never regret this,” he answered honestly. Dèorwyn stood, boots and belts forgotten. Walking to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his chest, her ear resting over his heart.

He pulled her tight against him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to protect her. But in his heart he knew, safe keeping was not his to offer. “You will continue with us to Isengard,” he said with a calm he did not feel.

“I did not think it would be otherwise,” she said lightly, trying to ease his serious mood.

“But Dèorwyn, we cannot weaken again. We must swear to it,” he demanded, ignoring her teasing tone.

“I swear,” she agreed against his chest.

“And after Isengard you will do as Aragorn sees fit. Stay or go, it will be his decision. Time will not allow any argument.”

“And if he believes it is right for me to stay?” Dèorwyn tilted her head to look up at him.

“Then I will accept that,” he met her gaze calmly. Legolas wound his hand into her hair as he kissed the top of her head, and said nothing more on the subject.

He was confident Aragorn would see it his way. In this decision, she would have no choice.

~ ^ ~

ContinuedÂ…