~ Finally time for some Fluff ™! :) ~

33. A Secret Relationship

Legolas had never looked happier and Wynne knew she wore that same silly, ear-to-ear smile plastered on her own face. She felt giddy, like she had downed a full skin of firewater.

"I wish I could plait you again and show everyone you are mine." He softly combed through her hair with his fingers, giving her goosebumps all over.

She giggled. "So that's what it means. And you did it without explaining, you sly elf."

"You liked it, did you not?" His eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Loved it. I'm terrible at plaiting or I would redo yours." She stroked the fuzzy remains of a fishtail braid on the side of his head.

Confirmed within the healer's room for several days, he had only had access to the small washing bowl in the lavatory. Despite that, his golden strands were incredibly soft and silky.

It felt strange she was actually allowed to do this. To sit close to Legolas, to touch his hair – a dream coming true, literally.

She pushed a strand behind his ear and brushed over its curiously pointed tip, letting a finger trace it down to his earlobe. It provoked an unexpected reaction; his gaze became intense, pupils wide and dark, almost like before when he had taken too much poppy seed. He obviously enjoyed her touch.

She nearly drowned in his eyes, half-closed under long lashes, amazed at the flutter of emotions simply looking at him provoked in her.

She studied his face, so familiar, yet foreign. She had always observed him from a distance, or stolen quick glances, but now she was able to pore over every detail. The shape of his eyebrows, the hue of his soft skin, learning each turn and curve of his upper lip.

She saw him doing the same with her features and the flutter increased. Was he memorizing her looks too?

He began to caress her hair again, making her shiver and the skin in the nape of her neck tingle. His lips were parted and suddenly she couldn't take her eyes off them. She loved how even when he was serious their corners had a tiny upturn, like an ever-present hint of a smile. What would it feel like to be kissed by them?

He made no move to do so, but it certainly looked like he wanted to.

Inspired by Sidra's bold kisses in front of everybody, Wynne took the matter in her own hands. She leaned closer and let her lips brush lightly against his.

It was so brief she didn't have time to register how it felt, so she repeated it, kissing him closer, trying to move her lips like she had seen Sidra do.

The second kiss affected her unexpectedly. Warmth filled her chest but at the same time a thrill along her spine gave her goosebumps all over. His face was so near, his lips so soft. In a million years she could not have imagined it to be like this.

Then she tasted the bitter remains of the willow bark tea he had taken and that brought her back to her senses. "Sorry. You are healing, I shouldn't–"

"Do it again," he rasped. His hands had still been in her hair, and tugging on it he drew her to him for a third kiss, a longer one, and deeper. Now he moved his lips too, slipping a tip of his tongue in to meet hers.

His intensity and passion sent spears of heat through her body. This felt different than before. More sensual. More raw. As if he was touching her somewhere much lower than her hair...

She half wished he had, but that wouldn't be right. Not here, not now.

With reluctance she pulled back, trying to be the responsible one. "Someone could come in. And you should eat before your soup gets cold." Was that husky voice really hers?

Sitting up straighter, he obediently took the bowl. "Your wish is my command, my lady." He sounded breathless too.

"There's a good boy."

"I am no boy."

"There's a good elf then." They chuckled.

It was true Legolas was no boy, or elfling for that matter. He was an adult, for sure, but he didn't act as if he had lived thousands of years like his father. She considered asking his age but was it even important? Elves neither aged, nor matured like humans did. He looked youthful, he behaved youthful, that made him young in every way that mattered, didn't it?

But still...

Curiosity won. "How old are you?"

"Too old for you." He winked. "Nay, I am joking. I will soon turn twenty decades."

"Two hundred years?" Her eyes popped wide open.

"That is not much to an elf. We are not fully grown until we turn fifty, or up to almost a hundred for some – so to my people I am still considered very young. And, elves experience time differently, I was told."

She nodded slowly; maybe they were not so different then, agewise. It actually made sense. His father certainly ordered him around like he was a kid, and it also explained his childish teasing when they had first met.

In retrospect, he reminded her of a young stallion prancing and trying to show off. The thought made her almost laugh out loud.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm soon twenty as well – years, not decades." She grinned. "An elf my age would be just a baby, then?"

"Indeed. Like the eldest of the orclings, perhaps."

"Well, I am no child."

"Certainly not!" He gave her a meaningful look that made her want to kiss him again, but she stoically abstained.

"Thranduil must have waited a long time to have you," she said instead.

"He met my mother late in life. But that is of no consequence; once an elf reaches adulthood he stays that way infinitely and can sire elflings if he wishes to." He thoughtfully emptied the last of the soup. "I think perhaps that is the main difference between our races. As far as my knowledge of mortals goes, you age in stages. Bodily I mean. First you are young, then middle aged, then old and finally ancient. But mentally humans are almost the same person that entire time, right? The only real difference between an old elf and an old human is physical."

"So, then you shall always be young and handsome but I turn into a crooked old crone like Nanna." It was not a pleasant thought.

He took her hand, pressing it. "You will always be beautiful to me."

"I don't understand how you could think so. I'm not beautiful and won't ever be, especially not compared to an elf..."

Legolas had grown up in a court full of elven ladies; Wynne must be nothing compared to them. She was plain, unless her mirror back home lied to her.

But perhaps he was lying. A white lie, to avoid making her unhappy?

She traced the lines of his palm with a thumb, feeling the calluses from the bowstring. Her hand was small and chubby compared to his.

"I am not good with words," he muttered. "How can I explain...?" He paused uneasily and his lips moved, like he was forming the sentences in his head before saying them out loud. "I have never paid much attention to outer appearances," he finally began. "I think it is the same with most elves. I know mortals find our kind pleasing to the eye, but for us that is what we see every day, in every elf. It is... ordinary." Again he seemed to ponder over his words, before he continued. "When I look at you I see you, the inner Wynne... brave and kind. Do I make any sense at all?"

It was endearing how earnest he looked and that made her certain he was not lying after all.

"I think I understand... But I'm not brave. I have no idea how you got that notion." She smiled anyway, pleased over the compliment.

"Oh you are." He grinned. "You had a staring contest with my father the very first time you met him and did not back off. If that is not bravery, I do not know what is."

"Well you are brave too, and so good with the horses. And..." She glanced at him, remembering the hot day when he had been shirtless. Pleasing to the eye? A huge understatement. "And actually, I rather like to look at your 'outer appearance' as well. But then I am a mere mortal."

"Well of course I do not only see the inside," Legolas blurted. "I did not mean–" He absent-mindedly scratched his head, making the disheveled braids even more messed up. "With ellith I do not look twice. They all appear alike to me. Their faces are like porcelain, blank, unreadable. Beautiful, aye, but not real. But you... you are different. Something about you draws one's eyes though I cannot really say what it is."

He seemed so uncomfortable she almost felt sorry for him but she was grateful he tried to explain. She recalled how she had thought almost exactly the same about elves and porcelain early in their journey. Be it Galion's ethereal paleness, or Nodir and Bronedir's stunning darkness; they were still too perfect, too flawless.

Somehow Legolas was not like them. It was odd, because his physical features were definitely no less perfect, but he felt more real too, more open; his face expressed emotions in a way theirs didn't.

"I understand what you mean. And it's the same with you." Now it was her turn to be shy when he looked inquiringly at her. "I mean, when I see you next to another elf... Then they can't compete," she mumbled, face heating up terribly. "If anyone draws one's eyes, it's you."

"I have indeed felt your gaze on me from time to time," he smugly admitted. "There was, for instance, that very warm afternoon, if you recall..."

"Ha, you should talk. Whenever we bathe you blush," she countered quickly. Had he really noticed her checking him out that day? How mortifying.

"Hum. I might, at times, have looked at..."

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Well... you do have very nice legs." He was blushing again but had a playful glint in his eyes and a rather cheeky smile.

"Why, Legolas, you speak boldly to a lady," she scolded him mockingly, relieved that the awkward conversation had taken a more light-hearted turn.

"Pardon me, my lady, indeed I did. You shall have to punish my insolence."

"I will. Your penalty shall be... hm." She pondered. "Oh, I know. You shall sing to me!"

"With pleasure."

He began a soft ballad, one that she had heard Nodir and Bronedir sing before. It was sad and beautiful, and his voice was just as lovely as she remembered.

Curling up with her head in his lap, she closed her eyes and allowed the soft tones wash over her.

She realized of course that she would have second thoughts and concerns about this relationship later, such as how to tackle Thranduil, and Mother, and the other elves of the Woodland Realm. But right now she was content to just lay close to him, listen to his song and know that he really liked her – inside-out.

In time they would have to cross those other bridges but they could think of how to do it when they got there.

A/N:

This was so sweet to write I got a tooth-ache. :D

A note about Legolas' age. Tolkien never wrote when he was born (I know Peter Jackson did but that doesn't count lol) but in Legolas' talk with Gimli in Fangorn forest it's implied he considers the rest of the Fellowship "children". That could still make him as young as 200 in my opinion (more than twice Aragorn's age), and since it's not explicitly stated otherwise I've picked that age for this story.

In the book he acts young for an elf; he's a bit teasing at first, not wise and serene like Elrond, and he seems unfamiliar with death which means he didn't fight in the Last Alliance or Battle of the Five Armies. Also, he had never been to Lothlórien before the quest which would be odd if he was older (them being neighbor forests and both with Silvan elves).

Image Credits:

A cropped out and slightly modified picture from the movie Pirates of the Caribbean, from Hollywood.com, source: https://www.hollywood.com/movies/sexy-rain-scenes-ryan-gosling-the-notebook-spider-man-9-1-2-weeks-match-point-57278487/#/ms-2583/2