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Horse Lady of Rohan  by Mimi Lind

17. Daydreaming in Emyn Muil

The hills of Emyn Muil were nicer than Wynne had thought. She quite enjoyed the view from the hilltops, and the variation in nature fascinated her. On the ridges grew funnily shaped trees, twisted and crooked by the wind. The ground was indeed covered with creepers and brambles, just like Thranduil had said, but on the brambles grew sweet blackberries and raspberries which became a welcomed change in their diet. 

On the first day nothing much happened, but the day after that Nodir discovered a footprint in a muddy creek they passed.

“It is a lot bigger than an orc foot would be,” Thranduil mused. 

“Could it be human?” Wynne suggested. It looked like the prints her father’s boots had made in the muddy stableyard back home.

“Maybe. We had better follow it to make sure, though. It could be an uruk.” He explained that the uruk-hai were a taller kind of orc that Saruman had bred during the War, they were said to be human-orc hybrids, but no one knew for sure. “They move easily during daylight unlike their smaller cousins, and are a lot stronger. And more intelligent as well. We need to be very careful now.”

The mention of human-orc hybrids made Wynne feel slightly sick, and she remembered when Lug had tried to molest her. Would the resulting offspring have been an uruk-hai? The thought of giving birth to something even vaguely like an orc made her cringe.

She began to think about other hybrids instead, and wondered what a human-elf child might look like. That sent her into a pleasant daydream, one that she had come back to very often lately. 

In her daydream, Wynne and Legolas had eloped, and escaped into the wilderness with Vatna and Stelpa. The country was a bit like the Brown Lands, but more fertile, and with a sparkling clear stream running through it. They had built a pretty wooden cottage there, not unlike Wynne’s house back home. The roof was thatch, and around it they dug out a kitchen garden which they tended together and grew vegetables in. They planted an orchard too, with cherry and apple trees. In the evenings they talked, long hours of pleasant conversation in which they shared memories of their past lives. Legolas made jokes, and Wynne laughed at them.  

During the nights they would sleep in a four poster bed like Grandmama’s and Grandpapa’s. Wynne’s parents had slept in separate beds for as long as she could remember, but her grandparents were more close. Hers and Legolas’ bed would be made of wood, with carvings of leaves and branches to make him feel at home whenever he missed his forest. The bed was covered with a fluffy quilt, and underneath it they would cuddle up together every night. 

They would sleep naked. 

At first she had imagined they would keep their shifts at least, but then she had decided naked was better, even though she did not really know what a male looked like between his legs. Probably not exactly like a stallion or a bull, but she was sure there was a dangling part involved somehow. 

Wynne mostly did not think too much about those body parts in her daydreams anyway, the whole mating business was too unknown and diffuse. Instead her thoughts were occupied with the male parts she had seen. Such as the chest, she knew what Thranduil’s torso looked like and imagined Legolas’ was similar. She dreamed of how she would touch it, feel the softness of his skin against the palm of her hand. This was why they needed to be naked, she did not want an undershirt to be in the way. Skin against skin.

After caressing his chest, she would bury her nose deep into his neck, and draw in his smell. She thought he would smell a bit like her father, of horses, leather, and hard work.

Then she would turn to his face. That beautiful face, which she knew she should not look so much at, but secretly peeked at all the time. It was so tempting and she just could not help herself. Her eyes went there almost of their own. Even when she closed them she could summon every detail of his features. 

In the daydream she would follow the contours of his strong jawline with a fingertip, and tickle him just below the ear. She was certain he was ticklish there, everybody was. When he smiled, she would kiss the upturned corner of his mouth. 

She knew a little about kissing, and that lovers’ kisses were different than Grandmama’s goodnight pecks on the forehead when she was little. She had seen a maid and a farmhand kiss in that other way, once, behind the neighbour’s barn. The man had been one of those burly, ugly fellows from the marketplace, and she had not for the world understood why the girl wanted to suck her mouth against his. But if that girl had felt anything like what Wynne felt for Legolas, then she now knew exactly why.

So, she would kiss Legolas’ lips, and that would make him smile wider. His smile, rare as it was these days, could light up the most melancholy moment. Like the sun emerging from a clouded sky.

Wynne sighed, momentarily drawn out of her daydream. She wished Legolas would smile more often, and it saddened her that he had become so serious. But the reality was too bleak to think about, and as usual she very soon went back to her fantasy. 

Now she imagined what their mornings would be like. How wonderful it would be to wake up next to a warm elf, instead of alone in a chilly tent like now. Sometimes Legolas would go up first and make her breakfast, sometimes it would be the other way around. They would eat it in bed, and talk about the day ahead.

It was one happy, drawn back life they would lead in that cottage, and they hardly ever left it. Only if they needed some supplies, such things they could not grow for themselves.

As the years went by, they would probably have children. If they wanted to mate, those would be the result, and Wynne was quite certain she would want to mate if she ever found herself naked in bed with Legolas. She did not really like babies, however, the little she had seen of them they seemed to be either screaming or pooping or both. But perhaps it would be different if they were her own. Maybe she would feel for them like she did for a newborn foal.

After having the babies – and this was the part of the dream where she always tried to think of another possible ending, and failed – Wynne would grow older, while Legolas would not. Her hair would gray, her body become wrinkled like Grandmama’s, her voice get weak and her back bend. And then she would die, and Legolas would mourn her, and the children would die, and he would mourn them too, and his eternity of a life would be filled with grief and absolute misery.

She could picture him walking alone in the orchard, which now had huge, gnarled trees, covered in lichen, almost like spiderwebs. He would stroke their rough trunks and remember when he and Wynne had planted them all those hundreds years ago. His beautiful eyes would look like Thranduil’s when he talked about his late wife. Filled to the brim with a pain so deep it was impossible to grasp.

Wynne angrily shrugged off the daydream, as usual with tears prickling in the corner of her eyes. It always ended this way, making her heart ache as if it had really happened. She hated to be reminded of the outcome of any relationship with Legolas, but yet she would build that same castle in the air every day. 

At least it started out nice, the eloping and all that... If only it did not have to end!

If only, if only. Those kind of thoughts were a waste of time. 

She tried to think of something else. Fir trees. There were crooked fir trees around. She could think of them. Or brambles. Anything but immortality and its implications.


Talking of daydreams... I "dream up" many of my stories, dialogue etc, and ever since I first watched the Lord of the Ring I thought out more adventures for the characters (I went to each premiere, always at midnight in Swedish cinemas).

Anyone else who "writes stories in their head"? :)

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