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Horse Lady of Rohan  by Mimi Lind

34. Legolas Behaves Badly

Legolas was alone, after another of those awkward, painful walks. As usual, he had been forced to lean heavily on the hateful crutch, his legs hardly bearing up his weight and everyone looking at him with badly hidden pity. He felt weak and miserable. 

He wanted away from this awful rock, and this claustrophobic room that might as well be a cell, out where there were trees, and sunlight, and fresh air. He missed his horse, and weapon practice, eating real food and bathing. His hair was a disaster. 

A treacherous tear trickled down the cheek, and he angrily wiped it away.

Ada had told him to rest, like he was an elfling who needed a nap. He did not want to sleep, he wanted Wynne. He had not been alone with her anything at all the whole day yesterday, and she would not dare come in now when Thranduil so clearly had told her to go with them on their tour. He missed her badly, and the bubbling happiness he had felt when she accepted him had turned to glum misery. 

How had he thought it possible to have a secret relationship under his father’s hawk eyes? It would all turn to nothing. Even if they could be alone now and then, it would be far to seldom to his liking, he knew it.

Rest, indeed! He was not tired, he was annoyed, and restless, and he wanted to be his normal, strong self. Sleep was the last thing on his mind right now. He needed a cheer-up, and he would give himself one. With everybody off looking at that stupid machine he knew he would be alone long enough, and not disturbed. Good. 

He kicked the crutch into a corner, then pulled off his tunic and threw it in a messy heap on the floor, almost hearing his father’s grating voice in his head. “This place look like a swinesty. You need to take better care of your belongings, son.” Well, Ada was not here, and if he did not like garments littering the floor he could tidy them away himself. Legolas rolled down his hose and rebelliously tossed them on Thranduil’s bed.

Only in his undershirt, he sank back and made himself comfortable on the fluffy mattress, drawing a few calming breaths, willing himself to press down the anger and frustration. He pulled the quilt up to the neck. Protected by it – not that anyone would come in, but just in case – he slipped a hand down between his legs.

He closed his eyes and picked among his memories, choosing a very recent one. Wynne, when she kissed him. He remembered her sweet, soft lips, how they had felt and tasted, and the way his body had responded. And when she had paused, how her cheeks were all flushed and the eyes bright and he had known she was just as excited as he. 

Next he pictured her when she had bathed, the wet chemise revealing her fit body. Those broad hips and buttocks that he very much wished to caress, as well as the legs which indeed were very nice, what with all the riding and exercise – and higher up, the breasts. They were probably just the right size to cup with his palm. He pictured himself doing so, and then tracing the rounded shape to touch a pink nipple. He had to suppress a rather strong sense of guilt when he thought of her breasts, he only knew what they looked like because the orcs had cut her clothes that time, and to be using such a memory for his own pleasure was so shameful he would never, ever admit it to anyone.

But he did use it, and he deeply despised himself for it, but that image brought him to climax. 

Afterwards he felt a little calmer, but no less unhappy. As always these forbidden thoughts and actions made him feel dirty and cheap. While his breath and heartbeat slowed down, he stared up at the stone ceiling, which he now knew every crack of by heart. He blinked away another few bitter tears.

Before he met Wynne, Legolas had not cared very much about females, although he admittedly had turned his eyes after one or two in the past, despite what he had told her. But that had been it, he had not thought more of them and he had certainly never wished to see an elleth without her clothes. 

Well, except for that time in his forties when he and another elfling had climbed a tree and peered into the ellith’s bathing area through the window. But it did not really count, those had been old ladies, and he had only caught a glimpse of the backside of one before he and his partner in crime had been discovered. That was the only time he could remember his father having punished him physically. He probably deserved the severe hiding he got too, although he naturally had been rather mortified at the time. It had at least thoroughly cured him of any wish to sneak peak on naked females again.

But then Wynne had crashed into his life one spring day, and captured both his heart and his desire. The urge to look at her – with or without clothes – had overpowered him, and the past weeks in her company had ignited a need in him. Now that part of his body craved his attention in a way it never had before. It was disconcerting.

It had become especially bad after his injury, when he had been locked down here for ages with nothing to do but thinking. Maybe when they finally could leave this horrible hole and continue their journey, he would be more like himself. But he healed ever so slow . Terribly, disgustingly slow.

His restlessness was returning, and he nearly grinded his teeth in despair. He felt trapped, like a bird in a cage, the walls pressing down on him. 

There was a knock on the door and he all but jumped. Who could that be, surely the tour was not over yet? 

Then sunshine flooded into his room as Wynne, his lovely, wonderful Wynne sneaked through, a sly smile on her face.

“Sidra saved me!” Her smile widened. “Why, someone has been moping. And here I brought lembas and everything.”

Legolas did not reply, his throat thick with emotion. He pulled her to him and had her crash down on top of him, gladly ignoring the painful protests from his wound. Her lips met his, sweeter and softer than ever, and it was so nice, it felt so good. 

Like the flipping of a coin, his world went from absolute darkness to the brightness of an early summer morning, he could almost hear the trees rustle and birds chirping merrily. Wynne belonged to him and Ada would surely come to terms with it in time, he would soon be strong again and everything was going to work out for the better. 

She ended the kiss rather too fast, he figured, but it was all right anyway. When she sat on his bedside he could look at her, admire the fluffy, curly hair and those cute freckles. Did she have them elsewhere on her body too? He would check that out sometime. 

“This place is a mess.” She observed his discarded clothes critically. 

“Aye. Can you get me out of here? I hate it,” he begged earnestly. 

“I was actually thinking of asking the healer if you could move to us now. Don’t they need this for other patients? You are so much better.” 

“I would not mind sharing a room with you.”

A glint in her gray eyes told him she too thought of the possibilities of sleeping in the same place.

He imagined himself secretly snuggling down beside her in the dead of the night, pressing his body tight against hers while sliding a hand in under the chemise, exploring her legs, the breasts... Another pang of guilt over what he had done just before she came in pushed the pleasant picture out of his head. Thank Varda she had not come a little earlier.

“Did you know your ears turn pink when you blush?” 

That of course very likely made him redden more, which obviously was just what she had intended, the little vixen. Her look was far too knowing for his liking.

A well aimed tickle-attack wiped the smug smile off her face, and soon he had her rolling next to him, giggling and panting for breath.

“All right, all right, you win! Stop!”

“Not before you grant me a boon.”

“I shall. Haha I shall!”

He stopped and wrapped his arms around her, burrowing his nose in her hair and inhaling her lovely, sweet scent that he remembered from when she had slept on his pillow.

“Well, what would you have me do?” she murmured against his collarbone, her breath tickling his skin pleasantly.

“Help me go outside.” 

“What, now?”

“Yes! I shall waste away if I stay in here another minute. I need air.” He kissed her unruly curls.

“Fine, I will. But if Thranduil kills me, it’s your fault. Just so you know.”

She helped him rise and stayed close, embracing him while he tried to gain his balance. The wound smarted badly, the stitches pulling on his skin and the damaged abdominal muscles throbbing. He found himself leaning heavier on Wynne than he liked.

He was the warrior, he should be the stronger one. Yet here he was, displaying this humiliating weakness. She had seen his father fussing over him, seen his tears, she had even witnessed the embarrassing poppy seed hallucinations he had. It was a miracle she still wanted to be with him.

“I hate this,” he muttered darkly. 

“I know. But it will soon pass.” She turned her face up to him and he met her gaze, expecting to see pity, but instead the eyes were dark and intense. He felt her hands tentatively begin to explore his back and shoulders over the thin undershirt. She desired him. 

Again the bleak thoughts disappeared, spirited away by this amazing woman who wanted him and desired even this broken body. He was truly a lucky elf. She was much too good for him, not that he would let that stop him from selfishly keeping her. 

Standing up, Wynne barely reached his shoulder and he appreciated being so much taller. This at least, the injury had not taken from him. He bent down and captured her lips with his own, feeling himself respond to her bewitching, caressing hands, one of which had found its way to his ear just like last time. Had she any idea how sensitive he was there? More importantly, almost undressed as he was, would she notice the effect it had on him? With her pressing herself so closely against his body, he was unable to hide the telltale hardness. Hopefully she did not know what it was.

“Maybe I should put something more on,” he mumbled into her lips.

“I like this outfit,” she replied. Cheeky. He loved it.

“Unfair. You wear a lot more,” he countered.

“I can change that.”

“Temptress.” 

“Yes.” She pinched his earlobe and he let out an involuntary groan. By the Valar, if she kept doing that he would bond with her here and now. With great reluctance he decided to be the wiser one for a change.

“I really should get dressed. You are taking me out, remember?”

“Oh all right then. Spoilsport.”


A/N:

Look at that, a change of perspective for the first time. :) 

This story really is Wynne's, but for this chapter I wanted to capture the feelings of an injured, sexually frustrated warrior elf, confined underground. And also show that nobody is perfect, even if they look the part (e.g is a ridiculously hot elf!). 





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