To Live Again: Waiting Between Worlds {Lord of the Rings Fanfiction}

Epilogue

The afternoon breeze is pleasant as it tickles my skin and brushes the lengths of hair off my shoulder. I run a hand absently through the wavy ends giving an irked sigh at how long it is taking me to grow...I miss my obnoxiously long locks. Calanon tells me that it will take a number of months for my body to recuperate, but I kind of hope the approach of the summer months will bring a glow back into my skin again, and encourage some condition back into my brittle hair.

I wiggle my toes in the fresh grass, sniggering a little as a ladybird decides to crawl over my foot in its determination to reach the far side of the ledge. I put down my charcoal and parchment to help the little guy out. Gently taking him on my pinky I deliver him to the high point of the long, luscious, fern leaves growing out from the rocks. I grin as he determinedly marches on down the long stem of the leaf, giving a nod of solidarity, because that's what we things of nature do...we determinedly march on.

Returning to my outline sketch of the forest treetops from my secret ledge, I squint and sigh, everything is so much more peaceful up here. There are so many memories attached to this little haven of rock; the first time I saw the forest, that jump with Thranduil, the proposal, our wedding, and all the little stolen moments between us happened right here. Since my captivity I have found that I try to remain only in the present, refusing to look back or dwell in the darkness, and if I must let my mind wander I let it creep back to all the things that brought me strength so that I could face the dark. I like coming up here when I feel my resolve shake, because it reminds me of the simple blessings, and the all the reasons I have to smile, and all the many more reasons I have to live for.

Being up here, it feels like a million miles from everything, and I can just breathe for a second. Still, that does not mean I am adverse to company.

I sense Thranduil before I hear his approach. Our bond seems deeper than ever, like whatever we faced we endured it together, and because of that our foundations seem utterly unbreakable. I know for certain there is no power in this world or the next that will ever separate us from each other or our family. We keep fighting harder, and we keep loving deeper, because that is the only way to survive in life...or at least this is what I think I have been taught? Love heals any wound, you just have to be patient and learn to let it in.

Hands clamp securely around my shoulders, as my husband kneels to rest beside me, his nose nuzzling into the short lengths of my hair giving his lips easy access to my neck. My nose scrunches as I give a high pitched yelp at the ticklishness of his kisses, but predictably that only encourages him.

He rolls his arm around my middle, ignoring my hysterical laughter and many slaps to his head and body, as he easily flips me onto my back. I can barely catch my breath as he settle himself above me, carefully leaning his weight into me and sliding both his hands down the lengths of my silk dress, pushing the fabric to my hips and encouraging me to link my legs around his waist...which I do so obligingly. I throw my arms around his neck and happily relinquish any control to him as his lips find mine.

The world seems to pause as I get lost in his lavish kiss, and I focus on absolutely nothing but the feel of him in my arms. I am never more connected to myself than I am with him. His hands are gentle as they run through the short lengths of my hair, the movement of his body against mine is tormentingly sweet, and his eyes...well, I still can't fathom their silvery-blue shade or understand the true depth of his adoration hidden in them...but they still captivate me.

"Don't stop," I murmur as he pulls away from the kiss, giving me a mischievous smirk, knowing full well how much I loathe it when he teases me like this.

I run my thumb along his full bottom lip and grin when he starts kissing along my hand, pausing around the seared scars and bruises on my wrist that run halfway up my forearm. I wince a little at the sting that one of his gentle kisses bring.