Darkest Nights | Love of Royals: Book II

XII: Harmony

Fíria's POV

I like Ílren.  Despite already knowing Legolas has good taste in friends, I have been pleasantly surprised today at how relaxed and charming he is.  Of course, the majority of his charm was directed towards a certain Captain, who is evidently enjoying the attention from a handsome ranger. It does indeed help to forget the past.

The four of us bid each other farewell and retired to our rooms some time ago, except I accompanied Legolas rather than go back to my own chamber alone. Simply being alone with him is enough to make me abandon all reason. While in his room, we haven't spoken of the letter, or my father, or anything regarding Thranduil and Elena's noticeable tension earlier. Tonight, I think it is best we just celebrate the time we have.

But I've been telling myself that for too long. I cannot spend every moment leant against Legolas like this, feeling his lips press down onto my head, when the web of my father and Thranduil is closing in around me—around all of us. Their rift is what landed me with an assassin's task and a stolen heart; I have only them to thank for whatever complications are to follow. I know have to do something, to act, to face both powerful Kings and somehow prevent them from eventually annihilating each other... but this blissful ignorance is too addictive, too wonderful to give up. I'm under a pretence, tangling myself up in love while threats grow ever nearer.

And Legolas knows none of it.

He kisses my head again, this time lingering for a little longer. 'Stay in here tonight, meleth,' he whispers into my hair, 'please.' 

I don't even try to resist the temptation.  'Let me change into my nightdress.'  The brand new nightdress that is courtesy of Legolas, of course.  I plant a quick kiss on his cheek before adding, 'I'll be back in a minute,' and climbing elegantly off his bed.  The swathes of my lilac dress sway about my bare feet, the fabric glowing a dusky pink in the sunset, and ripple like silent waves as I walk away. 

Although he had been pleased to see me wear something other than my catsuit this evening, Legolas knew I wasn't ready to don the dress in front of anyone other than him. So all Ílren and Tauriel know is catsuit-Fíria: strong, snarky and invincible. None of the vulnerability Legolas is allowed to see. They have the confident elf for their friend, and he has the broken Princess for his lover. What in Arda have I got myself into? There are so many versions of me, I don't know which one is real anymore. Am I the Raven, the harbinger of death, or am I one of the myriad other personas I portray?

I return after a few minutes in my new nightdress, a far less revealing gown of a rich royal purple, the loose sleeves of which are long enough to cover my scars. Fíria, you're a fool. You don't need to cover your scars. The truth is that I do, if I'm going to carry out my plan.

The warm gaze of Legolas rolls up and down my body as I enter, and I realise he too has changed out of his usual attire. It must be rare that he even gets to wear nightclothes, seeing as he is on the road and far away from his home kingdom's luxury most of the time. Tonight, however, I have his toned chest and bare shoulders to lean on after I've clambered back onto the bed. A while passes where Legolas holds me and kisses me gently, before we settle into a comfortable embrace with the duvet up to our upper arms. He closes his eyes, and merely for effect, I close mine. For all he knows, I can sleep, just like he can.

As I expected, I have to wait some time to be certain. Some time as the darkness descends for Legolas to be swept away by slumber. I often wonder what it is like, being able to fade out of thought and into dreams, and to lie peacefully at night with the one you love beside you.  I will probably never feel what Legolas is feeling right now.  I can only imagine it.