With a secret mission to marry an elf, Wynne must join Legolas' and Elvenking Thranduil's new quest as a horsekeeper. She begins an adventurous journey, encountering orcs and monsters, friendly uruk-hai, a lady dwarf and many Fellowship heroes - but...
Wynne usually didn't think too much about that body part in her daydream, seeing as the whole mating business was so unknown and diffuse. Instead her thoughts were occupied with the male parts she had seen. His face, angular and manly. His strong arms. His flat, broad chest.
She dreamed of how she would touch him, feeling the soft skin against her palm as she traced his hard muscles. That was why they needed to be naked; she didn't want an undershirt to be in the way.
She wanted to lie skin against skin.
After exploring his chest, arms and back with her fingers she would bury her nose into the crook of his neck and draw in his scent. She thought he would smell a bit like her father; of horses, leather and hard work.
Then she would turn her attention to his face. That beautiful face, which she knew she shouldn't look so much at, but still secretly peeked at all the time.
It was too tempting. Her eyes trailed there almost of their own; she just couldn't help herself. Even when she closed them she could see every detail of his features.
In the daydream she would trace his strong jawline with a fingertip and tickle him just below his ear. She was certain he was ticklish there, everybody was. When he smiled she would kiss an upturned corner of his lips.
She knew a little about kissing, and that lovers' kisses were different from 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 a neighbor'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 on the lips, and that would make him smile wider. His smile, rare as it was these days, could light up the most melancholy moment. Like sunshine spilling out between the clouds.
Wynne sighed, momentarily drawn out of her reverie. She wished he would smile more often; it saddened her that he had become so serious.
But Legolas' and her present somberness and the cause of it were too bleak to think about, so as usual she swiftly returned 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, damp tent like now.
Sometimes Legolas would get 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.
They would lead a secluded but happy life in that cottage, hardly ever leaving it. Only if they needed supplies they couldn't grow for themselves.
As the years went by they would probably have children, for if they wanted to mate, those would be the result – and Wynne was certain she would want to mate with him if she ever found herself naked in bed with Legolas.
She didn't really like babies, however. The little she had seen of them, they were either wailing or pooping or both. But perhaps it would be different if they were her own. Maybe she would feel about them the way she did about 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 turn gray, her body become wrinkled like Grandmama's, her voice weaken and her back bend. And then she would die and Legolas would mourn her, and soon the children would die as well 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 like spiderwebs. He would stroke their rough trunks and remember when Wynne and he 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 pricking 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, 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 didn't have to end!
If only, if only. Those kinds 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.
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A/N:
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). Some of those adventures have made it into my fics later. :)
Anyone else who writes stories in their head?
Image Credits:
Public domain (Pixabay), source: https://pixabay.com/sv/photos/log-cabin-stuga-hus-hem-finland-1886620/
