| I couldn't resist |
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| 09:18am 23/03/2006 |
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mood:  bored music: "Must Be Doing Something Right"
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What Kind Of Sex Would You Have With Legolas?
Your sex with Legolas would be more like making love. Sweet and tender, romantic and loving...Probably occuring in the forest of Lothlorien or Mirkwood under a star studded sky, it would be long, slow and sweet, most likely with Legolas gently whispering beautiful Elvish poetry in your ear.Could anyone really ask for more? :)
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| B2MEM: A Shirt for Legolas |
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| 09:23pm 16/03/2006 |
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mood:  bouncy
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“A shirt for Legolas.” Her father had said. It should be a simple thing. Yet it was not; had not been. Her fingers fumbled over the loom for a week, the fine silk cloth forming with her errors still intact. She ran her fingers over the small slubs again. Tears filled her eyes. She would rend the fabric in two! More! In twenty, if need be, and he would never know how inadequate she was!
He found her there, weeping over the loom. Alarmed at first, he ran to kneel next to her.
“Thêl! What is the matter? Are you hurt?”
“I can not do it, Leg’las,” she hiccupped. “Father said to make you a shirt for your journey, and it comes out like this!”
She showed him the silver fabric and all its tiny flaws.
His callused fingers brushed over the delicate cloth. “You wove this for me?”
She nodded solemnly.
“Then it is perfect in every way,” he smiled. “I shall wear it proudly.”
Her lower lip quivered, and the tears that welled up in her eyes threatened to spill over once more.
“You will?” She hiccupped again.
He laughed, “Of course I will, if you finish it. I shall tell everyone I meet, ‘my sister made this for me’.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I will even tell Lady Arwen and she is a weaver of great renown. She will see the care that has gone into it and find it just as beautiful as I do.”
“Oh, Legolas!” she threw her arms around his neck. “I love you!”
He hugged her close. “I love you too, Thêl.” And then he thought the words he did not say: I know not what awaits me at the council, but what joy to keep your work, woven with love, stained with your tears, close to my heart.
~*~
A/N
I have very little in the way of explanation for this little bit of fluff, only that, as a seamstress and in the SCA (a medieval reenactment society) I know that that darn duponi silk shirt Legolas wears in the movies is wrong, wrong, wrong, even though it’s beautiful. In medieval times the ‘slubs’ in the material would be seen as faults or the material itself even as ruined. Having a small child with fumble fingers sometimes breeds a nuzgul or two, and I pictured my eleven year old daughter’s frustration at not being able to get this ‘perfect’ for someone special. In this case, a non-existant, big brother. (And, for the record, I don’t even believe that Legolas HAD siblings, but… that’s another story.) |
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Read 3 - Post |
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| B2MEM: With Bow and Blade |
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| 10:57am 16/03/2006 |
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mood:  cheerful
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Rebirth
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Filth. Blood. Gore.
The stuff drenched him until he no longer knew where the grime ended and he began. So long as he fought, he lived. Nock, draw, release. He glanced up, a foul darkness covered the sky where the sun should be or had blood marred his vision? Unsheathe, parry, thrust - his blade found its way home again and again, until he no longer cared about the hour, nor feared to count himself among the dead.
Resheathe. He hung his head for a moment. Exhausted. Numb. Did Aragorn yet live? Bitter tears stung the back of his closed lids. He did not know. He needed to tell him he understood. Weary. Tired. All those man-words that never before made sense, suddenly took hold of his heart.
A fierce battle cry rang out across the valley.
Legolas shook himself. "Ada?" Yet Thranduil was leagues away. Legolas felt the boughs of the Green Wood bend at the first assault; knew his father would not leave their people in this time of need.
Again, he heard the familiar voice, commanding, “Do not despair!” it seemed he would not leave Legolas either.
"Ada!" The image of the King faded.
No time -- Legolas faced their foe again. Nock, draw, release...
He felt renewed.
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Deliverance
Thranduil raised his blade. The weapon arched, shimmered silver, and neatly separated flesh from bone. Blood. Gore. Filth. He spat on the enemy then pulled his sword free. Attacked from behind, he swiveled and swung again, savoring the singing sound the iron made before it tasted death. Slash. Parry. Thrust. An age-old dance the Elven-King knew too well. He did not falter; knew the enemy could not, would not, overcome his people. He would not allow it.
He raised his arm to attack again, and found his blade met air, the corpses of the enemy surrounding him.
Just ahead, an elf stood alone in the clearing, his head bowed. A goblin approached him from behind. “Does the fool not see the danger?” Too far away to make use of his sword, Thranduil sheathed it quickly, raising his voice in a cry of warning and then, in alarm. Nock, draw, release…
The arrow found its mark.
The image before Thranduil melted into the shadows. The lone figure somehow reminding him of his son.
Would that we could fight this foe together.
Thranduil walked on. Ahead the battle loomed. He drew his blade.
“Do not despair!”
The King joined the fray. |
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| Happy Thanksgiving |
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| 07:17am 24/11/2005 |
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mood:  relieved
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I suppose, I should talk about what I'm thankful for, and I am thankful for a lot of things.....however, recent heartache has forshadowed my thankfulness. Yet, I'm still going to attempt a "why I'm thankful" type post.
I'm thankful because:( see my list ) |
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