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Are you totally in love with Prance yet??? Who could blame Patty for wanting to cuff him to the headboard--except she doesn't have one! Anybody got an extra they could lend her? Something sturdy?

Tissue warning.


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Chapter Thirty



Hours later, he was still keeping watch over her. Exhaustion had finally claimed her, just like it eventually did with all humans. She was so beautiful when she slept, her tiny hand clasped in his, her pink lips still pouting from all the ravishing they had received, her luxurious hair spread across his shoulder, her delicate long eyelashes just brushing the skin of her upper cheeks. He truly wanted to stay here forever, to go through life by her side.

He found himself softly finishing the song, one more time.


“Ladee, ar u haeppie,
Du u feal de wae I du,
Ar dere meeningz dat u’be neber sean beafoer?
Ladee, my sweeat ladee,
I jest caen’t beeleeve id’z truew
An id’s liek I’be neber eber lubbed beafoer.

Cloez ur eyez an reast ur weery miend;
I proemis I weel stae rite hear beesied u
Todae owr libez weare joeyned, beecaem entwiend
I weesh dat u culd knoe hoew muech I lubb u.

Ladee, u’be bean dreeming,
I’m az cloes az I kin bea
An I sware tu u owr tiem haz jest beegun.”




Alas, the life of an elven warrior was an unforgiving one. His future was already determined, his fate already sealed. His life was much like that of Mr. Spock’s from the Star Trek show on al’s television. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. He knew he had no choice.

As she slept, he wriggled out from under her. She moaned in her sleep, which he found so intensely appealing that he almost tossed fate to the winds and crawled right back into her arms. Fighting his own emotions, he made his way to the dresser and quietly opened the little drawers, pushing aside her pretty things and matching pieces, eventually finding what it was he was searching for in the second drawer down.

He found a piece of stationery beside the computer, took a purple ink pen, and wrote to her.

Deerist Meleth,

I goe tu preepaer a plase fur us. It weel bea a plase of grate beuwtee, woerthie of u aloen. A plase dat iz saef fur owr cheeldrin, frea frum eevil an haetrid. I weel wate der fur u. Keap dis tikit tu reemiend u of my lub wile we muest bea paertid.

I lub u.

Legolas




On to Chapter Thirty-one
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