Part Thirty-One
Rúmil was mortified that he had fallen asleep during what was supposed to have been his
watch. Why had Arwen not woken him? The last thing he recalled was her singing, and
pulling his head down into her lap. She smelled so good, like a sweet flower he had never
found in Lórien but remembered from his visits to Imladris. He knew not the name of it,
but the scent filled him with longing.
Arwen had done naught but annoy him and order him around (and encourage Erestor to
order him around as well) all day, but when night had fallen, she somehow took on a
different light. She seemed softer, more enticing. Less irritating. Perhaps this was why she
was called the Evenstar. When the orc attack had come, Rúmil knew he would have given
his life for her. In retrospect, he was glad it had not come to that.
He toyed with the idea of staying and bothering Orophin, who had woken him up so
unceremoniously and who so obviously wanted to be alone with Amroth, but he was too
tired to get up to such antics. Besides, Arwen would probably only stop him. It was best
to go back to the clearing where the others were camped and get what rest he could.
Arwen held his hand as they walked back, and he found that he liked this feeling of having
their fingers entwined.
Elrond and Erestor were asleep by the fire, which Thranduil sat stirring with a stick. He
appeared to be cooking something in the flames. Rúmil's stomach growled at the thought
of food. He had consumed very little of his dinner before the orcs had attacked and
distracted them all from their meal. There was no sign of Haldir or Legolas, and Rúmil
figured that this was a good thing. He hoped that they had mended their fences, and that
what he had done had not caused an impossible rift between them.
Arwen sat down on the far side of the fire from the three other elves and pulled Rúmil
down beside her. He sat down heavily, too close, but found he did not wish to move away.
He glanced guiltily at Elrond, but he was sound asleep, and Thranduil did not look up
from his task.
Arwen ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "It is a mess."
"What is?" said Rúmil.
"My hair… my brush was lost with most of my clothing."
"It looks fine," Rúmil mumbled.
"It is tangled."
Rúmil ran a hand through his own hair. It felt much neater than he anticipated. "Mine
isn't."
"I combed it through with my fingers and fixed your braids while you were sleeping on my
lap," Arwen said. Her words made Thranduil perk up. The King of Mirkwood grinned at
them. Rúmil felt a blush creep over his cheeks.
"I recovered my brush," Thranduil said, getting up and pulling it out of a recess in his
cloak. "Please, princess, take it. I would not have you suffer with snarled locks."
Rúmil frowned, not sure if Thranduil was making fun of her or not, but the Elvenking did
have the longest hair of all of them there, except perhaps Arwen.
"Thank you," Arwen said gratefully. "I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this."
"Perhaps Rúmil will help you with the tangles," Thranduil said.
Rúmil felt no desire to help Arwen brush her hair. "What are you cooking, Lord
Thranduil?" he said, attempting to change the subject.
"Something for breakfast in the morning. It will take a while," Thranduil said. "I may even
need more wood to keep it going."
Rúmil waited for Thranduil to order him to fetch some more firewood. Meanwhile he took
the brush from Arwen's hand, hoping he could pretend he was already occupied. Brushing
Arwen's hair was far preferable to having to get up again. Thranduil, however,
disappeared into the wood, leaving the two of them alone but for her sleeping father and
his advisor.
"Well?" said Arwen after a few moments of silence.
"Well what?"
"Are you going to just sit there holding the brush, or are you going to use it?"
Rúmil bit his tongue. He would have liked to turn her over his lap and use the brush to
paddle her, but telling her such was probably not a wise idea. Arwen turned her back
towards him and Rúmil began the chore. Neither of them spoke as he very carefully
untangled the knots in her long, dark hair. He had to take apart her elaborate braids, and
he knew he would never be able to fix them again quite so nicely.
"I will not be able to restore your plaits," he said, sounding more apologetic than he felt.
"Orophin is far more skilled at this than I am. I will ask him to fix them for you
tomorrow."
"Perhaps I will leave it loose for a while," Arwen said lightly.
"I am surprised."
"Why? Think you I am vain?"
"I know you are vain. Almost as vain as Haldir!" Rúmil said chuckling. Arwen turned
around and glared at him.
"Haldir is not vain."
"Oh, but he is. He bathes more than any other elf in Lórien, and owns more clothing
besides."
"I am certain that as Marchwarden, he needs more clothes than you do," Arwen said
frostily.
"He has more clothing than Galadriel."
"That I do not believe."
"I am surprised you have not gone through his clothing, so often are you in his talan,"
Rúmil said. He meant to tease, but a blush stained Arwen's pale cheeks.
"I am not there so often," she said softly.
"More often than you are in mine." Did he sound jealous? Was he?
"We might be able to change that," Arwen said lightly.
Rúmil felt a curl of desire deep inside. He wondered if he had not underestimated Elrond's
daughter. After all, she had showed no fear in the battle, and she was almost as good an
archer as he was. She had not taken the chance she had been given to hide, and she had
gone with him to retrieve arrows from the bodies of the slain orcs, staining her only
remaining clothing in the process. And he was telling her she was vain? Suddenly he felt
like a bastard.
"Might we?" Rúmil whispered, leaning closer to her. He licked his lips. He wanted to kiss
her. He glanced at Elrond, but he showed no sign of waking.
Arwen looked into his eyes with her mysterious blue-grey orbs. He was going to get
himself in trouble, but trouble and Rúmil were fast friends. Very slowly he touched his lips
to hers. There was tenderness in this exchange, unlike the wild kiss she had pressed on him
a few nights past. She had told Orophin that she was in love with him, with Rúmil. Could
it be true? Could he ever feel the same?
He set down the brush and enfolded her in his arms. Arwen did not protest. In fact, her
arms slipped around him and she pulled him closer. Rúmil felt his heart begin to race in his
chest. Their mouths remained locked together, dancing softly. He stroked her back with
his hands and she made a soft noise in her throat that stirred him. Soon he lowered her
onto her back in the grass, sliding on top of her body, cradling her against him.
Arwen was wearing a long riding tunic that resembled a gown, with leggings beneath it. It
was the same color as her eyes, and Rúmil easily slid his hand beneath the split skirt over
her thigh. He was debating how difficult it would be to get the leggings off of her when he
heard Erestor's voice.
"Arwen!"
Rúmil froze, lifting his head form Arwen's kiss-swollen lips. He looked at her in terror but
she simply smiled at him.
"Go back to sleep, Erestor," she said.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" the advisor hissed. Rúmil looked up to see him
looming over them. Reluctantly he let go of Arwen just as Erestor seized him by the ear
and hauled him painfully to his feet.
"Ow! Let go!"
Arwen jumped to her feet as well, batting Erestor's hand away from Rúmil's ear. "Let him
be, Erestor."
"What do you think your father is going to say when he finds out about this, young lady?"
Erestor said. "You are lucky that I do not wake him right this moment."
"I think he will say he has found himself a Galadhrim son-in-law, and that Rúmil must set
about proving himself worthy to wed the Lady of Imladris," said Thranduil. He was sitting
by the fire again, which he seemed to have rebuilt, and Rúmil wondered how long he had
been there, watching him attempt to get inside Arwen's leggings. He had a feeling he
might have succeeded had Erestor not awakened.
His mouth dropped open and he stared at Thranduil in horror. "Marry her?"
"What in Arda makes you think I would consider marrying Rúmil?" Arwen said, laughing.
Despite the fact that he had the same thought, Rúmil was insulted. He turned back to
Arwen with a scowl. "Why would you not marry me? I thought you were in love with
me!"
Arwen's face turned red, and Rúmil heard Thranduil chuckle. "Maybe I am and maybe I'm
not, Rúmil of Lórien, but I certainly never had any intention of marrying you."
"What exactly is going on?" Elrond had awakened. Great. This was all Rúmil needed.
"Arwen, you are too young to speak of marriage. Go back to sleep."
"I was not asleep."
"Nonsense, Elrond, she is plenty old enough. Let her marry the Galadhrim," said
Thranduil.
Elrond seemed to awaken a little bit more. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, then stood when
he saw that everyone else was on their feet. "Haldir?"
"Rúmil!" said Arwen.
"What?" said Rúmil.
"My daughter-- you wish to marry Rúmil?" Elrond said, looking both confused and
concerned. "Rúmil, do you wish to marry Arwen?"
"Yes!" said Rúmil just as Arwen said "No!"
"No!" Rúmil changed his answer just as Arwen changed hers to "Yes!"
Rúmil looked at Arwen in frustration. "Well, which is it?"
"Are you proposing to me, Rúmil?" Arwen demanded.
"I--"
"It sounds that way to me," Thranduil said cheerfully. "To the happy couple!" He lifted up
a bottle of wine and drank from it.
"Where did you get that?" Erestor asked, looking enviously at the bottle.
"Not everything was smashed by the orcs," Thranduil said, smirking.
Arwen looked at Elrond. "Father--"
"I have always told you that you could follow your heart, Arwen. If you wish to marry
Rúmil, then I am certain he will prove himself worthy of you."
Rúmil could not believe his ears. "I am in no way worthy of her," he said.
"That is true," said Erestor. "Lord Elrond, I do not think this is a wise idea."
"That is because you do not know what it is like to be in love, Erestor," Elrond said.
Arwen stood there looking just as thunderstruck as Rúmil felt. Rúmil looked at Thranduil.
"May I have that?" he asked, indicating the bottle.
"Certainly," Thranduil replied, handing it to him. Rúmil lifted the bottle to his lips, but it
was empty. He sighed.
"Go back to sleep, Erestor. We may discuss this further tomorrow," Elrond said, settling
back down onto the ground. After a moment, the chief advisor sank onto the grass.
Thranduil disappeared into the trees again. Rúmil turned and looked at Arwen.
Marry her? She was beautiful, and it was true that he desired her, but marriage? The idea
was insane. Arwen was staring at her father and Erestor, and when they had both closed
their eyes, she lifted her finger to her lips, motioning to Rúmil that he should follow her
quietly.
Arwen led him away from the camp site deeper into the wood. They turned a bend and
emerged at a bank of the stream that was separated from the rest by the trees. The moon
shone down to silver the waters and her hair.
Arwen," Rúmil said sensibly, "We cannot possibly--"
"Shhh," she whispered, winding her arms around him and cutting off his words with a kiss.
"One must never say never."
Arwen pulled Rúmil down into the grass. When she reached for the fastenings of his tunic,
he fell quiet and let her do as she wished.
