Authors Note: To Rita Orca, thanks for the stellar review! I can see how Legolas' behaviour could be interpreted as cold. He was in major denial...he knew deep down he had made an error, that Elrohir was more invested than he had told himself...and he tried desperately to ignore that. He didn't want anything to have changed between them! Too bad, so sad... it has, Legolas!

Maewen: Minas Tirith, Fourth Age.

I love watching Legolas.

He sighs and rolls his eyes when he catches me but it does not stop me. He captivates me and I can not look away; for he is beautiful, though he would not wish me to say it.

Today, as we ride through Minas Tirith I am behind him, the narrow streets necessitate it. We cannot ride two abreast. And so I can watch to my hearts delight, the swing of his hair, the golden glints where it catches the light, the straight back, the strong limbs. So beautiful, and I cannot even see his face. It is hard to believe he is still mine.

I almost lost him, foolishly, due to my selfish ignorance. He came back from war a different Legolas and I could not see that beneath the changes he was still there, I could not accept his new friends—they frightened me. I did not want to leave my home to live in strange lands even if I went with him.

But I have grown, have spread my wings and let go of my fear. I can ride through this city of mortals without distrust or anxiety. I have travelled far and wide, beyond the borders of my woods. I have friends who are both Men and dwarven.

And I have done it all because Legolas holds my hand.

"Maewen,"

He turns back to look at me, his eyes sparkling and mischievous,

"Shall we go straight to Aragorn? Or shall we take some time to see the sights first?"

"Elessar, expects you! You cannot go meandering through the city keeping him waiting, Legolas. The guards at the gates will have sent word we are here." He is in a good mood today, fun-loving, light-hearted, and it makes me smile to see it, but if he wanders into the city to explore it will be hours before I manage to extricate him.

"Ah, you are right," he smiles his brilliant smile at me. The one which makes even the sun seem less than it is. "Aragorn will nag me endlessly if I am late. Being King has made him so tedious!"

He does not mean it of course. The Gondorian King is as a brother to him. Legolas remains here, in Arda, despite the sea-longing just for Elessar, because he cannot bear to part from him.

I used to dislike the King of Men, I used to fear him. I would watch him from the shadows and wish he was not there, not a part of Legolas' life. I would wish Legolas did not love him quite so much for I knew the pain that was bound to bring in the future. I blamed the King for that, for the fact one day Legolas would weep at his death, and I would be the one left to try and put the shattered pieces of him back together.

Legolas has already lost one brother and I know what that has done to him. The thought of him losing another is far too painful to contemplate.

On this day though, Elessar is still young, Legolas is still happy and all that trouble lies ahead of us.

And me?

I have seen Elessar's love for Legolas. I have seen the tenacity with which he clings to their friendship. His determination to overcome any obstacles there are between them. I have seen Legolas' devastation when they were sundered and I have watched as Elessar guided him back to wholeness.

I cannot wish for them to be apart any longer. I know how cruel that would be. It is cruel either way, apart or together the future is bleak for them and all I can do for Legolas is to be there when he falls.

Legolas has been distracted lately. His mind often flits from one thing to another, it is how he has always been but this is different. The sea calls to him more loudly these last few weeks and it makes him inattentive and wild. So I have encouraged this journey to Minas Tirith in the hope Elessar will be able to anchor him, will keep his feet on the ground and remind him why he is still here.

It has been too long since we have been here and I know it was the right thing to come when we see the King waiting for us and Legolas is off his horse in a flash, the cobblestones between them disappearing rapidly beneath his long strides.

"Aragorn!" He is effusive in his delight to see his friend and Legolas, when he is delighted, is effervescent. Try as he might he cannot stand still! He dances around Elessar like a wild sprite and the King laughs as he struggles to pin him down to greet him properly.

"What have you been up to Legolas?" He asks smiling as he does so. "It has been so long since you were last here and your letters have been most unreliable."

"I have written!" Legolas is most indignant, "I have written often, Aragorn. You cannot acccuse me of a lack of communication this time."

"You have written, yes, but your letters have been filled with the greenness of the trees, the singing of the birds and the clearness of the skies. Any information on the running of Ithilien I have had to glean from Faramir. . . Or Erynion."

And Legolas tilts his head at that as though he does not understand it although I know full well he does.

"I thought that was important information, Aragorn. Is that not why you have dragged me here? To rejuvenate the forests of Ithilien?"

But those letters are a window into Legolas' soul and though he jokes with Elessar now, what they show us is not good. For he struggles to bring his attention to the here and now. He takes himself to the trees too often, so Erynion must send out people to watch over him and keep him safe. And I know, though Elessar does not say it, that as well as the trees and the birds those letters will also have been filled with the roar of the sea, the smell of salt and the spray on the wind, as Legolas' mind itself is filled with that.

Still, for now they greet each other and are joyful and I breathe a sigh of relief for surely the King can focus Legolas where I cannot. The sea-longing is a mystery to me, Legolas is reluctant to speak to me of it and I am helpless in the face it.

I decide I will leave them alone. Then Elessar can concentrate on reigning in Legolas' wildness and Legolas can be himself, without distraction from me. Once upon a time I was afraid of this city, I could not walk through its streets alone and even the corridors of the palace were intimidating. I am that girl no longer. It is no problem to me to farewell my love, who pretends reluctance at my departure, despite the fact I know he longs for time alone with his friend. It is easy to stroll off on my own. I know where I am, I know the mortal faces who surround me and I know where I am headed; to our room.

We always stay in the same one when we are here and when I arrive it is so familiar it almost feels like home. I never thought anywhere in this city of stone which used to be so alien would be able to capture that feeling of coming home for me—but this room does.

Arwen has been here before me.

I can see it by the little things. Although much time has past since our last visit it does not feel unlived in. The doors to our balcony are thrown open wide and a soft breeze circulates, bringing the world outside within the stone walls. I am glad of that for without it I can feel caged, and Legolas too, especially when he is consumed by this wildness. I wonder then how much of those random, flitting letters Elessar has shared with the Evenstar? Arwen will know what they mean.

She truly has bought the outside in, for the room is filled with greenery. Potted plants in every corner, their green leaves softening the stark grey walls. Ivy winds tendrils through cracks in the stone. Oh, this will give Legolas a bolthole he can retreat to if the tension overwhelms him! Surely the scent of the flowers will drown out the salt of the sea. Arwen has thought of everything and I do not know why I am surprised at that. Of course she has.

And so I sit and wait—outside—on our balcony, gazing over the city beneath me. I like to do this. The people, scurrying like ants along the paths, fascinate me. I hear the boy bringing our bags to leave inside the door but I do not call out to him. I would only intimidate him anyway. The mortals here are still afraid of us. No matter how often we visit they look at us with a mixture of awe and fear. It used to upset me but Legolas accepts it with grace and charm so I have learned to follow his lead. Still I avoid distressing them if I can.

It is probably hours before he returns to me, but it does not seem that long. I let my mind follow the people on their journeys through the streets. I wonder where they go? What do they do? Do they go home to families? Are they shopping? Working? I imagine their stories and time disappears without me knowing it.

But as distracted as I am, the instant Legolas sets foot in the door, I know something is wrong.

When I left him his fea was glowing, a dancing, twisting, joyous light rejoicing at the reunion with Elessar. Now, as he enters, all I can feel is distress. He is chaotic and agitated, a tangle of emotion I struggle to decipher and I wonder. . . What has happened? Legolas and Elessar can sometimes clash. Some days they chafe against each others point of view. But Elessar spoke of those letters, he knows Legolas' state of mind. Surely he will have shown patience when it was needed? And Legolas was so happy to see him . . .

"Maewen?" There is hesitance when he calls my name. A hope I am here alongside a fear I am not. I hear it all.

"I am here!" I reply, "Outside, Legolas."

He smiles when he sees me but it is no longer the radiant beam of before, instead it wavers.

"I am sorry I deserted you." The first thing out of his mouth is an apology. Why is he suddenly so anxious?

"You did not desert me. I chose to leave. I wished to be bored by the company of men no longer!" I try to lighten him, to restore him to the creature he was when we arrived but I am not successful.

He sits beside me then and sighs. A long sad release of breath and now I touch him I can feel turmoil within him even more strongly.

"What is wrong?" There is no point attempting to be tactful with Legolas. Unless I am direct he will never tell me what bothers him.

"Nothing." It is a reflex answer and I glare at him. He knows better than to think he could get away with that. In the end he shrugs and gives up his pretence, rather more rapidly than I expected.

"The Elrondionath are here."

And with those four words I know exactly what is wrong.

For the Sons of Elrond do not like Legolas.

This is not what I wanted for him. I wanted him to relax here, to be strengthened by the love of his friend, not to face the Noldor's scorn and derision, their utter disdain for him. It is not what he needs. Why do they have to be here now? I would not have bought him had I known.

I do not understand it, whatever it is that lies between the three of them. I do not understand why they think so little of him. Why do they make their dislike so obvious? What is there not to like about Legolas; can they not see his light?

And Legolas, who would normally shrug it off, who is a son of Thranduil through and through, and would hold his head high and ignore others insults cannot do that with them. Why does he let them affect him so badly? Why does he retaliate so aggressively even when I know he does not wish to?

The explanations he gives me when I ask are lacklustre and unspecific. They do not give me the answers I want but I have long ago given up asking.

He sits now, in a huddle, legs drawn to his chest with his arms wrapped around them and unhappiness flows from Him. Concern for him floods through me.

"Have you seen them?"

"No," he shakes his head and I am relieved at that. "But Aragorn says Elrohir is in a foul mood," he sighs, "So that does not bode well for me, if he is like that even before he knows I am here. Perhaps we should go home, Maewen?"

It is so unlike him. He does not run. He stands and fights, and I think it is the sea talking.

"The Peredhel will not scare us off!" I smile as I say it but I do not recieve an answering one. "You came here to see your friend and you will. If they do not like it that is their problem."

But I know it is not as simple as that. And I know, if their presence agrivates his wildness, then I will take him home. We will simply have to visit Elessar again when they have gone.

He leans against me then, his head rests upon my chest and I brush his hair from where it falls across his face. I rub the tension away that has wound itself through his shoulders. I reach for his fea and smooth those ragged edges, undo the knots it has tangled itself into. If only I could reach the sea. If only I could wipe that clean and let him be free.

"I know I have been distracted lately, and difficult, I am sorry, Maewen. I am tired, I am tired of fighting. At the moment it seems running is preferable."

I knew that was how it was with him, that his fleeing to the trees was him runnning from the sea, trying to escape it clutches, but he is failing at that so badly. I have to let Elessar have the time to steady him, time that Legolas so desperately needs.

"Do not apologise for something you cannot control." I place my hand over his firmly for I want him to know that I mean this. "Anyway; Legolas, the boy who could not sit still, the one who ran to the trees, That is the Legolas I fell in love with. Never apologise to me for being that!"

And it is true, Flightly, silvan Legolas who danced and sang, whose mind flitted through paths the rest of us struggled to follow, who lived for the trees, that is the Legolas who first won my heart. Legolas before he lost Laerion and become mired in guilt, Legolas before he wrapped himself in the lives of mortals and was buried with grief, Legolas as he was this morning dancing with joy upon the sight of Elessar. I love him.

And the Elrondionath have come along and ruined it all.

I love Legolas,

but I do notlike them.