Authors Note: I apologize for the tardiness of posting this chapter! I've been very busy with life stuff these past few months… blah… but anyway, here it is finally! I hope everyone enjoys! Thanks to Lu Am for beta-ing, and to all of you who were patient enough to keep checking back! I hope there will never be such a long lag again! And just remember, the fic isn't over until you see THE END! So don't get worried if it takes awhile for me to update… I've also started an Orlando Bloom fanfic which is taking up more of time too, the link to that if you're interested will be posted under my Bio section on my ff.net profile! Well enjoy, and thanks for your patience! ^_^
Best, Lossefalme
Chapter Seven: Lonely Lingerings
Though Steadyfoot was not as fast as Arod Legolas covered nearly two days worth of land in a day and a night. He'd ridden hard since first leaving the city, only pausing to look for signs that would assure him he was on Aragorn and Gimli's trail.
Yet the miles of land now between him and Laimea had done nothing to lessen the turmoil within him. She had been on his mind nearly the whole journey already, and no matter how fast he rode his horse away from her, her voice still echoed in his head and her image wavered before his eyes. No matter what other things he tried to busy himself with, his focus always returned to the woman. There were too many things she had said that he didn't understand, and a part of him regretted not going back to talk to her again.
Legolas prodded Steadyfoot into a trot again, but the weary horse was reluctant to speed up. Legolas had become ever the more anxious to meet up with his friends, knowing a talk with Aragorn could settle his mind well enough. The Elf had ridden Steadyfoot too hard, and knew it. He let the horse drop into a walk again and patted it's sweaty neck sorrowfully.
"I am sorry, my good friend," he told the horse softly. "We will rest soon, you have my word."
Steadyfoot made no answer, but kept his slow, plodding pace on through the night. In the late hours of that night Legolas saw the dim glow of a small fire on the dark horizon some distance ahead. He stopped his horse and watched a moment, then slipped off the animal's back and jogged ahead in the deepening dark. He drew an arrow from his quiver and held it ready against his bow, creeping toward the fire slowly.
Steadyfoot followed him and Legolas waved the horse away, knowing it would make too much noise if the creators of the fire proved to be hostile. Once the horse had resorted to grazing Legolas resumed his walk, crouching low to the grasses.
He'd gone only a few yards farther when the fire's glow abruptly went out, plunging the distance into blackness once again. The Elf dropped flat to the ground immediately and stayed there, waiting and listening. But nothing moved in the light of the moon save Steadyfoot, and the only sound was that of the insects on the plain.
Legolas crept carefully forward once again, his muscles tensed, moving ever closer to where the fire had been. But as he drew nearer he saw no sign of Gimli or Aragorn. Legolas searched the area ceaselessly with all his senses, growing more concerned with the passing of each silent moment. He straightened from his crouch cautiously, his arrow strung and ready, his fingers twitching anxiously against the carved wood of his bow.
He came to the remains of the small fire and stood over the smoking ashes, looking around in confusion. He circled the area once, then twice, searching vainly for any signs of who had been there. It smelled of Aragorn and Gimli, yet they were nowhere to be found. He wondered if they had decided to travel at night. But then he would have heard hooves moving away in the darkness . . . Legolas sighed, silently admitting to himself Aragorn was a better tracker than he.
Perhaps in the daylight he would have been able to tell where they had gone . . . Legolas froze at a noise. Then it came again, soft as a whisper and yet undeniable. It was the restless shifting of a horse, followed by the briefest sound of footsteps on grass. He crouched again, sweeping his gaze over the land around him. He went toward the sound quickly.
He'd nearly reached it when a voice stopped him cold.
"Halt and identify yourself!"
Legolas spun toward the voice instinctively, arrow raised, but then he lowered the weapon hastily as he recognized the voice. "Do not fire!" he called out. "It is I, Legolas, come from Minas Tirith."
Aragorn stepped out into full sight from behind a boulder not far away. Legolas watched his friend come down the small rise toward him and scolded himself for not realizing the boulder as an obvious shelter. The man put away his bow and arrow and Legolas did the same.
"We guessed it was you," Aragorn said quietly, "but thought it wise to be sure before revealing ourselves."
Legolas nodded in understanding, looking around subtly for Gimli. "Why did you move from the fire?" he asked, concerned he'd lost his focus enough to have given himself away to them while still at a distance.
But Aragorn put that fear to rest. "We have done so the past two nights. A fire on these plains is too easily seen, as you have proven even this night. We have built only brief fires, and then we make our camp elsewhere, so that the flame cannot be a beacon to any chance wonderers."
Legolas nodded again, and still having seen not a hair of the Dwarf, finally asked, "Where is Gimli?"
"Ha!" came a shout, and Legolas whirled to his right. Gimli appeared over another small rise, using the long handle of his axe as a walking stick to aid him up the incline. He stopped at the top, fixing Legolas with a haughty smile and leaning on his weapon. "What is this? You mean the Elf did not already know we were here? It seems this Dwarf does not breathe so loudly as your Elven kin had thought!"
Legolas half smiled at Gimli's last statement; pride overflowed the Dwarf's voice for having supposedly proved Haldir's accusation false. But the statement also did more to disturb Legolas . . . had Gimli simply gotten better at being stealthy, or had his attention been so divided of late he'd missed the obvious?
Legolas swallowed hard at the thought. He could not allow himself to be so distracted. Not when such a thing could be life threatening to himself or his friends.
Aragorn saw the change in the Elf's face and frowned. "What is it?" he asked in concern. "Did you not find peace in your farewells?"
Legolas stared at Aragorn mutely for a moment, knowing the man spoke of Laimea. His jaw clenched as the memory of her parting went through his mind for the millionth time since he'd left Minas Tirith. He cleared his throat and answered solemnly. "There is little peace to be had anywhere in these times, Aragorn. And farewells are oft unwanted and bitter." The Elf let out a deep breath. "Mine was no different."
Aragorn frowned at the words, his brow creased with either confusion or worry. "What did you tell her about Mirkwood then?" the man asked, obviously referring to the discussion they had had before.
Legolas brought his gaze back to Aragorn briefly and saw his friend already knew what he would say. Legolas turned away, walking several steps before once again facing both Aragorn and Gimli. "I told her I may not be able to keep that promise," he admitted. "But I also told her that if I was at all able, and my duties allowed it, I would keep it, and go back for her."
Gimli's eyes widened at the statement, but Legolas watched Aragorn, and held the man's steady stare with his own.
"But it matters not," Legolas added, and his voice cut. "She refused my invitation. It seems she has deceived me these many long days, for not until we reached the city did I learn she loathes my kind, and would no longer accept my company or my counsel. That was her farewell to me!"
Legolas whirled away from his friends, unable to face them at the moment, and walked a few steps, struggling to gain control of the sudden anger that had taken hold of him. He forced the tight fists of his hands to open and inhaled the night air deeply. A distinct silence stretched out between the three of them, but a long moment passed before Legolas turned around to once again face Aragorn and Gimli.
"I am sorry," the Elf said quietly, somber but free of the hurt that had darkened his fair features just earlier. "I did not mean to speak so harshly."
Aragorn shook his head dismissively. "All is already forgiven, my friend."
Legolas gave the man a grateful nod, and another odd silence fell on them. Gimli looked from Legolas to Aragorn, and then, unable to bear the quiet any longer, he spoke: "Legolas . . . am I to take it you had invited the lady of Gondor to your home of Mirkwood?"
"Ai," Legolas acknowledged quietly. "I had."
Gimli contemplated what had been said again. "But how could she refuse such an invitation?" he asked. "And if what you tell us of the lady Laimea is true, and I'm sure it is, then why do you suppose she wouldn't have said such things to you sooner?"
Legolas turned to look into the far distance where Minas Tirith rested, now many leagues away. He shook his head, feeling his previous frustration replaced by a deep sadness he did not fully understand. "I do not know why, Gimli," he answered. "She said many things I did not understand." He brought his eyes back to Gimli suddenly, remembering the odd phrase Laimea had spoken, and his bright gaze sharpened with eagerness. "Gimli, my friend," the Elf said, "I would ask of you a favor."
The Dwarf arched his thick eyebrows. "And what favor would you ask of me, Legolas?"
Legolas very carefully asked the question he'd been dying to find the answer to since the strange words had left Laimea's mouth. "I would ask you to tell me, if you can, what you make of the phrase murtakk or elgi-u-galaz?"
Gimli's eyes widened and Legolas stepped toward his friend readily, unable to stop himself. "Then you can understand it?"
Gimli looked up to the much taller Elf, a small smile on his lips. "Well yes, Master Elf, I understand it. Despite your muddled pronunciation of the words, they are of the Dwarvish tongue."
Legolas ignored Gimli's soft rebuke, too interested in learning the meaning of the words to care at the moment. "Please," he asked the Dwarf, "I beg of you, tell me of what they speak. Their meaning has been a maddening riddle to me since I left that city."
"I fear the meaning would depend greatly on who spoke such a thing," Gimli informed his anxious friend.
Legolas tilted his head to once side, eying the Dwarf suspiciously. But his curiosity was too great, and he had a secret hope the translation of these words would hold some kind of clue to Laimea. "The lady Laimea of Gondor spoke them," Legolas finally told Gimli, "as her last words to me." There was an odd tone of defensiveness in this voice at the statement, but if the others noticed they said nothing about it.
Gimli stroked his beard, his face falling into concentration for a moment. Then he shook his head slowly, though the barest of smiles still remained. "Hrmm," he murmured at last. "Then I think such words are best explained by the sweet lips that first spoke them."
Legolas peered at Gimli, wondering at his friend's strange reply. Sweet lips? Legolas thought, and he mentally shook his head. Laimea's lips had been anything but sweet that night. Even her kiss, which he had found himself wishing for in the days before they reached Minas Tirith, had stung that night. If what she had said to him was indeed all true, her lips had only spoken lies to him before, and had never been sweet.
He swallowed hard, his eyes once again focusing on Gimli, who stood waiting patiently. "Then you will not tell me the wards in a tongue I can understand?" Legolas asked once more, his voice subdued with disappointment.
Gimli shook his head again, raising one eyebrow. "If she had wanted you to know the meaning of such words, friend Elf, then she would have spoken them to you in Elvish."
Legolas scowled at the smart remark. "Then why say anything at all, if the person you are speaking to won't understand your words?" he demanded.
Gimli snorted. "Perhaps you should ask your Elven kindred in Lothlorien that question," he said. "I seem to remember them speaking many words I did not understand when we first reached that forest."
Legolas shook his head once. "They did not do it with the intent to confuse any of us. They knew Aragorn and I would understand at least."
Gimli straightened his stance. "But they knew full well that we Dwarves know little of Elvish, just as your kind know even less of my tongue, and still they spoke those foreign words, having not the courtesy to use a language all of us could understand!"
Legolas moved toward Gimli, fully prepared to argue the subject, but Aragorn stepped in between them, stopping the dispute with a stern look.
"Gentlemen," the man warned softly, "I think it would be best if we camp, and get some rest. We must set out ere the dawn, and it is already nearly upon us. We still have a long ride till Isengard."
Legolas watched Gimli silently for a second more, and the Dwarf met his eyes evenly. But then the Elf turned to Aragorn and nodded, letting go of his frustration toward Gimli and his immediate want to discuss Laimea with Aragorn. That could wait until another day. Aragorn was right, they still had a long ride to Isengard; he had many days to talk about her, and then he would have many more days after that to try and get her out of his mind.
The thought offered little comfort to him though as the three of them moved behind the boulder and putdown their sleeping blankets. Legolas volunteered to watch first, as he knew he would not be able to sleep with so much of what Laimea had said still unsettled in his mind. There was little talking after that, only a swift exchange of goodnights before Aragorn and Gimli both lied down, obviously exhausted.
When their breathing had fallen to the slow and even pace of slumber Legolas climbed up to sit on top of the boulder, looking out to the east across the broad expanse of the nearly flat plains. They sky above offered little light from stars or moon, but the impenetrable blackness of the White Mountains could still be seen rising up in jagged lines off to his left. He followed their shape westward to look behind him, where far away the Misty Mountains also blotted out a section of sky, leaving only a small area of open sky between them . . . the Gap of Rohan.
Legolas thought of their time in Edoras and sighed. That seemed like so long ago, as did even the battle of Helm's Deep now. He looked again to the White Mountains, thinking of his first days of travel with Laimea. Gandalf had meant his journey with the woman to give him something to do while the others were busy repairing the fortress . . . it had been meant as a distraction from the mass graves of Elves and Men, from the guilt he felt at having to see the broken wall every dawn, the wall he still felt should not have fallen.
Legolas closed his eyes wearily. Laimea had surely distracted him from it, but here it was again, that familiar feeling of having done less than he could have to prevent that Orc from getting through. And now he had left Laimea behind in Minas Tirith, as had been his duty, but it still felt wrong. He contemplated the rider's message again and went over his conversation with Gimli that night.
I should have gone back, he thought in dismay. She left a message for me, no matter if it was a lie or not. It was a message . . . perhaps she had wanted to talk to me again. Legolas frowned to himself. But then why would she have lied about her whereabouts? He shook his head finally, unable to understand the reasoning behind it and tired of trying to figure it out.
But I lied as much as she, he thought sadly. I told her I would come back for her, and then I did not even wait for her after hearing her message. I should have waited for her, regardless of what she'd said to me before. Legolas stood on the boulder, suddenly flooded with regret, and looked toward the city, straining to catch merely a glimmer of one of its towers. He longed to ride back and talk once more to Laimea, as he was now sure he should have done when he'd had the chance. But that also would have to wait now, if it would ever happen at all.
Legolas squinted, searching for one last glimpse of Minas Tirith before he and his friends turned their backs on it for good. But he saw nothing save endless shades of black overlooked by the faint stars above. The city had been lost in the distance, and he feared Laimea had been lost with it.
***
Laimea sat on the old stone bench under the wavering shade of her family's orchard, staring out at the neat rows of trunks and breathing in the sweet scent of the fruit trees. She gripped the haft of her sword in her right hand, the blade laid bare across her skirt on her lap, sparkling as the shadows of the sun moved over it. But she wasn't looking at the sword, or at the trees with their dark green leaves. Her eyes focused inward on memories, both old and new.
It had been three days since Legolas had ridden away from her, and yet the grief of his departure had not lessened with the passing of the days. She had watched him ride away; then saw him turn around once, and for the briefest of moments her heart had leapt in hope, for he had ridden back to the city. But as she stood longer at that wall, looking out to the northwest, feeling her heart pounding furiously in her temples, she had seen him once again riding away, and he didn't look back.
Laimea sighed heavily. A breeze kicked up and blew her skirt against her legs. She looked down to the sword on her knees, but she didn't notice the beauty of such a spring day. Legolas had opened an old feeling of emptiness within her the night he'd told her he'd come back for her, and nothing seemed the same as it had been before. It was a void Laimea had never been able to fill or heal, but over the years she had learned to ignore it.
Until she'd started to feel too strongly for Legolas. Until he'd offered to take her to all the forests of the Elves . . .
Laimea looked down to the sword on her knees, running her finger along the engraved Elvish script. Tears stung her eyes and she shook her head, physically as well as mentally refusing them. Legolas had invited her to Mirkwood at the beginning of their journey, and then she had accepted, thinking it would not hurt to go someplace she had never been. But that was before she'd gotten so close to him . . . and visiting an elvenhome would be difficult enough as it was without going in the company of an Elf she'd gotten so attached to.
Laimea raised a hand and pressed it to her forehead, as if she could push away all such torturous thoughts of Legolas and his kindred. It had been a huge mistake to allow him to travel with her, she realized now. His presence had brought up memories long forgotten, and had rekindled feelings she had hoped to bury forever. Going to Mirkwood with him would have been too much to bear, and if she had dared to go with him to any of the other Elf havens of Middle-Earth, Laimea wasn't sure she'd even return.
And so she had bared her feelings to him that night in front of the guesthouse, and made herself refuse his offer to come back for her, though it killed her to do it. She'd seen the look in his eyes as he'd made his promise, seen the look of agony on his flawless face as she spoke of her mistrust of his kind, and it had haunted her dreams.
She'd asked the riders at dawn the following morning to tell Legolas, if he asked about her, that she'd gone riding and would be back later if he wished to talk to her. And then she had waited. The message was not entirely true, for she had not ever gone out that morning, but she knew Legolas had to leave and wanted to see if he would wait for her. She'd been confident that if he were sincere about his feelings for her he would wait those few hours to talk to her again. He had, after all, just told her the night before he would return to her after an indefinite amount of time.
But when she had deemed it safe to head back into the city from her house in the townlands the guards were already whispering about the Elf's strange departure.
Laimea swallowed hard, her throat aching with dismay. She had rushed to look out from a high wall as fast as she could, and there he'd been, a far off white speck against the wide spread of green. She'd learned later he had gotten her message, but he had not waited for her. He had left.
But you told him to leave, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth against the misery rising in her chest. You told him you could never see him again, that you didn't want to see him again. Perhaps he was only honoring your wishes, despite what he feels for you. Why would he want to see you again after you spoke so harshly to him that night? Why would he come after you when you told him goodbye already?
She raised teary eyes to the branches above her head. No, he heard your message. He knew you would talk to him again, if he'd wait. And if he had really cared, wouldn't he have come to find you no matter what you had said? Laimea squeezed her eyes shut, letting the wind caress her face, wishing the breeze could take her worries with it. The same such thoughts had been tormenting her endlessly for the past three days.
She had tried repeatedly to convince herself Legolas had not really felt anything for her, and she had never really felt anything for him. It had merely been a passing infatuation. Legolas had left the city and would not be back. She had other duties to see to, and could not afford to be distracted by him.
But no matter what her mind tried to argue, her heart remained the same. Legolas had taken something of her with him at his departure. For though she had not known it at the time, Laimea now realized why being with Legolas over her journey had felt so natural. He was the only one who had ever been able to fill that missing part of her. She had never felt out of place when with him, and the nearly constant restlessness in her mind had calmed at the mere sight of him. He had made her feel at home, no mater where they were at the time.
Now he was gone, and even as the hoof beats of his horse had faded, she'd been struck by an acute loneliness; her restlessness had returned stronger than ever. And even now, as she sat in the orchard, she sensed a pull on her heart she'd not experienced since she had first moved to Gondor. Homesickness.
Laimea stood from the bench, her hand gripping Nimrunya so hard her knuckles paled. Do not think of such things, she willed herself. Do not think of that or of Legolas. He is an Elf. You must forget him! He will live on long after you have gone, and you will pass from his mind as the night passes before the sun!
She raised her sword in front of her and looked at it sadly. It was the lone reminder of her life before Gondor, and she both treasured it and hated it.
And even if we were together, she continued in the internal argument, what would happen when he had the chance to leave these shores? How do you know he wouldn't take it? How do you know he wouldn't leave you behind, just like you were left behind all those years ago?
Warm tears slid down her cheeks at the memory and Laimea dropped the sword, both hands going to her face as sobs threatened to break her composure. But she could not stop them this time, for one memory led to another and in a rush all the things she had never wanted to remember came back to her more vivid than ever.
They had all left her, and she was alone again. She dropped next to a tree and wept as she had not done since she was a child.
The moon rose high above the city, casting the restless movements of the guards in a dim silvery shadow and peeping through the full leaves of the apple tree to spill its dappled white light on Laimea, who still sat cradled between the tree's great roots.
Her tears had stopped long ago, yet she had not moved from her curled position against the tree trunk. She stared straight ahead, eyes riveted on the blade of Nimrunya, gleaming white as bone in the night. She did not think anymore, but had slipped into the exhausted stupor of one whose whole emotional energy has been spent. She could do nothing but stare at that sword and listen to the sounds of the night; in the rustle of the trees she heard whispered those hateful words: Do not follow me . . . do not ever follow . . . you must remain . . .
Laimea fancied she could hear the lap of ocean waves even now, though she knew that was impossible. The ocean was many hundreds of leagues away. Yet she smelled the salt of sea air instead of the sweet fruit trees, and though she knew where such thoughts took her, she could not stop them, because she had no more desire to fight them.
She merely sat there; the rough bark against her back, the cool grass against her feet, and let herself feel instead the warm planks of the dock on her toes and the smooth wood of the boat beneath her hand. Grief stabbed through her as the boat drew away from her, the wood slipping from her grip. She watched in despair as the massive but graceful vessel slowly pulled away from the dock. And then, almost without thinking, she leapt into the cold water of the sea, making one last effort to stop the huge white ship and the passengers it carried.
Anya her nurse screamed in alarm, knowing Laimea would drown before she ever caught the boat. But an Elf had already dived in after the child and caught her up in his arms, pulling her out of the water and up onto the sand of the shore. Laimea fought him the whole way, but she was only a child and had no hope of overpowering the Elf or her nurse, who came at once to take a hold of her and keep her from swimming out again.
Laimea continued to struggle against her nurse even as the words floated over the sound of the waves: Stay on the shore, Laimea! The strong voice commanded. Go not to the Sea! You must not follow, for my sake! You must remain on the shore, and never follow! Never follow!
The words faded as the boat drew farther and farther away from her, shining white on the blue ocean like the morning star in the dawn. And slowly even its bright shape sailed from sight, disappearing into the far reaches of the endless sea. "No!" she screamed, her child's voice so loud and heart broken even the Elves on the dock had flinched. "No! Wait! I want to go with you!" There had been no answer.
Laimea choked at the sense of loss tearing through her once again and squeezed her eyes shut. Never had she felt so alone then at that single moment when that ship had vanished over the horizon.
You cannot go where I go, Laimea. You must never try to follow, do you understand? The Sea is death . . . Never follow!
"Laimea?"
She startled at the soft voice, waking from her deep thoughts suddenly. She blinked, bringing her eyes around toward the voice. Anya walked in her direction, holding up her long skirts above the grass so they wouldn't get dirty. For a moment Laimea thought Anya was only another vision, awakened from the past, but as her old nurse drew nearer Laimea saw the age that had begun to take hold of the other woman, and she knew this was the Anya of the present.
The older woman had remained at Laimea's side since that painful day at the Gray Havens and over the years Laimea had taken to thinking of her as a mother. Most people in Gondor believed Anya to be Laimea's biological mother, for she looked very much like Laimea in appearance. Very few save Gandalf knew the truth, and Laimea preferred it that way.
The now elderly woman came to sit on the stone bench Laimea had occupied just earlier that day, looking grave. She glanced to the sword lying bare in the grass and then looked back to the young woman she'd taken in as her own daughter.
"Laimea," Anya asked in concern, "what is it that keeps you here so late into the night?"
Laimea shook her head, still struggling to come back from her thoughts. She did not want to speak about anything that had happened on her return journey from Helm's Deep, or about her recent recall of the Grey Havens. "It is nothing," she said wearily, wishing her mother would leave her alone to brood.
But Anya wouldn't accept the simple dismissal. "I know something is wrong, child. You have been walking the orchard every day since you returned, and only troublesome things keep you out under these trees when you could be in your bed."
Laimea met her foster mother's dark eyes and saw the worried lines that creased the aging face. They both remembered well their first months in Gondor, when Laimea, though she was barely over ten years old, would wonder far into the townlands at all hours of the night and worry Anya very nearly to death. Since then Laimea had taken to sitting in the orchard for long hours when something bothered her. But even with her mother's observation of her characteristic behavior Laimea did not admit to the thoughts that had kept her up the past few nights.
"I have heard people talking of you standing up there on those walls," Anya whispered. "They say you are watching for something." She paused briefly. "Or for someone," she added meaningfully.
Laimea still did not reply, knowing that trying to deny it would not sound convincing.
"And I have heard rumors," Anya continued quietly, carefully, "about who you brought back with you out of the west."
Laimea's eyes sharpened and she felt her heartbeat quicken at the mere thought of Legolas. She remembered the nights she'd lied next to him, enjoying his closeness far too much. She remembered the feel of his palm against her cheek, the softness of his hair beneath her fingers, the gentle sound of his song as he soothed her into sleep. She cleared her throat, finally being stirred to speak. "Only a messenger," she said thickly, knowing he'd become so much more to her over the time they'd spent together. "I brought a messenger to the Steward from King Theoden of the Mark, that is all."
"Yes," Anya agreed slowly, "a messenger. But a very special messenger, if the rumors are true. For news travels fast in a city when someone so unexpected and rare shows their face." She looked at Laimea pointedly, but Laimea refused to comment, thinking her mother knew nothing of how very special a messenger Legolas was.
"You brought back an Elf," Anya finished flatly, and her eyes were pained with an old sorrow, for she had cried nearly as many tears as Laimea at that shore.
Laimea shook her head helplessly, swallowing hard. "I did not choose the messenger, Mother," she said quietly.
"Perhaps not. But you did choose your traveling companion."
Laimea held Anya's eyes evenly. "It was necessary," she said simply, but she wondered how things would have turned out if she had forbid Legolas to come with her that night they'd first met.
"Was it necessary?" Anya asked, as if reading Laimea's thoughts. "Was it not possible for you to give King Théoden's message yourself?"
Laimea looked away from the older woman's gaze, frustrated by the question. She had wondered that herself long ago, and she answered her mother with the same answer she'd given herself. "Gandalf requested it," she said. "Perhaps the Elf was given some secret message I knew naught of."
Anya's eyes narrowed at the mention of Gandalf, but she reluctantly conceded the point. "Perhaps," she admitted slowly. "Yet you chose to travel at his side, despite the grief his kind has caused you. And now you wonder the city walls and this orchard like a lost soul. Do not think I am fool enough to believe this behavior of yours has not been caused by him."
Laimea looked to her hands, found they were clasped together tightly. She did not answer her mother, but Anya needed no answer.
"Tell me, my child, is it he you look for when you go the wall?"
Laimea forced herself to separate her entangled fingers and lied them in her lap, straightening her shoulders as she looked back up to her foster mother. "He has gone," she said tonelessly. "I look for no one."
Anya shook her head and sighed deeply. "And yet I know better than to believe that," she said quietly. "I feared this would happen one day, Laimea. I feared that despite all my warnings to you, despite all the warnings that must be in your own heart, you would not be able to resist the lure of the Elves."
Laimea stood fast, her body suddenly hot with rage at Anya's accusation. "The lure of the Elves?" she spat incredulously. "How little you know me, and I call you mother!"
"Laimea," Anya tried to protest, but Laimea gave her no time to talk.
"Do you think you are the only one who remembers that day?" Laimea demanded harshly. "It is burned into my mind like a nightmare, one I've relived both waking and dreaming a thousand times over since we came to Gondor! You brought me here, to this country of Men, as far away from all Elves as you could get me, and surrounded me with human things, hoping to bury the other part of me . . . hoping to help me forget . . . hoping to help yourself forget!" Laimea shook her head, feeling the sting of tears once more. Her voice wavered as she spoke again. "But living among Men does not make one forget something that is already a part of them."
Anya stared at Laimea, her mouth open in shock and horror at what she was hearing. But Laimea no longer cared for what Anya thought about such things.
"Why should I resist the influence of the Elves when I share their blood?" Laimea asked plaintively. "And yet I have tried to ignore that fact for years, Anya! Since we left those great green forests I have struggled to bury the desire within me to return to them, and I have fought my own feelings of both good and ill toward the race of Elves, not knowing which I should feel! It was I who sent Legolas away, Mother. I sent him away, though he would have come back for me, because I did not trust him enough to believe him . . . I did not trust the feelings in my heart."
Anya gasped aloud at the confession spewing from her daughter's lips, but Laimea was impervious to the stunned expressions racing across the older woman's face.
"Yes," Laimea admitted in a hiss, "I had feelings for him - an Elf - but I would not let myself realize them." Laimea stopped abruptly, surprised at how the words sounded aloud. But it was the truth, and she was tired of trying to hide it. She turned back to her mother, who still sat speechless on the bench. "I, like you, believed I could hide here in Minas Tirith and continue living in denial of the other half of my heritage." She swallowed hard. "I will forever carry the hurt they caused me," she whispered raggedly, "but being with Legolas made me realize I can no longer hide from the Elves, and I no longer wish to."
Anya blinked, frowning deeply. "What - what do you mean?" she asked breathlessly.
Laimea picked up her sword, running a hand down the curve of it. "I knew Legolas would come back for me, but I was still too afraid to let myself believe him. I sent him away because I was scared of what might happen if I spent more time in his presence. I had already started to trust him, as I had done with his kind before, and that frightened me. I didn't want to be left again. But now in his absence I have thought of many things." She sighed and met Anya's eyes with her own. "I might have been hurt by the Elves long ago, Mother," she murmured softly, "but Legolas reminded me of all the good in his kind. He reminded me of all the things I used to love about them. I long to visit our old home, to gaze upon the faces of those I used to know."
Anya stood from the bench, her face very pale, wringing her hands together as she did only when she was very distressed. "Laimea please," the woman begged, "do not mistake the longing in your heart for love. It is only the longing of a mortal for that which they cannot have, and that which an Elf possesses . . . immortality. The rest of us thirst for it, and being in the presence of the Elves sometimes blinds us to our own mortality. That is what drew your mother to them, and now you have been taken up by it just as she was. And living with the Elves did not save her."
Laimea glared at Anya, her throat clogging in fresh grief as she thought of her mother's last days, of the unease that radiated from the Elves at having death so close among them, and being unable to stop it. A tear rolled down her cheek and she did not wipe it away.
"And what of this Elf you speak of," Anya continued. "You said yourself you did not trust him . . . would you go and be with him among his people only to watch them live without the decay of time, and yet see yourself grow older with each passing day? You would die, and he would live on to love again. You would be no more than a passing blossom of spring to him, and yet you wish to make him your whole life?"
Laimea shook her head, swallowing back tears, but they blurred her vision anyway. "No . . ." she croaked, but then hesitated. "I don't know . . ."
"And what of this Elf should he choose to leave these shores? What then would you do?"
Laimea slumped to the ground again, the sword in her lap, and let the tears spill from her lashes for the second time that night. "It doesn't matter," she whispered helplessly. "He has departed from me already."
Anya's stern expression melted into one of sympathy and she came to kneel beside Laimea, stroking a curled strand of golden-brown hair from the distraught face. "Oh Laimea," the woman whispered, "I am sorry for making you think of such things. But I fear for you. I do not want to see you hurt again."
Laimea brought her eyes up to Anya's face and drew in a deep breath. "But I am always hurting, Mother," she said heavily. "Legolas was the only one who could take that hurt away, and I told him to leave despite what I feel for him . . . because I am afraid to feel it." She looked down to her toes in the grass. "I told him I would forget him when he left. And oh how I have tried to do so! But I cannot." She sighed heavily, raising her tired eyes to look at the stars through the holes in the leaves above. "I cannot make myself forget him, Mother," she said sadly, "and that is what I fear most of all."
***
Legolas remained silent throughout the third day of their journey to Isengard; in fact he hardly noticed Aragorn and Gimli's presence at all. In the morning he nodded wordlessly in consent to Gimli's request to ride with him, and then went the rest of the day seemingly unaware of their company. He stared out at the way ahead with a stony gaze, his face dark.
Aragorn and Gimli also said nothing, knowing better than to try to prod Legolas into saying anything, and yet feeling it wrong to talk to one another while he was so disturbed. It was hardest for Gimli to remain silent, and he often opened his mouth with the intent of starting up some conversation. But always he found himself at a loss for what to say, and in the end he would not say anything and simply sigh in frustration.
And so they made their way north and west, toward the dark tower of Orthanc, until when the moon had risen nearly to the pinnacle of the night sky they stopped to camp. They did not make a fire, judging themselves to be too close to Isengard, and ate lembas instead of meat.
Legolas did not eat, but went immediately away from the camp to stand on a small hill overlooking the approaching dark canopy of Fangorn Forest. Gimli watched Legolas as he walked away and then turned to Aragorn worriedly.
"I've never seen him this way before," Gimli hissed in a half whisper, knowing Elf ears were very sharp. "Do you suppose my words the other night were too harsh?"
Aragorn sat on his blanket in the grass, reclining easily with pipe in hand, though they had run out of tobacco long ago. The Man turned the pipe over in his hands thoughtfully. "No, Gimli," he finally answered the Dwarf slowly, "I don't think it is your words weighing on his mind."
Gimli looked off to where Legolas stood, now only a dark silhouette against the sky, and then again looked to Aragorn. "You think it is the woman then?"
Aragorn's clear blue eyes met Gimli's and he nodded slowly.
The two of them had fallen asleep before Legolas came back to them, but Aragorn awoke at the approach of soft footsteps and watched as the Elf sat down near him. But he said nothing, knowing Legolas would talk when he was ready. He had nearly drifted off to sleep again when the Elf spoke.
"I do not understand it, Aragorn."
Aragorn opened his eyes, turning to look at his friend. But still he remained silent, waiting for Legolas to go on.
"Why would she at first accept my offer to take her to Mirkwood, and then later refuse it?" Legolas demanded suddenly. "Why would she allow me to travel with her if she does not trust my kind? And how does she know our language then, and why does she speak it?"
Aragorn sat up on his blanket at last, hiding the smile that tempted his lips. He found it slightly amusing to see Legolas so upset over this woman. The Elf had hardly flinched in the face of the water creature outside of Moria, or in the face of the cave troll inside the mines, and he had not hesitated to fight hundreds and thousands of roaring Uruk-hai alone . . . but this one woman could unsettle his composed manner with just a few words. The thought certainly had mirth to it.
"She has an Elven blade as well," Aragorn commented simply.
Legolas squinted across at him, obviously not following the man's train of thought.
"We spoke of her before," Aragorn explained quietly, "and I supposed she had been brought up among the Elves. I still hold to that belief."
Legolas sat back, nodding finally in understanding. "And I had mentioned I thought there was something more than that," he said. "On the way to the city she insisted on riding Elf-fashion. She nearly killed herself, and yet at the end I think the horse did hear her, and listen to her." Legolas swallowed visibly, sitting forward again. "Aragorn," he said, his voice falling into a whisper, "none but Elves and Gandalf have I ever seen ride like that."
Aragorn leaned forward as well, meeting Legolas' eyes to try and see his friend's thoughts. He was surprised at the intensity of the Elf's gaze. "Then you think . . . she is peredhil?" he asked softly.
Legolas nodded once. "I suspected it before, but now I am almost certain of it. And it would explain how and why she might have gone to the Grey Havens."
Aragorn furrowed his brow in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Legolas looked down to his lap, absently running the fingers of his right hand over the designs etched into the leather gauntlets he wore. "She spoke of my kin leaving this land," he said unhappily, " . . . leaving to a place where mortals could not follow. She thought . . ." Legolas hesitated, but finally raised his eyes to meet Aragorn's, and there was a great sadness in their blue expression. "She thought I would not come back for her. She thought I would leave her and sail to Valinor."
Aragorn leaned his head to one side, studying the Elf before him. He thought of Arwen, of their many discussions over this same painful subject. He remembered well how hard it had been for her to turn her back on the Undying Lands, despite her obvious love for him. Yet in the end she had done it; she had given up an unending life of bliss to stay at his side, and though he sometimes felt guilty for having caused her to lose that, he believed her decision was the one she had truly wanted in her heart.
He fixed Legolas with a serious eye, realizing that Legolas might care for the woman far more than he had thought. "And would you leave her?" he asked bluntly.
Legolas frowned at his friend, surprised by such a question. He shook his head, looking back down to his lap. "My time for leaving is yet far off," he said quietly, repeating what he had told Laimea. But Aragorn was not satisfied with such an answer.
"But what if it is not?" the man anticipated. "What if you go back for her as you told her you would? What happens if your time to leave these shores comes sooner than you think . . . while she is still with you?"
Legolas scanned the horizon with restless eyes. He swallowed hard, knowing the call of the sea was very strong, though he had not yet felt it. "I . . ." he paused, thinking of the promise he'd been ready to make to Laimea, if she had only accepted it. "I would wait," he finished gruffly. "If she had accepted my promise to come back for her and show her the forests of the Elves, I would not leave her behind . . . not even to go to Valinor." He brought his gaze back to Aragorn, his eyes hard with sincerity. "I would keep my word," he said gravely.
Aragorn said nothing, nor did he make a motion or expression of any kind to inform Legolas of his feelings toward such a profound declaration.
"You did not see her face, Aragorn," the Elf whispered, unsure of the man's silence. "I have never seen such grief since the aftermath of our last battle. She said she has been hurt before . . . I think by some of my kin. I saw it in her eyes. Never have I been angry at my own before, except for on that night. I would die before I caused her pain like that."
Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "That is a bold thing to say for one who is immortal," he commented dryly. "To say you would remain, Legolas, if she accepted your promise . . . this means more than to keep your oath. That cannot be the only reason; there must be something . . . more between you also?"
Legolas took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and finally nodded. He could not hide his true feelings from Aragorn, even if he had wanted to."
"Are you sure she warrants such attentions on your part?"
Legolas stared at Aragorn for a moment, his eyes fierce. "Yes."
"And yet you say that she deceived you, and would no longer accept your company."
Legolas dropped his eyes from Aragorn's, feeling a sting at the harsh statement. "I do not know the true meaning of her words any longer," he whispered honestly. "Before I left the city I was told she was out on an errand, and would return later if I wished to speak to her. I could have spoken to her again, perhaps found out the answer to her riddles . . . but I did not wait for her." He looked up to Aragorn, his brows drawing down again. "You do not know her as I do. I do not understand the reason behind her words, and yet I cannot make myself believe that is how she truly feels."
"What makes you think she believes differently than she said?" Aragorn asked.
"Her eyes," Legolas said quietly. "Her eyes betrayed her words. She did not fully believe everything she said to me that night. And only when I know the truth behind her words will I be able to put her out of my mind. I should have waited for her."
Aragorn watched Legolas without speaking for a long moment. "You said she spoke about the Grey Havens?"
Legolas nodded.
"If she did not think you would come back for her, perhaps someone very dear to her has left her before. That could be why she has been to the Grey Havens, and why she refused your company once you reached the city."
Legolas agreed absently, feeling the familiar hurt squeeze his chest when he thought of everything she had said. He had hated seeing her so distraught, and hated even more being unable to do anything to comfort her. She had pushed him away in the last days before they reached Minas Tirith, and ultimately hurt him with her words on their last night together, leaving him with no explanations for her sudden change in attitude toward him. But if she was peredhil, or half-Elven - as he was now almost certain she was - and had been to the Grey Havens, only to be left behind . . .
"That could be what has made her loathe to trust your kind," Aragorn suggested softly.
Legolas focused his eyes on Aragorn once more, coming back from his memories. "Yes," he said stiffly, "and what made her doubtful of my own words. But I still do not understand why she would not have made these feelings known earlier."
Aragorn sighed, looking down to twist his ring around his finger, as he often did now when talking about something serious. "Legolas," he said gently, "sometimes duty calls us to do things we would not otherwise do of our own will. Perhaps she set aside her personal feelings on the journey for the sake of her duty, and yours."
Legolas mulled over the words, memories of pulling her from the river and holding her in the moonless night came drifting back to him. He shook his head. "No. When we were alone…" he faltered, unsure of whether he should reveal such things to Aragorn. "When we were alone she made it known she did not mind my company.'
Aragorn tilted his head to one side, looking over Legolas curiously. "How did she do that?"
Legolas stood abruptly at the question, knowing what passed through Aragorn's mind and angry at the man for thinking such things. "You think too rashly, Aragorn," he snapped.
The man held up his hands in surrender at the Elf's harsh tone. "Forgive me," he asked. "But I saw the way she watched you during the days before we reached Minas Tirith."
Legolas had paced a few steps, but now he spun back to face Aragorn, his cloak swirling out around him. "What?" He'd caught Laimea staring at him a few times along their last days of journeying together, but always as soon as his eyes met hers she would look away. "What do you mean?"
Aragorn met Legolas' questioning eyes seriously. "I believe the woman thinks more of you than you know," he said simply.
Legolas frowned, coming to stand next to Aragorn. "Then you also do not believe what you said about her setting aside personal feelings for duty?"
Aragorn shook his head. "From what she revealed to me on the night you wandered off, and the glances she cast in your direction when you were not looking… even Gimli suspected something. Although it is more serious than even I had thought. I think perhaps she was willing to set aside her previous feelings about your kind on your journey. But people have a habit of converting to old ways when they are confronted with new and unexpected emotions."
"Legolas shook his head again in frustration, stepping even closer to Aragorn's blanket. "You speak in riddles, friend," he stated.
The barest trace of a smile hinted at Aragorn's lips as he spoke again. "I believe she told you what she did because she was confused. She might have felt that way about your kind before, but as you suspect yourself, she may not truly feel that way anymore."
"Then why-"
Aragorn held up a hand, interrupting Legolas' question. The man stood up to face the Elf, blue eyes regarding blue eyes expectantly. "I did not mention this before because I did not know your feeling s for the woman were so strong," Aragorn said quietly. "But now that you have made them clear to me… I think the woman told you such things to try and hide the truth from you, and perhaps even to try and hide it from herself."
"Then what is the truth, Aragorn?" Legolas whispered.
The man laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "I think the lady Laimea of Gondor is in love with you, my friend."
