That night it storms again. It's not so violent as that black night I arrived, but steady and relentless. Bursts of thunder crack across the sky. Rain streams down my window in winding rivulets, battering and streaking the glass. I can't sleep. I can't even stop shaking.
I'm not sure why or how, but as soon as I did, as soon as my mind fell open and vulnerable in unconsciousness, visions and flashes of images that I never knew existed, whipped through my head like the relentless crashing of waves. The stone of Ketedur, blood, long-harbored hatred…elves lying dead…things I've never seen before, they dragged me into a bottomless, depthless pit. I couldn't escape, couldn't breathe. I was drowning. I screamed and no one came…
Is that what dreams are like? I shudder. I never thought so. I wish I could dream about the light that filters through these trees, or the feel of cool water slipping down my throat. I wish I could dream about Legolas…
Though I don't know how, I think it's the Great Spirit's way of motivating me. I'm not sure either if it's a warning, a threat, or a vision of what will be if I don't complete my mission. It doesn't matter. If I want to avoid getting any more of his 'messages', all I have to do is stay awake. I can do that.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, wondering what to tell Tamling. He's written back, as I find by the strange script printed below mine.
Dearest,
I hope by 'perception of dwarves', you don't mean he's guessed your identity.
I think about it, listening to the rain. No, I don't think so.
Even so, do not underestimate him, just in case. As for hurting him, do not worry little one, dwarves are resilient. A decade will pass, and all we did here will be forgotten.
I half-laugh, and I almost feel like crying again. Forgotten? I wonder if that's true. For Legolas, it certainly is. But Gimli? Will the dwarf forget him, or will he never give up? Will he hunt the beings who destroyed his best friend? I certainly would. Or will he stay…try to be there for him? I don't know. Thinking about it makes my chest feel hollow, so I don't.
Keep your eyes on the sea, little one. We'll all be home before you know it.
- Tamling
I sigh. Home. What is home? Is it where your body is? Where your heart is? Where your heart wants your body to be, or the other way around? I don't know, anymore. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right.
Suddenly, a quiet, gentle knock on the door jars me from my thoughts. I snap my head up, hurriedly hiding the book and wiping my eyes, sniffing away the last vestiges of the dream and Tamling's words. Not a single lamp lights the room, only the long beam of white light from the window. Shadows of raindrops spatter the floor, the scraping of branches along the shaggy carpet under my bed waving back and forth in the wind.
Warily, I pad to the door. It's been dark for hours. I crack the door open and look up…and there stands a tall, lean silhouette.
"Um…yes?" Even in the dark, I make out a wary, almost shy smile on the prince's face. A shiver runs down my spine, and this time not from the cold. I quickly turn away, scrubbing my eyes and forcing my head to clear. He can't see me like this. He would see the guilt all over my face.
"I was wondering if you would like that sparring lesson, after all?"
I blink, "Now?"
Legolas smiles again, just a little quirk tugging at his mouth. His eyes dart to anywhere but my face though, and I realize he shifts from boot to boot. Long, blonde hair spills down his shoulders, and the blades strapped to his back gleam in the faint light, "Why not?"
"I-I don't think so." I whisper hurriedly.
He's quiet a moment. I stare breathless, but he just looks at the floor. I see the shadow of forehead on his face; his squared shoulders sink a little…a minute sigh. And finally, he shifts back a step and straightens. "Very well."
With that, he turns and starts down the hall.
"Wait!" I hiss, snatching a shawl from the floor and chasing a few steps after him.
He glances back. A small, irrational part of me feels touched that he didn't ask to translate ancient script. He didn't ask me to read Larion's journal… No, he offered to help. I hope Gimli didn't tell him what I said at lunch. It was unfair of me.
So I freeze before him, and looking up, all I can think of is the long shadows we throw down the hall as he hesitates, the hair's breadth from feeling his breath on my face. I feel the the faint stir of his restless shifting, the creak of leather, even the running patter of rain battering the ceiling. I run and stumble through my head for a reason.
"D-don't you want to come in?" I whisper, peering up at him. The offer was more than that. He wants to make recompense. He thinks I'm still angry.
Legolas blinks, "Of course not."
"Oh." I suddenly realize that would look strange. Why can't I remember that he's the prince? He has his duties. I'm not one of them… I look down, fidgeting with the threaded tassels clutched around my shoulders, and I shift back into the protective shadow of my door.
"I'm sorry. I-it's just that it's raining and…" I trail off. And I might crack into pieces if I spend time with you tonight.
He starts a little. "Oh. Is that it?"
"Well, yes." I blurt, "…obviously."
"You still wish to train with me, then." Legolas smiles easier. "Then if that is all, I may…know a place to help that."
I tilt my head, curious despite myself, and with only the faint glow of his eyes, I can't read his expression more than that.
Well, why not? My hands feel far better with the day of rest. I can get through another session if it means fending off sleep a little while longer. I'm too miserable to trust myself alone anyway. I could fall asleep again. The Spirit's visions could come back…I shudder.
"Let me get dressed."
He glances to the thin, silky shift I wear. "You are dressed."
My only response is to close the door. I'd swear I hear a chuckle from the other side, but a roll of thunder fills the room and I can't be sure.
I look around, searching for something to wear. I don't know how things like that affect him, how I look, what I'm wearing, but I know the Great Spirit would approve of the dark, v-neck top I cinch up the back, tying it off. And suddenly, Gimli's words come back again.
Fight for him.
Tell him how I feel, the truth. Tell him everything... Tell him what I am, why I'm here, how long I've waited for him…how I have to destroy him. I don't exactly think the dwarf knew what he was saying. Rebellion. Earthlings would call it treason. It would mean the first blatant disobedience to the Elders since…well, since I can remember.
I stumble putting on my boots, dispelling the dangerous thoughts. I do pull a few laces out of my neckline though, letting it ride lower on my chest. I suppose it couldn't hurt much…could it?
I look at myself in the darkness of the mirror…and I tie it up again.
"Where are we going?" I ask, coming out. Legolas leans against the doorframe, hands loose at his sides.
"You will see." He beckons, smiling slightly, and a thrill of anticipation shivers down my spine.
Something about wandering dark halls and barely lit corridors makes me feel like a rebel. It's mostly deserted here. The rooms waiting for the Lorien elves are empty, but it soon changes. To my mild surprise, he strides right through the heavier populated halls and snapping lantern light, chin up and back straight. I glance between the questioning eyes of passing elves and his gaze. He acts like they're not even there.
"Is there a reason why you're taking the most populated halls in the fortress?"
He spares a glance. "Yes."
I blink, "Really?"
We pass three fair, pale elves murmuring together in Sindarin, and he drops into accented Westron. "Believe it or no, the rumors have spread like wildfire since my return."
I walk closer, taking quick steps to keep up. He always walks like this when he's distracted. "Like what?"
Legolas tilts his head away, an amused smile darting at his mouth. I can't look away. It doesn't reach his eyes though, and I wonder if they disturb him more than he lets on. "They say I've contracted an illness or a poison on my travels. Treatment keeps me away for long periods of time."
I grin half-heartedly. "Sick… You?" I've never seen him sick a day in my life.
"Indeed. I feel I should warn you though." Legolas glances over. "Some wonder if I brought you with me from Lothlorien, and we are…" he trails off. "Well, we are…coupling. They're wondering what strange Lorien customs you pollute me with."
I swallow, dropping my eyes. I may be transparent to a dwarf, but obviously not to him. He must take it the wrong way, because he quickly adds.
"…I am sorry. Believe me when I say it, I've done my best to dispel the rumors."
I shake my head. "I-it's all right. I know."
"Do not worry," he assures me. "They'll not last long."
I smile a little sickly. Some of them wonder if there are wedding flowers in their prince's future. I heard them talking. "Don't worry. I know."
All it would take is eyes to look at us and know we're not the same. We're not a match, a perfect pair. He doesn't feel anything for me. And how could he? I'm nothing but a liar, impersonating someone who doesn't exist. I shouldn't even hold onto these ridiculous feelings…only because I'm a fool, I know I'll never go back to the way I was.
I remember the solitude, the wretched aloneness, never feeling anything but the vastness of time and space…empty. I shudder and pull closer to Legolas. He glances down, the back of my hand brushing his with every stride, but he doesn't say anything.
Good. Silence is better than rejection.
We come out into an area of the stronghold I've never seen before. It takes many twists and turns, ducking down side halls and deserted corridors. We pass sentries at a gate, and we emerge into a great archway leading out to the rain. It pours from the mouth in sheets, and cool gusts of wind blows it into my face. The smell of moist wood and wet leaves fills the air.
"Follow me and run," he glances back, "…the faster the dryer!"
I almost groan, but not quite.
He breaks into a sprint and I follow, wincing against the frigid onslaught as we burst out into the cold, following his shadow as he darts down a narrow, winding trail. I can't see more than flashes of passing trunks and cracks of thunder, but we break through some kind of dark, stone doorway and the rain clears.
"W-where are we?" I blink, shaking my wet hair and peering around. Legolas looks back, panting out a grin, and water streams from his hair into his shining eyes. He shakes his head vigorously.
"A place I go when I want to be alone."
The darkness takes a minute to adjust to. I squint, looking around.
A great cracked ceiling, partially broken away blocks some of the sky. Petal-laden vines lace the stone, like webs hanging from the net. Only a few rocky columns support the ruins. Twisting trunks climb through the stone, leaves fluttering to the ground in the semi-darkness, and even young saplings push through the earth and into what used to be a great chamber. Or a sanctuary maybe, I'm not sure. There's little left now but roof, broken columns, and forest.
"It's…" I whisper, stepping slowly over the leafed floor. "…it's beautiful."
He's pleased; I'm not sure why, but I mean it. "Come, let's get started!"
The rain streams through gaps in the ceiling and what used to be walls—now open to the elements- but large gaps woven through the ruins stay dry. He strides into the light of the moon as it breaks from a gap in the clouds, before unsheathing the blades on his back. They flash and shine in the dark.
"Where are the sticks?" I look around, wondering if he plans to chop down one of the saplings.
Legolas smiles, shaking his head, "We are done with staffs. It is time you move on."
"To that?" I swallow, eyeing the blade he holds out to me. "…What if I kill you with it?"
He tilts his head. "Do you not trust me?"
"Maybe not to let me kill myself, but…" I trail off.
"Elleth," he sighs. "I have fought in battles across Arda. I believe I can handle a single blade from a single, untrained girl."
I'm not sure if I like the sound of 'girl', but there's not so much I can do about that. So I reluctantly accept the hilt of the blade, feeling the way the cool, white wood fits in my palm. It's surprisingly light, much easier than I thought it would be, and it balances itself in my hands.
"All right, block me."
We fight for…I'm not sure how long. I don't think I like the other end being razor-sharp, but the blade feels natural, light, like an extension of my arm. Thunder cracks outside and rain streams from arches supporting the ceiling, and he steps up the game by leaping atop boulders. He dives low and swings at my knees, back-stepping along a narrow, rotten log without a glance. His feet are a blur.
"Better!" He shouts suddenly, leaping off, before swinging faster and harder. "Don't think. Move. Feel at one with the blade."
"Or I'll be one with it." I shoot back, and until the moon rises high in the dark, rolling clouds, we spar relentlessly.
I'm exhausted and panting, missing moves and growing sluggish a few hours later, and he breaks off finally, stepping back. I gasp aloud in relief. My hands burn alive. Agony laps at them like fire, and I squeeze them into fists, dropping to the ground. I pant for air. A cold sweat breaks on my forehead, but he just stands there, alive and grinning.
"You've shown vast improvement tonight." He stalks over, coming down beside.
"Oh yes. For once, I came closer to killing you than me."
"Quite." He agrees, leaning back on the fallen, stone column. I frown, grimacing and gripping my hands. But he doesn't notice. "I think it is time you move on."
I rub the back of my hands in the shadow of my lap, and I blink. Move on… again?
Legolas shifts, sitting to face me, and the high thrum of rain fills the background. "I am leaving tomorrow with my company." He says quietly. "We go to meet the Lorien elves at the borders. Gimli is joining us."
He's leaving. I let that sink in. I've barely been here a week, and already, he's leaving me!
"Oh." My breath catches in my throat, and I force my eyes to the ground. My heart beats in my ears, panic I think. It's too soon. I didn't have enough time. He doesn't trust me yet.
"Elleth…" Legolas dips his head to look at my face, and I keep my eyes down. The pain in my fingers subsides a little. "…I think you should come with us."
"Me?" I whisper.
He nods, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back. "You will be well guarded in the slim chance of an attack. And, you will have the chance to practice your skills. You'll not have trouble finding Eldar willing to spar with you." He pauses a moment, looking over and watching me, before saying softer. "Perhaps you'll even find a friend."
I start a little, before biting the inside of my lip to keep quiet. So, even being my friend is too much to ask.
"Andaer, a captain in the guard, spoke of you. It is known well that I'm giving you lessons. He said perhaps he could train you."
Oh…so that's it. He's trying to get rid of me? He wants to pass me off to someone else?
"He felt badly for speaking harshly to you the night you arrived. He did not mean it." He explains. "Do you remember?"
"I… remember."
And suddenly, I'm very cold. I feel the dampness in my clothes and I shiver. The night is wet; my hands are icy.
"Elleth, what is wrong?"
I blink, clamping my fingers together, "N-nothing. Nothing's wrong."
He lowers his head. "Are you cold?"
I shake my head again. "Oh, no. Don't worry! I understand."
"Understand…"
I flash my eyes up to his, before quickly dropping them again. He's quiet, staring at me in silence, before narrowing his eyes. "Understand what?"
I take in a sharp breath, determined to keep angry tears from gathering. My voice cracks. "I…I'll ask someone else to teach me h-how to fight."
Maybe when I can fight at his back, actually help him instead of burdening him. Maybe then he'll trust me. I almost laugh. And then what? Take his mind so he can forget centuries of his life? That will really help him. He'd curse the day I ever saw him, if he only knew.
"You…will receive lessons from someone else?" He says slowly.
"I told you I will!"
"Well, what?" he asks suddenly, after a long moment passes, and I look up at his voice. His back is straight, eyes sharp, flinty. It surprises me into silence. "Do you think anyone else will be easier on you? You think you will learn quicker with someone else?"
"What?"
He exhales hard and leaps to his feet, before shaking his head and stalking away. "Come on. It is time you went to bed."
I don't move. My mind goes blank, and for a rapid instant, I don't know what I'm thinking. I just narrow my eyes. He pauses…and a low peel of thunder ripples through the ruins like tension, a throaty hum.
"Well?" he spins around.
"Well what?" I look up angrily. My hands hurt worse than ever, and a flare of hot fury makes me want to tell him what I think of him and his disloyalty. The least he could do is pretend to tolerate me! But does he? No. He tries to toss me off on someone else the first chance he gets.
"Are you coming?" he snaps impatiently.
"No." I lift my knees to my chest and turn away, hiding my hands in my lap.
"Well I am not leaving you here outside the fortress."
"I'm not going with you!" I hiss into my knees. "Go away."
He almost groans. It comes out oddly distorted with the rain streaming from the ceiling, and he comes back, walking heavier than normal. I think he's angry.
"That is fine with me, elleth. I will leave you and your strangeness alone as soon as we get back to the stronghold. You needn't worry about that. But my father's orders are clear. No lone elf will be outside the gates after dark, until the forest is cleared. You will obey him."
"Do this. Do that. Follow me. Train with him." I look up, glaring fiercely. "All you ever do is tell me what to do!"
His eyes narrow. "And that is why you no longer wish to train with me?"
The breath leaves my chest and I gasp. "Me? You're the one passing me off to An…" I grimace. "…And-something!"
Legolas' face contorts into an expression of disbelief, and he shakes his head, aghast. "What-"
"You're passing me off after a week." I glare at him, miserable tears threatening to spill over, and he stares at them in shock. "A week! That's it. I could get better. I could. Y-you're just so impatient and-and-and absent -minded, you just can't see that not everyone's like you! Not everyone's perfect. You didn't even give me a chance!"
"I…I didn't-" And then he stops. He looks at nothingness, frozen, hand still in the air…and it slowly drops. "…I see."
I drop my eyes, shivering again.
"You thought I meant to be rid of you."
I laugh, full of scorn, and my voice cracks pathetically. "Well, that's not a hard assumption to make. I know when I'm not wanted!"
He blinks.
"I'm not stupid, you know." I turn away, fighting down a sob.
And then…he laughs. It starts out like a barely restrained chortle in his throat. Even as the rain falls in torrents and lightning sparks outside, he chuckles harder. He's doubled over in another minute, and before my eyes, he laughs harder than I've ever heard before.
"What's so funny?!" I snap.
"You…" he gasps, wiping his eyes, and he half points at me. "…You are funny."
I wish I could stop them, I try, but I can't. My chin trembles violently and tears sear my eyes. I hide my face in my knees, refusing to cry. He can't just get rid of me. He can't just tell me he feels uncomfortable around me. He can't even tell me that he thinks I should move on. No, that's not enough. He laughs at me!
"I," Legolas drops down in front of me, trying to contain himself, and he lifts both his hands. "…I will try and explain to you."
I don't look, but suddenly, he reaches up and clasps both my knees, shaking me loose. I snap my head up, and through tear-streaked eyes, I realize his gaze is warm…like his hands.
"You are a mystery to every elf here, elleth." He says, "Do you not see? I have been hording you for myself. I did not mean that I would 'pass you off' on Andaer. I simply meant to share you."
"H-hording?" I whisper, grimacing in confusion.
"Gimli spoke to me, and I know I've let myself become a small measure… obsessed...with these happenings. Do not mishear me. I still vow to find the spirit who came to me, but understand this: I will not monopolize you any longer. For that, I am sorry."
I shake my head. "I want to be monopolized!"
He sighs. "Captain Andaer tells me that he would very much like to meet you; he is not the only one. The elleth are curious, and there are ellon who are not happy with the way I've kept you hidden away. You barely know anyone here. After all, this will be your home for a time. Now your people arrive, and you are as much a stranger as they."
"I…" I don't know what to say. "I don't understand. You…you don't want to get rid of me?"
He almost laughs again, letting his hands slip from my knees. "Why would you think that?"
I stare at him in disbelief, and slowly, shivering, I feel the warmth of his body cling to the air. Only my knees bar him from me, and for a while, only the rain breaks the night air. "…I don't know." I look down, trembling violently, and I run through all the reasons he should hate me. How I've lied to him constantly, how I'm not real, how much I love him and I can't tell. I can't say the truth. I can never say what I want to, never what I really feel.
And I crack. "…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-I-…"
"Don't apologize." He says quietly.
I bury my face in my knees, wondering if he can feel how hard I want to reach out and hold onto him. Can he feel the way my heart pulses in my neck? How I'm frozen here, desperately afraid of moving? If I do, even so much as a breath, this moment could shatter and I'll have to face what I came here for.
A tear threatens to fall and I slap it away, sitting in darkness. Nothing stirs, nothing moves, and he stares at me in sudden confusion. I don't know when my anger sapped away, but now, there's nothing left but a small, empty hole.
"What is wrong?" he leans closer, and I press myself against the fallen stone as hard as possible, grinding it into my back to focus on the pain. It keeps the tears from falling.
I look away.
"Elleth," he says softly, "when I came tonight…you had been crying. Tell me what is wrong."
I don't answer, but my chin trembles and I cover my mouth.
"Do you miss your family?"
A sick, twisted part of me almost laughs at that, but I just shake my head. I can feel the discomfort in the very air he breathes, how he leans closer, then pulls back, thinking…wondering what to do. He wonders if it's his place to comfort me. And then, he sits straighter.
"Come. It is time you went to sleep."
"No." I answer quickly, sniffing and hitting the tears from my eyes. "I…I don't want to sleep."
Legolas blinks. "Elleth-"
"No."
"But why?" His eyes sweep me up in a single glance. "You are tired; don't hide it. I can feel your exhaustion from here."
"I can't sleep!" I whisper adamantly, and maybe he'll understand that. I don't know what he dreams of, but I know sometimes, they'll come. He dreams of things less than beautiful, things he shouldn't have to see. Because he'll wake up with a start. He'll look around and his heart races, and only after the night grows still again, peaceful and quiet, will he rest back, unsettled.
"I…I can't."
"Why?" he asks slowly, before shifting down to sit again. "Do the strange surroundings bother you?"
I sigh, dropping my eyes. How do you describe a Spirit of almost infinite power stabbing through the realms of time and space to reach you? The sick, panicky feeling of knowing you must do the unthinkable, knowing you can't fight it… And he tells me to sleep, to welcome it?
"I…have nightmares." I whisper. It's the closest thing I can think of.
A long moment passes. "Oh."
We sit like that for…I'm not sure how long, listening to the rain pattering the forest floor. Distant thunder cracks across the sky, and though it rains still, the storm is moving on. The wind whisks through damp and cold here, unsheltered in the forest. I don't even realize how hard I shiver…until warmth drops around my shoulders and I feel him rest his palm on my head.
"You cannot simply refuse to sleep." Legolas murmurs. I don't look, but as he leans closer, looking at me, I feel the brush of warm air from his lips. His fingers touch my hair, urging me to meet his eyes, and I reluctantly do so. His cloak is warm and thick, filled with his scent…like pines and leather, smoke, fresh rain.
"It does not work well." He smiles gently. "Trust me."
I swallow. "Y-you have dreams…?" I whisper faintly.
He doesn't answer a moment, hesitating, before his fingers slip from my hair. His cloak envelops my shoulders still, but I miss the warmth of his hand.
"Yes…occasionally."
"What do you do?" I know it can't possibly help in my case, but anything's worth a try.
"I…endure them." He says slowly.
I want to ask him what he dreams about. I want to know what troubles his mind, his beautiful eyes. But I can't. He would think I'm prying…He doesn't understand how I love him so. He doesn't realize the nights I've spent wishing for a body, a mortal body. Anything just to be with him like this. I should be happier. It's what I've always wanted…but not quite. I wish I'd never met him, rather than cause him this pain. It's a sick twist of fate that I can't.
"Come." Legolas says briskly, snapping out of the silence he's fallen into, before getting up. He extends a hand, and even though I don't want to move, don't even want to think about it, I slip my fingers into his.
He pulls me to my feet.
"We will read Larion's journal then. I have found another. I am not sure what it says. Most of the text is in the Faerie's tongue. You may help me. I would ask Gimli to come, but when I went to his door, the dwarf's sleep was louder than thunder."
So here we are again, at the very beginning. I drop my eyes, suddenly feeling like sinking. Translating…helping him find his Faerie… I want to cry.
"Elleth," he sighs softly, and suddenly, a single touch of his skin drags me out of the bottomless, black pit I fall in. His palm cups my face, and he lifts my chin. Just once, his thumb strokes the corner of my lips, and I know the expression in his eyes. He pities me.
"It will keep you awake."
And for the second time that evening, I feel an almost guilty gratitude. This elf is selfless…beautiful and selfless. No wonder I love him. No wonder the fate of an entire race could be decided on him.
Maybe we're not at the very beginning.
"…and my young sister has crawled her first steps this morning! I have not seen the Spirit today, but he's promised to come. I anxiously await His arrival."
There, the words stopped. Legolas cracked his eyes open at the pause.
The prince lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His boots propped comfortably on the bench, sheltered in an open porch, rain streaming from the eaves. The Lorien elf sat above his head, reading the rest of the journal he'd found in the library.
"What is it?" he glanced up, peering at her upside down.
Legolas only needed the girl for passages in the strange spirit tongue. The journals never seemed to provide a key to decipher them. But it was easier this way. He could listen and at the same time, hover near the fringe edges of sleep. There was something soothing in the girl's voice.
He slit his eyes closed, listening, absorbing, searching for a clue as to where he could look for his lost Faerie. It softened and quieted when she spoke Larion's words though, and it reminded him of times when another quiet voice would read to him…years past as an elfling.
"There is only one page left." She answered, glancing to his upturned face. "'Tis an entry Larion gave in the spirit tongue. It says that in a few final words, He promised to show the man something beautiful, something of great power."
Legolas blinked. "What was it?"
"I…" she hesitated, and he wondered what darted through her troubled eyes. "…I don't know."
He shifted onto one arm, looking at the book for himself. It was in the unreadable script. "You said you know all there is to know about the Faerie. Yet you know nothing of what he could mean?"
She looked away. "I said I know more than what your books could tell you…That's not all of what there is to know. No one, not even the Faerie, know that."
"Then why have you told me nothing more than my books have?" Legolas squinted, wanting to know. He shifted, half-sitting up on his side. "You tell me your father spent his lifetime studying them. And yet when I ask you to tell me, all you give is what this 'Larion the scribe' does."
She dropped her eyes. "You know how I feel."
He nodded, rolling his eyes heavenward. "You think I shouldn't look for her."
The girl didn't reply, and even if she was going to, light footsteps broke the quiet and he sighed. A messenger, clad in the green of Mirkwood strode down the dim, moonlit hall.
"Greetings, my prince." He came to a halt. He eyed Legolas' lethargic position a little strangely, stretched out on a bench and propped on one arm, but he didn't say anything.
Legolas looked up a little impatient. "Yes, what is it?"
He was tired and he hadn't learned anything new tonight.
"Your father sent me to confirm your presence with the company leaving tomorrow." The elf skittled odd glances at the girl sitting there, head down, but Legolas ignored it.
"Yes, I am going." He glanced to the woman. "You may tell him I am bringing a guest."
"The dwarf?" he squinted. "He knows already."
"Gimli and…"
He paused, wondering when he was going to have a name for this little elleth. It was growing increasingly frustrating to think of her as 'the girl, the strange Lorien elf.' Legolas sighed, vowing to think of a name for her soon, before the week was out. He muttered so under his breath.
"…and the elleth." He finished to the messenger.
The elf nodded. "As you wish, my lord."
With that, he disappeared in night darkness.
They sat awhile in silence, rain streaming from the open archways supporting the ceiling. It was quiet, peaceful.
"M-my lord…?"
Legolas started, glancing up. She stood up slowly, his cloak falling to the bench, and he wondered why her shoulders were suddenly so stiff…nervous.
"I swear," he sighed. "If you call me that again, I will confine you to your room and place a constant guard at your door until you learn it well."
"Your highness?"
He frowned. The girl was quiet a moment, hesitant.
"Legolas…" she said softly.
For some reason, the sound of his name on her lips was strange. It was soft, gentle…almost a caress, and again, the unwanted image of his mother flashed through his head. This wasn't quite the same, but it was unnerving, to say the least. The simple word asked a thousand things that he couldn't answer.
"You're taking me with you tomorrow?"
He nodded. "Do you not wish to go?"
The elleth shook her head. "No, I was just wondering if…we were leaving the boundaries."
It was a strange question, but a fair one. "No, we meet them at the borders. We will not leave them."
An audible sigh of relief escaped her mouth, and she rubbed at a silver bracelet tangled around her wrist. He wondered if it was a present, from a family member perhaps. She was so nervous, he could almost see a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
"You don't wish to leave?"
"Well…" she stuttered then, and her breathing came fast. "I-it's just that I arrived only a week ago, and-and I don't want to go yet. I've barely seen anything here. And I-"
"-It is all right!" Legolas laughed, holding up a hand. "It is all right. We are not leaving. You needn't worry."
Sweet Eru… she was excitable!
"Good." The woman breathed, rubbing her arms, before coming down and sitting next to him again.
A long minute passed, feeling his smile fade, before he asked more seriously. "Tell me elleth, why would a spirit come to Earth? Even if you don't believe me, you cannot deny these journals. Why would a Spirit touch Larion's life? He was a scribe, a mortal man."
The girl's shoulders sunk.
Legolas looked up, searching her face for any hidden answers kept there. But it was blank, empty. "Why? Why would He even bother? You insist that the Faerie are not interested in earth's affairs."
Slowly, the girl breathed a sigh. "It…was not always so. I don't know much about it; please don't ask me. But I know that affairs of men and elves were once the affairs of the Faerie. Sometimes, they did not get along. Sometimes, there was a clash of wills. Weak, mortal men fell prey to the Spirits' desire for power, and the elves sought to protect them from being used.
These spirits, a few, became the Elders. They were very powerful, and they loved their power with a passion. S-some of the Spirits grew to hate the elves for shielding men. They attacked them, and Thranduil, without a ring of power, was the easiest prey to their revenge. Thranduil, or at least I am told, hated the Faerie for this, because he never really protected men. It was just to cause the others pain. Things just escalated from there, revenge upon revenge."
"My father?" Legolas glanced away and back, confused. "They hate my father?"
"I…don't know." She whispered.
"Then why was He different? Why was the woman who visited me…different? Why did they seek out 'earthlings', as you call them?"
Legolas shifted into a sitting position, watching her look down. A crease furrowed her brows together, and he realized she was distressed. Slowly, she turned the pages of Larion's journal. He watched her touch them, scan the words, trace them with her fingers, and her breathing quickened. She didn't answer, and after a long while, when the air grew still and silent, she whispered.
"Perhaps this will help." She wouldn't look at him. "…the rest of the last page. He said why he told the man these things."
She looked down. In the darkness, in the seclusion of that balcony, the rain drumming its quiet song on the stone, Legolas stared. There was something deep, unfathomable in her eyes. She looked at the page, but her gaze drifted. He wondered if she'd seen them before…
"Imagine…a thousand years of watching the sun rise and fall." She whispered, "Imagine a millennium of feeling the tides of change course through every living thing, time. But time means nothing to you. Because you're not alive…because you don't live. You just are. You watch others live. You feel others' pain, but never yours."
She looked up, glancing to the book only once. "Imagine a lifetime, no, an…eternity…with nothing." She continued. "Imagine a world of void, emptiness. Watching the world is like a window, a threshold impossible to cross. You are different. Sometimes the souls who wander the earth know you are there, sometimes they don't. But always, you are feared, or hated, or wondered at...never loved."
She looked up, met his eyes. "And then, it changes. Everything changes. Imagine a breath of air, a gust of cool wind. Imagine feeling the life of something beautiful, something more than you ever could be. Because he's real, he's alive. You can touch him, feel him. That was…" she stopped, breathing more quickly, and he stared with bated breath. She wanted to say something; she wanted to tell him something! But she stopped. Her eyes dropped. "…that was Larion."
"Sweet Eru…" he whispered. Not even a small part of him could believe she read that from a century-old book. She was trembling under his very eyes, shivering, and he couldn't think of how to comfort her. She was upset. He could feel it, and even though the pendant burned warmly on his chest as it always did around her, he focused. He kept his voice gentle and even.
"You told me your father spent his life searching for the Faerie…?"
She closed her eyes.
"But there is more, isn't there?" It was more statement than question. "Did he love one?"
She turned away.
"Was your mother a spirit?" he just asked instead of letting it linger in the back of his mind, eat and gnaw at him until it drove him mad. He had to know.
Slowly, her head dropped. "No."
He blinked. No? Was she lying to him? Could he be wrong? Of course he was. It wasn't even possible to impregnate a spirit. So, what did that leave? Could she really know all this from her father's teachings? He just didn't know anymore.
"Elleth…" Legolas said slowly. He wasn't sure if he should ask it, and he wasn't sure if she would answer. She stared at her closed fists. "Would you ever lie to me?"
There was a long pause.
"Yes." She whispered. It shook once; she held her breath. But then it changed. She looked up and forced a grin out, holding her hands out, palms up. "See? I don't hate your training. I just hate pain."
Legolas' eyes widened. "Your…hands!" he shook his head, grasping her wrists. They were raw and bleeding; he could see where it dried to her palms. "Why in Eru's name didn't you tell me?"
She shrugged and kept her eyes down. He stared at her, aghast. And here he had thought she was preoccupied, wasn't dedicated to learning the art of the blade. He thought she hadn't liked him, or disliked his method of teaching. All thoughts of the Faerie vanished into vapor.
"Come on." Legolas shook his head, grabbing her wrist again. He took full charge. He was the one who gave her the injuries, and he would take care of them.
"Wait-" She gasped, but he pulled her on, stalking down the moonlit corridor. He went straight to the Healing Halls.
Legolas knew what to look for. It was not uncommon for beginners, children mostly, to experience such problems. He found salve for the pain, gauze to accelerate the elf's rapid healing process. In a day, she wouldn't feel them.
She stood behind him as he dug through the cupboards. Small windows placed in the walls were streaked in black, falling rain, claps of quiet thunder rumbling outside. Only a few elves threw glances his way, but one look at her clenched fists, and they left the prince alone. All but one did.
"Can I help, my lord?"
Legolas glanced over. A friend's eyes rewarded him, warm and smiling. "Captain Falaviel…"
Her dark, raven hair spilled in long tresses down her back, let loose and damp from the rain. She was the guard in charge of the patrol he and Gimli joined when they returned to the king's palace, and when they'd found the girl huddling in the rain. He was glad to see her then, with Captain Andaer, and he smiled half-heartedly.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
Legolas sighed, gesturing a hand to the girl. She shrank back from him, but he felt the stiffening in her shoulders, eyeing the captain from under a fringe of hair. Tension sprang to life.
"We've been sparring, training for the departure tomorrow."
"Ah, yes." She smiled. "I volunteered to join myself. You come with us, my prince?" Her eyes, framed in black lashes, blinked in utter surprise.
He nodded. "Yes, and it seems my friend enjoys dealing with pain alone." Legolas shot a dark glance in the elleth's direction, but when she dropped her head more, looking ashamed and a little angry, perhaps, he smiled. "Brave…but unnecessary."
"I'm sure." Falaviel glanced between them then, bow in hand, before flicking her dark hair briskly. "May I be of service, then? Anything at all?"
"No. Thank you anyway, Elesia." Legolas glanced to the exit. "We leave at dawn. Perhaps you should rest…We need you in fine form."
She bowed. "As you say, my lord." The captain turned then, and with a brief smile, left with a graceful sway of her hips despite the blood-stained knives stuck in her belt.
When Legolas turned back, to his surprise, he found the girl frowning at the exit. "What is it?" he asked.
"She thinks you're beautiful." She growled.
"What-" Legolas blinked, appalled. He whipped his head around, checking to be sure that no one was within earshot. "…what?"
"Never mind." She muttered, dropping her eyes, and Legolas shook his head.
He grabbed her waist between his hands, and with only a slight bump, set her on the countertop.
"I suggest you do not say that again." He lifted a finger, surreptitiously pointing at her, before beginning to gently dab away the excess, dried blood from her palms. "We trained together, that is all. She is a captain. I am her commander. We are good friends."
She stared at him a little darkly. "I'm not stupid."
"But highly imaginative!" he snapped, whispering. She just glowered at him, and he met it head on. After a tense minute though, he sighed, shaking his head. The terrible urge to smile sprang to life. Her glare was furious and harmless, like a kitten growl.
"Well, how bad is it…" she muttered, looking at her hands.
He glanced to her eyes, wiping a cotton swab along the deeper sores. She winced once. "Well, they are not as bad as mine were, the first time I held a blade." He conceded, nearly smiling at the memory. "My trainer suggested I wear leather gloves to condition my hands. I of course, refused. After all, only elflings wear gloves."
She smiled, "Legolas…an elfling."
He smirked. "Yes, and my father said that I would learn my lesson better if I experienced it." Legolas stared pointedly at her, before lifting a single finger to touch the tip of her nose. "Pride is not necessarily bravado, kitten."
She smiled slightly, a small but genuine smile that tugged at her mouth in the queerest of ways. She looked at him with glittering eyes, like there was nowhere else in all of Arda that she'd rather be... Legolas shook his head, focusing and swiping a light coating of salve along the lines of her palm, using just his fingertips.
As he worked, the pause shifted after a few quiet minutes.
"You love your father very much," She said softly, "don't you…Legolas?"
He threw an odd glance. "Of course." Legolas sighed then, wrapping her hands in a light gauze. "We disagree occasionally…Well, most of the time, but of course I do. And I never doubt his affection for me. That is never in question."
The girl was silent a long while. Finally, she nodded slowly.
"Now do you wish to go to bed?" he asked briskly, leaning towards her a little suspiciously.
She snapped her head up. "No! Please…please, no."
Legolas sighed. "Elleth, I am tired. I am sure you are, too. Do you not think it's worth a try?"
She was shaking, he could feel it in her fingers. Her eyes stared at him, pleaded with him wordlessly, and he realized she was terrified. What could bother her so? He knew what troubled him some nights, but he was never afraid to sleep. They were memory, some sweet, some sad…but nothing to be pushed down or forgotten. His past was his. He embraced it.
"Elleth, you cannot simply stay awake forever. Even Eldar need rest."
"I…I know. Just please don't make me now. I don't want to. I-I…"
"-All right." he sighed, gently helping her down. "Perhaps awhile of the alternative will convince you."
She nodded gratefully, clenching her fists around the bandage. And without another glance to the curious eyes following them, they left the Healing Halls.
Legolas wandered a little while, never straying far from his way to the porch. When the night was late, midnight perhaps, they sat back on the bench where she read to him. Not many words shed between the two, but amazingly, the stress and upsetting happenings of late didn't bother him now.
The elleth sat, collapsed tiredly beside him, Legolas idly stroking the warm pendant on his neck. They listened to the rainfall, how it let up to a distant drizzle, and then fell back to a showering patter streaming from the eaves.
And suddenly, Legolas glanced down, startled.
A copper-brown head rested against his shoulder, and he froze. She rested on him completely. The whir of rain thrummed on the roof, but only then, with a warm tingle in his chest as the pendant's heat dimmed, he realized she was asleep and snoring gently. Her breathing caught in her throat with every rise and fall of her lax, limp body, and he sighed, letting her rest on him for a while.
When the moon began its downward descent and his energy waned, very slowly, very carefully, Legolas slid an arm behind her knees and the other behind her neck. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and she didn't shift, not a breath or a whisper. The girl's head turned a little though, against his heartbeat, and her breathing came easier there.
"Strange elleth…" he whispered, watching her sleep.
He moved down the stair like liquid shadow, careful to support her neck and shoulders, and not a single step jarred her awake. She curled against him like a new babe. Legolas was utterly silent, utterly smooth. He would get her to her room, place her in bed still sound asleep, and no one would be the wiser. He would walk back to his room and get a good night's rest and then-
Suddenly, Legolas froze.
"Father." He spoke in surprise.
A strange moment passed, and he stared at the elf as he appeared from nowhere. Silver robes trailed the floor behind the king, a relaxed eveningwear. Lantern light lapped at the walls, bathing the hall in dim, warm light, and they stood at the stare above the dungeons. He knew this area well, which was why he planned to cut through and be in and out of her room as soon as possible. If he hurried, he'd still have a few hours of rest before dawn.
"Son." Thranduil raised a dark, silvery brow, gray eyes lingering long on the limp body in his arms.
His father was taller than Legolas, long, pale hair framing his face and hanging down the silk he wore. There was a fathomless depth in those eyes that Legolas never fully understood. But even now, he knew many thoughts were passing through the king's mind.
"I am only taking her to her room." He explained, stiffening under his father's scrutiny. "She was exhausted."
"Yes…" the king murmured slowly. "Who is she?"
"I told you that I trained an elleth in swordplay this week...?" Behind an expressionless mask, Legolas raced through his head, sure that he mentioned it.
"Yes, I remember." The king walked over slowly, still staring at the girl's sleeping face.
Legolas wasn't sure why, if it was in response to his scrutiny or not, but she turned away, buried her face in his chest. He wanted to cringe at the startled, disapproving expression that crossed the king's face. But he didn't. He stood straighter. It was how a prince should behave before the king.
"You did not tell me that it was the Lorien elf, however." He tilted his head slowly, voice as soft as silk. "Where again, did you get the child?"
"We found her just outside the borders." Legolas explained carefully. And then, he did something he never expected. He did it before he had time to wonder why. "It was the night after the Faerie's visit to me, Father."
As expected, the king snapped his gaze up and stared at him. "Your dream, you mean, son."
"My…vision." He agreed, "…whomever it was sent by."
Thranduil just narrowed his eyes, the girl in his arms forgotten. A silent breath of relief escaped his lips, and Legolas didn't mean to. But he did mean to hold her tighter. Something told him to turn, pull her out of the king's notice. He didn't know what it was.
"I suggest you carry on then, my son." Thranduil shifted back, and his gaze fell on the she-elf again, only once. "We'll not wish to keep our guests waiting at the borders."
Legolas smiled slightly. "We will not. I will be sure of it."
With that, he half-bowed a little awkwardly with the girl in his arms, before leaping gracefully up the flight of shadowed steps. He did it carefully, but quick. The king would disapprove of the little elleth; he knew it.
She knew much about the Faerie, and far more than she told him. His father would try to keep that knowledge from him, one way or another. Knowledge Legolas was determined to get.
So Legolas reached the shadowed, oak door of her room and he carefully balanced her on his knee, opening the door with his free hand. It was pitch dark inside, and he gently closed the door behind him. An arch-shaped streak of light lit the bed though, faint moon shining from the window and narrow terrace, breaking from the clouds.
Legolas lay her gently into the coverlet, before lifting her head onto a dark pillow and draping a blanket over her slender frame. A leather bound book tucked underneath it, a journal of some kind, but he left it alone. He wasn't here to pry.
And suddenly, he paused, casting one last look. The pendant burned at his chest, warm and pulsing, and he touched it, letting his eyes linger on the auburn hair fanned out over the bed.
Why was she there? She didn't belong here. She was too small, too fragile a creature to be here. Why had Lorien sent her of all people to fight their battles?
Her fingers groped for something, looked for something to latch onto, and he wasn't vain enough to think it was him. So he filled them with another pillow and she relaxed, sank into the mattress and breathed deeper. Legolas looked at her a long while, as the rain pattered the window, and she looked frightened…alone. A part of him wanted to stay. He couldn't understand the thought. It was ridiculous.
Nothing could touch her here…She was safe. What was she afraid of? What was this creeping sensation of something larger looming behind every word she spoke?
It was madness. Legolas cursed himself. He'd been reading too many legends and oldwife's tales! Too many myths filled his head.
Only of three things now, was he sure.
A spirit had visited him that night, no matter what his father or anyone else told him. That was one. He would use any means necessary to find her, and his friends would help him…That's two, he thought. And the girl sleeping under his eyes was not something to be exploited.
She was strange, yes. There was something queer in the way she looked at him, pulled close to him and then turned away, as if a crime to do it. But on his quest, his need to find the presence he felt, the spirit who gave such a gift that he couldn't understand, he wouldn't…no, he couldn't now…hurt the little elleth. She was important. And that was three.
Legolas realized he shouldn't, a moment too late to stop himself, but slowly, he stooped and gently touched his lips to her forehead. "Sleep well, kitten…" He stroked her hair with the backs of his fingers, drew the blanket to her chin so she wouldn't be cold, and without another word, Legolas left.
The door latched soundlessly behind him.
Author's Note: So, the next few chapters are already written. My apologies for this probable bombardment of updates, but what can I say? I'm a sporadic writer. I've had lots of time off, and with it being 100+ degrees out, the air conditioned inside is a nice place to be. So, I hope you enjoy, readers! Have a glorious July :)
By the way, asterisks (*) mark a POV break, while dashes (-) mark time break. Hope there's no confusion there. Don't forget to tell me what you think :)
