Chapter Ten

Arwen tapped on the doorframe with one finger before entering. She had a tray of food in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, and a smile on her face that she had rehearsed in the mirror.

"I brought you something in case you were hungry," she said, stepping into the room. Legolas still did not take notice of her, or was ignoring her. "If you don't horde a little something for yourself, Elrohir will eat everything."

Legolas slouched back in his chair, as pale and unmoving as marble in the moonlight.

Arwen set the tray and the bottle on the worktable. "If you wanted to rest, Legolas, I could stay here for awhile."

"No. Thank you." His voice was little more than a whisper, but still it sounded like it tore through his throat.

Though she knew this room and the vigil were for Legolas now, Arwen could not undo the habits of the past several days. From across the room, she examined Thranduil's body; watched his breathing, studied his wounded hand for any sign of returning darkness. All was well—well enough.

Arwen tipped some drops of athelas oil and water into the well of the small aroma lamp on the end of the worktable and lit the candle. She looked about the room for any other chore, any excuse to stay. She went to the head of the bed and laid a hand on Thranduil's forehead. She reached down to his wrist and measured his pulse.

"Good," she said, almost believing the optimism she had forced into her voice. When she looked at Legolas, she found him staring at her. He looked centuries too old, lines and shadows around his eyes, around the grim line of his mouth. He was haggard and disheveled from the journey, from what he had found at his destination.

"I cannot tell whether I want to weep, be sick, or kill something," he said, and indeed all those impulses seemed at war in his features. Wan but angry, exhausted but tense.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Could you help me up?"

Arwen circled the bed and took Legolas' hands. Before he was even halfway to his feet, almost all of his weight was on her, and his body was stiff and slow. Arwen braced herself as he coaxed every muscle to stretch and hold him upright. He was so tall—even taller than her brothers—but her strength was enough to support him.

In several staggered and graceless steps, Legolas made his way to the worktable and the tray of food. Arwen kept on hand on his back, but he did not ask for any more assistance. He tore a corner off a piece of lembas and offered the rest of it to her. Arwen took a tiny piece and they both ate. Despite the miniscule amount, it seemed to take Legolas almost a heroic amount of effort to swallow.

Arwen had only met Legolas on formal occasions, and very few of them. But she had had her hands on his mother's body, on his father's bloody hands. Any notion of unfamiliarity with him seemed a distant memory now. Still, she knew nothing of him, nothing of what might lift his spirits; she could not convince herself that now was the time to ask questions.

His shoulders heaved beneath her hand and Arwen had a bowl under his chin in an instant. He covered his mouth with his hand, tears pouring down his face, and shook his head.

"That's all right, Legolas," she said, rubbing his back. His blonde hair was speckled with dirt, every braid half-undone. He boots and breeches were muddy, his tunic stained with sweat. "I could find you some clean clothes."

He nodded.

"If you would come with me for a little while, Legolas, I think I could help you," Arwen said. "Your father will still be here when we get back."

Legolas nodded again and let himself be steered out of the room. The heavy shadows in the waning moonlight did not matter; Arwen knew precisely where she was going, every staircase, every corner. They wound down and down the steps—slowly, and only slower the longer they went on. Legolas could barely lift his legs, and even his Elven eyes seemed blind in the dark. They stole across the rocky shore along the Bruinen and into the base of the cliffs of Imladris.

"Where…" Legolas cut off his own question as they moved through the stone corridors, lit well with lamps. The walls glistened and the air grew heavier with heat and steam. Soon they came to the hot spring pool. An exquisite hall had been made of the waters. Stone pillars engraved with images of Valinor, the pale walls reflecting the warm lamplight and the gently rippling water.

Legolas limped over to one of the benches and started to tear off his boots and looked quite faint after the first one. Arwen knelt in front of him and pulled off the other one. She reached for the hem of his tunic and he raised his arms with a grimace. Gently, she pulled the shirt over his head. She offered her hands so he could stand back up and take care of the breeches himself.

Arwen stared resolutely at the wall until she heard the splash of water. When she turned around, he was only pale shoulders and a head of golden hair over the edge of the pool. After a moment, he sank a little deeper.

"Is that a little better?" Arwen took off her slippers and approached the water.

"A little," he replied with a sigh.

Arwen hiked up the hem of her skirt to above her knees and crouched down behind him. She slid each leg into the water on either side of him. She laid one hand against his hair and though he had not even opened his eyes from his reverie as she took her seat, she stopped. "May I?"

He nodded.

With nimble fingers, Arwen undid his braids, trying to be gentle with the knots. Even though his hair was dirty, when it caught the firelight, it was the most brilliant gold. His father's blonde, but with the warmth of his mother's auburn. Arwen twisted his loose hair over his shoulder so the ends fell in the water. She noticed the twin scars over his shoulders.

Without warning, Legolas submerged himself. The water flooded up where Arwen sat and soaked her skirts through, but she could say nothing when Legolas came up again with the years and exhaustion gone from his face. He pressed his hands over his hair and wrung out the ends.

Arwen upended a bottle of oil onto the palm of one hand and massaged her fingers through his hair.

"Thank you," Legolas said, even his voice purified by the water.

"It's only rose oil," she said.

"No, for… For everything. For what your family has done."

"You're welcome."

Legolas caught her hand as she combed her fingers through his hair. "I should have been with them."

"If you had been injured, or worse, then there would have only been more grief."

"Physical pain I understand," Legolas said. "This… I don't know how to feel this."

"Whatever you need, Legolas, I hope you won't hesitate to ask." Arwen took her hands of out his hair and rubbed the excess oil into her palms.

Legolas submerged again, and this time he kicked himself off of the wall and swam halfway up the length of the pool. He broke the surface with a great splash and wiped the water from his face. A soft sob echoed through the room.

Arwen watched him silently, as if he were some creature in a story that should not be disturbed lest it disappear. He played his fingers against the surface of the water, tracing ripples around and through each other. He stretched, massaged the back of his neck and his shoulders. A few of his breaths caught loudly in his throat.

After a long while, Legolas swam back to her. He wrapped his hands around her calves and rose up out of the water to kiss her on the cheek.

"I need to not feel this," Legolas said as he pulled away. His pale face was marked with tears, his blue eyes bright and shimmering. "Just for a minute. Just so I can… breathe."

Arwen nodded though she did not yet know what she was going to do. She could not break a promise she had made only minutes ago, but the harder her heart hammered, the thinner her resolve became. She leaned down and wiped away his tears with her thumbs. Cupping his face, she kissed him, softly, fully. His lips were warm and damp as they moved over hers, with the occasional salty taste of tears. It was he who pulled away, drawing a huge and shaky breath. With each one, he seemed to grow steadier, stronger.

"I'll be back with clean clothes for you," she said.

Legolas reverently dipped his head.

She stood up, her skirts dripping, and went back out into the night.