Authors Note: Thanks to all my guest reviewers! Wish I could reply to you all in a PM :-)
Legolas
The sea deafens me and I am tired of it.
On and on it roars but it is worse when it is quiet. Then it whispers in my ears to remind me of those I have lost who wait for me in Valinor.
"Join them, join them," it says. "It is so close, just a step away. They are all there waiting."
It fills my mind with visions of joyful reunions and imaginings of loved ones I have not seen for centuries.
And so I try to ignore it. . . and I fail. The more I will not listen, the more insistent it becomes, until my mind cannot concentrate on anything without the words of the sea infiltrating every corner, every thought, every feeling. It sends me mad.
The sea does not like those I love, those whose love holds me here. Always, always it presses me to let them go.
"She will follow you," It says of Maewen. "You will not be parted long," and when it is angry, "If she really loved you, she would go with you."
It does not understand the light she shines on me. It does not understand anything about us, and so it tries to push us apart.
When Aragorn is here it reminds me of his death.
"You will lose him anyway. Already he ages. Leave now and you avoid the grief."
But it does not know the grief would only follow me, being all the worse because I had abandoned him.
The sea-longing cannot comprehend the love I have for those closest to me but it knows it does not like them.
And Elrohir it hates.
It has not forgotten how he burnt it, how his brilliant light scorched its edges until it fled. It ran from him that night and now it seethes with anger every time he is near.
Much the way Elrohir radiates animosity whenever he approaches me. The sealonging hates him, and he despises me.
The sea deafens me, and I am so sick of its noise, of the dreams of golden sand and clear blue waves it sends me at night. I am sick of it all. I wish I could simply be Legolas once more.
I turn to Maewen when Aragorn leaves, for I am worried about her. She looks pale, tired and so terribly sad. Something is not well with her.
Often I am so caught up by the sound of the waves in my ears, trapped into either listening or running, that I trample all over her.
How little of my time does she actually get?
Oh, we are together almost always, but we can no longer sit still, we can no longer enjoy each other as we did before. Always the sea is pushing me on.
And suddenly it is crystal clear. She deserves better.
"So what shall we do today?" I have asked her this once already before Aragorn saw fit to interrupt. She did not answer me then and she does not now, not really. Because I want to know what she wants; not what I need.
"You promised to see Elladan," she says softly. "We should do that, Legolas."
"I will, I will. Today, definately just as I promised. But first I want to spend some time with you. Do something just the two of us, just for you."
"That would be for me."
I know she means that. I know she worries and I know that exhausts her. I do not want to accept help from Elladan. With every shred of my self respect that is left I do not want to go there. Too fresh is the memory of him standing over me as I sat in the mud of the Dead Marshes, looking at me with disdain and telling me I was a disappointment.
But he can help me. I know that. He has done it before, And Maewen is desolate, at the end of her endurance. It is my fault, all my fault—mine and the sea. Swallowing my pride, seeing Elladan, quieting the worst of the sea is the only thing I can truly do to help her.
It infuriates me, that my inattention, my distraction, and the weight the sealonging places on me turns me in to someone she needs to care for and not the Legolas I want to be. I am destroying her, slowly, surely. Loving me is destroying her.
Still as much as I know I have to visit Elladan, I do not want to do that now.
"This afternoon, I promise." I take her hand and raise it to my lips for a kiss. Her skin is soft and warm, perfect as every part of her is to me. "But this morning should be just you and I, then I will see him. Just the two of us Maewen...you know you want to." I smile at her, the smile she can never resist and I know it, quick, bright, cheeky, and it works.
"Alright, alright, you have convinced me!" She even smiles in return and I feel I have achieved something. I hope I have lightened her load—even a little—this morning. "Take me to the stone," she continues and laughs at my astonished face but never before has Maewen asked to go to stone!
"What stone? Did I hear right, Maewen?"
"Have I surprised you?" she exclaims with glee, "I hope you did not think you were the only one full of surprises, Legolas!" Her smile is broad now and it fills my heart with joy to see it after those mysterious tears of last night. Crying is not something Maewen does and it is I who have led her there.
I reach out to stroke her hair as it falls across her face. I love the feel of it, cool and silky as it slips through my fingers, warm walnut brown against the paleness of my skin. She is my wild silvan love. Her spirit, her energy, her feisty determination all entrance me. And yet it feels as if I am squeezing them all from her drop by drop. All that untamed beauty disappearing as she folds beneath the pressure of my sea-longing. I wish I could free her from me, although I would never willingly let her go.
"Show me what Gimli has shown you," she says now, eyes dancing. "Show me how to hear the song of the stone. You never told me you could do that! You have been keeping secrets, Legolas!"
I feel a pang of guilt at that for I have, just not the secrets she thinks. But I push the guilt aside. This morning is all for her and I do not want him spoiling it.
"Come on then!" I grab her hand and hold it tight, pulling her through the open doors to our balcony. "Let us go into the city."
"Out the door, Legolas," she laughs, "We are not in Ithilien. We cannot climb the walls here. What will they think!"
"Who cares what they think!" I know this bothers her. I know she feels judged as somehow lacking because she is silvan and a child of the forest. Not an elegant lady as she thinks she should be. But that forest sprite is the Maewen I love and I want to free her from the cage she places herself in. So I will not accept no for an answer and her giddy laughter as we scramble over the side and down the walls eases my soul. She is happy, at least for now.
The walk to the city walls is a long one and although it is early morning the streets are crowded. Men jostle us as we walk through the crowds but she does not miss a step. I am proud of her courage for it took much for her to come to this city, she does not love mortals as I do and she would rather not be here. She does it for me. She does so much for me...what do I do for her?
Her hand is warm in mine as we walk, and it is comforting to have that contact. Our link is deeper than the deepest sea. But try as I might to focus on Maewen my thoughts do wander, as they always do, down bends in the road, to the birds in the sky, and as much as I do not wish it, they land on Elrohir.
I did not know he would be here or I would not have come, for his sake and for mine. All is turmoil between us even now. It is no better, he has not forgiven me, and when he is near I cannot stop remembering that night. His crystal sharp, bright fea as it leapt towards me, embracing me. The joy of that contact after so long alone with none who could reach me. Maewen's words of before come back to me.
"He spends time with the boy because you wished it from him," Does he really? The sea has been shouting at me, screaming in anger that Elrohir attempts to steal Eldarion from me, that he plays with the boys affections only to hurt me. It enrages me.
But Aragorn agrees with Maewen. He says Elrohir cares what I think. Why would he when he hates me so? Or does he not hate quite as intensely as I have always thought? Does that mean anything for us?
Now I disappoint myself. I should not be daydreaming of Elrohir with Maewen here beside me. No matter how easily he destroys my sea.
I live in a world divided in two. I was born in to it. The Sindar and the Silvan. My father is Sindar, my mother Silvan and I am both. But my brother was the sensible, Sindar prince and I was the wild one. I was the child who ran in the woods, loved the trees and could feel the land. I was Silvan. I am Silvan.
But not as Maewen is.
Silvan are wild through and through and when I have not entrapped her in a Sindar or mortal world so is she. Maewen's love for me runs deep. I can feel it in her soul, but she was born for freedom and her soul searches for more. She needs more than just me. Maewen had another love and I forced it away from her. Because it hurt me, because I could not understand it, because suddenly, though I believed I was a Silvan I discovered I was not. How could she love another and not love me less? Why did she look elsewhere when if she had truly loved me she should not have needed to?
I was young then and foolish. I had seen nothing of the world. I knew nothing of love.
Now I stand with Maewen, who is my heart, who I love more than life, who lights the very depths of my soul and I begin to understand.
Because there is Elrohir and he is different.
"Do you regret walking away from Erynion?" The word are out of my mouth before I can stop them tumbling from my train of thought and they are strange to Maewen who has no idea what goes on within my mind,
She stops in her tracks pulling her hand from mine.
"What?"
" Do you regret it? I was wrong to insist on that. I should never have destroyed what lay between you." Now I have raised the subject I may as well continue. But Maewen stands and stares, her face drained of colour.
"No," she says, "I have never regretted it. I would do it again for you."
"I think you need him." I do, I really do. She gives so much to me and I am chaotic at the best of times. She needs Erynion's quiet calm.
As you need Elrohir's bright glory. My mind whispers to me but I turn my thoughts from that.
"He was your refuge, I understand that now," I tell her. "And I have grown. When we return to Ithilien things will be different. I will speak with him. I was wrong to stop it and I will change that for you."
If I thought she would be happy, I was wrong.
"Do you turn me aside?" She gasps. "Do you wish to leave me, Legolas?"
"No! Of course I do not. Maewen, why do you say that?"
But she stumbles backwards, away from me, white-faced with horror.
"Do you wish to give me to Erynion so you would be free?"
"No!"
What has made her think I could ever do that? Or would ever have wanted to?
"No Maewen!" I follow her as she moves away and grasp her hands. They are shaking. How can she think this of me?
"I will not leave you." I take her in my arms and hold her as the crowds surge around us. "I do not want to. I would never want to. I want you to be happy and you are not. I have tried to clip your wings and lock you in a cage. I want to make it right and set you free." I tilt her head back so she can see me. So she will know I mean this .
"You are my wild silvan princess and I have tried to turn you into something you are not. I am sorry, Maewen, let me fix this."
But she is not hearing me. She is not. And I have no idea where this has come from.
"Do you love me, Legolas?" The tears spill down her cheeks. Tears like the ones from last night and I cannot understand how she can ask that. How does she not already know the answer?
"Of course, of course." I kiss the tears fom her cheeks. "I love you. I love you, Maewen. You know this."
But it is obvious she doesn't, and I stand there, in the street, surronded by the people of the city, Maewen's tears wet on my shoulder, and I wonder why?
