Legolas and Maewen's problems, when they nearly walked away from each other, are described in Finfinfin1's "Darkness of Your Heart"
My Father sits upon the stairs.
He huddles in a dejected heap of elf. As soon as I can see him I see his misery and I stumble.
"Onwards." Elrohir puts a firm hand on the small of my back. "Now comes the time to show me your courage, Estel. Face what you have done and make it right. You are allowed mistakes as long as you try to fix them."
He gives me no choice but to carry on, as much as I want to turn on my heels and run.
"Legolas!"
Father's head jerks up as Elrohir shouts his name and then he is on his feet and running towards us. He gives me no chance to speak. I do not have to fumble through my words of apology or even look into his eyes at the pain I caused for when he reaches us he sweeps me into his arms and holds me tight, my head buried in his chest.
I can feel his heart thudding against my cheek where it lays against him. He smells of the trees and the sun; and home. And his fea entwines itself with mine. I am bathed in his light.
It is a long time we stand there, his arms around me, and he does not move at all.
"Legolas . . . "
Behind me is the softest movement as Elrohir touches my father's arm.
"The boy is tired, and has not eaten. This foolish child of yours has been climbing trees. Let us get Elladan to see what damage he has done to that arm, hmm?"
Then Father lets me go. He holds me back at arms length so I must look at him. There are tears upon his cheeks. My Father never cries!
And I feel sick.
"Climbing trees?" He asks me, and his voice, now I hear it, is taut with tension. "Why, Estel?"
Gently he lifts my arm, in its splint, to cradle it in his hands.
"Does it hurt?"
It does; but not as much as my heart.
All the words I should say to him, all the apologies, freeze within me. I say nothing.
In the centre of my back there is a prod, sharp and uncomfortable. A finger pokes me where my father cannot see it. It is Elrohir. Silently he tells me his disappointment in me, he urges me to do what I should.
"I am sorry, I am sorry Father!"
It does not answer his question but now I have said it the words tumble out, one on top of the other.
"I am sorry I ran away from you, and from Elrohir when we were at the waterfall." I splutter my regret out through sobs that come from nowhere and threaten to choke me. "I am sorry I did not tell you it was all my fault. I am sorry I made you angry with Elrohir. I am sorry—"
He cuts me off mid sentence, as I am about to tell him I am sorry for all my hurtful words, that I love him beyond the stars, that no one could replace him.
Clasping my face in his hands, he stops me.
"Hush, hush, little one, Hush." He soothes.
The most important thing of all I have to say he will not hear.
"We are all allowed mistakes, Estel," he murmers. "No more tears now. It is alright."
And my opportunity is gone.
They whisk me away inside then, my Father and Elrohir, and Elladan appears from I know not where. He is serious as he looks at me. He shakes his head when Elrohir tells him I have been hiding in his flet, as if he is not pleased I was there at all. He says nothing as he looks at my arm.
My father stands beside me, tense, anxious, quiet, until Elrohir puts an arm across his shoulders.
"Let us get this boy some food," he says. "He must be hungry. You can come with me to tell me his favourites, Legolas. Leave Elladan to do his mending alone."
And Father leans in to his touch. He rests his head on his shoulder. It untangles one of the knots in my stomach to see them, for Elrohir must be right. Perhaps Father does still love him after all.
It is quiet when they have gone. Gently Elladan removes my splint and turns my arm in his hands and says nothing, nothing at all.
I can feel his light surging through me, I can feel it soothing raw nerves, relaxing tense muscles, easing the throbbing ache, but it is all in silence.
Not until he has carefully placed it back into its splint and tightened the strapping does he speak and when he does it makes me jump.
"When I asked you to explain what happened at the waterfall to your Father this is not what I had in mind, Estel."
"I know." I hang my head but his eyes burn through me regardless.
"When I showed you my flet I did not anticipate you going there alone, using it to hide and cause chaos."
"I know."
He sighs as he turns away from me to tidy up his supplies.
"Our parents are people too." He says quietly, while he does not look at me. "They hurt like we hurt and we are the ones who can hurt them the most. You need to remember that—"
I think he means to say more but at that moment the door swings open revealing my father and Elrohir, and a tray piled high with deliciousness.
"I am sorry." I whisper as they enter. "I am sorry, Elladan."
And he ruffles my hair with his hand as he turns to go.
"I know it is not always easy to be you, Estel." He says under his breath then he smiles at Elrohir, as if he says nothing to me at all.
"A feast fit for a king!" He exclaims, "You have excelled yourself brother. Let us leave these Silvans to it, shall we. The arm will be well, Legolas. No damage to speak of, just the pain of overuse. The bones sit nicely, straight and nearly knitted."
And Father flashes him a smile of relief and gratitude.
They have bought me to my father's room, not my own, so I sit in the middle of his large bed and now he sits himself next to me, placing the tray filled with food in front of me.
I watch as he helps himself to a cake. My father can never resist sweet things.
"Have something, Estel," he pushes the food towards me. "Eat, you must be hungry."
I am hungry, but it feels as if a weight of unspoken things hang between my father and I and it crushes my appetite. I am not used to this feeling. My father knows my heart, he knows all of me. Never have I sat with him and felt there were things I could not say.
"There must be something here you like?" He says, a frown flitting across his brow. "Did we not choose well?"
They have chosen well indeed, all my favourites, but I cannot eat. I have questions burning inside and I must ask them.
"Do you still love Elrohir?" I am not sure why it is that which tumbles out before all the others but I need to know. Elrohir tells me he does but what if Elrohir is wrong? My father needs Elrohir. He makes him well. He makes him happy. I do not think he can survive without him.
Father's eyes open wide in surprise. He stares at me.
"Of course I love him. Why do you ask that?"
And it all pours out.
"You were angry with him. You would not let him see me. You said we would leave for home. I thought I had destroyed it all . . . I thought it had all gone wrong and it was my fault." I twist the blanket that covers my knees between my fingers and do not look at him.
His hand reaches out to cover mine. Slowly he prises the edge of the blanket away from me.
"Look at me, Estel." When I do not he holds my face in his hand and makes me.
"I was angry, yes . . ." He says, "but I never stopped loving him. Sometimes we are angriest at people because we love them. I am fated to love Elrohir. He is emblazoned across my soul."
He sighs then as his fingers twine between mine.
"You must not worry about this Estel. In the past, Elrohir and I were at odds and yet we are still here. We still love each other. We will still argue at times but I will never not love him."
He speaks about whatever it was that happened on the Dead Marshes . . . He must do. I long to know the details but I must not ask him.
Elrohir said I was not to know. He asked me to honour his wishes and I gave my word. The questions burning inside me must go unanswered.
"I know it must seem confusing," Father says. "You will understand better when you are older, how the heart works."
"Do you still love my mother?" Suddenly I find courage enough to ask him what has bothered me for months. Since he speaks of his heart now might be my only chance.
If he was surprised when I asked about Elrohir he is nearly speechless now. His eyes open wide and he gasps before he answers me, as if I have knocked the very air from his lungs.
"Estel! You know I do. You must know. You are Silvan, you have grown with the Silvans. I thought you understood this. I thought it a part of your blood, to know how I can love Elrohir and your mother. How she loves Erynion and I."
"Oh I know that!" I wave my hand dismissively for that is not it at all. It seems stranger to me that anyone would not love more than one person. How could you ever find all you need in just one?
"You fight." That is what makes me doubt. "You fight all the time. You said she makes you unhappy. You did Father. And I worry. . . Do you not love her any more? Do you wish you were not with us?"
"Do I wish. . . ?" His voice trails off and I notice his hand on mine is shaking. "No! No, I never wish that. It is you who keeps me going, Estel, every day. Your energy and Calithil's smile. And your mother .. . Always your mother. She is my light. I cannot believe I have let you think this. I cannot believe it."
He is upset. As upset as I have ever seen him. Tears glint in his eyes and I am ashamed. I should not have spoken this aloud. I should have kept it tucked away out of sight. Elrohir told me there were questions I should not ask and obviously this is one of them.
"I am sorry Father, forget I said it. It is alright."
"It is not alright. I will not forget it. You should know . . ." He rubs his eyes with his hands as if to stop those traitorous tears from emerging. "Do you not see the little things?" He asks me.
The little things? Now that I think on it I do see them. His smile when my mother comes to see us unexpectedly as we work. His laugh as he chases her through the trees. The way he reaches up to touch her hand as she massages his shoulders when he writes. There are a litany of little things but they get lost. That is what I tell him.
"They are hard to remember amongst the harsh words, Father."
He takes a breath then, a deep one, and steadies his hands. I have seen him do this before, at home, when things upset him and my mother pleads with him to calm himself. Build your walls, Legolas, she will say, remember Gimli. I have never understood it. There are no walls, but I can imagine how Gimli would have been good at building them.
It seems such a long time he is silent.
"Long ago," He says finally, "Not long after the Ring War, so you know how many years ago that was . . ." He smiles sideways at me as if he laughs at his age. " Your mother and I did have problems, many problems. You think we argue now? Oh it was worse than this. We did not understand each other. We almost walked away. We hurt each other badly—"
I did not know this, any of it.
"—but we survived that time, Estel, and if anything we loved each other even more at the end of it. We grew up. Love is not always easy, and that is what you see . . . The part of it that is a struggle, and I do not help that, the way I am. But it is worth it. It is SO worth it. We have been at our worst. We will never go there again. Promise me you will not worry about this. I love you all . . . There is nowhere I would rather be."
"Not even Arda?"
He hesitates, just a second, a momentary pause, before he answers.
"If all of you are not there with me, not even Arda."
I believe him.