Especially for Arasa17 to make up for the long wait last time!
It takes a long time to free myself from the cobwebs of nightmare that cling to my mind, the echo of past tragedy that seems just a heartbeat away. But while I do, while I struggle to return to the here and now, Aragorn simply sits in silence and anchors me to myself. He is stillness and peace and calm.
It is only when my heartbeat slows and I can breathe that I realise we are alone.
"Where is Maewen?" My voice is hoarse and my throat sore.
Aragorn smiles then.
"Gimli has her, they go to investigate rock formations or some such dwarven interest."
"That will bore her to tears!" Despite myself, I laugh at the ridiculousness of that idea and Aragorn places a hand gently upon my knee. His eyes too, are gentle.
"They give us space, Legolas,"
I suddenly realise I am exhausted. It is as if my tears have washed all trace of me away.
"Tell me of him."
It takes me a second to realise he is still speaking.
"Tell you what? You have met Taenor, Aragorn. There is nothing I can say that you do not already know."
"Tell me of your brother." His face lets me know he is determined and when Aragorn looks like that there is no dissuading him.
"This has nothing to do with my brother." Despite myself, despite knowing it is hopeless to avoid the question, I still try.
"Does it not, Legolas? You know that is not true. You hold him so close to yourself, anything I do know I have had to drag out of you."
I sigh and it is a long and dejected one. I do not have the energy to fight him on this today. I am defeated.
"You know it all anyway, Aragorn for I am sure Gimli has told you, as Maewen told him. My flightiness, my distraction, my total inability to concentrate on what I should. . . All those things about me which frustrate you so, they killed him. I killed him. If I had struck the blow myself it could not have been more my fault."
"That is not the story Gimli told me," he says firmly. " He told a tale of youth and inexperience, plus an empathy with all living things combining to cause a tragedy which was no-ones fault."
"Then Gimli has it wrong."
"Does he?" Aragorn turns my head so I must look at him. "Does he have it wrong, Legolas, or do you?"
"I was there," I cry. "I know what happened for I lived it. I still live it."
"No-one blames you for this Legolas, no-one who hears the story. No-one who was there. Not Erynion, nor Maewen, nor your father, nor Gimli or I. You are the only one. It was tragic, and unfair, but not your fault." He reaches out then and lays his hand against my head.
"You must stop locking him away. Are there not precious memories in here that would help you?"
"Precious memories?" I gasp. "I can remember nothing but pain."
"Before the pain. Tell me something from before it. Describe him to me."
I do not want to. It only reminds me of what I have lost. I try not to think of him ever. But Aragorn will not let this go. I know him and he will push me until I give in.
"He was the leader I will never be. In that he was like you, Aragorn. Intuitive, thoughtful, charismatic and focused. Far more a Sindar than Silvan. The image of my father as I am not. Our people loved him, they adored him." As I speak I see the similarities between my brother and my friend as I have never seen them before. They are alike.
"You would have liked him, Aragorn. He would not have driven you to distraction as I so often do."
"I like you."
I scoff at that.
"Of course for we are friends, but he would have been better at this than I. He could sit in your council meetings and not find his mind captured by the wind or the birds. . . Or the sea."
Aragorn is frowning. Something I have said has displeased him but for the life of me I do not know what. He asked me to describe my brother after all. Now he does not like what he hears?
"What?" I ask, "What have I said?"
He drops his head in his hands then, despondent and suddenly miserable. A silence follows which has my stomach churning so I am relieved when he speaks again.
"I told you yesterday I had failed you if you did not realise how important your friendship is to me. I am sorry, Legolas, if I have somehow made you feel not enough, if you think I wish you would change, for nothing could be further from the truth."
He mumbles it into his hands and I am filled with a need to make this better. He seems so unhappy, and I am used to knowing I am less than perfect. He is not the only one who my silvan nature annoys after all. I left a string of tutors pulling out their hair back in the Greenwood. Even my brother who loved me had his patience sorely tried at times.
And so I reach out to squeeze his shoulder.
"I know you love me, Aragorn. And I know I am not the most useful friend at times, not the easiest to be around. It is something I am used to."
But he shakes his head. It is not enough to ease his heartache and I do not know what else to say.
"Legolas," he raises his head and looks me in the eye. "In truth, I envy you your silvan nature, your ability to see joy in the simplest of things, the way you feel the world around us. Through your eyes I get a glimpse of something marvellous, something that would otherwise pass me by. I bear a heavy weight and sometimes it feels as if the very life is crushed out of me. Then you will arrive, all joy and light, a breath of fresh air, a conduit to a better place, a more satisfying life. You uplift me. You help me remember my true self, the Estel I used to be.
"I know when my problems crowd around me I can be short tempered and impatient. That is my fault, not yours. Please do not change. Change nothing for you are perfect as you are."
I am left speechless, for this is perhaps the first time in my life someone has said they love the very things about me that irritate most others. My father loves me—but he has to. Erynion loves me—he has learned to. Maewen loves all parts of me and I have never understood that. Even Gimli counts to ten so often when I am at my flightiest, I know he does. He is not very good at hiding his annoyance, much as he tries. But Aragorn does not stop there.
"All due respect to your brother," he says, "For I do not know him and I am sure he is, as you say, a fine man. Perhaps you are right and if I met him I would like him. But I do not want a composed, thoughtful, focused Sindar prince for my friend. I want a wild, chaotic, Silvan one!
"I thank the Valar for the happenings in our lives that sent you to Imladris that day, that caused Elrond to choose you for the Fellowship, that bought you to my side. I would not be without you, Legolas. I do not want a replacement. When you arrive in Minas Tirith and find me overburdened and cantankerous, promise me you will remember the love for you that lies at the heart of me."
He brings me to tears, he makes me cry, for I can feel those tears spill down my face. No-one has ever spoken to me this—save Maewen.
"Promise me!" He implores.
"I promise," I grin at him through the tears for I feel suddenly and strangely euphoric. "I will tell you, you are a bad tempered Gondorian who needs to appreciate me."
And he laughs.
My joking lifts the weight of his words from our shoulders so we can listen to them and yet move on.
"Have you two had time enough to chat about the flowers?" It is Gimli behind us and we both jump in surprise. "The lass and I have exhausted any remotely interesting scenery here."
I turn to look at him and Maewen beside him. Despite his lighthearted words they both look deadly serious. Maewen especially so and I leap to my feet to reassure her. I wonder what it is she expected to find here?
"We have had time a plenty, Gimli," I quip to let them know I am well. "Aragorn has been admitting how honoured and blessed he is to know me."
And Gimli splutters with badly concealed laughter.
"Valar, help us. Have you lost your mind Aragorn?" He exclaims and even Maewen smiles at that.
She is uncertain when she approaches me as we ready to leave—and I must admit I am not unhappy to depart this place. She sees the tracks of tears on my cheeks and it bothers her.
"How are you?" She asks softly and her slender fingers rise to wipe the wetness from my face.
"I am alright." I say firmly, for I think it is important that she knows this without doubt. "I am better than I imagined I would be."
"Good," she says and then she grins up at me, "I must say, Legolas, Gimli is delightful but he has this most tedious fascination with rocks!" The last is a whisper so Gimli will not hear and the joy bubbles up within me. She is so funny.
The trip back to the settlement is a quiet one. Aragorn is watchful, eyes ever on me, I know, but this time it does not rankle, I do not feel judged. And Maewen hovers also, on my peripheries always just there, just where I may need her. I do not blame them for their anxiety but it is unnecessary.
My mind, as we walk, is filled with Laerion.
It is as if, describing him to Aragorn, has unlocked a floodgate, opened up a treasure trove of memory that I had all but forgotten. I am awash with them.
Laerion, holding my hand as we walked through the woods, patiently exclaiming over my discovery of insects under the fallen leaves.
Laerion on the training fields teaching me the bow. Strong arms around his small brother as he showed me the intricacies of aim and power.
Laerion arguing with my tutor on a day when I had been particularly trying, a day I had spent with my mind outside in the sun and the trees rather than on the words and tactics I should have been listening to.
"Leave him be!" He raged, "How dare you crush his spirit, his wildness. Can you not see he is something special?"
How had I forgotten that? My brother thought me special. He thought me a jewel to be treasured.
Why has this memory been gone from my mind so long?
It is because I am so lost in daydreams and memories that I do not notice the messenger until he is upon us. One of my people, a Silvan, he is breathless and excited. Panicked almost, and I am immediately filled with worry. What has happened? Have I made another error? How are my people? How is Erynion?
"Legolas!" He cries, as he stumbles to my feet wide-eyed. "Legolas, thank goodness I have found you.
"The King is here, Legolas. The King!"