Blood-Red Rose for Legolas
ElveNDestiNy
Dedication: To my reviewers, especially Pixisticks – you guys are the best!
Translation:
Miluirîn: combination of milui and rîn, 'kind queen'
Caranfêr: combination of caran and fêr, 'red beech-tree'
The accents on Miluirin and Caranfer are not in the text below because this site originally couldn't display the names properly when I left them in.
Chapter 25: Stranger to Here
Could you love me? The question he had asked from the night before still echoed in her mind as Sariel rose the next morning, having hardly slept at all. He had asked it sincerely, as if he did not know the answer. But did she? Even now her heart was in turmoil, her feelings confused. She had not meant to leave him standing there alone in his room, and yet every instinct had urged her to flee. Perhaps the mere mention of love should not have called up such fear in her, but throughout the night, she had not been able to summon the courage to return. Still, she could run away from him, but she could not keep herself from thinking about him.
She had just barely finished dressing when three sharp knocks on her door provided a welcome distraction from her thoughts.
"Who is it?" Sariel did not recognize her visitor and she stood warily with the door only partially open, though she was aware that her actions could be considered rude. The stranger was dressed plainly, however, and Sariel guessed that she was simply a messenger or attendant. A quick exchange of words brought the news that she was to join the queen this morning, although it was phrased as a request rather than a summons.
"I will take you to her in a few minutes," the Elf informed her. "Perhaps it would be better if you changed to a more suitableattire for meeting the queen."
Her tone immediately set Sariel's nerves even more on edge. True, she was wearing worn traveling gear, but it was clean and, she thought, presentable enough for all but an unexpected visit with royalty. Did this Elf think that she had so much finery to wear, after kind of fighting she had been doing for the last year? Despite the several possible retorts that came to mind, Sariel merely thanked the Elf, not indicating even the least displeasure. She glimpsed some kind of satisfaction in the Elf's dark eyes at her polite response, though it was difficult to tell what the reaction meant.
With the Elf waiting outside, Sariel closed the door and leaned on it for a moment with a sigh, realizing that the attendant was right, in any case. She was meeting with the Queen of Mirkwood, and though that estimable lady had always seemed kind, it would not be surprising if she took offense when Sariel showed up in such clothes. The problem was, she had only one dress, the deep velvet blue that she had worn for her audience with the Lady Galadriel. Rummaging through her saddlebags, Sariel was able to find it, but the velvet had been ruined by the harsh weather it had suffered.
She had no real intention of wearing it anyway. It was Belderon's choice for her, and she would not wear anything from him again. The thought of having something of his next to her skin was intolerable.
Sariel changed into slightly better attire and pulled out her much-used green cloak, which at least matched the rest of her ensemble. She did not quite look like a lady—she imagined that would require much more effort, and a gown of some sort—but it would have to do. She told herself firmly that she did not care what these Elves thought of her, but it was still hard not to wonder whether she had been summoned to meet the queen of the kingdom, or Legolas' mother.
After all, her son's question from hours ago still echoed in Sariel's mind.
She was directed to a garden, or at least a part of the woodland that Sariel felt was a garden, because on three sides there were crumbling stone walls covered with a profusion of twining briars. Flowers of every size and shape and color bloomed haphazardly wherever they were wont to, intermingling and setting up realm in different parts of the enclosed area. Golden rays of sunlight filtered down through spaces between the leaves of the great trees towering above. The moss-covered stone and tumble of vines created the effect of a natural wilderness rather than a formal garden. At the same time, it was clearly a Elven place of relaxation and quiet solitude.
Sariel was guided toward the middle of the garden, though she paid less attention to the attendant than to her surroundings. She was glad to see there were no roses in the garden, save for the wild briar-roses that climbed one of the walls. The area was even larger than it first appeared, the greenery almost a maze. At last she was brought to a halt and left standing before a marble block, meant to eventually be her seat. Across, a few feet away, sat the lady she had been brought to meet.
Without a dress, Sariel did not want to attempt the embarrassment that would be a curtsey, so she bobbed in an awkward bow.
"No need for such formalities," the queen said with a reassurance that Sariel wanted to trust. "Please, take a seat."
As Sariel did so, she realized that despite having seen her around on a few occasions before, the queen was still nothing like she expected. On seeing her the very first time, Sariel had immediately realized why, in the year that she had been with Legolas, he had never once mentioned her—she was too close to his heart to speak of. Even now, with just the two of them, Sariel felt as though this lady shone like moonlight over the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen, a quiet, tender influence.
Though the queen had been kind, Sariel thought she might make her a formal greeting still, but could not find the right words. Looking down at her hands, Sariel sat quietly, seeking to calm herself. She heard laughter and tensed, but it was kind laughter, to dispel embarrassment rather than to cause it.
"You need not fear me." It was not her words but the melody in her voice that made Sariel lift her eyes from her clasped hands. The queen wore a grey dress, soft and light as clouds; her hands caressed the white petals of a camellia. She was crowned with a simple coronet that held her dark hair back from her face, and her eyes were a clear blue-grey. Although her oval face was smooth and showed no sign of age, the queen seemed both wise and accessible, and Sariel felt humbled before her grace.
"I am Miluirin," she said, gifting her name and doing it so casually that Sariel was not overawed by the deliberate omission of her title. "I have wanted to speak with you for a long time, but I know you were at my son's side for many days during his healing." Joy mingled with relief in her eyes at the memory of his close brush with death.
Sariel had come here vaguely expecting haughty arrogance, if not outright scorn; as such, she had prepared herself for a game of cutting words, a confrontation so subtle as to not seem to be a conflict at all. She was ill prepared for this welcoming lady before her and for how instantly she had been put at ease. To her dismay, she realized she would care about what this lady thought of her, and in fact, she very much wanted Miluirin to like her.
"Why would you wish to meet me?" she asked, then flushed at her bluntness. Her clasped fingers turned white with pressure as she suddenly realized that the queen had surely heard of her three days' wait outside of Legolas' chambers. And had Legolas spoken of her at all to his mother? Surely he had, if only to explain how they had become so inextricably involved with each other's lives.
She was saved by the unexpected appearance of a royal attendant, along with another Elf. It was a lord that Sariel had seen before, though she had never been officially introduced to him. Legolas disliked this particular king's advisor for reasons he had not disclosed to her, but whatever the truth, she felt the Elf's stare bore into her now as if he knew all her thoughts.
The queen frowned slightly at the interruption, but her eyes remained calm. "Please wait here for a moment, Sariel. It seems I must speak with Lord Caranfer. I do not think this will take long." The lord offered the queen his arm and escorted her away.
If Sariel had been more herself, she might have wondered what they were speaking, and might have attempted to secretly listen. As it was, she was too bemused by Miluirin for the idea to even cross her mind. Using the respite wisely, Sariel did a quick reassessment of all that she knew about the lady. It amounted to almost nothing. Because none spoke of her much, Sariel had assumed that she was overshadowed by her husband. After meeting Miluirin personally, however, Sariel lost this conviction. But before she had much time to ponder, the queen appeared again, this time alone.
"I apologize for the interruption," she said, though Sariel thought it unlikely that a queen ever needed apologize for anything. "Many seek me out for my opinion," the queen explained, taking her seat once again.
"I am certain that you have much wisdom to share," Sariel ventured.
"Lord Caranfer is one of your most outspoken adversaries, you know," Miluirin told her. It seemed that she had decided to respond to Sariel's lack of courtly speech with an equal frankness. Still, it took a moment for Sariel to catch the meaning, but when she did she sat up straighter, inadvertently raising her chin, as if in response to a challenge.
"I do not wish to give offense, but I do not understand why you tell me this…"
"Call it a whim, if you will," Miluirin said lightly, though her eyes were assessing. "You remind me a little of my daughter Rhiannon."
Once again, Sariel found herself speechless.
"Furthermore, I care very much for my son's well-being, and what you do affects him greatly," the queen continued serenely. "You may deny it, but I believe this is true."
She rose and beckoned for Sariel to follow her out of the garden. Miluirin led her down on a long path that finally stopped at a door. Inside, evidently in one of the queen's private chambers, Miluirin pulled out a chair and motioned for Sariel to sit. Sariel did so quietly, still unable to think of an appropriate response to what Miluirin had said.
Meanwhile, the queen left the room and returned with a glistening heap of fabric in her arms. With a flourish, she held it up to show Sariel that it was a lovely gown.
"I made this myself for my daughter many years ago, but she never had the chance to wear it. It will fit you well, I can tell, and no doubt you are in need of a few pretty clothes, if only to silence careless tongues." Miluirin's soft smile took the sting out of her words and she began carefully wrapping the gown with protective fabric, making it ready for Sariel to take. The fine material had seemed black in the shadows, but on closer look, Sariel saw that it was actually a very dark green.
"Thank you, my queen," Sariel said hesitantly. She could not refuse the gift, but was it really appropriate for her to accept it? It had been meant for a beloved daughter.
"You may address me as Miluirin," the queen told her warmly. "After all, you do not address my son as your prince, do you?"
Still anxious about the expensive and unique gown, Sariel said the first thing that came to mind. "I did once, but he hated it."
She stopped abruptly, appalled with herself, but Miluirin was startled into a laugh.
"Yes, I imagine Legolas would react in such a way," she exclaimed. "Though under the right circumstances, I think he could still find those words sweet to his ears, coming from you."
After that, they did not return to the subject of either Legolas or Lord Caranfer. Much to Sariel's relief, Miluirin asked instead about her recent journeys. She had expected that she would be called on to give a personal account of her story, but it did not go as badly as she had thought it might. Miluirin empathized with Sariel and she did not seek to judge her actions; these two qualities of the queen made all the difference.
Despite Sariel's reticence on the subject, Legolas didplay a central part in the events that had happened over the past year. Though she was careful not to betray any emotion when she was talking of him, she had the feeling that Miluirin understood anyway. There was approval in the interest she showed to Sariel, and acceptance in the way she listened to what she had to say. Sariel even found herself telling the queen some of the personal incidents between Legolas and herself, the things which had driven her actions. No one else knew how her argument with Legolas had factored into her decision to leave Lórien immediately, directly against the wishes of Galadriel.
Sometime between the beginning and end of her story, Sariel fell into comfortable discussion with the queen, almost as if she were speaking to a dear friend like Arwen. A mysterious change had come over her, allowing her to become freely animated and lively in conversation. It was hope that was one of Miluirin's greatest gifts to give, and it was hope that she bestowed freely on Sariel, who had charmed without trying to charm, who loved without knowing how to accept love.
Hours later, after she had left the lady, Sariel marveled at what she now understood. Queen Miluirin was the treasure at the heart of the Elvenking's halls, a presence that people did not speak of only because it was so central, just as one did not speak of the heart. Somehow, Sariel had an ally where she had least expected to find one, in the most precious core of the royal court. It seemed that she was not completely unwelcome after all, in Eryn Lasgalen.
Once she was alone again, however, Sariel's thoughts wandered back to the troubling beginning of her conversation with the queen. That Sariel had enemies here, she did not doubt, but she had never imagined that they were protesting against her to the king and queen. She wanted to hear Lianderthral's opinion of it, but when he came, it was to tell her to come to dinner, for Vanidar would soon be returning home to Lothlórien.
"Must you leave so soon?" Sariel asked her oldest friend wistfully, after they had eaten. With just Lianderthral, she had followed Vanidar back to his rooms, which already looked bare of personal possessions. Despite the months during the war in which they had been separated, they had easily fallen back into the comfortable companionship they had once shared. "Surely you can stay a little longer."
"There is much to be done in Lórien, and I do confess that I yearn to return home," Vanidar said, his wispy eyebrows knitting slightly together. "I never expected my journey to take me so far, though I am glad that it did."
His words only underscored Sariel's own loneliness, for she had no place to call home, and now she was losing yet another one of her closest friends. Vanidar had done so much for her, on the strength of nothing more than childhood memories of a Sariel she no longer was. But Vanidar had never stopped believing in her, even after she had returned to Lórien so completely changed.
"I am glad as well," she replied, meeting eyes the color of frost. "You gave me back a part of myself." She tried to put all of her gratitude and affection into these simple words, though nothing could be adequate for expressing what she felt for him.
The angular features of his face softened, and Vanidar reached out to clasp her hand in his, not quite smiling. "We will meet again, Sariel, I am sure of it."
Together forever, she thought, remembering. It was an old promise, the kind made and kept by children. She had grown so cold under Belderon's tutelage, but no matter what innocence he had stolen, he had never been able to touch those memories.
She exchanged a heartfelt embrace with Vanidar, wishing for a moment, selfishly, that he could stay. One by one, her companions were returning to the places to which they belonged. Soon, no one would be left but Lianderthral. Looking at him as he spoke his own goodbyes to the silver-blond Elf, Sariel wondered if he had thoughts of returning to his abode in the mountains as well. If he left as well, what would she do?
She had been lost in the wilderness before and lost under the control of a dark power, but she had never felt so lost as she did here, in Legolas' home. She did not fit in with these Elves any more than she had with the lords and ladies of Rivendell or Lórien. She would always be different, and she was beginning to feel it keenly.
Afterward, she and Lianderthral took their leave of Vanidar, but Lianderthral walked with her through the halls to her room. She would not let him escort her to her door, but his own quarters were close to hers hers. His presence made it easier to ignore the curious glances that came her way, which had only increased in number after everything that had happened with Legolas. No doubt they were fueling some speculation behind closed doors even now, but Sariel did not think Lianderthral minded.
Along the way, she began to tell him about how her apology had finally went, though she could not bring herself to elaborate on the details. Lianderthral was more than perceptive enough to guess, however.
"What of Legolas?" he asked when she found she had no words to describe why she had abruptly left him the night before. Sariel looked at him and wondered whether she had told him too much.
"He is not angry with me," she said at last, just as they were reaching the point where they had to go their separate paths. Lianderthral had been walking faster and faster. "Or perhaps he is again, though I do not think so. Beyond that, you will have to ask him."
"Sariel, you must be the most stubborn person I have ever known. It is a quality—or fault—which has helped you survive, but be careful that it does not hurt you, as well."
This rare criticism from Lianderthral stung enough that she stopped in her tracks. His comment deserved a response, but try as she might, she could not say a word.
He had likewise stopped walking and now turned to face her directly, waiting until she looked up to meet his eyes. It was not until then that she realized he was angry. "Tell me something. Do you think your feelings will change if you deny them? Do you think you can outrun them if you try hard enough?"
"Lianderthral," she whispered helplessly. The suddenness of his harsh questions left her feeling as though her breath had been taken away.
He shook his head in denial of her plea, green eyes blazing in his face. "I can tell you my answer to these questions, Sariel. No matter how irrational, no matter how impossible, these feelings do not change."
She wanted to block out his words but they kept coming, spurred by long pent-up frustration. His expression was like none she had seen before. "Is that what you are running from, Sariel? Did he ask if you are in love with him?"
His hands gripped her shoulders as Sariel stared up at him in shock. The pressure of his fingers lasted for a heartbeat, then two, before it lessened. He abruptly released her and took a step back.
She still stood as if rooted to the spot. Lianderthral cursed—yet another first, as she had never heard him do so before—and averted his gaze. From the paleness of his face, he seemed as shaken by his actions and words as she was. For a moment, he had lost control. A moment was all that was needed with someone of his abilities.
"Sariel…" There was no little horror in his eyes. Regret was already shadowing his features and he only glanced at her before his gaze dropped. "I have been cruel."
"No." She finally found her voice. "No," she said again. She took a step forward and reached to catch his hands in hers when he would have backed away. "It is no more than I deserve and you spoke only the truth."
His hands were ice cold and trembled faintly. "I touched you in anger, Sariel. I could have hurt you." The self-disgust in his voice dissipated the last of her shock.
"I am not so easily hurt," she said steadily, lacing his fingers with hers tightly. "Lianderthral, look at me. I trust you above all others and never once have you betrayed that trust."
Wild eyes locked with hers blindly at first, but bit by bit the churning green calmed as he took in her own composed expression. His words had hurt, but it was a slap that she had needed, and in some ways, had even provoked. She also understood that this went beyond their relationship. Sariel knew what he was thinking and what personal demons had haunted him after he had witnessed, long ago, the fate of his mentor. Only earlier she had been thinking he might return to his home, without remembering that his home was a self-imposed exile, as well.
She warmed his fingers with hers, cherishing this connection between them as she knew he cherished it. She let him know through touch that she had known true anger and cruelty before, and never at his hands. Without words, she told him that she had utter faith in his control. Slowly, slowly, she slipped her fingers from hers, caught his wrists in her hands, and brought his hands up to her shoulders, where they had so painfully gripped before.
Lianderthral lowered his gaze before closing his eyes and exhaling softly. He leaned forward and let his forehead rest gently against hers. They stood like that, not speaking, until all was right again.
She almost stepped on the package lying in front of her door. It was very wide and flat, and when Sariel picked it up, it was lighter than she expected. There was no name on it and the fine grey cloth, soft and as sleek as silk, bore no markings. She thought perhaps someone had left it by accident and finally opened the door and entered her room, bringing with her the odd package. Loosening the drawstring, she glimpsed the edge of a wooden frame and pulled the object from its cloth covering.
It was a painting, a painting so beautiful that it drove out all lingering thoughts of Lianderthral. Sariel actually gasped and set it down on the table hurriedly, afraid to even touch it. The painting depicted an ordinary scene, just a little section of the forest along with a doe and her fawn, but it came alive to her. More than that, somehow the skilled strokes of the artist's brush had illustrated the essence of almost otherworldly life in the poignant colors.
The sunlight streaming down, the mixture of fear and innocence in the doe's wild eyes, the curiosity in the fawn's stance, in its sleek, short fur—everything was so alive, so vivid in a way that had only partially to do with colors. She looked at the painting and realized that the artist had painted the scene with the same intense clarity that she saw when she was under the influence of her power. On the way back to Nenuial, Lianderthral had taught her to really see things for the first time, not just the outward appearance of things, but the spirit of its being. All of that, in this one thin slice of the forest, was captured in this one painting.
She thought about bringing it to Lianderthral or Vanidar, but neither were from Eryn Lasgalen and probably would not be able to tell her what she wanted to know. Who was the artist? Why had this painting been here? It had to be worth more than anything else she had ever seen, and she did not think someone would casually leave it outside her door. It likely had been a mistake.
Carefully slipping it back in the protective grey cloth, Sariel slipped back out of her room. Not knowing exactly who to find, she made her way towards the royal wings, too excited over this sudden discovery to even worry about other things. Luck was with her, because she had not even gone far before she saw Legolas coming her way, heading down the same hall she had chosen.
"Sariel," he greeted her reservedly, surprised to see her.
"You must see this, please," was all she said. Without another word of explanation, Sariel grabbed his hand and all but dragged him back to her room. He went along willingly enough, confused and a little alarmed at her behavior.
Legolas' questions fell on deaf ears as she made him sit down and then carefully uncovered the painting herself. It was just as gorgeous the second time she saw it, but she tore her gaze away. Legolas was as surprised as she had been, but Sariel, watching him closely, knew instantly that it was not the first time he had seen art like this. He recognized the painting in a way she had not.
"Who gave this to you?" he asked her.
"I brought you here to find that out. I found it outside of my door when I returned from my morning with Miluirin. Queen Miluirin," she added hastily.
It was clearly enough to derail his line of thought, since Legolas sharply at her, raising his eyes from the painting. "You met my mother?"
"She called me to her." Uncomfortable, Sariel turning her attention back to the work of art. Knowing Legolas was able to ask more questions, she meaningfully looked at the painting and then at him.
He gave her a equally meaningful look that told her he was just letting it go until later, and then answered. "This is a work by an artist named Aurë. I still do not see how you have come by it. His paintings are quite rare and precious."
The name sounded familiar, but Sariel could not place it. She had met too many Elves here and the names blurred in her mind, especially since many had departed back to Imladris and others she had never met again.
"Would you be able to take me to him?" she asked Legolas. "Do you know where he might be, or if perhaps he has a studio?"
"I suppose I could," he said doubtfully, "but you must remember that artists hate being disturbed when they are working. If you still want to see him, come with me. Aurë is known to prefer solitude and lives apart from most."
It did take them a good while to walk to the place, but finally Sariel tapped on the door and waited for it to open. The moment she saw the startling cornflower blue eyes and pale silver hair, she remembered why the name Aurë seemed familiar.
"I am glad you survived the war," she told him as a greeting. Half his face was scarred terribly, but there was still the cold, bright beauty of a diamond in his features, all the more heartrending now that they were not perfect. She recalled that a poisoned orc blade had blinded him, so it was a miracle now that he could see.
Aurë may have been expecting her, for he let her in directly. The interior of the small cabin was chaotic. Piles of easels and half-finished drawings were stacked haphazardly, and Sariel and Legolas had to pick their way around the brushes and canvases on the floor. It still seemed as if there was a system to it, as if the person who had created such a mess still knew where everything was. What was even more impressive was that there were several finished artworks scattered across the room.
"Were you the one who left the painting outside my door?" she asked as she took a seat. "Why?"
Aurë ignored the question as he handed them each a cup of tea, not bothering to acknowledge or greet Legolas as would be befitting his prince. Legolas did not seem to mind, though Sariel did not think they had known each other before.
"I am giving away all of my work," he said at last. "I merely thought that you would like the painting I left for you."
She looked at the masterpieces all around the room. "But why?"
He gave a graceful shrug and turned away, seeming to search for something. "That part of my life is over."
"But you have healed and you are not blind, as you feared. And you paint with, with—" she struggled to think of a word to describe that special sight. "You paint with magic," she finally said lamely.
Aurë laughed, but the look in his eyes was serious and Sariel knew he perfectly understood what she had meant. It was hard to look at him; the scars were a painful and all-too-fresh reminder of the things the Elves had sacrificed in the war. Aurë caught her gaze before she could glance away, his expression changing.
"It is so," he said fiercely in response to her unspoken thoughts. "Everyone on my team died. I, who should not have lived, survived. Shall I describe what I saw when I woke after healing and walked into my studio?"
Before she could respond, he continued. "As soon as I entered, I found that the entire room, which was hung with brilliantly colored paintings, was utterly grey and void of color. My canvases, with the captured light that I was known for, were now all greyish or black and white. The art that was once rich with associations, feelings, meanings—it was all unfamiliar and meaningless to me. The paintings were nothing. And in that moment, I felt the magnitude of my loss overwhelm me."
"Aurë—" Sariel interrupted, but he did not hear. He drifted across the room until he found what he wanted and turned back to his audience. It was a painting framed by carved wood, another true masterpiece that showed the great halls of the Elvenking.
"Take it," Aurë said, thrusting it towards Legolas. When Legolas shook his head in refusal, the painter's tone turned savage. "Take it, prince, or I will only burn it later."
"Why are you doing this?" Sariel asked, made helpless by the intensity of his self-anger. Beside her, Legolas unwillingly took the painting, holding it as if it were something priceless. She knew it probably was.
"Why?" Aurë echoed, cornflower irises as brilliant as in his paintings. "I have spent my entire life in the beauty of art, but now such devotion is without meaning. I can no longer imagine how to go on."
"There is still beauty," she cried, but he barely reacted.
"A beauty I cannot capture, feel, or even see. I can no longer create things of meaning, of life, Sariel. Yes, I remember your name," he said, noticing her look of surprise. "I think many do, for you had death with you that day."
She remembered her flagon of poison and how Aurë had begged for it when he thought he had been blinded. She had not understood, then. But this was even worse for him, Sariel realized, this sight in shades of grey.
"This is the aftermath of war. Warriors return and find that their lives have completely changed, and they wonder how they can go on, when it seems as if the world has altered around them, without them."
It was only too true. She stood numbly, watching Aurë's willowy form as he paced around. Light shone on his hair, gleaming the very palest of silvers, and she wondered what it looked to him, whether it was a grey and dull as well.
"What color are your eyes, Sariel?"
She realized with a start that he had never seen her before today, because he had been blinded when she had tended to him. "Blue," she replied.
He laughed bitterly and the unhappiness of the sound lingered in the air around them. "They will always be grey to me."
Sariel was silent. It was agonizing to see the pain of others and to live it vicariously, as she was doing. How could she blame Aurë for surrendering to what fate had dealt him? But Sariel still did, as unfair and irrational as it was. She could not accept how he had given up now that he was a stranger to his own world. Worse yet, did his acceptance make him any happier than his struggle?
"Well, farewell, friends." Aurë stood in the doorway, as uncaring of the terrible scarring on his face now as he probably had been of his sharp beauty before. She exchanged a glance with Legolas, who carried a painting like she did now.
"I hope you find peace, Aurë." There was nothing more any of them could say.
They stepped outside and the door closed with quiet finality behind them. She was silent on the long way back, as was Legolas. Still, she was glad of his presence, for she remembered clearly the real terror she had felt when she thought he would die, and was thankful all over again for what she had not lost in the war.
Unable to sleep that night, Sariel left the palace, setting out to find the secret glade that she had retreated to before. When she did, it was again almost as if she had left Eryn Lasgalen somehow and ended up in another realm. Such a mysterious and lovely place had to have been designed by the gods for some special purpose. Even the sound of the waterfall seemed to hide the whispers of secret knowledge.
She had just finished washing her face in the creek, gasping at the coldness of the water, when her senses told her she was no longer alone. The back of her neck prickled with the awareness that someone was watching her. Sariel straightened from her crouch and scanned the closed copse carefully, recalling how it had looked the times before. Did something look out of place there? She walked slowly toward the stony shape, but it moved before she reached it. It was an Elf wearing such a skillfully woven cloak that the texture of the cloth blended perfectly with the rocks—and it was an Elf she recognized as easily as she recognized herself.
With a sinking feeling, Sariel wondered whether she should leave before the inevitable conversation came. Last night had been both painful and elating, and she was not sure whether she was ready to bring it up again. The hard questions Lianderthral had asked, and his sharp words, however, had convinced her of her own folly. Their encounter with Aurë together had also closed the distance between them a little. There was simply no way she justify the cowardice of leaving without a word.
In the end, it was partly her curiosity that won out. He had picked up the same charm bracelet she had noticed the last time she was here, and she wondered to whom it really belonged. The last time she had leapt to conclusions, she had made a fool of herself—but still, surely his connection to this pretty piece of jewelry was a little strange.
Cool blue eyes looked up and examined her as if Legolas were seeing her for the very first time.
She shifted under his scrutiny. "Why are you here?"
"I should be asking you that, perhaps," he replied with a raised eyebrow. "Did my mother show you how to find this place?"
His mention of the queen reminded her of Miluirin's words about how she affected her son, and Sariel looked away. "No, she did not. I found my way here before when I was wandering. From your words, I suppose this is for the royal family?"
"No, though I have been here ever since I was a child." He noticed that she was still looking at the bracelet and he deliberately played with it in front of her, dangling the silver links from between his fingers. Oddly enough, there were no charms.
"My sister found it first long ago," Legolas explained, "and this belonged to her as well. I think of her sometimes when I am here, because it was our favorite hiding place. Only our mother could ever find us here."
Sariel was sorry now that she had intruded in such a dear place to him. It was only that this place reminded her of her own meadow, one of the few secrets she had managed to keep from Belderon. Her sister had been buried there, thousands of miles away, so it was all the more surprising to hear from him that this place had been Rhiannon's, too. What kind of loving relationship had he had with his sister?
"I will go now," she said. "And I can promise you that I will not return."
"No, please stay." He looked at the bracelet in his hand for a long time before he looked up to meet her cautious eyes. "I suppose I should not be surprised that you could so easily find yet another one of my secrets."
"I suppose I should not be surprised that it was your secret," she answered.
"It does feel as though there is a certain inevitability, does it not?" His chuckle ghosted over her like velvet. "Come on, we will walk together for a while, then. Did you know, Sariel, that we met nearly a year ago?"
It was odd to look back and see how far she had come, how they both had changed. Once, when she had traveled with Lianderthral, she had asked herself whether what she felt for Legolas was truly love, or merely infatuation born of admiration and attraction. Though it had only been a year, she felt impossibly older and wiser now, though perhaps she still could not identify what it was that she felt. But here they were again, Sariel and Legolas, apart and yet together.
"Back to where we began," he said, echoing her thoughts. "You and me."
"I suppose you wished you had never met me."
He smiled slightly. "No, I never do. It was fate, I like to think."
"Why would you think that?" she asked.
"Well, if I had never met you on the way to Lothlórien, then what would have happened?"
"I would have killed you," Sariel answered. "I would not have hesitated. I…would have never met you at all."
"A chance encounter in both of our long journeys changed so much," Legolas mused. They had come to a stop before the small waterfall, both of them contemplating the gravity of water. The faint spray of mist wet Sariel's cheek, the sound of rushing water nearly obscuring his next words.
"Just for tonight…" When his voice drifted off and he did not continue, she turned toward him questioningly. "Just for tonight, can we not meet again?"
She understood what he meant, after a moment. They were both standing here too, by the purest of chance. What would it be like to erase all that had happened between them before? All the misunderstandings and difficulties that had come from their doubt of each other, and from circumstances beyond their control?
He wanted to go back to the very beginning, when they had first felt the connection between them, and when nothing else had mattered yet. He had not been a prince and she had not been an assassin; there had been nothing more to explore than the pleasure of each other's company. Since then, her heart had changed so much, bit by bit. She was tired of denying herself what she wanted so much. She could see the same weariness reflected in his eyes. Just for tonight…what could be the harm?
She held out her hand to him and he reached out to entwine their fingers together. They spoke no more, but Legolas gestured and with that movement, invited Sariel to explore his haven with him. The moonlight pouring over them, reflected into a glistening white over the flowing dark water. They had been walking alongside the creek and to the waterfall; now Legolas led her away to see the moon lilies and night-blooming flowers. Some were white and nearly incandescent in the soft light.
She thought she was imagining it at first, the golden pinpricks of light floating through the air and carpeting the grass beneath. A smile transformed her face as she finally realized what they were.
"Fireflies," Legolas said, confirming it. He reached out with a hand in hopes of enticing one to land on him, but his eyes were on her. "They appear here in the late summer nights as if by magic. You have not seen them before?"
"Only very rarely, and never this many." Sariel caught her breath as he gave up waiting and instead deftly caught one in his hands for her to see.
"It is how they court, you know," he explained to her. "The males in the air make distinctive patterns as they fly. The glow is to signal to the females on the ground, who respond with their own courtship dance."
It was such a small insect in his hands, but it glowed more brightly than she imagined possible. She made him release it, fearing to accidentally injure it, but the fireflies continued to float all around them, providing the most ethereal of lights. The grass was dewy beneath them in the glade, but Legolas spread his cloak over it while she rescued the fireflies that were in the way. They lay on their backs to look at the stars, tracing out the constellations and laughing at the occasional firefly that became a part of one. He started telling her of the legends and myths behind the constellations and they were all new to her, though she had used the stars to navigate all her life.
They sat up when even his cloak became damp, and the air was sweet, even as it was cold. After a while, she asked him for a song.
"Only if you sing with me, Sariel," he negotiated. "What would you like to hear?"
"One of Rhiannon's would be fitting," she replied softly. "If you have the heart for it. My mother used to sing her songs to me, before everything changed."
It was appropriate, this other, unexpected link between them. He thought for a moment and then lifted his voice in melody, the clear, pure notes coming so effortlessly from his throat. It had been so long, it was almost a shock again to hear his voice, the unearthly gift that seemed to be able to make even time stop for a moment.
She recognized the song; it was a tribute to Elbereth, lady of the stars. She wondered if Rhiannon had composed it sitting right here in this hidden glade, just as she and Legolas were doing now. When Sariel sang her first notes, they were soft and uncertain—she knew her voice was no match for him. Yet talent and skill did not matter so much, when it was happiness that inspired the music.
They had shifted nearer to each other and when she showed her consent by leaning in closer, Legolas slipped a warm arm around her, resting lightly across the small of her back. He felt light-hearted now as he had not since before the days of the War of the Ring, and as Sariel curled into the cradle of his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, the warmth of contentment unfurled in him. Whether she could say it or not, he could feel how she cherished him, and only hoped she felt the same way. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead.
They stayed in their own private paradise for most of the night, doing nothing more than allowing themselves to be with each other. There were no other people, no looming war, or worries of the past or future. They walked through the trees hand in hand, and her delight in the wilderness around them made him see again the splendor of his forest realm, though it was old and familiar. The night's soft, muted colors made the secret place so much the more enchanted, and he felt his cares drop away. For tonight, at least, all other things were superfluous except for this peace.
The sky was lightening, coloring dawn, when Legolas pulled his hand away suddenly, making her wonder if she had done something wrong. Alarmed, she turned to him at time that he turned to her. Their eyes met, two shades of blue, clear and dark. His hand grasped hers again, but there was something between their palms, cool and heavy. She felt the shape of the metal and knew what it was.
"I want you to have it," he whispered to her, his voice too intimate and the look in his eyes sending a shiver down her spine. He closed her hand into a fist, holding his hand over hers for a moment longer. When she opened her hand, the gleam of silver caught the moonlight.
"Legolas, you should not," she said, voice hushed because it seemed wrong to speak of something so sacred to him.
"Why not?" He leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek and letting his fingertips trace the edge of her face.
"It is too precious to you. You told me it had been Rhiannon's. I cannot accept something that was left to you by your sister." He did not even know that his mother had already gifted her extravagantly, but a gown never before worn could not compare to a bracelet that had adored the wrist of the princess.
"I will never wear it, Sariel," he pointed out with humor dancing in his eyes, "and it deserves to be worn."
She heard herself speak as if from a distance. "Then save it for…"
"No one else," he told her firmly, eyes never leaving her face. "Rhiannon was a great romantic, you know. I daresay she would have made a song of our story. She would have wanted me to give her bracelet to someone…" he caught his breath a little, and laughed softly, self-consciously. "To someone special," he finished.
He did not wait for her response but fastened it around her wrist. It was such a fragile moment between them and there had not been many, but when they forgot their fears and doubts and trusted in each other, everything fell into place.
She put her thanks and more into the kiss, and when they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard and warm with passion. She rested her head against the curve of his neck and listened to his heartbeat.
"There are no charms on it," he whispered in her ear, "because the wearer is more than charm enough."
Sariel closed her eyes, wishing that dawn would never come.
"You are tired," Miluirin said to her husband that night, although neither had retired to their rooms. This late, everyone had left and the throne room seemed larger because it was so empty. "You should not worry so over what things may come."
"Yet there is much to be concerned about." Thranduil sighed wearily, rubbing his temple with his finger. "Caranfer grows more and more outspoken against the assassin, and our son, through his connection to her. The whole court knows of it, though they seem to have forgotten that he was once one of Belderon's own inner circle."
Miluirin's eyes narrowed and she laid a concerned hand on Thranduil's arm. "Do you speak of treason?"
He sighed. "I know not yet, Miluirin. There are rumblings of discontent, but when have there ever been not? There are always some that dream of reliving the days of Greenwood the Great and do not understand why we have retreated into the northern realm above the fir-covered mountains, leaving the southern forest beneath the Narrows for East Lórien."
His queen nodded, having heard much the same herself. "It is a small group you speak of, but influential."
"They feel we should claim back what was our right, in days long past, and resent that the land between our two Elf realms have been given to the Beornings and the Woodmen." In earlier days, Thranduil himself had been more supportive of the idea, but those times were long past. It had not even been a decade since the shadow over Mirkwood had been lifted.
"Caranfer is the leader of all this," Miluirin noted. "He has been stirring up discontent, and the loyalties to you may have been swayed by the grief from the war. He came to me even today, full of self-righteous anger."
"Then it grows serious," the king said grimly, "if he is so desperate as that. In the past few councils, he has defied my authority time and time again. He thinks what he does is for the good of the kingdom, and there are some that agree with him. I want Legolas to sever his association with the assassin. She has brought only war and destruction to us, and the discontent readily use that as weapons against us."
"Thranduil," Miluirin said gently, "I must speak with you on this."
"I heard that you conversed with Sariel this morning," he said chidingly, using the name with a hint of distaste. "I advised you not to meet with her. She is not welcome here, and you will only encourage her, for all that are with you grow to love you. You are too gentle and compassionate, Miluirin."
"I did not seek her out until now," she said, dismissing his rebuke easily. "Thranduil, there is something between them, I think, that may very well be love."
"What—?" he stared at his wife, and she sighed at the blindness of males. As much as she loved her husband, there were times when it was frustrating for her to even speak with him.
"You have certainly heard the rumors already, and why else do you think that Legolas would go chasing after her when she returned to Nenuial? Or bring her back here, to his home?"
"Miluirin, this is nonsense! Belderon was bringing a war to our doorstep—"
"Yes, yes," she chided. "But that is hardly the whole story. I have heard it with my own ears and seen it now with my own eyes. In fact, I think it is not Legolas who resists, but Sariel herself. Thranduil, you know as well as I that Legolas has always refused to wed, despite my attempts to devise something of a betrothal."
"What are you trying to convince me of?" her husband sighed.
"Furthermore, he has never found anyone that he has shown any interest in, other than for a fleeting time. Among the ladies of the court, he has developed a reputation for aloofness, and that has certainly not helped any." Now Miluirin paused, carefully bringing her strategy to a close. "If nothing else, think of a child, my dear one."
Thranduil chose to disregard the last altogether, having no viable defense ready. "Yet now that he has found someone, he has chosen to take an interest in the very person who tried to kill him once? Remember who she is, Miluirin! She is a product of Belderon, and you already know how twisted that bloodline has proved itself to be."
"It is unfair to blame her for that and you know it," Miluirin replied, steel edging her voice. "I know who she was, but I have more faith in who she can become."
"Well, whatever Legolas may feel or not, I want him to stop associating with her," Thranduil countered, adamant. "If the lack of his attention can convince her to leave, so much the better. She is a stranger to here, and I will not let all of Eryn Lasgalen fall into turmoil from the trouble she brings."
Notes: Aurë's condition is real and is known as achromatopsia. I originally planned on writing a short story following up on him (with another character you've seen) if there was enough interest, but I have to admit that I currently don't even remember if many people supported that idea or if I just didn't get around to writing it.
Please review!
Finalized November 2010