There is nothing so good as walking beneath the stars.

The night sky filled with its sprinkling of light is a peaceful balm to the soul. I love it. I have always loved it. I gravitated to the stars as soon as I could walk. Laerion used to tell me I should have been born on the shores of Cuiviénen.

So when my Father has retired to my rooms to sleep, then I walk. The dark velvet night with its diamond lights is the canopy above my head and I have much to think on.

My feet, by their own accord lead me back into Maewen's glade. I do not know why, perhaps I hoped to find her? I am not disappointed in that for she is there. She sits under the trees in the edge of it, face turned to the sky, bathed in starlight.

She is beautiful.

I stop and watch her. I am mesmerised and I soak up the vision of her beauty like a man dying of thirst in the desert. I cannot get enough of looking at her. I never have.

My thoughts, as I watch, drift to my Mother for I am disappointed in her and that is hard to admit. I have seen my father's pain, the devastation at her loss and it upsets me. I can understand her resentment, her anger at the decisions he made which cost her her son but he lost Laerion also and he bears so much guilt, such a heavy burden. Could she not have tried to forgive him?

Nothing he did was malicious, nothing was done with anything but love for us, no matter how misguided. Was it worth deserting him and leaving him alone? Was it worth deserting me?

Maewen has resented me. Oh she has been so angry with me. She has cursed every decision I have made and struggled so hard not to be a part of any of them.

But she is still here.

She has not left me, she has not deserted me. She has come to this place she detested amongst people she does not know or even want to know. She has left her family and her home. But she has still loved me, still supported me, still been here for me. As much as she has been filled to the brim with resentment and anger she has never given up on us.

And I realise in that moment, just how lucky I am.

The last time I found her sitting in this glade we were at odds. I was unsure she even wanted my presence. I had to ask permission to sit with her. That was the evening I told her I wanted to sail.

I do not wish to sail now.

In fact even the idea, that I thought I wished to seems so bizarre, so strange, that I cannot comprehend I ever felt that way. Maewen was correct when she told me it was not right for me.

I do not have to worry whether she wants my company now for she looks across at me and smiles. It is not hesitant or nervous or a smile because she thinks it is what she should do. It is radiance and joy. It is a smile just for me. The kind of smile she used to bestow on me when we were young and in the Greenwood. I think Maewen saved me then. . . When we were first together. After Laerion I thought I would never be happy again, and suddenly. . . She was there and she loved me and I was walking on air!

"Sit with me," She calls and holds a hand out to beckon me closer, so I do. She sighs as she leans her head against my shoulder but it is a sigh of contentment, not frustration.

"How is your Father?"

"My Father is. . . Surprising."

She laughs then, bright and happy.

"Your Father is always surprising!" And she is right.

"We spoke about Laerion," I feel her tense as I say my brothers name. "He blames himself for his death. He says his decisions were bad ones. All these years I have thought he could not help but blame me and he never has."

"I knew he blamed himself, we all know that." She replies. It is something else that surprises me.

"My mother blamed him too." Now we have begun to speak about this I may as well tell her it all. "It is why she left, because of her resentment." I feel a sudden rush of rage at the mention of my mother...how could she? How could she leave me because she did not wish to forgive my father?

The anger is so sudden, so intense, that Maewen feels it too. Our fea twist around each other and so it surges towards her. I am sick of this anger that comes out of nowhere to engulf me. It is so strange.

"You are angry with her." She touches my arm softly, "Do not be Legolas. She lost her son."

"I lost my brother! My father lost a son also. Does that not count?" I snap back.

"And you have struggled, is she not allowed to struggle also? Perhaps her decisions were not rational ones as yours have sometimes not been. Perhaps, now she is in Valinor, she regrets them...but what can she do? She cannot return."

That thought is an unpleasant one. To be stranded in Valinor and wish you had never gone there? How close did I come to nearly making that very mistake myself in the midst of grief.

"I hope that it is not so." I murmer, "I would not wish that upon her."

"I know," Maewen says gently and she takes my hand in hers lacing her fingers between mine so our grip is unbreakable. Together we are strong.

Still the anger churns within me and I am so sick of it.

"I am tired of this rage within me," I tell her. "I am tired of it."

She looks at me with concern, her eyes dark and serious.

"I have noticed," she says seriously at last, "that you are upset with so many of us. Me, Erynion, Elessar. . . You have always had a quick temper, Legolas, but it does seem to be more obvious." She is careful with her words, I know, for she is wary of my temper turning on her once again. It upsets me that I make her nervous. That is not how it should be, it is not how I want it to be.

Should I tell her? Should I confess to this burning pit of fire that devours me, that has devoured me for years, that I can never acknowledge?

I spoken of so much today, things I would have never imagined I could put voice to. . . Is this one thing more?

"I am angry with Laerion." In the end I whisper it, it sneaks out like an afterthought against my wishes.

"What?" She leans forward, her face creased with a frown as if she cannot believe what she hears. Why would she? It is ludicrous but still it is true. And now—now that I have said those few words the rest rushes out in a torrent of fury. There is no stopping it now even if I wished to.

"I am angry with Laerion!" The second time I say it I shout it. I pull my hand away from her and leap to my feet.

"How dare he? How dare he do this to me? I did not ask for him to save me. I did not want it. I was there as a warrior, could he not have let me face the consequences of my actions as one? Did he have to treat me as a child?"

I cannot stop now that I have started. I have to say it all. So many years have I spent dwelling on this. And Maewen stands and stares.

"My reflexes are fast—were faster than his. Perhaps I could have survived where he did not if he had left well enough alone. And he has left me with this. . . This guilt. . . This terrible guilt that I have to live with all the rest of my life. He has ruined my life Maewen, Ruined it! Sometimes I think I hate him for it."

And when I finally stop there is silence between us.

"And you must hate me now," I say eventually when she does not speak, "I do not blame you. He saved me and all I can do is rage at him. How ungrateful am I? What kind of brother am I?"

This is, of course, why I have never said a word of this before. Not to her, not to anyone. In truth I am ashamed of the way I feel and yet I cannot stop it and slowly, slowly, the anger corrodes my soul.

"I do not hate you, Legolas." Her voice when she at last uses it is soft and calm, it caresses my rough edges. "I understand why you feel the way you do." She reaches out and touches my cheek, gently, the lightest of touches.

"I have no right to feel anger when he saved me. I know it Maewen. I am ashamed of it but I cannot unfeel it. I have tried."

"You have every right."

Now it is my turn to look at her in shock.

"What?"

"You are right. You did not ask for this and it has damaged you. It would have been easier for you had he not stepped in front of you that day. Harder for me, but easier for you." She pulls me close then and rests her head upon my shoulder. "I cannot lie, I am glad Laerion saved you but I do not blame you for being angry. I would too, I think, if it had happened to me."

"You would too?" I feel numb, empty, drained of all emotion. She understands? How can she?

"You must let this go, Legolas," she murmers. "It is harming you. You must acknowledge it and let it go—even if it is only to me you speak of it. Please know I do not judge you. The way you feel is not unreasonable."

"He is my brother, I should not hate him."

"Then do not. Be angry, but try to understand him." She takes a step back and looks me in the eye. "Elessar is a fine warrior," She says and her tone is almost conversational. I wonder why she brings Aragorn into this. "But if you were in battle and his life was in danger would you not try to protect him? Even if it meant risking yourself. You are stronger, faster, more likely to survive and you love him. Would you do that, Legolas?"

"Yes! Without a doubt I would, of course. I could not stand and watch him fall if I could prevent it!"

"And yet, it would leave him bearing the same guilt you do."

And I understand.

Laerion did not mean to hurt me. He did, but that was not his aim. He saved me because he loved me. He saved me because he had no other choice.

And Maewen, she thinks I am justified to feel angry at him. She does not think me a monster for it.

She understands me.

She smiles at me then, as I struggle to make sense of my thoughts. She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me down to the ground beside her as she sits.

"I will let you think on this. We will talk more tomorrow. We will talk me a story, Legolas." She snuggles up against me, her body warm and comforting as she fits perfectly into my side. I know what she does, she seeks to distract me. We used to do this in the South, tell each other stories to remind ourselves of pleasant things in the midst of the dark.

"Tell me of Gimli, I would like to know more of him. He is an interesting creature when he is not speaking about rocks. Tell me how you met."

After years refusing to know anything about my friends or my life she is asking for stories of them. How can I say no?

I cast my mind back to the first time I truly met him. It did not go well.

"He broke my arrows."

"Why would he do that?" Her laugh at the silliness of my statement is sweet like music.

"I may have insulted him. . . Possibly. . . Accidentally . . ."

"Oh Legolas!" She cries, "Between you both how did you ever become friends?"

How did we? I have to stop and think.

"There came a time when we stopped seeing a dwarf and an elf and saw Legolas and Gimli instead." I cannot explain it any better than that.

"And how could anyone, seeing you, not love you." She sighs contentedly. I am filled with a rush of love. It overwhelms me.

"Thank you," I say, I need to let her know how much I appreciate her. I have been remiss in that lately.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me, for being here."

And she smiles when she replies.

"You are here, Legolas. There is nowhere I would rather be."