By the time I make my way to Legolas' room it is getting late. I have lingered with Arwen, eaten with her and Eldarion. A belated attempt to watch over her as I should have been doing all along. Estel will not allow me to care for him—he is set against me—so I will turn my attention to those he loves, Legolas, Arwen and Eldarion. It makes me feel less useless.
"What do you feel?" I asked Arwen before I left, the dwarf's words running through my mind, "When you touch upon Legolas' mind, what is in there?"
"A wound" she replied sadly. "A jagged hole torn right across his fea. I can wind tendrils across it to deaden the pain it causes him but I cannot heal it. Only he can do that. If only Grandmother were here. This is her territory."
"But you believe the dwarf is right? He can be healed?"
"I have to believe it," she smiled, but it was a weak one. "I think he is strong enough to repair it and I will help where I can, and so will you. You need to hold the sea-longing at bay, Elrohir or he has no chance."
"I do not even know how I do that!"
"Whatever it is you do now, it is working."
"And what of Estel?" I was almost afraid to ask it.
"His is less. More a bruising than a laceration, more subtle. It took some time before I realised there was anything there at all that was more than simple grief and exhaustion. But there is, and his I can fix with time, rest and opportunity. I stay out of his mind, Elrohir. I do not normally look there, it seems a violation, but at the moment . . . I think I am justified. I do not think in his right mind he would object."
She was asking me for absolution. For my recognition that for now, her wandering across Estel's soul was acceptable.
"You must do everything you can." I told her. "You will know when it is time to withdraw. I trust you. Estel would trust you."
And he would. He would trust her in this absolutely, as he no longer trusts me.
I hesitate outside Legolas' door. I do not know why for I burn to see him. It has been hours since I left him with Gimli this morning. When I finally enter he sits in front of the fire, a spread of food before him and when he looks up to see me his face lights up like the sun. It is like a bolt of lightening through my soul.
But the girl is here also.
She smiles too, a look of open sincerity and rises to her feet from her chair beside him.
"Elrohir, Come in, have you eaten?" She is happy to see me but I am instantly awkward. I feel like an intruder. I do not belong here—between them. I long to go to Legolas, to hold him, but not in front of her. I will not do that. And so I stand, not knowing what to do or what to say, in the middle of the room and Legolas' smile fades.
And I feel cold.
Maewen gets to her feet then, perhaps she sees my awkwardness? She is welcoming and inclusive. I know her thoughts about this. I know she is well used to it, to her it is usual, normal, the way things are done. But to me it feels wrong. I feel wrong. I feel the way Estel and Gimli see me. As a thief come in the night to steal away her happiness. I do not want that and I do not want to be that person, not at all.
"Come and sit," she says in her soft lilting accent from the woods. "Now you are here I can visit Arwen as I planned." The mention of my sister breaks through the spell that freezes me.
"She would like that. She needs some company I think. She is often lonely here." The company of this light and spritely Silvan girl will do Arwen the world of good. "I have just come from her myself."
"Good!" She smiles and I know she is going to leave us. I have arrived here and shattered the peace and contentment between them. I drive her away just by being here.
"Do not go on my account," I say anxiously. "I will come back later . . . Or tomorrow perhaps."
"Do not be silly," she laughs, "I want to see her. You do me a favour keeping Legolas in line while I do so."
She leans over him then, strokes his hair, murmurs something in their musical Silvan language. A secret she does not want me to hear? As I used Sindarin to shield us from the dwarf this morning? Or perhaps it is simply because that is the language they always speak when they are together and I am being paranoid, worrying about something that does not exist.
He reaches up to touch her face, long fingers drifting down her cheek and he smiles.
"Say hello to Arwen for me, beloved." He says, "She looked tired this morning."
I do not fit here. I feel as if I trample into the midst of something special and destroy it with my presence.
Then she is gone. She smiles at me as she leaves. Places a comforting hand on my arm as she passes and we are alone.
"Will you join me then?" Legolas looks up at me but his face is serious, not the brilliant light it was when I arrived. "You are cluttering up my room Noldo, standing there." He reaches across for a cake and takes a bite. "Where have you been? You promised me you would be back this morning and here we are with sun almost setting before you arrive. I thought you had walked away and allowed the dwarf to kidnap me."
He is angry. Have I stayed away too long?
"I thought you would enjoy his company. I always meant to return, Legolas." I stumble over my words for he confuses me.
Then he looks up, eyes sparkling, face split wide with a grin.
"I am joking, Elrohir! Of course I enjoyed being with Gimli. How will we ever survive if you do not work to improve your Noldo sense of humour?"
But when the only answer he receives is my wordless stare he sighs,
"That also was a joke. We will survive even if I must explain every sentance to you in words of one syllable. Come sit with me. I have missed you."
It is almost a command and I obey. Certainly Gimli has worked miracles today for this is far from the shattered Legolas I left this morning. He is bright and alert. His eyes dance, his words make sense.
"You look well," I tell him. He is smiling and that smile captivates me. It's brightness leaves no space for anything in my mind but love.
"Ah, I am not well," he sighs. "Looks can be deceiving, Elrohir. But I am better that much is true. Gimli drives me hard and allows me no time for self pity but it is so tiring, this struggling for control. I could sleep for a month but he tells me he will be back in the morning."
"I will tell him you need your sleep. Put him off. Tomorrow you could rest." I am eager to protect him. Perhaps the dwarf pushes him too hard? He is a stubborn, dogmatic creature that dwarf. I am driven by an overwhelming urge to wrap Legolas up and keep him safe from all things. He has suffered enough, I think, for a life time. Now that I have found him I will let him suffer no more. Any who mean to harm him will need to come through me and that includes the dwarf.
But Legolas shakes his head at me with a frown.
"No! He will not push me further than I can bear. If I wish to improve then I must do this and I have promised him my best effort. I do not need your protection, Elrohir. I am not a child!" The air sparks with the beginnings of anger and I am at a loss as to how to manage this.
Until now that is exactly how Legolas has been. Like a child. A broken, bewildered, child and I have embraced him with my love like a shield he could hide behind. But now . . . He may be shaky but he is on his feet, he is his own man. I am left behind.
"I do not think you are a child, Legolas."
"Then do not treat me as one!"
I do not want to fight with him. Legolas and I have spent years fighting, I want no more of that. I am not sure how much of this anger is real and how much is that wound upon his fea twisting the world around him. I realise with a shock I do not know what to do. I should have spoken to Gimli who seems to have a magic wand when it comes to dealing with Legolas. I should have asked him when to go gently and when to stand my ground.
I feel the love we have so recently discovered undo itself around me, slipping away into the night. There are a million responses tumbling around my mind and none of them seem right.
"Where have you been?" While I have been searching in desperation for a way across this minefield, he has moved on entirely. "What have you done today while Gimli occupied me?"
"I have just been with Estel." I do not know what possessed me to bring up the topic of Estel wih him. A foolish, foolish mistake. Gimli told me Legolas was distressed by Estel's reaction to "us", why did I not listen? It is like watching a house of cards crumple before my eyes as all his confidence and bravado bleeds out onto the ground.
"Aragorn?" He cries, "Does he still hate me? Does he still judge me and find me lacking?" He buries his face in his hands as if he hides himself away. The change is dramatic and somewhat frightening—he is more fragile than I thought.
Should I tell him Gimli's thoughts on Estel? Will it only make things worse? For a moment I am paralysed with indecision but in the end I cannot bear his distress. It ties me in knots inside to watch his unhappiness.
"Legolas," He will not listen so I lean across and prise his hands from his face holding them between my own. "He does not hate you. It is me he is unhappy with." But Legolas only shakes his head and his eyes are despairing. "Listen to me. Gimli believes Estel has been damaged—as you are damaged. It makes sense and Arwen confirms it, a bruise she describes it as, upon his soul. This anger, this resistance and resentment, it is not him. It is not our Estel. He struggles as you do and his mind plays tricks upon him."
"What have I done to him?" He gasps in horror.
"You have done nothing. This is not your fault. You tried to save a child. It was Estel's decision to follow you and Estel's decision to bring you back."
"I asked him to bring me back. I knew it was risky. I did not imagine it would harm him."
"It was his decision!" I will not allow Legolas to blame himself for this. "He had to return anyway, whether or not he brought you with him." This is what I am good at with him, giving comfort. I know how to do this—so I pull him close, I wrap my arms around him and drown his battered fea in the warmth of my love. "Do not take Estel's words to heart. He does not wish to hurt you. Elladan is with him and Arwen can heal this. We call for Faramir to take the burden of the city off Estel's shoulders. Then he can rest and he will be well once more."
And Legolas sinks in to my embrace. He leans so close I can feel his heart as it pounds against mine—too fast, too frightened.
"Hush," I tell him, "hush, All will be well."
He is silent then for a time. I can feel his heart slow, and the chaotic jumble of emotions that flit across his fea become less, more ordered, more recognisable. His light shines through to me once again, soft green lit with gold, the smell of dew on the leaves in the forest. If I close my eyes and allow myself to imagine, Legolas feels like his woods to me.
"Did you weep for me?" His words spoken into my chest where his head rests, echoing in to the silence take me by surprise.
"What?" It is a random question and I struggle to make sense of it.
"Is it true? Did you weep for me when I fell?"
Why does he ask this?
"We all wept, Legolas."
"I never thought Elrohir Elrondion would weep for the loss of me."
This is important, obviously. If it is security he needs, security I will give him and so I open my heart, although it is hard. I have hidden it from him so long. I reach down and tilt his head towards me so he sees me, so he will see the heart of me.
"I have wept for the loss of you for years, Legolas. Since the Dead Marshes I have wept—alone—because I lost you."
He reaches up to touch my face. A soft brush of fingers across my cheek, hesitant, adoring, loving. I have never been touched like this. Then he speaks.
"I never knew." He whispers softly,
"All these years and I never knew."