It's probably worth reading chapter 13 of the Mariner before this one if you have not already done so.
Elrohir
He stands at the end of the path, framed by the trees, dappled shadows across his face and he seems as silvan as I have ever seen him—wild, ethereal, beautiful. He has Aragorn's leather pouch under one arm and in the other hand, hanging loosely at his side, a sheet of paper.
I have so much to say to him.
"Legolas!" I scramble to my feet, but Aragorn, at my side pulls on my arm.
"Not now," he murmurs. "It is not the right time. What you have to say deserves quiet and calm so you can hear him."
Every ounce of my body says yes now! It says you have wronged him and you must make it right as soon as you can, but still I hesitate.
Aragorn is the one who realised Legolas could not find the right words. Aragorn is the one who has worked out ways to solve that. Aragorn noticed all the small things I have ignored. If he tells me to wait I should wait. As hard as it is, as much as I do not want to . . . I should wait.
And so instead of launching into the words I want to say I do exactly what Legolas has asked of me.
"Of course," I tell him, "Of course, I will give you all the time you need."
But as I go I drop my hand to cradle the dark curls of my brother beside me.
"Remember he loves you." I tell him. "He has fought such a long battle to be here with you now."
"I know that."
He says it so softly even my Elven ears have to strain to hear it. It is all I can give them. I hope it is enough.
I walk down the beach away from them, resisting the temptation, and it is a cruel one, to look back and see what it is they do. I could return to Maewen and the breakfast she offered but I am not in the mood for wood-elven agitation. I do not often find solace in the sea, in that I am different from my twin, but today the breeze seems strangely comforting as it brushes against me. I remember my Grandfather's words back in Valinor one day, after I had stormed ashore in a temper following another failed attempt at sailing with him.
"You are trying too hard, Elrohir," he said. "You have nothing to prove to me. My love is not dependant upon you being a sailor. Relax and let the sea find you."
Today it almost feels as if it might have.
Once I am around the headland—when there is no chance at all of me giving in to temptation and sneaking a glance back at Legolas and Aragorn— I stop. Even if I wanted to I cannot see them from here. But much to my surprise, and my eternal disappointment, someone is already here. I feel a flare of resentment. How dare he. Just when it feels as if I could capture the sea, just when I wish to dip my toes in the waves, he is here, of all people.
And he sees me.
"Elrohir! This is a surprise."
"I do not see why it should be," I snap back perhaps more harshly than I anticipated and he blinks in surprise, but only for a moment.
"The sea is not usually a place you seek out alone," he says, and he is right.
"Where is Elladan?" I try to change the subject. "I could say it is unusual to find you by the waves alone also, Laerion."
But he simply shrugs a shoulder as if my bad temper is of no matter at all to him.
"Finrod has captured him. Urgent matters to discuss apparently. He has abandoned me."
Finrod has urgent matters to discuss with my brother? Could that be me? Trust Elladan! The one time I want him to be with Laerion he is not.
"So," Laerion wades towards me out of the shallows where he was standing. "Shall we sit?" he waves a hand towards the sands in front of me, but why on earth does he think I wish to sit with him?
The problem is I have no reason not to.
So awkwardly I must join him.
"You have not told me what brings you down here," he says pleasantly which irritates me even more for it makes my disagreeableness seem even more ridiculous. And I have no reason not to answer him.
"Legolas and Aragorn are sorting themselves out." I indicate down the beach towards them with a wave, "and I make myself scarce."
"Are they?" He leans forward to look around me even though there is no chance of him seeing them. "Well thank goodness for that for it has only been a night and it is painful to watch."
"Yes," I sigh halfheartedly because I really do not wish to be discussing this with him. "Thank goodness."
"You do not sound very thankful," he says with a frown. "Do you not wish them to put this disagreement behind them?"
"Of course I do! Legolas has waited so long for this reunion and Estel is my brother. Of course I do!"
He holds his hands in the air as if in surrender.
"Peace, Elrohir. I simply wondered if you knew a reason I did not that it would go badly."
"There is no reason it will go badly." Now he has me defensive on their behalf. The truth is I have no idea how it will go at all.
"Perhaps Elessar will not forgive Legolas his foolishness," he says casually, tossing his hair in the sea breeze.
"What foolishness? What do you mean?" He was not even there to know what they argued about. "Did Legolas tell you about this in Valinor?"
"No Elladan told me about it here, last night, in gory detail. My brother is a fool and now he suffers the consequences. I have no problem admitting that. Much as Elessar is not my favourite person even I can see Legolas made an error here."
"Elladan told you?"
"Yes," he says.
"But that was Legolas' story to tell!"
"Legolas," he says firmly, leaning towards me, "Has problems telling his stories when he should!"
At first I assume he means Legolas keeps things to himself he should let others know about, his tendency to avoid help at all costs, which is true—Except for this irritating habit he has developed of telling Finrod all. But then in a moment of horror it hits me . . . Does he know about Legolas' issues with speech? Is he someone else who has worked it out when I have not? Did Legolas trust him with that information and not me? Is that what he's meaning?
I do not realise I stare until he pulls me up on it.
"What is wrong? You look at me as if you sit next to a stranger, Elrohir. As if I am some kind of mystery. It is just Laerion, like Thranduil except much less impressive." He laughs even as he runs himself down.
"No," I say, guilt at my obvious rudeness making me stumble. "No-one thinks that, Laerion."
"Everyone with a brain thinks it."
"Not Elladan."
"Well Elladan loves me so he does not count. I do not mind it Elrohir. My father is magnificent. I am not. It is just the way of things." He draws his knees up wrapping his arms around them, resting his chin on the top. It is suddenly, jarringly like Legolas who sits just like that when he considers things.
"I need to ask you something."
Maybe it is the similarity to Legolas that makes me blurt it out.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise that I have asked him anything but still he smiles,
"Ask away."
Now I do not know how to say it.
"You know Legolas cannot write?"
"Well he can write. He is just not very good at it. That is a strange question to ask me when you know I specifically moved to the woods to help him with the demands from the Lords of Tirion and their endless need for paperwork."
"Did you know . . . Have you noticed . . . Has he told you of any problems with speech as well?"
"Ah," he stretches his legs out in front of him and sighs. "Has he finally seen sense and told you or did you discover it elsewhere?"
He knows.
It is only I who has been such a fool.
"He has not told me." I say bluntly. "Aragorn has. It took my brother who has been dead for centuries to fill me in. That is how blind I am. Have you known all along?"
"No. Look Elrohir—"
It makes me angry, that I have been so uncomprehending. Angry with myself for making assumptions and not asking questions when I should have. Angry with Legolas for not simply telling me. Why did he not tell me? Angry with Laerion and Aragorn and likely Maewen and of course Finrod, for all knowing when I did not.
"Spare me any justifications," I raise my voice cutting him off mid sentence. "I have not known this when I should have and he has not trusted me enough to tell me, when it is obvious he told you. The end result is I have not been able to support him as I should have. I have made things worse for him, and obviously something is very wrong between us for why else would I not know this?"
"Listen!" Laerion's voice cuts across mine and sears through my anger. It sucks the words right out of me with its force. When he says he is less impressive than Thranduil he is wrong.
"Listen" he repeats more softly when I stop. "Legolas told me this only reluctantly and even then I had to drag it out of him so I will hear no more about this nonsense of mistrust. He trusts you implicitly, but as I said, he is not good at asking for help when it is needed. I only discovered this shortly after Elladan and I returned from Alqualondë that first time. All those years before I completely misread him. I was frustrated he had changed so much, become so silent, begun to refuse to communicate with me. And when I discovered the truth of it I felt as terrible as likely you do now."
"I am a failure." I tell him, "which will surprise no one. I have failed him. I should have known. I should not have assumed and I—"
But he does not let me finish.
"Stop!" he says firmly. "Enough of this. It is exactly why he would not tell you. I advised him to. I tried to force the issue several times. But he told me you would blame yourself. He said you would think you were not good enough and he did not want that. I am going to show you something. I promised him I would not but I think you should see it. I have always thought so." He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a carefully folded piece of paper, and drops it into my lap. "Look at it," he prompts as I sit and stare.
And so I do.
Carefully I unfold it. It is an artwork. One of Legolas' artworks, beautiful, powerful, as they all are.
Legolas stands at the centre of the page—a picture of desperation, trapped with chaos, at the centre of a storm behind the bars of a cage. It is vivid in its terror and I can barely look at it. Outside his cage am I; tall strong, ferocious, and I stare straight through him. It is as if I do not see him at all.
"He told me it depicts how he feels, when you argue, when he is distressed and can not communicate, with you, with me, with any of us. Trapped by the maelstrom of emotion that robs him of his speech while we look on, unknowing."
"This is awful." It is a gasp because it truly, truly is.
"What you will not do, Elrohir, is sit here and put the weight of this on your own shoulders. You will not waste a single moment telling yourself all the things you should have done, or how shameful it might be you did not see this. Because that will achieve nothing. What you will do is take this." Gently he folds my fingers around the paper. "Take it to remind yourself should you ever forget, as I have carried it with me, and use it to ensure things are different from here on. Waste no time regretting the past. Put all your energy into improving the future."
"I cannot keep this." I push it back towards him, "It is yours." But he shakes his head.
"You need it more than I. Take it. Take care of it and take care of him. Tell him you have it. He will be furious with me for giving it to you because I promised I would not but I have broad shoulders. I can deal with that."
"I—"
A part of me still feels I should refuse but in the end I cannot resist. I am in the midst of carefully folding it away when the touch lands lightly upon my shoulder making me jump a mile.
"So nervous, Elrohir," he laughs. "Anyone would think you are hiding something from me." Even Laerion, beside me, is startled.
"What are you playing at brother?" he complains. "sneaking up on us."
"Walking across sand is hardly sneaking," Legolas laughs. He is so young looking and happy. His eyes are dancing.
"I take it things went well with the King of Men then," Laerion replies smoothly. He really is a cool customer.
"Aragorn," Legolas sighs. "His name is Aragorn. He is still back there. Why do you not go and ask him yourself?"
"Because I do not enjoy his company."
"You do not even know what his company is like!"
"I know enough to know I need not seek more of it."
It is almost as if they have completely forgotten me in their sparring, and I hurriedly deposit Laerion's paper in my pocket out of sight.
"He is my friend, Laerion." Legolas says in the end. "I want you to like him, or at least know him."
"You cannot have everything you want, Legolas."
But then Legolas plays his trump card. Quietly he leans forward,
"He is Elladan's brother, and Elladan needs you to make an effort here."
And Laerion is silent.
But in the end, to my surprise, he gives in and scrambles to his feet.
"I go," he says, "because obviously I will be a third wheel here in whatever loving conversation the two of you wish to have, not because I think you are right and not because I have any desire to speak with Elessar. Still if I stumble across him I might wish him good day. That is all."
"For Elladan." Legolas says, and you could almost say it was smugly, "because you love him."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps you love him? Or perhaps—"
"Perhaps you push your luck!"
But Laerion is smiling as he wraps his arms around Legolas before he walks away and leaves us, and still smiling when he turns back towards me.
"Remember no time wasted, Elrohir," he says. "Look forwards, not backwards."
And all I can do is thank him,
So I do.