It was several days before Legolas saw Shimalya again. Arwen spent much time with her, allowing only female servants into the chambers. As her body and mind became weaker and weaker, Arwen had explained, Shimalya had begun to associate all men with her experience. In her present state, she could not separate the other men from Karak.
Legolas began to despair, fearing she would remember only the cruelness spoken to her when he had believed her an assassin. Aragorn and Gimli did what they could to occupy his mind and cheer him, but to no avail. He had resigned himself that he had lost her.
Then, while walking to his own chambers late one evening, something happened which gave the elf hope. He heard a door open slightly as he passed by, and turning slowly, saw two gray eyes peeking out at him. There seemed for a moment to be recognition in them, not of a man, but of Legolas himself. He said nothing, fearing she would slam the door at the sound of his voice. Instead, he smiled at her, and willed his feet to carry him back to his own room. It wasn't until he reached his own chamber that he heard her door close softly.
He hesitated before entering, wondering if he had only imagined her there. It could indeed have been a stirring of his mind in what he wished, but if that were so, he reminded himself, she would have called his name and come to him.
In the days that followed, he heard her door open many times. Always, he stopped and turned to see her, but he never spoke. Once, he thought he heard her breathe his name, though he believed that had been his own longing to hear it on her lips.
"I saw him again tonight, as he walked past." The words had come out of nowhere, a confession when none was needed.
Arwen stood by Shimalya at the window.
"Did he say anything?"
"No." Arwen realized she was staring at her own reflection in the glass as she spoke. "He never says anything when I see him. Is he ashamed?" Her gray eyes turned on the elf, pleading for an answer.
"No, of course not. He wants only for you to be well."
"I tried to call out to him. I wanted to, but it stuck in my throat. It scared me."
"It is all right to be scared. He understands that. Do not let it worry you."
"I love him, my Lady. I love him, but I don't know if I can be with him without feeling-"
"Give it time. Do not try to rush anything." She touched Shimalya's cheek. "You've made much progress. The rest will come."
Evening had fallen. Snow fell peacefully over the city, dancing in the sky on the light winds of an early winter. Legolas stood on the balcony where he had first kissed Shimalya, staring out at the lights in the town below. He couldn't help but wonder to himself if he could carry on like this. He had not spoken a word to Shimalya for nearly a month, and while he did not know if this was helping her, he was suffering. How many times he knew she had watched him in the corridors when all others were asleep or glanced her in the window as he returned from hunting. Each and every time, his heart was wrenched; for he knew she would disappear at his first word to her.
In his hand, he clutched the message from his father, requesting an audience in two weeks time. Soon, he would leave for Mirkwood, and were it not for his friendship with Aragorn, he would consider never returning. In enough time, her life would pass, regardless of whether or not he were here with her. She would grow old and her body would give out. Where would he be?
Yearning for the shell of a woman he had once known. Perhaps she would never again speak words to him. What sort of existence was that for an immortal, to spend a hundred or a thousand years mourning for a woman whom few in her own race would ever remember?
Legolas closed his eyes. As much as he tried to convince himself his feelings were futile, he loved her nonetheless. None of this reasoning helped him to feel better. He would never leave her, and even if he could, he would never forget her. There were simply too many 'what ifs' to allow him to consider otherwise. He would see to his father and hasten back.
The sound of footsteps reached his ears. Light, slippered footsteps of a woman. They were too light to be those of a servant, but they were not Arwen's. He knew her steps, as she had often come to speak to him in his quiet evening thoughts.
They were Shimalya's footsteps.
He did not turn to meet her gaze. She would find him soon enough and turn away to return to her room. He could not bear to see her turn away from him. He simply waited to hear the retreat of her footsteps.
"Legolas?" Her voice was soft, timid.
Hearing her voice, he though he had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned, preparing himself to see the fear in her face as she attempted to escape.
Instead, she threw herself against his chest, seeking comfort in his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, delighting in the warmth of her body against his own. The scent of her hair demanded the reality of the moment to his mind, and he allowed her hair to splay through his fingers as he held her.
He could conjure no words for her, but relayed all he felt for her through his arms. At last, she moved, not moving away, but adjusting her position, and as he looked down into her eyes, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth, softly. He returned the kiss more passionately, with all the desire he had felt for her since their first meeting and al the desperation since their separation.
"I love you," he breathed, his lips grazing the soft skin of her neck. He pressed his lips to the warmth of her flesh, gently kisses across her throat and down her jaw.
"I wanted to come to you," she sighed, the warmth of his caress heating her.
"I waited. I'll always wait for you." His hand slid down to her bodice, coming to rest on the swell of her breast. He kissed her more deeply, massaging her with the palm of his hand. Realizing what he was doing, Legolas pulled away from her, untrusting of himself what he wished. He breathed heavily, silently cursing the heat of his thighs, hands, and lips.
"I would never hurt you," he told her, not allowing himself to take her again into his arms. "I could never forgive myself if I did."
"I know."
He touched her cheek gently with his finger.
"I could never hurt you," he repeated more softly. "I will always wait for you." It took great willpower for him to walk away, knowing all the while she was watching his retreating form. But he knew he had to keep going. His desire was too great to allow him to stay near her. In the end, it would only hurt her more. She had learned harsh, dispassionate sex. Abused against her will, her maidenhead had been stolen from her. How long before she could accept the warmth and passion of mutual desire?
His head was spinning as he returned to his room and threw himself on his bed fully clothed. His body continued to yearn for her touch. His mind recalled each instance of her smile, each scant trace of her scent, each lingering touch since their first meeting. He thought of her grace with a sword, the seriousness stamped on her face as she fought. And finally, creeping into the corner of his mind, the instant in which he found her again in the Fortress of Torrech, though his mind conveniently misplaced the horrors involved. Again, he saw the curves of her body beneath the thin blanket, but it was her own hand, which laid it aside, revealing the swell of her breasts, the soft down of her stomach, and the dark floss between her legs. She was smiling as she reached up and pulled him down to her to meet her upturned mouth, her teeth separated so his tongue could caress hers.
Legolas rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. It would be a long night.
He saw her many times after that night, as Shimalya journeyed out form her room for longer and longer periods of time. Always, she had other women with her, ready for any moment of fear that crept into her mind.
Legolas was upset by their presence and grateful for it all at once. It meant he could not be alone with her, but also that he would have no temptation as he had had on the balcony.
Soon, he was readying for his journey back to Mirkwood, to stand before his father. Gimli wished to accompany him, but Legolas wanted to go alone. He had no idea what the king wanted, and wished to complete the journey as swiftly as he could. Before swinging himself onto the back of his horse, he kissed Shimalya's hand, promising to return before the month was out.
Legolas entered the forest he had long known as Mirkwood, again Greenwood the Great, just a few days after leaving Minas Tirith. He had traveled quickly and with little sleep, and now wished only to lie in his bed, but knew his father was waiting for him.
He dismounted and led the horse across the familiar bridge, which led to his father's cave-palace. The water below was swift and strong, crowned with great beeches whose roots fed directly into the water. Leaving his horse, he entered the cavern mouth, its passages lit by the red flame of torches. The few guards he passed bowed their heads, but Legolas did not hesitate as he made his way through the winding paths that any stranger would become hopelessly lost in. At last, he came to the Great Hall with its white pillars of stone. Before him, on his carved wood throne sat the Elvenking Thranduil, Legolas' father.
"Legolas, my son, you have finally come home."
The young elf bowed on bended knee.
"You sent for me, father?"
"Oh stand up, stand up." The Elvenking left his throne and came to his son, pulling him up. "It's been some time since I saw you last, Legolas. Not since I sent you to Rivendell for the counsel." He looked into his youngest son's eyes and saw in them a great change from the boy he had sent to explain Smeagol's disappearance. "My, you have grown up, haven't you? You can't imagine my surprise when Galion told me you were chosen to accompany the hobbit to Mordor." He embraced his son. "I would never have forgiven Elrond if anything had happened to you."
"Father, you coddle him too much," sneered Cranduil, the eldest of Thranduil's sons.
Ignoring Cranduil's comment, Thranduil led Legolas out of the Great Hall and to his library, wishing his son to tell everything that had befallen him since last they had met.
Arwen stood in Shimalya's chambers as an old healer examined the girl. Legolas had been gone only a few days, when Shimalya cried to her that something was amiss, that she needed a healer. Arwen had come quickly, fearing in her heart what she knew in her mind.
Shimalya had missed her cycle.
"Mistress, you are with child," the old healer told her.
"Child?" She touched her stomach lightly, then pulled her hand away as if she were burned. "It's not possible. It can't be."
'A child,' thought Arwen sadly. It was as she had feared, and just as the young woman was beginning to heal. The violence against Shimalya could have been hidden, but a child? No man would understand. The only one that could would not be allowed to wed her. Not the son of a king. Thranduil was too proud to ever allow such a thing.
"Leave me." Shimalya's voice was a shaky whisper as she made her request. The old healer looked at Arwen. The queen nodded imperceptibly, and the woman withdrew.
"Shimalya," Arwen said, laying her hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Do not fear this. All things shall come to pass as they should."
"I fear nothing, Queen Arwen. After all that has happened, I have nothing left to fear."
Arwen smiled, hiding her own disconcert, and withdrew from the room.