CHAPTER 41
ABSENCE
Two weeks had passed since Eldarion's succession ceremony, and the new King felt wearier and more troubled with every day that passed. The loss of his father was still tender in his heart, and Minas Tirith was in ruins. Every day he tried to figure a way to start the healing process, but everyday he collided against the inarguable fact that there weren't enough resources or manpower to begin the reconstruction. Winter was near; the merciless winds were coming from the east, forceful and inevitable. The crops had to be harvested, no matter what, or the entire country would starve; and so, every man or woman who could work had to go to the fields to gather rations for the upcoming season.
But the reconstruction of the city and the menace of the winter weren't the main reasons for his heavy heart; in that short time he learned that there were much worse burdens for a King; for everyone around him, everyone he loved seemed to have lost the desire to live, and had abandoned their selves to grief; something he could not indulge himself to do, no matter how much he lamented the loss of his father. His mother spent her days locked up in the royal chambers, cold, somber and silent. She never wept again, her heart was so broken that even sorrow was pushed apart; but she never smiled again either, or spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. She barely accepted any food, and her skin was becoming ailing pale.
Eldarion himself tried many times to talk to her; but each time he went up to the chambers, she would refuse to keep conversation with him, and answered to all of his questions with nods or a toneless yes or no.
Legolas situation was different, but nevertheless awful. He still inhabited at Arwen's deserted gardens, and after a few more days, he finally accepted help and spent most of his time at the healing wing, where the healers tried their best to give him back his sight. But weeks passed, and their efforts were useless, and worst of all, some of their methods implied a great deal of pain, discomfort and sacrifice for the weary elf.
He endured everything stoically, treatments and procedures that could have made a strong man stumble and cry out; but no improvement to his situation ever occurred. And as time went by, sadness started to overwhelm him; not so much because of bodily pain, but for a never-ending ache in his heart.
He missed Arwen.
Ever since the battle with the dragon she had been apart from him, distant. It was one terrible fact not being capable to look at her because of his newly acquired disability, but he never had the joy of hearing her voice again either. Many times he felt her presence close to him; many times he sensed her passing near him; but she never talked to him, or even to others while he was close; and he was certain that she avoided his presence.
Her behavior confused and hurt him deeply, yet he felt unworthy of asking for a justification. After all, she was still in grief, and he didn't have the right to disturb her mourning time. And so, in silence and darkness he accepted her decision, and contained himself from any attempt to approach her. His days passed by slowly and painfully; and then days became weeks, until winter finally came.
..........................................
Dismal and alone she sat at the edge of her bed; the bed she once shared with the one whose absence was consuming her life with every day that passed. Over two moths had lapsed since half of her life went away with him. Every night since then it was the same; she tried to sleep, to give some rest to her sadness for at least a few hours; but every night she was as unsuccessful as the one before.
Over two months without the consolation of slumber, without the escape of a night's sleep. It was killing her.
Where to go to find solace? How to get comfort?
Her son.... no, he was busy attending the matters Kingship, he had to deal with burden enough day after day, as Gondor was sinking into decadence.
Him; the one she had learned to love through troubles and adversity.....Legolas?...No, she couldn't . The idea had crossed her mind, more than once; but she was uncertain about her feelings. Confusion was the only thing she could feel each time she even thought about him; for that, and out of a stubborn respect for her lost husband, she decided to keep a distance from him, until she could discern what she really held in her heart.
That night was particularly excruciating. The cruel winter winds entered the room through the fissures of the balcony's door, adding yet more to the iciness in her heart.
"Tonight it will be the same" - she thought, dreading the pain of another sleepless night. She rested her head on her pillow and covered her body with the silky blankets, hoping to find some warmth; but how could she find warmth underneath a blanket when her heart and soul were colder than the howling wind outside?
She fixated her weary eyes in the weak, shivering flame in the lamp that gloomily illuminated the room that now seemed vast and empty to her. She wanted to weep, to cry out her misery; but her shrunk heart didn't have strength enough even to let out a single tear; so even the relief of the most primal expression of grief was denied to her.
As the unmerciful night advanced, her numb ears heard a different sound over the wind's lament. A cry? No, a song; but who could sing in such a heartrending night?
Driven by curiosity, she left the bed and wrapped herself in one of the blankets. Slow and hesitant, she walked towards the balcony's doors and opened them. The wind tried to push her back inside, and her body shivered wildly from being exposed to the blustery air, but she didn't render to it, and grasping the balcony's veranda, she listened to the night.
The voice came to her, loud and clear; impossible to mistake the owner of such tone. She whispered his name inaudibly to the night - "Legolas...."
She could tell the voice came from somewhere below her terrace, from the gardens; but she refused to seek him, she did not want to see him, and so, she stood motionless as the voice filled all of her senses.
Even if she had tried to look at him, she could have not; for he was right below her stone balcony, his back firmly pressed against the wall. He didn't want to be seen, only heard. He sung with all of his strength, striving to overcome the unceasing howl of the wind, and hoping she could hear him.
He knew of her pain, he knew of her sleepless nights; he had felt all of her torture for weeks, and it had haunted him without a rest. That night, he decided it was time to do something, for her sake and his own.
He sung old elven lullabies; sweet, innocent tunes he knew would bring relief to her misery.
A warm, long forgotten sensation overwhelmed her as she heard the songs Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian used to sing to her when she was new to the world, when worries and ache were foreign to her heart. Something hot and comforting covered her face..tears. She was weeping, and it never felt more right.
Tears flowed until she was exhausted and drained; but her heart was no longer frozen, from the depths of her soul arose a tender and warm flow, conquering the frost around her heart, like her beloved's voice conquered the cruel wind of the night.
When or how? She didn't know; but at some point that night, she had moved back inside the room, and like carried by a gentle force she was laid on the bed. She slept peaceful and content for what was left of that night, for the first time in many moons.
She awoke to a bright day. She felt rested and vital beyond expectations, yet unable to seek for the only able to give her the gift of a peaceful night. She was still confused and unsure of what she felt.
And so, weeks went by exactly the same as before; during the day she avoided all contact with him; but at night she waited anxiously for the arrival of his voice underneath her window. And every night he came faithful to aid her, bringing peace and rest to her soul. Her heart leaped as she heard his first words every time; and for all the nights that followed she could sleep with simplicity, lulled by his steady voice.
It was so; but on a moonless night, two weeks after his first song; she waited for him, but he did not come. It was then that she noted the enormity of the emptiness she felt without his song. She waited and waited until midnight, pacing back and forth inside the room that suddenly became vast and empty again. Why wasn't he coming? What delayed him?
Impelled by her yearning heart, she exited the room; she needed him, perhaps more than anything else in her life, and so she went out to finally seek for him, it was time for him to know how much she yearned for him. Following her innate instinct and the tug of her heart, she walked through the dark corridors towards the healing rooms, knowing without a doubt that he was there.
Her steps became fast and anxious as she reached the healing wing, until she found a closed door where she suddenly stopped. She held her breath to listen, knowing that something was happening inside the room, and he squeezed and twisted her own hands as he heard hushed whispers coming from the other side of the door.
"Apply the bandage, he is going to faint!" - came the voice of a nameless man.
"Lord, there is no improvement..." - another nameless man.
"We have to persevere, there is got to be a way. Try the other compound."
Arwen came closer to the door, almost pressing her ear against the thick wood to better listen to the conversation.
"We should give him a rest, there is no way he can endure this."
"Do as I say!"
Then, Arwen could hear a muffled groan inside the room; but not just any groan; she recognized Legolas' voice, uttering the hoarse, tortured sound. And then he spoke.
"Please, cease this!" - she could hear him say, with a soft, pleading voice. Her heart started pounding inside her chest.
A long silence took place, and she pressed her ear to the door. Then, one of the men finally spoke.
"Release him; give him the painkiller" - an elder man said somberly.
"Let him rest for the night, we will try something else tomorrow. Goodnight everyone"
Arwen stepped back and waited, until the door opened and the chief healer came out the room. The man was surprised to see the Queen staring at him questioningly just outside the room, specially since she had barely left her chambers ever since the King's departure.
He was about to salute her, but she grabbed him from his sleeve and pulled him down the corridor. - "What are you doing to him?" - she demanded to know, once they were far enough from the room as not to be heard.
"My queen?" - hesitated the man. He looked at her confused and disoriented, being that he had been awake all night, and under great distress.
"You heard me, answer me now!" - she said in the verge of tears.
The man stuttered senselessly before responding - "We were trying to give him back his sight, my lady."
Arwen frowned before retorting back to him - "And exactly what kind of methods are you using, that you make a brave warrior like him beg for merci."
The man lowered his gaze - "We have tried everything on our reach my lady. The king pushes us to find a way, but we are running out of options. He has endured everything stoically, up until now; this new process involves great pain. Tonight we decided to try it, and he held on for a long time with his teeth gritted, but it is too much, it afflicts me to cause him so much pain, I am sorry you had to be witness of all this."
"And everything was in vain?" - she asked bewildered.
"I am afraid so."
"How is he now?"
"We gave him a very strong pain reliever, he will probably sleep all this night and a full day."
"Are you sure of this? - She asked.
"Yes, this tranquilizer can bring down a wild bull in an instant, it was the only thing we could use to relief such terrible pain."
Arwen pondered all this for a moment before speaking again - "tell the rest of the healers to leave the room, I wish to see him..in private."
The man was too tired to question her decision; he went back into de room and ordered the healers and nurses to leave the room at once. Arwen waited at the corridor until the room was empty and the people's steps were no longer heard. When she was sure she was completely alone, she made her way into de room.
He was spread over the narrow bed, draped in white sheets. His body was damp with sweat from the recent distress, and there was a cloth carefully sited over his eyes. He was still, awfully still; and his breathing was slow and steady. She thought he was asleep, or unconscious from medication and pain...he was not.
The medication wasn't as effective on him as the old surgeon thought, and he was just trying to regain control of his body and to recover from the intense pain by lowering his heart's pace. He immediately felt as Arwen entered the room, but he didn't move.
How not to notice her arrival? How to disregard the intensity of her presence? Impossible; he had engraved every one of her sounds, her scents, her entire aura deep into his soul. He held his breath as he heard the low, rustling sound of her dress against the floor, and sensed her unique scent, even in the room's air that was thick with the smell of pain, sweat and medication. But her scent, how to mistake it? it was fresh, and sweet like a bouquet of wild flowers on the first day of spring.
He felt her coming closer, until he could hear the glorious sound of her breathing and the rushed beating of her heart. He swallowed slowly, careful not to give away his consciousness, afraid that the slightest of his reactions could scare her presence away. He tried to still his heart, that menaced to jump out of his chest, and struggled to maintain the evenness of his breathing. But she did not notice his awareness, and continued walking closer to him.
She tried to stop herself at a point, fearing she would loose herself in the very sight of him, fearing what she was capable of, being so close to him. But to her amusement and dismay, she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at him for endless minutes; the terrible wound on his face was almost healed, but still an awful scar marred the perfection of his face.
She had to still her hand with all of her will to stop it from touch him, from caressing him; she didn't wanted him to wake, and so she limited herself to look at his suddenly and seemingly frail form. Then, something strong and unknown came upon her and she couldn't stop herself from leaning over him, still without touching.
He grabbed unto the sheets with his hands, clutching the fabric with his fists as he felt her leaning over him, so close, so painfully close. He thanked the Valar for the cloth over his eyes as tears welled up. Tears of joy? Of incredulity? Of helplessness? He couldn't tell.
He couldn't even tell if it was a dream or if it was real. Could this be? Was it even possible that even an instant of happiness was bestowed to him? Was he worthy of a moment of joy?
He clenched his jaw as the light flutter of her breath over his lips made him understand that it was no dream, it was happening, and it was real.
Then, a bolt of energy coursed through his body as her warm, soft lips enveloped his in a shy but sweet kiss. No longer could he be still, no longer could he hide his awareness; he received the kiss with equal shyness, barely moving or responding under the enthralling caress of her loving lips, and the lure of her scent filling up his senses. But he reached up his hand to caress her face and the spell was broken.
Arwen pulled away from him, he panicked. - "Arwen wait!" - he pleaded.
She backed further away and replied, her eyes flooded with tears - "No...Legolas, this is wrong."
Wrong? She knew her words were false; nothing was more right, nothing felt so right. But she was still confused, and the memory of her husband still held her back.
"Arwen please, don't leave me again, I need to talk to you..."
"There is nothing to talk about" - she said, making her way to the door.
Gathering strength from his desperation he stood from the bed, trying to reach her, to hold her." - Arwen, I beg you..."
She turned around - "No Legolas" - and ran out of the room and into the corridors, getting away as fast as she could, but unable to contain the tears in her eyes and her despair sobs.
Blind, desperate by her departure and disoriented by the medication, he tried to follow her, only to run into the sharp edge of the door's frame, face first. The impact knocked him to the floor, and re-opened the wound across his face.
Unable to get up or to think straight, he stayed on the floor, laid over a puddle of his own blood. The pain on his face and eyes was insignificant when compared to the piercing ache of her absence.
..........................................
Hi!
I'm finally back. I know this wasn't a very long chapter, but these weeks I've been swamped with work, and suffering from a very severe case of author's block. I just hope this chapter is good and that you enjoyed it.
Thank you very much for your great reviews, it's nice to know there are people out there who support this story.
Thanks again, and have a great week.
Elwe.
ABSENCE
Two weeks had passed since Eldarion's succession ceremony, and the new King felt wearier and more troubled with every day that passed. The loss of his father was still tender in his heart, and Minas Tirith was in ruins. Every day he tried to figure a way to start the healing process, but everyday he collided against the inarguable fact that there weren't enough resources or manpower to begin the reconstruction. Winter was near; the merciless winds were coming from the east, forceful and inevitable. The crops had to be harvested, no matter what, or the entire country would starve; and so, every man or woman who could work had to go to the fields to gather rations for the upcoming season.
But the reconstruction of the city and the menace of the winter weren't the main reasons for his heavy heart; in that short time he learned that there were much worse burdens for a King; for everyone around him, everyone he loved seemed to have lost the desire to live, and had abandoned their selves to grief; something he could not indulge himself to do, no matter how much he lamented the loss of his father. His mother spent her days locked up in the royal chambers, cold, somber and silent. She never wept again, her heart was so broken that even sorrow was pushed apart; but she never smiled again either, or spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. She barely accepted any food, and her skin was becoming ailing pale.
Eldarion himself tried many times to talk to her; but each time he went up to the chambers, she would refuse to keep conversation with him, and answered to all of his questions with nods or a toneless yes or no.
Legolas situation was different, but nevertheless awful. He still inhabited at Arwen's deserted gardens, and after a few more days, he finally accepted help and spent most of his time at the healing wing, where the healers tried their best to give him back his sight. But weeks passed, and their efforts were useless, and worst of all, some of their methods implied a great deal of pain, discomfort and sacrifice for the weary elf.
He endured everything stoically, treatments and procedures that could have made a strong man stumble and cry out; but no improvement to his situation ever occurred. And as time went by, sadness started to overwhelm him; not so much because of bodily pain, but for a never-ending ache in his heart.
He missed Arwen.
Ever since the battle with the dragon she had been apart from him, distant. It was one terrible fact not being capable to look at her because of his newly acquired disability, but he never had the joy of hearing her voice again either. Many times he felt her presence close to him; many times he sensed her passing near him; but she never talked to him, or even to others while he was close; and he was certain that she avoided his presence.
Her behavior confused and hurt him deeply, yet he felt unworthy of asking for a justification. After all, she was still in grief, and he didn't have the right to disturb her mourning time. And so, in silence and darkness he accepted her decision, and contained himself from any attempt to approach her. His days passed by slowly and painfully; and then days became weeks, until winter finally came.
..........................................
Dismal and alone she sat at the edge of her bed; the bed she once shared with the one whose absence was consuming her life with every day that passed. Over two moths had lapsed since half of her life went away with him. Every night since then it was the same; she tried to sleep, to give some rest to her sadness for at least a few hours; but every night she was as unsuccessful as the one before.
Over two months without the consolation of slumber, without the escape of a night's sleep. It was killing her.
Where to go to find solace? How to get comfort?
Her son.... no, he was busy attending the matters Kingship, he had to deal with burden enough day after day, as Gondor was sinking into decadence.
Him; the one she had learned to love through troubles and adversity.....Legolas?...No, she couldn't . The idea had crossed her mind, more than once; but she was uncertain about her feelings. Confusion was the only thing she could feel each time she even thought about him; for that, and out of a stubborn respect for her lost husband, she decided to keep a distance from him, until she could discern what she really held in her heart.
That night was particularly excruciating. The cruel winter winds entered the room through the fissures of the balcony's door, adding yet more to the iciness in her heart.
"Tonight it will be the same" - she thought, dreading the pain of another sleepless night. She rested her head on her pillow and covered her body with the silky blankets, hoping to find some warmth; but how could she find warmth underneath a blanket when her heart and soul were colder than the howling wind outside?
She fixated her weary eyes in the weak, shivering flame in the lamp that gloomily illuminated the room that now seemed vast and empty to her. She wanted to weep, to cry out her misery; but her shrunk heart didn't have strength enough even to let out a single tear; so even the relief of the most primal expression of grief was denied to her.
As the unmerciful night advanced, her numb ears heard a different sound over the wind's lament. A cry? No, a song; but who could sing in such a heartrending night?
Driven by curiosity, she left the bed and wrapped herself in one of the blankets. Slow and hesitant, she walked towards the balcony's doors and opened them. The wind tried to push her back inside, and her body shivered wildly from being exposed to the blustery air, but she didn't render to it, and grasping the balcony's veranda, she listened to the night.
The voice came to her, loud and clear; impossible to mistake the owner of such tone. She whispered his name inaudibly to the night - "Legolas...."
She could tell the voice came from somewhere below her terrace, from the gardens; but she refused to seek him, she did not want to see him, and so, she stood motionless as the voice filled all of her senses.
Even if she had tried to look at him, she could have not; for he was right below her stone balcony, his back firmly pressed against the wall. He didn't want to be seen, only heard. He sung with all of his strength, striving to overcome the unceasing howl of the wind, and hoping she could hear him.
He knew of her pain, he knew of her sleepless nights; he had felt all of her torture for weeks, and it had haunted him without a rest. That night, he decided it was time to do something, for her sake and his own.
He sung old elven lullabies; sweet, innocent tunes he knew would bring relief to her misery.
A warm, long forgotten sensation overwhelmed her as she heard the songs Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian used to sing to her when she was new to the world, when worries and ache were foreign to her heart. Something hot and comforting covered her face..tears. She was weeping, and it never felt more right.
Tears flowed until she was exhausted and drained; but her heart was no longer frozen, from the depths of her soul arose a tender and warm flow, conquering the frost around her heart, like her beloved's voice conquered the cruel wind of the night.
When or how? She didn't know; but at some point that night, she had moved back inside the room, and like carried by a gentle force she was laid on the bed. She slept peaceful and content for what was left of that night, for the first time in many moons.
She awoke to a bright day. She felt rested and vital beyond expectations, yet unable to seek for the only able to give her the gift of a peaceful night. She was still confused and unsure of what she felt.
And so, weeks went by exactly the same as before; during the day she avoided all contact with him; but at night she waited anxiously for the arrival of his voice underneath her window. And every night he came faithful to aid her, bringing peace and rest to her soul. Her heart leaped as she heard his first words every time; and for all the nights that followed she could sleep with simplicity, lulled by his steady voice.
It was so; but on a moonless night, two weeks after his first song; she waited for him, but he did not come. It was then that she noted the enormity of the emptiness she felt without his song. She waited and waited until midnight, pacing back and forth inside the room that suddenly became vast and empty again. Why wasn't he coming? What delayed him?
Impelled by her yearning heart, she exited the room; she needed him, perhaps more than anything else in her life, and so she went out to finally seek for him, it was time for him to know how much she yearned for him. Following her innate instinct and the tug of her heart, she walked through the dark corridors towards the healing rooms, knowing without a doubt that he was there.
Her steps became fast and anxious as she reached the healing wing, until she found a closed door where she suddenly stopped. She held her breath to listen, knowing that something was happening inside the room, and he squeezed and twisted her own hands as he heard hushed whispers coming from the other side of the door.
"Apply the bandage, he is going to faint!" - came the voice of a nameless man.
"Lord, there is no improvement..." - another nameless man.
"We have to persevere, there is got to be a way. Try the other compound."
Arwen came closer to the door, almost pressing her ear against the thick wood to better listen to the conversation.
"We should give him a rest, there is no way he can endure this."
"Do as I say!"
Then, Arwen could hear a muffled groan inside the room; but not just any groan; she recognized Legolas' voice, uttering the hoarse, tortured sound. And then he spoke.
"Please, cease this!" - she could hear him say, with a soft, pleading voice. Her heart started pounding inside her chest.
A long silence took place, and she pressed her ear to the door. Then, one of the men finally spoke.
"Release him; give him the painkiller" - an elder man said somberly.
"Let him rest for the night, we will try something else tomorrow. Goodnight everyone"
Arwen stepped back and waited, until the door opened and the chief healer came out the room. The man was surprised to see the Queen staring at him questioningly just outside the room, specially since she had barely left her chambers ever since the King's departure.
He was about to salute her, but she grabbed him from his sleeve and pulled him down the corridor. - "What are you doing to him?" - she demanded to know, once they were far enough from the room as not to be heard.
"My queen?" - hesitated the man. He looked at her confused and disoriented, being that he had been awake all night, and under great distress.
"You heard me, answer me now!" - she said in the verge of tears.
The man stuttered senselessly before responding - "We were trying to give him back his sight, my lady."
Arwen frowned before retorting back to him - "And exactly what kind of methods are you using, that you make a brave warrior like him beg for merci."
The man lowered his gaze - "We have tried everything on our reach my lady. The king pushes us to find a way, but we are running out of options. He has endured everything stoically, up until now; this new process involves great pain. Tonight we decided to try it, and he held on for a long time with his teeth gritted, but it is too much, it afflicts me to cause him so much pain, I am sorry you had to be witness of all this."
"And everything was in vain?" - she asked bewildered.
"I am afraid so."
"How is he now?"
"We gave him a very strong pain reliever, he will probably sleep all this night and a full day."
"Are you sure of this? - She asked.
"Yes, this tranquilizer can bring down a wild bull in an instant, it was the only thing we could use to relief such terrible pain."
Arwen pondered all this for a moment before speaking again - "tell the rest of the healers to leave the room, I wish to see him..in private."
The man was too tired to question her decision; he went back into de room and ordered the healers and nurses to leave the room at once. Arwen waited at the corridor until the room was empty and the people's steps were no longer heard. When she was sure she was completely alone, she made her way into de room.
He was spread over the narrow bed, draped in white sheets. His body was damp with sweat from the recent distress, and there was a cloth carefully sited over his eyes. He was still, awfully still; and his breathing was slow and steady. She thought he was asleep, or unconscious from medication and pain...he was not.
The medication wasn't as effective on him as the old surgeon thought, and he was just trying to regain control of his body and to recover from the intense pain by lowering his heart's pace. He immediately felt as Arwen entered the room, but he didn't move.
How not to notice her arrival? How to disregard the intensity of her presence? Impossible; he had engraved every one of her sounds, her scents, her entire aura deep into his soul. He held his breath as he heard the low, rustling sound of her dress against the floor, and sensed her unique scent, even in the room's air that was thick with the smell of pain, sweat and medication. But her scent, how to mistake it? it was fresh, and sweet like a bouquet of wild flowers on the first day of spring.
He felt her coming closer, until he could hear the glorious sound of her breathing and the rushed beating of her heart. He swallowed slowly, careful not to give away his consciousness, afraid that the slightest of his reactions could scare her presence away. He tried to still his heart, that menaced to jump out of his chest, and struggled to maintain the evenness of his breathing. But she did not notice his awareness, and continued walking closer to him.
She tried to stop herself at a point, fearing she would loose herself in the very sight of him, fearing what she was capable of, being so close to him. But to her amusement and dismay, she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at him for endless minutes; the terrible wound on his face was almost healed, but still an awful scar marred the perfection of his face.
She had to still her hand with all of her will to stop it from touch him, from caressing him; she didn't wanted him to wake, and so she limited herself to look at his suddenly and seemingly frail form. Then, something strong and unknown came upon her and she couldn't stop herself from leaning over him, still without touching.
He grabbed unto the sheets with his hands, clutching the fabric with his fists as he felt her leaning over him, so close, so painfully close. He thanked the Valar for the cloth over his eyes as tears welled up. Tears of joy? Of incredulity? Of helplessness? He couldn't tell.
He couldn't even tell if it was a dream or if it was real. Could this be? Was it even possible that even an instant of happiness was bestowed to him? Was he worthy of a moment of joy?
He clenched his jaw as the light flutter of her breath over his lips made him understand that it was no dream, it was happening, and it was real.
Then, a bolt of energy coursed through his body as her warm, soft lips enveloped his in a shy but sweet kiss. No longer could he be still, no longer could he hide his awareness; he received the kiss with equal shyness, barely moving or responding under the enthralling caress of her loving lips, and the lure of her scent filling up his senses. But he reached up his hand to caress her face and the spell was broken.
Arwen pulled away from him, he panicked. - "Arwen wait!" - he pleaded.
She backed further away and replied, her eyes flooded with tears - "No...Legolas, this is wrong."
Wrong? She knew her words were false; nothing was more right, nothing felt so right. But she was still confused, and the memory of her husband still held her back.
"Arwen please, don't leave me again, I need to talk to you..."
"There is nothing to talk about" - she said, making her way to the door.
Gathering strength from his desperation he stood from the bed, trying to reach her, to hold her." - Arwen, I beg you..."
She turned around - "No Legolas" - and ran out of the room and into the corridors, getting away as fast as she could, but unable to contain the tears in her eyes and her despair sobs.
Blind, desperate by her departure and disoriented by the medication, he tried to follow her, only to run into the sharp edge of the door's frame, face first. The impact knocked him to the floor, and re-opened the wound across his face.
Unable to get up or to think straight, he stayed on the floor, laid over a puddle of his own blood. The pain on his face and eyes was insignificant when compared to the piercing ache of her absence.
..........................................
Hi!
I'm finally back. I know this wasn't a very long chapter, but these weeks I've been swamped with work, and suffering from a very severe case of author's block. I just hope this chapter is good and that you enjoyed it.
Thank you very much for your great reviews, it's nice to know there are people out there who support this story.
Thanks again, and have a great week.
Elwe.